Lila Blue

by Annie Katz

  I smiled at her and shrugged. She treated me like a grownup, and it made me happy.

  She said Ray wasn't completely bald, but his hair was very thin on top and coarse and wiry and curly in some spots and wavy in others. "Not good hair at all," she said. "I shaved his head for him every morning after he shaved his face. He kept us both skilled with a straight razor."

  I wondered if there was anything Lila couldn't do. She seemed skilled at everything.

  "He adored my thick wavy tresses," she said. "Believe it or not, my hair was red like yours when I was in school. Oh, I was so proud of my hair. 'Delilah's Pride and Joy,' Ray would say when he braided my hair or brushed it out. I think he fell in love with my hair first. Imagine how happy he was when he found out about the rest of me!"

  I laughed. How wonderful it must be to love yourself so easily.

  Lila glanced up, made prayer hands and raised her voice to heaven. "I still wear my hair long for you, Ray darlin’. I hope you appreciate how much trouble it is now that you're not here to do it up."

  "Grandma, is your name Delilah? Like Samson and Delilah?"

  "Delilah Ann Hamond Blue, at your service," she said.

  "But Delilah cut off Samson's hair," I said.

  "Samson was lucky she didn't cut off something else," Lila said. "He swore he loved her, then he straight out lied to her three times, three days in a row. After the third time he lied, she lost her patience. Plus his armies were slaughtering her people, so I'd say old Samson was lucky he lived to tell the tale."

  "You should start your own church, Grandma," I said. "People need to know these things."

  She laughed. "You start a church, Cassandra. I'm happy living my life right here right now. Here and now with my darlin’ Cassandra."

  Before I went to bed that night, I studied the Memory Book again. After the memorial service photos were the photos of my dad at work. Gerald must have really liked my father and found him photogenic, because there were wonderful photographs of him. In one I liked, David was driving a forklift. It was painted orange and he was wearing a yellow hard hat. It was one of the few photos where he seemed aware of the camera. He looked relaxed and happy, and he grinned at the cameraman, and now, eight years later, at me.

  I studied that photo a long time, reminding myself David loved me for two years. He loved my mother for three years. He really loved us.

  Another photo was a black and white close up of his face in profile. The background was unfocussed, but you could see every dark whisker root on his clean-shaven face. His eyelashes were thick and long, like a baby doll's eyelashes, too pretty for a man. David seemed to be talking business with someone just to the left of the photo frame, and he looked grown up and serious. Competent, friendly, helpful. He probably would have been happy in that job forever, helping people buy building supplies, maybe working up to assistant manager by now. Good work. Worthy work. Like cutting hair.

  Lila had other photos of course. David was their only child, and she and Ray adored him. There was an old-fashioned baby book, complete with footprint and handprint and a tiny brown curl of his hair. I smelled the hair, but it smelled like dusty old paper. Whatever remained of my father had apparently lost all its life force.

  Lila and I looked at her family photo albums together on the couch in front of the ocean. But I carried Gerald's Memory Book around the house with me and studied it carefully before I went to sleep. The pictures in it were not posed. I loved the ones of David at work and those taken in a little tavern on Friday nights after work. Gerald had put dates, times, places, and sometimes camera data on little labels under each photo.

  One picture I kept going back to was of David playing pool. He was bent over the green felt table concentrating on lining up a shot. The camera must have been hovering over the ball, because it showed his left hand supporting the blue-tipped end of the pool cue and then David's intense wide-open face beyond it. His hand and face took up most of the photo, and because of the perspective, his hand seemed a large separate creature. The light on his face was perfect for showing the green of his eyes and deep brown of his curly hair. I was startled to see a small dark mole right in the center of his forehead. I had the exact same mole. His showed up clearer than mine did, because I had so many freckles that one or two more marks on my face were not that noticeable.

  Now I understood why my mole had upset Janice so much. She had tried to cover it up by straightening my hair in long bangs to cover my forehead, but that never worked well enough to please her. Once she tried to pressure a doctor to cut off the mole, but he wouldn't do it. I used to think she was trying to make me pretty. Now I thought it was much more complex than surface beauty.

