“Great, that’s all I need. A married grandpa.” I slump back into my chair and survey the cutting room. “Why is it that all the good ones are—”
“Dead? Just the way things is, I guess,” Sam replies. “It’s funny, this men thing, for me—I got all I need—that’s why I called—to thank you for coming into that Wal-Mart and inviting me to join the crew and…well…it’s gunna be one hell of a year—just you wait.”
“I’m glad you called.” I miss this woman.
“You quit all that deep thinking and Happy New Year—Eve honey.”
“You, too—see you next year.” I say the last part sing-songy and Sam chuckles.
We say good-bye; I swipe away a tear while letting the phone go. Changing my mind, I grab it midair and dial.
“Hello there,” Ruby chirps.
“Hey you!”
“Good of you to ring—the boys just stopped by to drop off our mail and there’s something here you may find interesting.”
“Oh? C’mon, give me a hint or something,” I whine.
Sure hope it’s not another note from my “dad,” good ol’ Larry.
“Let’s just say, darling—grocery shopping’s about to take on a whole new meaning around here.”
“What in the world? I’m on my way and this better be good.”
“If nothing else…I’ll fix us a lovely breakfast and isn’t my company alone simply priceless—hmmm?”
“Price-ee, that’s what,” I retort. “See you soon.”
“Cheerio then—ta-ta,” Ruby says and then clicks off.
I let the phone go. It swings back and forth on its journey to the mouth, clanging into the calendar on its way. I take a peek at Mr. January. “What the hell?” Looking closer, I see the Scotch tape. The boys have put their faces over two scantily clad studs with huge, bulging—never mind. Those bad boys.
“C’mon, buster.” I scoop Rocky up into my arms, pull my huge sweater over both of us, tick the lights off and out the front door we go! It’s so bright out I have to squint in order to see. Since we do walk up and down along the path, there’s a worn rut slicing through the hard-packed snow. Rocky meows, and then peeks his head out the top of my pullover as we bump along toward the warmth of the cottage.
“Look at you two.” Ruby pours a mug of hot coffee, handing it to me. “There’s my little love.” She pats his head.
“Now what’s all the fuss about?” I ask. Ruby hands me a section of our local paper, Island Gazette. “Oh, for pity’s sake, singles night at the IGA supermarket in Bayfield?”
“Perhaps it’s worth looking into,” Ruby suggests, reaching up for a pan.
“Hey, Rock, wouldn’t you be jealous as hell if I went and hung out at the IGA every first Tuesday of the month—hmmm?” He leaps onto the stump table. “That’s right, you’re not the jealous type.”
Ruby tsk-tsks. “Darling, perhaps you should reconsider that laptop of yours.”
“My laptop? Oh right, the Internet dating thing. No thanks,” I sigh and plop down onto a stool.
Toast pops up from the chrome toaster; I reach over and take the slices out in order to slather some butter over them.
“You ever miss Ed?” I ask, kind of knowing the answer.
“Yes, but not in the ways you’d think.” Ruby rummages around in the fridge, then sets the glass milk bottle down after adding a dollop to the eggs. “I miss the way he’d bend his head a certain way when he was deep in thought and the lovely scent of his hair and he could be terribly funny. But it’s odd.” She thinks a moment, then starts folding the eggs together. “I wouldn’t be doing any of the things I’ve been up to with you—if he were still about and…that’s just as it should be.” She smiles and it’s radiant.
“Tree Stud has really made me realize some things—namely, that I’m not dead—but more important, that I’m also not desperate.”
“Good heavens no—of course you’re not desperate and it’s not like you’ve not dated. I recall the slew of men you had traipsing about. Not too long ago.”
“You’re making me blush,” I say, blushing. “You make it sound like I was a sleaze or something—besides, it wasn’t that many guys.”
“I am simply jealous, is all—I married young and hadn’t the—shall we say—opportunities accorded you baby boomers. Of course, after reading that journal of Ed’s, well, he certainly didn’t settle down—even when he was married—to me!”
