“Do you know your . . . purpose, then, Harper?”
“I haven’t suddenly found religion or anything, but I do think people have to be strong to live in this world—to believe in something bigger.”
“Something bigger,” Tilda said. “I wonder what Grandpa thought his purpose was.”
“Oh, I know. He told me. He said it was from a book. There was a quote he thought made sense.”
“Do you remember what it was?”
Harper thought about it a minute.
“No, but I think it’s here, in your office where all the books are.”
“Would you recognize it?”
“I might. He took it down and showed it to me. He had it marked.”
“Let’s go see.”
Tilda turned on the light in her office, and they began exploring.
“I think it was on the shelves on the left, about the middle.”
“That’s where his Vonnegut books are.”
“Yes! That was it. It was Vonnegut, Kurt, right?”
“Right. Well, here they all are. He had every book he ever wrote.”
“It was red, I think, with a sexy woman on the cover. Here it is. Yes, this is it,” she said, handing the book to Tilda.
“The Sirens of Titan. I remember this book. It’s about Martians taking over Earth.”
“Look, here’s his bookmark for the page.”
It took us that long to realize that a purpose of human life, no matter who is controlling it, is to love whoever is around to be loved.
They read it silently. They read it aloud. First Tilda. Then Harper.
“That’s the other thing, Grandma, that I was afraid of. Love. I thought it was scary and awful, because of how much I loved, love, Grandpa.”
“But why was that scary?”
“Because he died.”
“Are you still scared?”
“Are you?”
“Still scared?”
“Yes. You’re scared. You’re scared of George.”
Tilda’s heart raced a little, just enough to cause her to put her hand on her chest. She had to think about that. She thought she was holding back for Harold, not because of George.
“Maybe we were both scared, Harper. I think you might be right.”
“You know, Mom loved Grandpa as much as we do. She converted for him, but she isn’t afraid. What we don’t have is her faith. I don’t think you have to believe in God to have faith, but you have to believe in something, so now I’m going to believe in what scared me the most, love.”
Per amore. Tilda shook her head and drew her granddaughter into her arms.
“You continue to amaze me, my dear, dear Harper.”
There was so much more Tilda wanted to talk about. She wanted to share her own fears and sorrows. She wanted to tell her about Anthony. She wanted to find meaning in Anthony’s short and terrible life, something she never could.
You, dear Harper, have absorbed the entire history of your grandfather’s family, of his people. You have found a way to make sense of it. And soon, I think, I will be ready to tell you about my family, about my brother, and he will not be forgotten. We will have faith together that, through our love, that child will not be forgotten.
She finally let Harper go, and, after some time together talking and laughing on the sofa, she got dressed and drove her granddaughter home.
The next day, Laura called. “I’m glad you had some time with Harper yesterday. Did she tell you her news?”
“Her news?”
“That she’s staying Harper for the foreseeable future. That she can’t go back to being Tilly because she isn’t Tilly anymore.”
This was not news to Tilda, who had already surmised it. And it hadn’t come up in their conversation last night, so Harper must have decided to tell her parents after her talk with Tilda.
“No. Not in so many words.” Tilda didn’t want to discuss the rest of their conversation. It was locked in her heart for her and Harper alone.
“She hasn’t decided on her gender yet. And that’s okay, according to Dr. Bernstein. We had a family session with her. She told Harper she didn’t need to make any decisions about it yet. And she told us privately that at this point Harper isn’t a candidate for hormone therapy, but she isn’t ruling it out. Some kids take longer than others to know their true gender. She said if anything, Harper might be gender neutral and might in that case retain her primary sex assignment as female.”
None of this worried Tilda. She knew that whatever Harper decided, she would have love in her life, and in the end that was all that mattered.
“Mom, your year is up, and so is our deal.”
Tilda wondered where this conversation was headed.
“Do you remember our deal?”
“Yes.”
“Well?”
“Well?”
“Okay. Here’s what I think. What about George?”
“That’s not an opinion. That’s a question. Honey, George and I are okay. We’re sorting things out.”
“Mark and I think he might be a good partner for you.”
“I don’t need, I don’t want, a partner. If George and I end up together, it will be because I love him.”
“Do you think he might be that person, then?”
Tilda paused. “He might be.” Tilda surprised herself when she realized the stress she had put on the word be, rendering the sentence, He might be.
“Good,” said Laura. She noticed it, too. “So I guess you’re going to stay in the house.”
“Yes, I’m staying in the house.”
“Also good. Now you can take over your own garden.”
They both laughed, and Tilda was pleased at their ability to do so now, a year later.
“Mom. I know how hard this year has been. You’ve been great. You’ve handled everything with grace and love.”
“Thank you, Laura.”
“But I have something else I want to talk to you about.”
Tilda heard that note of earnestness that led her to suspect trouble.
“It’s a difficult subject. But Dad. Well, he’s in our family plot. Our congregation accepts Jews and non-Jews. Have you given any thought . . .”