  I wondered how many other things I'd believed about myself and my mother were wrong. My father was the sun, my mother was the earth, and I was the moon. I revolved around her, but she revolved around him. For me and my mother, even though our star was dead, there seemed little chance of escaping gravity.

  Lila’s Grandsons

  By the middle of July, when Mark and Jamie and their parents were scheduled to arrive at the resort a few blocks north of us, I was ready to meet them. I didn't know if they were ready to meet me, but Lila said the sooner the better works for most things.

  "Do I have to be around Terry?" I asked. Lila and I were walking on the beach before breakfast a few days before they were to arrive. I needed to blame someone, and David was dead, so Terry seemed a good target for the anger that still bubbled up inside me.

  "Terry has become a fine young woman," Lila said. "David had a small life insurance policy and we helped as much as we could, so she wasn't destitute, thank goodness. She used the money for a down payment on a little house a few blocks away from her parents. Then she worked hard and became a realtor."

  Lila and I were strolling along in the early morning misty sunshine. It was a glorious day, and the tides were getting so low that lots of agates and pretty shells were being exposed. I'd replaced the porch basket I had destroyed, and we were quickly filling the replacement with newfound treasures.

  I stooped to pick up an amber clear stone about the diameter of a nickel and showed it to Lila. She smiled and nodded approval, and I tucked it in the pocket of my jacket with the others I'd found that morning.

  "Terry loves houses," Lila said. "She has a gift for helping people find their dream homes. When Jamie was three, Terry married her broker, and now she and Rich run a very successful business together. They love their jobs, and they have plenty of money for travel and good schooling for their sons. She found a happy outlet for her ambition, and she and Rich are good together. David's death forced her to discover what she could do on her own, and it gave her the money to get started. So it turned out he gave her what she wanted after all."

  "But he had to die to do it," I said, still having a hard time believing Terry was innocent of wrongdoing.

  "Cassandra, blame isn't helpful. David died. He chose the time and place and method of his death. No one is responsible for that except him, and maybe not even him. Maybe our life stories are written before we are born. Shakespeare said, 'All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and entrances...' Maybe he was right."

  "Well I certainly didn't choose this part," I said, crossing my arms.

  "Which part of 'this part' didn't you choose?"

  "What do you mean, Lila?"

  "I mean this moment, here with me, on the magnificent Oregon Coast? Being a beautiful, intelligent human on the threshold of womanhood? Loading your pockets with pretty rocks and shells?"

  "I don't want this moment to change," I said, guessing where she was headed.

  "All those other scenes got you here, Cassandra. Maybe some wise part of you begged for this role to play in this lifetime."

  "Why would anyone choose a part where they murder someone or commit suicide? That doesn't make sense at all."

  "I don't know," Lila said. "Some people love scary movies or dark come
dies or tragic love stories. Maybe those people choose similar parts to play on the world stage?"

  "No," I said, shaking my head.

  "Okay," said Lila. "I prefer love stories with happy endings, myself."

  I picked up a pretty mussel shell, medium sized. The two shells were still hinged together, and the mother of pearl lining of the inside of the shells caught the light and threw back pinks and purples and blues. It was a perfect specimen, and since I had already collected half a dozen just as pretty, I placed it back at the surf line so some lucky visitor would find it, and it would be her only one, not her seventh.

  "So Terry chose to fall in love," I said, "get pregnant, leave her husband, demand he come back, and then have him kill himself by running a motorcycle off a cliff."

  "Maybe she likes the kind of story where the heroine grows through adversity? Maybe her soul needed the challenge of losing everything but having to survive for her children?"

  "Grandma, a lot of your ideas make sense," I said. "But this one is flat out insane. Not only that, it's wrong."

  Lila laughed her wonderful laugh. "You might be right about that, Cassandra."

  "Good," I said. "Let's pretend we have one lifetime, this one. It's the genetic roll of the dice. Okay?"