“Oh boy—here it comes.” I prepare for her to throw something. “I thought you didn’t care, seeing as Ed had that affair such a long time ago.”
She gives the eggs a stir then puts the cover on them and turns to me. “It’s purely my age and the fact that he’s not standing right here—I’d clobber him good if he was. Men seem to need so much reassurance.”
“About what? That they’re dy-no-mite in the hay? Sex sure seems to be a big deal with a lot of men.”
“It’s not just the sex.” Ruby takes plates down, handing them to me. “I think it’s the power behind it.”
“Power? I’ve never let a man have power over me.” I think back and then reconsider. “There was one guy, but Jesus, I was only twenty. But Helen’s dad—my high school sweetie—he had a power over me and you know what?”
Ruby lifts her well-arched brows—waiting. “Well?”
“All that time waiting to give birth at the convent…all that time to think…I vowed to never let it happen again…the giving in…the handing over. Even at my young age of seventeen…I think I figured out something about myself…why I’ve never had a long-term relationship since then.”
“You can’t blame it on that young child you were, surely darling. It jolly well could be that you’re simply not meant to be in a relationship—perhaps you’re more advanced emotionally and haven’t the—”
“Courage to let anyone in,” I finish and then add, “God—my mom has an affair…gets pregnant with me, then I get pregnant and the mold is set! No wonder my mom and I got along so well. Then again, I have to keep in mind that I didn’t know all I do now.”
Ruby and I carry our plates of eggs and toast into the living room to breakfast in front of the fire. We plop down onto the sofa. I hand her a paper napkin—it’s covered with blue fish—and she grins.
“You know, darling,” Ruby says through bites of toast and egg, “perhaps if you could find your real father, maybe you’d not feel so—oh, what do I want to say—rootless? In turn, perhaps you could forgive your mother and that Larry and move full steam ahead!”
“What do you mean—then? I have not stopped moving full steam ahead since, well, since I can recall.”
“Perhaps you’ve been running full steam ahead—darling.”
“I know it’s here somewhere,” I say for the fifth time. “I’m just sure that we brought it—God—I hope I did.”
Ruby and I are bundled up in our heavy winter coats, once again rooting through our “can’t get rid of it, can’t find a place for it” stuff we’ve piled up in a corner of the barn. I’m trying to find my mother’s hope chest and I’m just sure it’s here somewhere.
“Is it about the size of a child’s coffin?” Ruby asks and we exchange an odd look, remembering that night. “Because if it is, well, we’re in luck—sort of.”
I head over to where she’s pointing. “That’s it!” I say and then count the number of boxes piled on top of it. “These are all—”
“China…stoneware…several holiday sets…and oh, how lovely—those near the bottom, the box immediately on top of your dear mum’s chest, they’ll be perfect for our New Year’s Eve supper.”
“Oh great—that’s only seven boxes down and—”
As if on cue, the boys walk in the barn’s side door.
“There you two are,” Johnny says. “Thought you might be in here since the door was open. What are you—oh no…”
Ruby is grinning and at the same time she points to the chest way down on the bottom of the pile. I shrug and try and look as helpless a
s possible.
“Well, don’t just stand there, Eve,” Howard commands. “Start handing me those boxes on top and we’ll restack them over here. How many times have we moved this—stuff anyways?”
“Johnny”—I try to reach the top box, too high—“get your rear over here and hand these to macho man over there.”
“Okay, but if I break a nail, you are in big trouble.”
In no time flat, the chest is free and Howard is lugging the holiday dishes into the kitchen for Ruby, who is telling him to be extra careful since they’re discontinued. The chest of my mom’s is really heavy, but since there are handles on either side, Johnny and I are managing it fine.
“Is this what they used to call a hope chest?” Johnny asks and it makes me wonder.
“Yup, you used to make things, like embroidered pillowcases and dish towels and all kinds of clothing, seeds even. Just the word ‘hope’ kind of gets me.”
“What do you mean?”
We grunt the chest up the several steps and then into the kitchen. I hip the arched door closed and we head on into the living room with it.
