An Imperfect Process

by Mary Jo Putney

  Jason glanced away. "No, I can't. But easy isn't always better."

  "You're right," she agreed, "but when you have kids, every instinct is to protect them even if that's not always the best choice. At the beginning, I was so wounded by the trial and his conviction that I wanted to bury the whole awful subject. Thinking about it hurt."

  He studied her, his eyes softening. "You couldn't have been much older than I am now. That was a lot of grief for you to carry."

  "We do what we have to do." She grimaced as she remembered the sheer weeping terror she had experienced at the time. Daniel's family had helped her out as best they could, and she'd responded by taking Jason away from them. At the time, it had seemed right. "I had you to take care of and a powerful desire not to stay on welfare any longer than necessary because my mama raised me to be independent."

  "You were on welfare? You never told me that!" he said, scandalized.

  She was wryly amused by his shock. "There isn't much about that time of my life I wanted to talk about, but you have a right to know. The program I was in provided support and child care while I got job training, if that sounds better than welfare."

  "It's not much better." He grimaced. "Did you and Dad try to have kids?"

  "We tried. And failed." It was her turn to look away. She had so much wanted to have a baby with Phil. Preferably a little girl with her daddy's sweet smile. "Do you want to meet Daniel tomorrow? He's at the SuperMax downtown."

  "That's too soon. Maybe at the beginning of the week. For now, I just want to be home." Jason sighed and reached for the last pickle. "There were times this past year when all I wanted was to be back in Baltimore in my own bed. Normal life, like when I was in high school, before Dad—Phil—died. But life will never be like that again."

  She squeezed his hand. "Afraid not. When we're little, our worlds seem immutable. Then we grow up and life becomes one rotten change after another. But usually there are compensations once we get used to the new order. Mostly you love the air force, don't you?"

  After he nodded, she said, "And while you won't see Phil again in this lifetime, you still have a father to get to know. It can't be the same as with Phil, but you can have a relationship that matters." She pushed back her chair and got to her feet. "Would you like some strawberry shortcake to top that off?"

  His face eased into a smile. "I sure would. I dreamed of that sometimes in Colorado." She was taking the bowl of strawberries from the refrigerator when he asked softly, "Mama—did you love my dad? Phil?"

  She set the bowl on the counter and turned to face him. "Daniel was the love of my youth, and I'll never stop caring for him. If he hadn't been the victim of a horrible injustice, we would have married and been happy, I think. But I loved Philip, too. There wasn't a day of our marriage when I didn't give thanks that he was my husband. You know how it was after he died—you and I were both numb for months. Your grades slipped to Bs that semester, and I sleepwalked through my job. I was lucky they didn't fire me. Phil was one of the best things that ever happened to me."

  Jason stood and wrapped his arms around her. His rangy frame made her feel small. "Loving is your gift, Mama. I'm lucky to be your son."

  She hugged him back, tears in her eyes. Thank God for Cal Murphy's niece, who had precipitated this confrontation. Even Daniel would be glad eventually. She hoped.

  * * *

  Overscheduled as always, Val cut things too close and showed up ten minutes late for her first afternoon with Lyssie Armstrong. Lyssie let her into the house, her expression closed but her hair neatly pulled back in a scrunchy and her T-shirt and jeans immaculate.

  Val said apologetically, "Sorry I'm late. I was drafting a petition and lost track of the time, then ran into some traffic problems."

  Lyssie used her forefinger to push the bridge of her glasses farther up her nose. "I was beginning to wonder if you were coming."

  Val started to reply that she wouldn't have gone through so much effort to become a Big Sister if she wasn't committed, but stopped herself when she realized that Lyssie was speaking from insecurity, not reason. Her careful dress showed how important this afternoon was to her, which meant she was probably nervous. "I'll always come, Lyssie, though I can't swear I'll always be as punctual as I should be. Let me give you a business card with my cell phone number on it so you can call me anytime, especially when I'm running late."

  The girl cocked her head to one side. "Anytime?"