“Oh, dear. Can this wait?”
“Yes, of course. It can. But I just wanted to plant a seed.”
Tilda found the whole idea of planting in this context to be funny but thought it best not to say anything.
“I know, dear. Yes, I’ll consider it and let you know.”
“Love you, Mom.”
“Love you too.” My darling, Laura. She of great faith, who never saw a question that couldn’t be answered.
Tilda had considered the subject. She had told Harold years ago that she wanted to be cremated and to have her ashes scattered over the Long Island Sound. They had never decided what they would do. Of course not. They had years yet to sort their thoughts out. Only they didn’t. And now Tilda still knew what she wanted, to be free of earth when her day came, to be floating on the waves of her beautiful sound, to catch a breeze, to float over Laura’s house, over to see Harper, to visit Harold’s spot of earth. She would tell Laura, but not yet.
Still April. Still time for her own first-year observance, with Harold, at the Point, one of their special places, all seasons. They walked the trails in the summer, enjoying the fresh sea air and the warm sun. In fall, the colors buoyed their spirits as they anticipated the darker days to come. In winter, they bundled up and walked carefully on snow and ice, marveling at the frozen sound during the coldest days. And in the spring, they picnicked. And so on this fine April day, Tilda packed their picnic basket with a fresh baguette, a small wedge of Manchego cheese (Harold’s favorite), and a bottle of Prosecco—with two champagne glasses.
She found a quiet spot, a table near the trees, with a view of the water, farther back from their favorite spot, but more private. She put down the tablecloth and put out the bread, cheese, and sparkling wine, including the glass for Haro
ld.
She took her first sip. To my Harold. I made it through this first year without you—and I suspect there will be at least a few more. You’re happy, I know, that the little family we made is enduring. Laura is a wonder, who loves you with all her heart.
She raised her glass again and took a second sip. To Harper. She is beautiful and strong and will be the best of us one day if she isn’t already. She gets a lot of her kind heart and her spirit and her love from you. It’s a nature-and-nurture thing, I imagine, because she has your genes and your teaching to guide her in this life.
And to me. I meddled in the lives of others and I did no harm. Maybe even some good. Darren is willing to try. He will open his heart and try to forgive Amanda. Emile will try to forgive Amanda for entering and then leaving his life, leaving him and Gregory. Lizzie’s little stickies all over the house pleading for forgiveness did not go unnoticed or unheeded. Forgiveness is a wonderful thing, no matter where it comes from. Lizzie came over a few nights ago with Harper, and we played Scrabble. Lizzie beat us both with two words: petrichor and gibbous. The smell of earth after rain and a moon phase. They are both such lovely things. That smell reminds us all, on some level, of what it is to be alive. It was all around me, that smell, after the last spring rain. And it made me happy to think of earth again in a new way, that it holds you, receives you. It isn’t so awful anymore. And the gibbous moon is a less-than-full moon. We always think of the full moon as the moon of romance, of poets, but a less-than-full moon has its own meaning and beauty. It can be waxing or waning, new and full of future promise or in its final stage before leaving until its next appearance. Like the seasons, like life, all of it to be embraced.
Now, after the wine, she was a mix of moon and rain. She had brought poems to read, and now she mixed them up in her soliloquy to Harold.
So, my darling. My first year of mourning is over. Some days I laugh and find joy in simple things again, the way I used to. Other days I am undone by you. Sometimes I’m so tired, I don’t know if I can go on. I remember the white room with you when the curtain fluttered, and I am lost. But I accept that I must go on. The world will become interesting again, won’t it? And I will be able to praise once again this mutilated world, won’t I?
I will start anew and keep you with me always. Another toast.
To life.
Still April. The next morning, Tilda tied her bathrobe around her and hurried to answer the door. There was George, holding a black Lab puppy that couldn’t have been more than six months old. He was squirming in George’s arms, and George was laboring to hold him.
As soon as the puppy saw Tilda, he started pulling out of George’s arms, in her direction. Instinctively, Tilda put out her arms to the puppy, who leapt to her. Now holding him, she looked down to see his amber eyes searching her face. Then one pull up, and he was licking her cheeks, her face, bathing her in the scent of kibble and sweet warm milk.
“I put in the paperwork to adopt him a while ago. And he finally got here. I picked him up from the rescue truck at the park-and-ride lot in Stonington yesterday. It was quite a trip, but I think he’s adjusting. He likes you, Tilda.”
Tilda was distracted, enjoying holding the black mass of fur in her arms and being kissed.
His name is Anders, but can we call him Bully, BullyToo?
Tilda looked up.
“Yes, George, yes,” she said, finally, breaking the silence that had hung between them, and she and BullyToo stepped aside to let George enter.
