“What are you going to say?” I ask before she pushes the call button.
Edie just shrugs and puts the phone on speaker.
“Rosemary McCrimmons,” a warm voice says, picking up after the third ring.
Edie’s face changes. I think it must be her grown-up face, because the voice she uses is definitely a grown-up voice.
“Hello, Rosemary? My name is Edith, and I’m calling to ask if you might be able to help me.”
“Edith?” It sounds like she’s shuffling some papers around on a desk. “Have we spoken before?”
“No, but my question is of a more personal nature,” Edie says, sitting tall.
The shuffling stops. “Okaaaay. How can I help you?”
“I’m looking for someone who might know a Juanita McCrimmons. Or someone named Constance. From Gumbottom, Alabama.”
I can practically hear Rosemary frowning through the phone. The warm voice is gone. “Who’s asking?”
“My name is Edith,” Edie repeats. She quickly adds, “Edith Minturn.”
My eyes widen. I hope Rosemary doesn’t know anything about Edie Sedgwick and all her names.
“And what is this regarding, Edith?” The woman’s voice is getting slower the more she talks.
I coil and uncoil one of my locs around my finger. We never discussed what she’d say if she actually got Rosemary on the phone.
Edie hesitates for only a few seconds before she responds, “I’ve found some items that might belong to their family, and I’m trying to reach the proper contact.”
There’s a long pause on the other end. Edie raises her eyebrow at the phone, but she waits until Rosemary speaks again.
“Where did you find those names?”
“In the belongings.”
“And where were the belongings found?”
“In California.”
“You sound young.”
“With all due respect, Ms. McCrimmons, I’m not sure what my age has to do with this,” Edie says in an even more professional voice. “I’m simply trying to return items to their rightful owner.”
There’s silence again. Then Rosemary finally says, “Juanita was a distant cousin, and she’s been gone for some time now, as far as I know. What was the other name?”
“Constance,” Edie says.
And then we both hold our breath as we wait for her to respond. She clears her throat.
“I’m sorry, Edith, but I don’t know that name. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to work.”
“But what about the—”
The phone clicks and she’s gone.
“Noooo,” I moan, staring at Edie’s cell.
She glares at it before she sets it on the rug.
“We were so close,” I say. “Do you think she knows more than she’s saying?”
Edie shakes her head. “No. I think maybe she was weirded out by some stranger calling and asking about her family. At least she told us about Juanita.”
“I’ve already looked up Constance McCrimmons, and nothing came up.” I sigh. “How can it be this hard to find out who someone was? We have pictures. And a whole box full of journals.”
Edie bites her lip. “Maybe Constance really doesn’t want to be found.”
I’m starting to think Edie is right.
March 24, 1956
Today is Sanford’s birthday. Just like Christmas, it’s as if the day he was born is imprinted in my brain forever. A day I can never forget.
It is also the day I feared my loose tongue was the beginning of the end. I voluntarily told my supervisor, May, about my background.
I hadn’t planned to do so. I went to Schiff’s, like normal, and stowed my purse in the back room. I drank a glass of water before my shift began. And when May came in to retrieve her cardigan and say hello, she must have seen something in my eyes because she stopped and asked me what was wrong.
“Nothing,” I said two times, but when it was apparent she would not take that for an answer, I faltered. “It’s the birthday of someone I care about very much,” I said after a pause. “And I can’t be with them.”
May raised a suggestive eyebrow. “Them?”
“May,” I said, shaking my head.
“My apologies, Constance.” Her face turned serious. “But am I right? Is this about a man?”
It was hard to think of Sanford as a man. He was so young when we met in the schoolhouse—both of us were, at only seven years old. But it wasn’t long before others started to act as if he were twice his age, treating him like a man but calling him “boy.”
I nodded. “Yes. We… I haven’t spoken to him since I left Alabama.”
A tingle danced through my palms with that admission. I’d never even mentioned the South to anyone in San Francisco for fear of being found out. Mrs. Graham was right—I’d lied to her more than once. Upon our first meeting, in fact, when I told her I’d relocated from Chicago. Getting rid of my Southern accent had been easier than I’d imagined.
May tilted her head at me. “And you love him?”
“I care for him.”
“Constance,” she said with a soft smile, “I can see in your eyes that you love this man. Why don’t you call him?”
I laughed out loud. “A long-distance call from me, out of the blue after more than a year? What would he think?” Not to mention that the cost of the call would eat up my wages for the week.
“It’s worth a try,” May encouraged.
“Not after how I left things between us.”
Which is to say that I left without a proper good-bye. I wrote him a letter, similar to the one I left for Mama, Papa, and Henry. I said I knew he didn’t want me to leave, but it was the only way I knew to live life. I told him that I loved him but even if he gave me the world, which I knew he’d try, I couldn’t be happy with the life we’d be forced to live in Alabama.
“Constance, what happened?” May moved closer to me, putting her hand on my arm.
“I should really get out to the sales floor, May,” I said, gesturing to the door behind her.
“Mary Ellen can handle the floor just fine for a few minutes. Besides, you’re early. What’s wrong, Constance?”