“I mean naming this thing a ‘hope chest.’ The hope being that someday the gal who has been filling it, along with the entire family, I suppose, they’re all hoping she’ll marry. God, it always points right back to that—women aren’t meant to be alone. They hope for a man to marry and then their life is hopeless!”
“Oh dear,” Ruby sighs. “Here we go again.”
She pours coffee for us in the kitchen; she places the mugs all on a tray and hands it to Howard. They join us in the living room. The chest sits on the coffee table—ominous, hopeful? We all slump down into cozy chairs and stare at it.
“As you guys know,” I begin, “my mom had an affair—to remember—and my dad, Larry-the-Mormon, has no idea who it was, nor does my Aunt Vivian, since she can’t seem to recall what day it is even. So, my hope, pun intended, is that somewhere in here, there might be something that will tell me just who the hell the guy was or hopefully…is.”
“Haven’t you already looked?” Howard asks the obvious. “I mean, you’ve had this all your life, haven’t you?”
“I’ve rooted through it,” I reply, standing up and lifting the lid, which creaks open. “But only to kind of marvel at stuff, you know, like it’s more of a shrine to her, not maybe this puzzle I’m faced with.”
Ruby sets her mug down and gives her hair a pat. “C’mon then, love, let’s dig in, shall we?”
I’ve been in here lots of times before, so I’m trying not to get my hopes up too high or anything, but with more eyes and a whole different focus, well, like the name of this damn thing, I’ve gotta have hope. But the thing is, if this is just another dead end, I think the trails done gone cold.
I hand Howard a box that has all my baby stuff in it, including the blank baby book; Mom told me my entire life that as soon as time permitted and she hadn’t any more meetings or clubs to go to or whatever, that she’d sit down and put it all together. To be honest, I’m glad she was too busy.
Ruby gets a stack of magazines and a thick manila envelope full of paper-clipped newspaper articles. Mom liked to keep the newspapers around for weeks and weeks until she had time to get to them, hated to miss anything, then when something might interest her, she’d cut it out and save it.
I hand Johnny a neat stack of books, poetry mostly, that my mom loved. I’m not much into poetry, but every so often, I give it a go. Maybe there’s something in them that I missed. He also gets her Bible—it’s one of those that zippers all the way around—and her college yearbooks.
Me—I haul out the rest of the stuff. There are several sets of hand-embroidered pillowcases; beautiful flowers with ivy leaves wind all around the top. They’re going onto my pillows later. Some dishtowels, days of the week and so forth, and a little white box is wrapped up in the Wednesday towel. Inside is a bell hanging on an ivory ring: my teething thing. I rub my thumb over several little indentations—so tiny. I keep unfolding different bits of material, admiring all the handiwork. Smells of cedar surround us like a warm blanket.
“My heavens, darling, your mum kept everything. There’s an article on how to best organize your desk—with pictures—several on the dilemma of breast-feeding, and of course, one of Dear Ann Landers on just how carefully mothers must study up on Dr. Spock’s knowledgeable ways. Can you imagine?”
“You sure were a cute little thing.” Howard holds up my baby picture. “What mother wouldn’t love a child with its head all mushed like that?”
“Hey—watch it there, mister!” I shake my head. “Maybe this was a stupid idea after all.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Johnny adds, lifting up a book. “Listen to this; it’s by Thoreau.”
“That was Ed’s favorite author,” Ruby offers. “Why—he had a copy of that very book—I have it upstairs.”
Johnny reads, “‘I do not know how to distinguish between our waking life and a dream. Are we not always living the life that we imagine we are?’ Now that’s deep—hey, look, an old picture.” He studies it a moment. “Good-looking couple, must be your folks. It just fell out.”
I go over and take it to have a closer look. “That’s my mom…but I don’t recognize the guy next to her,” I say, my heart thumping like crazy. “There’s a date in the corner, nineteen-fifty-seven, right before I was born. They look unusually—together. My mom never looked at my dad like that—Larry—I mean.” I turn the photo over and have to sit. I think I’m going to faint.