  "Yes. If I'm in a meeting or can't talk for some reason you'll have to leave a message, but I promise I'll call back as soon as I can." She pulled her wallet from her bag and handed over one of the cards.

  Lyssie turned the card over in her fingers. "You really won't mind?"

  "Really I won't." Val made a face. "But I'd better confess that I often take on too much and have to scramble to keep up. I always manage to do everything I promise, but sometimes it takes a while, and sometimes work has to come first." She glanced around the small, neat living room. "Is your grandmother around? I'd like to say hi before we take off."

  "She's in the backyard." Lyssie led the way out through the kitchen and down half a dozen steps to a concrete patio shaded by an awning and surrounded by flower containers made of old tires, all of them overflowing with brilliant geraniums and petunias and other annuals. Centered under the awning was a dinette set with table and chairs. Louise sat by the table with an iced drink and a magazine while a snoozing tabby sprawled in the chair opposite.

  "Hi." Val scratched the cat and got a soft rumble in return. "I'm about to take Lyssie off. I'll have her back by six."

  Louise smiled. "You two have fun. I look forward to an afternoon of doing nothing."

  Val thought the older woman looked relaxed but not well. It was too early in their acquaintance to ask about her health, though. "I've been looking forward to this all week. I never seem to have much time to play, so I'm using Lyssie as an excuse."

  Lyssie gave a fleeting smile before kissing her grandmother on the cheek. Once they were in Val's car, she asked, "Where is the crafts store?"

  "In Towson. The place is huge, with things you never imagined. We'll have trouble deciding where to start." She pulled the car from the curb and headed toward the Jones Falls Expressway. Deciding to ask something she had been wondering about, she said, "I'm always fascinated by our national diversity, but it's hard to guess the family background of either you or your grandmother. Do you know much about where your ancestors came from?"

  Lyssie perked up. "They came from all over—Scotland and Africa and Spain and Germany, but the most interesting is Gramma—she's half English and half Lumbee Indian. There are quite a few Lumbees in Baltimore, you know."

  "I've read about the Lumbee community center in the city, but I don't know much about the tribe except that they aren't federally recognized. They aren't originally from Maryland, are they?"

  "The tribal homeland is in North Carolina, mostly along the Lumbee River. It's the largest tribe east of the Mississippi. There's argument about the tribal roots, but our leadership is trying to get recognition. It's said that members of the lost colony of Roanoke were taken in by the Lumbee—they were called the Cheraw then—and they sheltered runaway slaves, too. That's why Lumbees don't look like other Indian tribes."

  Noting Lyssie's use of our when referring to the leadership, Val said, "They sound like generous people. Can you be a member of the tribe with one-eighth blood?"

  Lyssie nodded vigorously. "To be enrolled, you have to trace your descent from someone in the Source Documents and keep in touch with the tribe. Keeping in touch is in the tribal constitution. I do it through the community center here." After a pause, she said, "My mother ignored her Indian blood, but Gramma likes that I'm proud of mine. She tells me stories from her mother, and says that maybe someday we can go to North Carolina to visit cousins."

  Val listened, impressed, as Lyssie moved into tribal history. Her little sister had clearly made a serious study of the subject. When Lyssie woun
d down, Val said, "I'll bet that wonderful stories could be told using Lumbee history."

  "I've already written stories about them," Lyssie said shyly.

  "Really? Will you tell me one?"

  Lyssie only needed to be asked once. Voice bright with enthusiasm, she began a lively tale of a young English girl from the Roanoke colony and the handsome Cheraw youth who saved her from starvation and took her home. When the story reached a happy ending after many adventures, Val said, "That's terrific, Lyssie. If you want to be a writer, I think you have the talent."

  Lyssie looked like she wanted to accept the compliment, but didn't quite dare. "Do lawyers know about stories?"

  "Do we ever!" Val grinned. "I also worked with an actress friend when she was writing the script for a movie she wanted to make. In the process, I learned a lot about the mechanics of what makes stories work."

  "Did the movie get made?"