I blame what happened next on the fact that her hand felt so comforting and I was starved for human touch. So much that I even missed the hugs of the Graham children when they deemed something I’d done for them particularly nice. Or perhaps I was just tired. Of hiding my true self, of waiting to be discovered and chastised and kicked out of the second new life I’d made.
“I… I’m not who you think I am, May.”
“Constance, what are you talking about?” She laughed, but her hand tightened a bit around my arm. As if I had no choice but to stay there and finish what I’d started.
“I didn’t just leave Sanford behind,” I said, my voice shaking. It shook and shook, but I went on because there was no stopping now, even if I wanted to. “I was born and raised in Gumbottom, Alabama. As a Negro. I moved to San Francisco last year to start over life as… as a white woman.”
May’s hand went slack around my arm. She stumbled backward for a moment, staring at me with unblinking eyes. “Constance, are you teasing me?”
“No, I’m not teasing. I… Everything I said is true.”
I felt absolutely dizzy, as if the truth had flown from my lips and was spinning me round and round at the joy of finally being let loose.
May backed all the way up until she was standing against the wall. Her face was so pale that I pulled one of the chairs out from the table and offered her my water.
“May?” I finally said, what felt like hours later.
“Take the day, Constance.”
“Pardon me?”
“Take the day for yourself. Mary Ellen and I will mind the store today.”
Today? Or—
“Are you firing me, May?”
“No,” she replied in a whisper.
“Well, if you’re sure…”
“I’ll see
you tomorrow, Constance.”
But she didn’t look at me as she spoke, and as I took my purse and left, I didn’t believe I’d see her again.
I spent the rest of the day in tears. How could I have been so stupid for the second time in my new life? How did I ever expect to make a way for myself if I kept making such foolish mistakes?
That evening, there was a knock on my bedroom door. The housemistress, Mrs. Morgan, poked her head in. “You have a visitor.”
I sat up on the bed, wiping my damp eyes. Was it the police? Had they finally come to take me away? Would they put me on a train back to Alabama and instruct me never to set foot in California again?
But Mrs. Morgan seemed entirely too calm to have answered the door to angry policemen. And when she moved out of the doorway, May’s face appeared. She wore the same dress as earlier, and the same worried expression. She shut the door behind her and I offered her a seat, but she shook her head, standing with her back straight.
“I suppose you’ve come to fire me in person,” I said, standing.
“Constance.” She sighed. “I… That was quite a story you told me this morning.”
“I’m sorry, May. I—”
“Oh, Constance. I’m so sorry.” She swooped in and suddenly May was hugging me.
I stood stiff in her arms at first, then I relaxed. This wasn’t a perfunctory hug. I could feel the warmth behind it.
“I’m so, so sorry,” she said as we pulled apart. I was relieved she had the good sense to keep her voice low.
“Why are you sorry?”
“Because I didn’t know sooner. Because of this country. Because of all you’ve had to…” She shook her head. “I’m just so sorry.”
I’d always known May was different. I’d never once heard her speak negatively of anyone because of their skin color or anything else they couldn’t choose. Right away, she’d told me to call her by her first name because “Mrs. Schiff was her mother-in-law.” But I’d never expected to find anyone this understanding. This…
“Why are you being so kind to me?” I thought of Mrs. Graham, who was more concerned about appearances than my well-being. Of Mrs. Hansen and the newsstand man, who were so open about their hatred of Negroes. Of all the white Santa Barbarans I’d overheard saying nasty things about my race when they thought I was one of them.
“Because I understand,” she said, her chocolate-brown eyes brimming with tears.
“Thank you, May.” Of course she’d never truly understand, but the fact that I had an ally in my corner who knew the truth about me was more than I ever could have asked for.
“No, I mean, I understand.” The tears dripped over as May leaned in close and whispered, “I’m mulatto, Constance. My mother…”
“What? You’re—”
She pressed her hand over my mouth, looking past her shoulder at the door. I liked Mrs. Morgan much better than Mrs. Hansen, but May was right. We may have found each other, but we still had to be careful.
She dropped her hand. “Another time. Very soon. I… I imagine we have a lot to talk about. But I wanted you to know.” She turned to go, wiping her eyes before she opened the door. “See you tomorrow?”
“Yes, tomorrow. Good night, May.”
“Good night, Constance.”
It was all I could do not to tear through the house hooting with joy. I didn’t just have an ally. May had quickly become what I’d considered a friend as much as a supervisor, but now…
Now I had a sister.
Love, C
THE ABSTRACTION
I DON’T THINK I’VE EVER BEEN MORE EXCITED FOR A three-day weekend to get here.
School has been so annoying the past few days. Our teachers are piling on more and more homework, even before the long weekend, since there’s a staff development day on Monday. Edie has been talking about planning the Halloween party and seems a little better, but the closer the weekend got, the quieter she became. And Laramie… well, we’re not in a fight, but we aren’t talking like we used to.
When Elliott and Dad tell me to pack a bag on Friday night, I look at them suspiciously.
“Where are we going?”
“Away for the weekend. And it’s a surprise, Al.”
I stare at Dad. He’s never been as good at keeping secrets as Elliott.