  "Good idea," Lila said. Her eyes sparkling with joy, she smiled at me, drenching me in love.

  After our walk when we had finished rinsing our feet, Lila said, "In any case, I'm proud of Terry. It wasn't easy. She must have blamed herself. We all blamed ourselves and each other. We were out of our minds with grief. But she pulled out of it and provided a good life for herself and her sons."

  After I'd arranged our new rocks and shells in the porch basket, I said, "You're proud of everyone, Grandma."

  "Yes, I am. I'm proud of us all. We survived something that was impossible to survive. We went on living. It was too much for Ray, though. He died of a stroke six months after David died. He was sixty-six. At least he got to meet Jamie, our magical child, our nature sprite."

  We sat on the porch steps facing the sea and towel dried our feet, letting the sun warm our backs. "Do you miss Grandpa?" I asked.

  "Of course I miss him. We lived together and worked together every single day for thirty-five years. He was my heartbeat." She smiled at me and patted my hand.

  "But he's still here," she said. "Sometimes I feel him walk into the room, and I look up to greet him before I remember he's dead. And at night. He often comes and sleeps with me," she said, nodding and giving me a dreamy smile. "I feel his body next to mine, and he's just as solid and real and sweet and gentle as he always was."

  "You mean you dream about him," I said. "He comes to you in your dreams."

  "He does come to me when I'm sleeping and dreaming, yes," Lila said. "But he also comes to me when I'm awake in my bed, and not always at night. Sometimes he comes when I lie down for a rest in the afternoon. I can't see him, but I feel him. In many ways, he's still alive for me. I know it's mysterious, but it's true."

  "Wow," I said. I knew my grandma wasn't crazy, but this was too much.

  Back inside the house when we were cooking bacon and biscuits for breakfast, I asked Lila, "How long do you think Terry will be here?"

  "Not long. Terry and Rich have to get back to their real estate business, so about noon Monday they'll bring the boys here. The boys are staying about ten days this time, because Mark has to get back for football practice and his driver's education class. It's possible that Jamie will be able to stay longer, but we'll see."

  I looked around Lila's house, which seemed exactly the right size for two humans and two cats, and I couldn't imagine adding two boys to the space.

  Lila smiled at me and said, "Don't worry. Everything will be fine. You'll see."

  "And you'll be so proud of us," I said like a grump.

  "I will, Cassandra. I'll be happy and proud and grateful. Life is very good."

  I concentrated on making the biscuits. The trick is to handle the dough as little as possible. Exactly the right amount of liquid, a tiny bit wetter than a person might think, and then the gentlest touch. A heavy cookie sheet and a hot oven are essential, too. Lila said I must have baking in my blood, because I learned so fast. She said I was ready to bake pies whenever I felt the urge.

  After I put the biscuits in the oven and started setting the table, I said, "Grandma? What do they know about me?"

  "Well, I'm pretty sure everything they know about you, they got from me," she said. She was slow frying the bacon in her heavy cast iron skillet. The smell made my mouth water.

  "What did you tell them?" I said, wondering how I would describe myself to someone. I got out the jar of homemade strawberry jam that Kitty Lynn had given us when we went to her shop to choose the pretty green yarn for my afghan. Her jam would be perfect on hot biscuits. "I hope they don't think I'm weird," I said.

  "Would it bother you if they thought you were weird?" she asked.

  "Wouldn't it bother anyone?"

  "Not me," she said. "I think weird is a compliment. Who wants to be commonplace, normal, middle of the road, one of the crowd, a sheep, a lemming, an ant?"

  "Not me," I said and laughed. "I sure hope they think I'm weird."

  "That's better," she said. "What other people think of you is not nearly as important as what you think of you. Remember that."

  "Okay," I said, not sure why she was emphasizing it so much.

  "So what do they know about me? Do they know we have the same father? Do they know their dad married my mom while he was still married to their mom? Do they know Terry pushed us away from him?"