  "It did indeed." Val decided to save Rainey's tale for another day since they were pulling up in the craft store parking lot. "Are you ready to be overwhelmed?"

  Lyssie bounced from the car and they entered the huge, warehouse-style store. The girl halted a dozen steps inside, her eyes rounding at the explosion of colors and scents and objects. "Awesome!"

  "For sure. Where would you like to start?" Val peered into the distance. "It's been a couple of years since I've had time to come here so they've probably added whole new departments. I know for sure that there are aisles and aisles of art supplies, frames and rubber stamps, scrap booking and jewelry making and flower arranging, and as much glitter and sparkly stuff as you could use in a lifetime."

  "Let's start here." Lyssie gestured toward the center of the store directly ahead of them. A silk flower sale was in progress, and dozens of tubs overflowed with masses of richly colored blossoms.

  "Aren't the silk hydrangeas fantastic?" Val compared two stems of cream-colored blooms. "I think the small blossom flowers are more convincing than the ones with large petals, but these can look great if they're used right."

  As Lyssie nodded gravely and selected several stems of mauve and burgundy hydrangea, Val commandeered a shopping cart. "Arrangements are usually made in vases or baskets or sometimes on vine wreaths," she explained. "Let's start by choosing flowers we like, then find settings that will do them justice."

  Working their way happily around the flower island, they had the cart over half-filled by the time they finished their circuit. "Onward to dried plants. A lot of them are really just interesting weeds, but they mix well with the silk flowers and give the arrangement a more natural look." Val headed deeper into the store, then swung the cart into the right aisle. "I love this section. It smells like a hayfield in summer."

  Lyssie picked up a cellophane wrapper holding half a dozen heads of dried wheat with long, delicate spines. "I've seen pictures like this, but never the real thing."

  "Put a couple of those bunches in the cart, and some of those dried lilies, too. I think they look like starbursts."

  Lyssie bit her lip. "This is going to be awfully expensive."

  "It won't be cheap," Val agreed, "but I can afford it, the results are lovely, and we'll have fun making arrangements. For years I've worked so hard that there hasn't been time to do projects, and darn it, I want to have fun with you!"

  "Since you put it that way..." Lyssie gave a very adult smile as she selected an armload of different kinds of dried plants. "I love the fragrance of these." Her hand lingered over bunches of leggy red eucalyptus. "Sort of like pines, but not really."

  Val picked up a bunch and inhaled deeply. "The scent of California. Two of my old school friends moved out there and whenever I visit, I make sure to spend some time driving through the eucalyptus hills. The trees came from Australia originally, and they settled down happily in California as all immigrants do. Someone told me the eucalyptus live off the coastal fog, but I don't know if that's true or not."

  "I'd like to visit California someday," Lyssie said wistfully. "Maybe even Australia."

  "Then someday you will. After you've seen North Carolina." Seeing the girl's skepticism, Val said, "It's really possible, Lyssie. We can't have everything we want in life, but we can usually get the things we want the most. If you want to travel, you can make it happen. Travel isn't the hardest thing in life to achieve."

  "What is the hardest?'

  She'd always heard that kids asked tricky questions. Val crossed her arms on the push bar of the shopping cart as she thought. "Well, it's really hard to have a good relationship with someone who doesn't want one. It takes two people to create a friendship or a romance, but only one to end it."

  Lyssie's small face shuttered. "Especially if that one has a gun."

  Val winced. "I'm afraid so. Usually it's not that dramatic, though. Most relationships that never happen are things like a girl you'd really like to be friends with, but she has enough friends. It's a boy you'd like to ask you out, but he only dates tall blondes. You can earn the money to fly to Australia, but you probably can't change the mind of a guy who likes tall blondes if you're a short redhead."

  "But somewhere there is a tall blonde who likes a guy who only likes short redheads."

  Val laughed. "Exactly. The silver lining is that often the girl you thought was cool and wanted for a friend turns out to be a lot less interesting than the quiet girl at the next desk." She pulled out more tangy bunches of green, blue, and red eucalyptus. "Shall we move on to the baskets and containers?"