But he just shrugs. “A surprise is a surprise. And don’t bother Denise, either. She knows, and she’s coming with us, and she’s been sworn to secrecy.”
I manage not to bug them about it the rest of the evening, but I can barely sleep, wondering where we’re heading off to the next day.
We’re on the road by eight on Saturday morning, and I can’t believe how early I’ve been up two weekends in a row. Dad is driving with Denise in the front seat next to him, Elliott and me in the back. I try one more time when we stop for gas: “You won’t even give me a little hint about where we’re going?”
Dad’s eyes meet Elliott’s in the rearview mirror. “Okay, how about this? We’re going to a place that’s a little over two hours away.”
I make a face. California is so big, that could be anywhere.
I guess I must be sleepier than I thought, because as soon as we get on the 101 freeway, heading south, I rest my head on Elliott’s shoulder and zonk out immediately. I don’t open my eyes until he’s shaking me awake, saying, “We’re here, Al.”
I rub my eyes and sit up, looking around as I get out of the car. We’re surrounded by green lawns, Spanish-style buildings with terra-cotta roofs, and mountains looming in the distance. We could seriously be anywhere in California.
“Where are we?” I ask, squinting against the sun.
“Your birthplace,” Dad says with a grin.
“Ojai?”
“The one and only,” says Elliott. “We’re staying at a resort because I couldn’t talk your father and Denise out of their bougieness when it comes to accommodations.”
“And because we could all use a little pampering and a nice pool,” Denise counters. “We’re getting massages, and you and I are getting manis and pedis, Alberta.”
Now I’m starting to wish we went away on surprise trips more often.
“Tomorrow we’ll sleep in”—yes!—“have breakfast, and stop by the old stomping grounds to see how the property is holding up before we head home,” Dad says.
I visited the commune after I was born, but I don’t remember anything about it. Honestly, it sounds kind of weird and boring when they talk about it, but it is kind of neat to think about the three of them living there together all those years ago.
I’ve never had a massage. I was worried I wouldn’t like someone I don’t know touching me, but it’s okay. The woman who works on me has a soft voice and gentle hands. After our massages, Dad and Elliott head to the pool while Denise and I get set up with our nail techs.
“Are you scared?” I ask Denise as a woman with a tight black bun starts in on my toes. I picked a light pink polish for my toenails and a creamy sky blue for my fingers.
“About what?” Denise’s voice is dreamy. She’s resting her head against the spa chair with her eyes closed, and she looks so comfortable I wonder if she might have fallen asleep for a minute.
“About, you know… the baby,” I say, gesturing to her stomach. Even though she can’t see me.
Her eyes pop open. She looks down at the arm cradling her belly. “Oh. Well, a little bit, I guess. I’ve done this before, and Tim and I have a birth plan, but you never know what can happen. Childbirth is a lot more dangerous than people think, and doctors are only just starting to talk about that. But I’ve tried to treat myself and the baby the best I can, so I’m not really scared. Excited, mostly.”
I’m used to her saying “the baby” since they decided not to find out if they’re having a boy or a girl. But I wonder what they’ll have. This little part of me hopes it’s not a girl. I stare down at my knees, wondering where that thought came from.
“I’m excited, too,” I say, mostly because I fe
el guilty for thinking that. Denise isn’t my parent, and the baby isn’t really going to be my sibling, technically. But if she has a girl, will she look like her, too?
“How have things been with Laramie?” she asks, taking a sip of her cucumber water. “Are they back to normal?”
“No, not really. They’re… well, it just seems like she’s so hot and cold. Sometimes she wants to talk about things and it’s like nothing was ever weird between us. But sometimes I try to talk to her about the same things, and she gets annoyed and walks away.”
“Hmm,” Denise says after I explain what I saw at the assembly last week. “Maybe Laramie just needs to spread her wings a bit. Try out something new. That doesn’t mean she has to leave you behind, though.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Sometimes I wish I lived on the commune.”
Denise laughs, not unkindly. “I think you’d choose Ewing Beach over the commune any day. It was a beautiful experience, and one of the most special places I’ve ever lived, but it had its flaws.”
“Really? Like what?” She, Dad, and Elliott always talk about it like it was the most perfect place on Earth.
“Well, first of all, I was one of the few women at the commune. And the men were quite outspoken and overbearing when they wanted to be. I was lucky to have Elliott and Kadeem, but even though they were my best friends, they didn’t really understand what it was like to be a woman there.”
“Were you friends with the other women?”
“Yes, but not close friends. We were all artists of some type, but we had such different personalities.” Denise sighs. “One thing I really regret about my time there was the lack of strong female friendships.”
I shrug. I used to think my friendship with Laramie was strong enough to handle anything, but lately, I don’t know if that’s true.
“I know things are tough right now,” Denise continues. “I had one of the worst fights of my life with my best friend the summer before sixth grade. I thought we’d never recover.”
“What were you fighting about?”
Denise laughs. “I have no idea, but that was before cell phones, so there was a lot of secret three-way calling and hanging up and my mama telling me ‘you little girls better quit playing on my phone!’”
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