  "They know about you and your mother," Lila said. "They know you were in Sacramento, and I stay in touch with your mother. They know you are here now. They know you are my grandchild and I love you the same as I love them."

  "How can you love me the same, Lila?" I asked, ready to argue with her about something.

  "I love all my grandchildren with my whole heart," she said.

  I thought that was a good answer. It was comforting to know I wasn't on probation with her. "Do you talk about me to them? Do they ask questions?"

  "Jamie is very intuitive and loving," she said. "He likes to talk about you."

  "But Mark?"

  "Mark is slower to show how he feels inside," she said. "I don't think he's ever allowed himself to grieve."

  I nodded. I felt I'd been grieving my whole life, so we were not similar in that area. I wondered if there would be anything we could talk about.

  "Mark can be friendly and outgoing, like his mom and Rich, when he's around people, but he prefers solitude," Lila continued. "He considers Rich his father, both boys do, and Rich adopted them. Mark says he doesn't remember anything before Jamie was born."

  "But he's older than I am. Why can't he remember David?"

  "He was nearly seven when Jamie was born, but the mind has a way of protecting itself from psychological distress. It represses memories and experiences that are too painful to recall."

  "Oh," I said, disappointed. I'd hoped I could learn more about David through Mark. I wanted to know what it was like to have David as a father. But if Mark couldn't remember, how could I?

  After they checked into the resort, Terry called. Lila sounded happy and comfortable talking with her.

  "Let me check," Lila said into the phone, and then she covered the mouthpiece and said to me, "Terry and Rich are going shopping, and she wants to know if we'd like to enjoy the indoor pool with Mark and Jamie."

  "Okay," I said, surprised at how many butterflies had instantly appeared in my stomach. They were fluttering around so much I had to hold my belly and do some deep breathing. I went to my little room to find my swimsuit so Lila wouldn't notice how scared I was. It was practically impossible to hide any of my feelings from her, and I was pretty good at reading her, too. We'd bonded.

  By the time I came out wearing my suit under my jeans and long-sleeved t-shirt, Lila was in putting her suit on. "Grab some towels from
the linen closet, Cassandra," she called from her room. "Two each, and do a couple of dozen jumping jacks to get rid of that nervous energy. I can hear you vibrating in there."

  "Lila!" I said. "I am not vibrating."

  She laughed. "Exciting, yes?" she asked. "Meeting your brothers for the very first time?"

  "You said Mark and I were both clinging to our mothers and crying in your front yard in Idaho," I said, realizing how picky I was being. I noticed I was more critical when I was scared.

  "You're right," she said. "All set?"

  I nodded, so we locked the house and walked down the road to the resort. Terry and Rich were coming out of the building when we arrived in the parking lot, and they stopped to greet us on their way out.

  I recognized Terry from the Memory Book pictures, only she looked younger and thinner than she had eight years earlier when she was pregnant with Jamie.

  "Cassandra," she said, smiling and hurrying toward me. She tried to hug me, and when she felt me shy away, she reached out to shake my hand. "You are so grown up! And just as beautiful as Lila said. I'm very happy to meet you."

  I nodded and couldn't help warming up to her friendliness. I could see why she'd be a good sales lady.

  She pulled her husband over, and he shook my hand and smiled as Terry introduced me to him. He looked quite a bit older than she was, and he had a suntan and wore a white golf hat and a bright yellow golf shirt.

  They hugged Lila, and Terry used the hotel key to let us into the recreation building where Mark and Jamie were swimming. The only others using the big pool were a young couple with two children in the shallow end. The warm wet air in the building smelled strongly of chlorine and reminded me of all the hours I'd spent on swim team with Shelly.

  Terry waved to her boys and said, "We'll be hours and hours. Order room service for everyone when you're done here. Or go to the hotel dining room."

  After their parents left, Jamie got out of the pool to greet Lila and to meet me. First he gave Lila a wet hug and two kisses, one on each check. Next he stood at attention in front of me, a thin dripping child in a blue swimsuit. He made prayer hands, bowed, and said, "Namaste, Sister."