QUESTIONS AND TOPICS FOR DISCUSSION
1. There are many themes running through the novel—loss and renewal, fear and triumph, discovery and acceptance. Which of these most resonates with you and why? Are there other themes in the book that you find interesting? If so, what are they?
2. How does Tilda handle her grief when she is with Laura? With Tilly? With Bev? Does she present herself differently to each of them? Which face of her grief is her deepest and truest?
3. For much of the novel, Tilda is grieving. How does she manage to cope? How does she develop and change?
4. Early in the novel, Tilda becomes involved in the Esmond family crisis. Is this reasonable? An overreaction? Why?
5. Two teenagers are depicted in the novel. How would you describe Tilly? Lizzie? How are they different? How would you account for the friendship that develops between them?
6. How would you characterize Tilda’s best friend, Bev? How are she and Tilda different? The same? What do you think accounts for their friendship?
7. How would you describe Tilda’s coming to terms with Tilly’s gender uncertainty? What is her greatest concern? Does she initially ignore Tilly’s attempts to come forward? If so, why do you think that is? When does she fully accept Tilly as Harper?
8. At one point, Tilly accuses Tilda of being afraid of George. Is this is an accurate assessment? Where do think Tilda’s fear comes from?
9. After her initial reluctance, Tilda agrees to go to Cuba with George. There are references to Guys and Dolls during the trip. How is this fitting?
10. When do you think Tilda becomes aware of George as potentially more than a friend?
11. Why is Tilda’s journey to Portugal with her granddaughter so integral to the novel’s theme? How is it different but equally important for both Tilda and Tilly/Harper?
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
With a full heart, I thank my first reader, Lori Dietrich, for her wisdom—and for sharing it so generously; Dr. Ralph Kaufman, MD, for his guidance in the chapters depicting the patient-therapist relationship; to childhood friend and adult advisor Cantor Karen Blum, for her eye on content relating to Jewish ritual and practice; to the ever-supportive team at She Writes Press—especially Cait Levin, for her skill in every phase of the publishing process; Julie Metz, for her patience and expertise in cover design; Barrett Briske, proof-reader and copyeditor, for her eagle eye; and Brooke Warner, for her support from the earliest days in my effort to bring Tilda’s Promise into the world. My love and thanks go, as always, to my husband, Steve, for reading, commenting, and supporting me in this as he does in all things. And, finally, my thanks to my granddaughters, Sienna, Maddie, and Lilly, who inspire me every day.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Author photo © Chuan Ding
Jean P. Moore was born in Brooklyn, New York, and grew up in Miami, Florida. Her novel Water on the Moon, published in June 2014, won the 2015 Independent Publisher Book Award for contemporary fiction. Her work has appeared in journals and newspapers such as upstreet, SN Review, The Timberline Review, Angels Flight Literary West, Fiction Southeast, Distillery, Skirt, Slow Trains, the Hartford Courant, Greenwich Time, and the Philadelphia Inquirer. A memoir piece, “Finding Charles,” appears in Persimmon Tree. Several of her poems are found in Women’s Voices of the 21st Century (2014). Her chapbook, Time’s Tyranny, was published in the fall of 2017. She, her husband, and their black Lab, Sly, divide their time between Greenwich, Connecticut and the Berkshires in Massachusetts.
SELECTED TITLES FROM SHE WRITES PRESS
She Writes Press is an independent publishing company founded to serve women writers everywhere. Visit us at www.shewritespress.com.
What is Found, What is Lost by Anne Leigh Parrish. $16.95, 978-1-938314-95-7. After her husband passes away, a series of family crises forces Freddie, a woman raised on religion, to confront long-held questions about her faith.
Stella Rose by Tammy Flanders Hetrick. $16.95, 978-1-63152-921-4. When her dying best friend asks her to take care of her sixteen-year-old daughter, Abby says yes—but as she grapples with raising a grieving teenager, she realizes she didn’t know her best friend as well as she thought she did.
Shelter Us by Laura Diamond. $16.95, 978-1-63152-970-2. Lawyer-turned-stay-at-home-mom Sarah Shaw is still struggling to find a steady happiness after the death of her infant daughter when she meets a young homeless mother and toddler she can’t get out of her mind—and becomes determined to rescue them.
Keep Her
by Leora Krygier. $16.95, 978-1-63152-143-0. When a water main bursts in rain-starved Los Angeles, seventeen-year-old artist Maddie and filmmaker Aiden’s worlds collide in a whirlpool of love and loss. Is it meant to be?
American Family by Catherine Marshall-Smith. $16.95, 978-163152-163-8. Partners Richard and Michael, recovering alcoholics, struggle to gain custody of their Richard’s biological daughter from her grandparents after her mother’s death only to discover they—and she—are fundamentalist Christians.
Magic Flute by Patricia Minger. $16.95, 978-1-63152-093-8. When a car accident puts an end to ambitious flutist Liz Morgan’s dreams, she returns to her childhood hometown in Wales in an effort to reinvent her path.
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