  Lyssie nodded and they headed deeper into the store. So far, so good, Val decided. A Big Sister/Little Sister match was supposed to be fun, and this one was.

  Chapter 22

  Friday night with Val, and now Saturday as well. As Rob rang her doorbell, he decided he could get into doing this regularly.

  "Hi!" She swung the door open, casually dressed in a long-skirted summer dress. Glancing down, she added, "No Malcolm?"

  "I didn't want to upset the cats. Or Malcolm, for that matter, since he'd be outnumbered." Rob stepped inside and shut the door behind him so the cats couldn't escape before enveloping her in a hug. "You're a sight for sore eyes, Valentine. What better way to end a long, hot day than in the arms of a small, hot woman?"

  She rubbed against him like one of her cats. "I hope that's a compliment."

  "It is." He rested his cheek on her bouncy curls, feeling his tension unwind. "I can't think of anything nicer than coming home to you, even if it's not my home."

  She laughed. "June Cleaver I'm not."

  "For sure—you're much sexier. June needed to-get a life. I've always suspected that when the boys were grown, she dumped Ward, went to law school, and became an environmental litigator."

  "What a delicious thought!" Disengaging from their embrace, Val linked an arm through his and steered him toward the kitchen. "Dinner isn't ready yet, but soon."

  He paused to study two silk flower arrangements on the floor, one in a large basket and the other in an antique-style Mediterranean urn. "These are attractive. Did you and Lyssie spend the afternoon shopping?"

  "First we shopped, then we made the arrangements." Val contemplated their handiwork fondly. "Since I have that whole large church to decorate, I figured I could use some sizable floor baskets to brighten boring comers. Lyssie did the Greek urn. Isn't it nice? She gave it to me for the office, then made a beautiful autumn wreath for her grandmother. Next week we'll try some tabletop pieces."

  He tried to remember if he'd ever paid attention to a dried flower arrangement before. "These will brighten your office, but I'm a little surprised that you enjoy doing this. With your mother an artist, I would have thought you would prefer to work on something more... more sophisticated."

  Val made a face. "I would if I could, but I have no artistic talent. I realized that early since Callie is so amazing. Not just her fabric art but drawing, painting, ceramics. You name it, she can do it. My friend Laurel is a born artist like Callie, and they've always gotten on like a house afire. It was a gre
at disappointment to both my mother and me that I was a nonstarter creatively, but even a no-talent can put together a decent silk flower arrangement. It's fun and satisfies the need to make something pretty."

  He recognized the underlying wistfulness in her voice. "You may not be at Callie's level—few people are—but you create wonderful, harmonious surroundings, not to mention being a knock-out dresser."

  Val beamed. "What wonderful things you say. I think I'll keep you."

  He'd like to think she meant that literally, but he knew a figure of speech when he heard one. "We all have our talents. Mechanical and computer things come naturally to me. You're a word child. While you didn't get your mother's artistic sense, you inherited your father's legal brain, and the law usually pays a lot better than art."

  "True, but my artist mother has a lot more fun than my lawyer father." She resumed towing him toward the kitchen. "Would you like to unwind with a glass of chardonnay while I make the salad and the pasta for the shrimp scampi?"

  "Please." He loved this unexpected domestic side of Val as much as he adored her delicious body and razor-sharp mind. He and Janice had always been so blasted busy that their social life was pretty much a matter of meeting somewhere for a late dinner, then going to his place or hers to spend the night. It was rare even to share coffee and bagels the next morning.

  He smiled to himself as he thought that with a husband, a baby, and a dog, Janice was probably up to her ears in domesticity. She seemed happy with it, though. The last time they had talked had been a year or so ago, when he called to congratulate her on the release of her first computer game for preschoolers. At that time domesticity had seemed a dream beyond his grasp but maybe, if he wooed Val with sufficient patience, it would be possible to have the real, welcoming home he'd always longed for.