“Your fourth grade teacher,” Howard comments, “Mrs. Walker, wrote on your report card that ‘Seeing as Eve is already reading at college level, perhaps…’”
“What is it, darling? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Ruby sets aside her pile and rushes to my side. With trembling hands, I pass it to her. “What in heavens—why that’s—Ed—my Ed—and your mum?” She reads the back of the photo, then turns it over. Something in her face changes, like a cloud passing over, leaving behind knowingness. Her eyes sparkle back at me as tears cascade down her cheeks.
I’m not sure if I’m breathing. I have no idea what to think. Is it possible? Of course. They would have run in the same groups, the university in Eau Claire still isn’t that big of a campus—and back then, well, I guess it was a right cozy group! I didn’t realize it was a younger Ed. He sure was a looker back then, and she, I suppose she was lonely and—I look toward Ruby and feel like a traitor or something.
“I suppose there’ll be a trial.” Ruby sighs dramatically, wiping away tears, addressing the room of open mouths. “I wonder if this could land us on the telly?”
“I think,” I say, warming to the idea, “Jerry Springer would be more like it.”
Then Ruby looks at me with the most amazing glint in her eye. “My darling Eve…you call me mum and I’ll have to kill you.” Then she hugs me and it’s different; more somehow.
Now I know—I finally know—and I’m home, this is truly home.
Ruby looks over toward the boys. “Well don’t just sit there; go find something to celebrate with and don’t take all bloody day. There’s a bottle of bubbly just waiting in the fridge.” She turns back to me. “No wonder,” she pauses. “Funny, just when you think you have all the answers…”
“Life throws us…”
“Together.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Well, as you can imagine, Ruby is looking at me with different eyes now, almost studying me. I suppose to see any resemblance to Ed. When I last saw him, he was very ill and had salt-and-pepper hair, which needed attention at the time, but no curls, no similar nose or teeth or…The reason I mention the color is because she’s trying her darndest to find something in me that’s his. I’m not about to remind her, however, that I do have salt-and-pepper hair underneath this color.
She’s hauled out all sorts of photos of the younger Ed, say forty years younger, and we both agree that at least my brain is similar to his—I am brilliant. I honestly look
most like my mother—same eyes, hair, lips, height (lack thereof), so it’s mostly her wanting to connect us that’s spurring her on. I’m just relieved as hell that she doesn’t simply resent me, me being the “love child.” It certainly has put me in a weird position anyway.
Here I am, in my dad’s cottage, and he never once even so much as walked by my salon, that I know of—so maybe he did. Then again, maybe my mom made him promise to stay away. Those questions I do have to let go of since everyone’s dead. I wonder if Sam could help? Hmmm.
I have to stand back and look at who honestly was my dad. It wasn’t really Ed. Oh, he planted the proverbial seed and all, but the man that has/was/is my dad is good old Larry. He did the very best he could and it’s selfish of me to expect anything more from him than I got. I mean, the man stuck it out in that tension-filled house until my mother passed away, for heaven’s sake, and what do I do to thank him? Nothing—not a damn thing—I was such a jerk. Sometimes it takes a jolt to the heart to open your mind.
We rang in the New Year in a big way. The boys built a huge bonfire over at their place and we had s’mores until our stomachs ached. They’ve taken to referring to me as “the sin child.” It could be worse, and as I said to Ruby, at least now I’m not the bastard child. Her acceptance of this entire ordeal is pretty amazing. When I explained the latest findings of “Who’s Eve’s daddy?” to Helen, her screeching could be heard across the kitchen. Ruby laughed so hard, she broke two fingernails smacking her hand on the countertop.
It’s now mid-January and the lake is almost, but not quite, frozen. Since the ice is too thin to drive a car on and too thick for the ferry (as well as our duck), we have to rely on the Windsled.
“Good heavens.” Ruby ducks her head. “Are you sure this thing is safe?”
“There’s all these kids,” I mention, scooting beside her on the built-in bench. “Now move over—I can’t imagine that they’d let children on here if it didn’t work, would they?”
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