“Hello, Rumi,” Andie said.
Rumi stood stock-still in the doorway to the kitchen. She looked for a moment like a cornered animal, about to make a desperate dash for freedom. Then she turned to her father and said in an accusatory tone, “You didn’t tell me she would be here.”
“I know,” Bob said simply. “I didn’t tell you because I wasn’t sure you’d show up. Now, come to the table. We’re going to share a meal and I want the three of us to talk. Not yell. Not storm off. Talk. And listen. As the Buddha said, and he was right: ‘In a controversy the instant we feel anger we have already ceased striving for the truth and have begun striving for ourselves.’ ”
Rumi, her face a storm cloud, took a seat at the table, and Andie took the seat between Bob and her daughter.
“Let’s get some food in our stomachs first,” Bob said, and he began to pass around the serving bowls. “No one should have to talk about anything important on an empty stomach.”
The family ate in silence for a few minutes, Rumi picking at her dinner, Bob eating with his usual gusto, as if, Andie thought, determined to instill a state of normalcy to the gathering. And though she was nervous at the thought of what might come, Andie did her best to focus on the moment, on the gift of the meal, and to enjoy it.
After a time Bob put his napkin next to his plate and said, “Now, we’ll let our dinner digest before we have dessert. And we’ll talk.”
“Dad, I don’t—”
But Bob cut off his daughter’s attempted protest. “It hurts me, Rumi, to see you punishing your mother for your own grief. You have to own your emotions, Rumi. You have to accept responsibility for them, not try to make them go away by blaming someone else for their origin. You’re mourning the loss of your grandmother, and that’s what you’re angry about. The fact of death. Not the fact that your mother couldn’t make it to a party.”
Rumi was silent for what seemed like a terribly long time. Andie could see that her expression had changed subtly during that time, but she couldn’t quite interpret its meaning. And then, Rumi put down her chopsticks, with which she had been moving around her beans and rice, and sighed. “All right,” she said, looking to her mother and then her father. “I shouldn’t have bagged out of dinner the other night without even a phone call. That was rude. I’m sorry. And I guess I’ve said some pretty nasty things to you lately, Mom. I’m sorry about that, too. Dad’s right. I shouldn’t blame anyone else for my own feelings.”
“Thank you for the apology,” Andie told her. “And you’re forgiven.”
Bob took Andie’s hand in his. “Rumi,” he said, “there’s something we never talked to you about. Keeping silent seemed like the right thing to do but . . . But now we think it’s important you know that your mother suffered several months of severe postpartum depression. I’ll admit there were times when I despaired of her ever being free of the sadness.”
Rumi looked stunned. “Why didn’t you tell me that you were sick?” she asked her mother. “I’ve read about postpartum depression. It’s awful. And being sick is nothing to be ashamed of.”
“I thought it for the best,” Andie explained. “I didn’t want to burden you with that knowledge. And I was deeply ashamed of what I saw as my weakness and failure. By the time you were old enough to understand, well, it was so far in the past and . . . There just didn’t seem to be much of a point.”
“I agreed with your mother,” Bob told Rumi. “It was a terrible time for her, though she always did her absolute best to care for you. And, of course, I was there, even after we separated, as were your grandparents.”
“But there are drugs for depression,” Rumi said, “and all sorts of therapy. Didn’t you get any help, Mom?”
“Yes, of course. I was under a doctor’s care, thanks to your father figuring out what might be wrong. But depression is not something you can will away,” Andie explained, “no matter what some people might believe.” Andie turned to Bob and smiled. “But eventually, I was out from under the cloud.”
“Did it come back?” Rumi asked. “The depression? I’ve heard that most people who experience an episode of serious depression are likely to have another one.”
“Yes,” Andie said. “When I was in my midthirties I went through another bad experience. But by then I knew more about what to expect and I knew that the depression would lift, so I didn’t feel as hopeless and as guilty as I did the first time, when I had a baby to care for, a baby I felt I was failing. And I had the help of my spiritual beliefs.”
“Do you think . . . ?” Rumi hesitated a moment before going on. “Do you think that’s why you went to Mrs. Fitzgibbon about the desk? Do you think you might be getting depressed again?”
“I think,” Andie said carefully, “that I’ve been feeling very distressed and sad. If that’s not exactly depresson, it’s close enough to it, and yes, it can cause a person to make mistakes.”
“And when I went to live with Dad?” Rumi asked. “When you left Oliver’s Well. What really happened then? Was it like what you told me? You didn’t just leave without telling anyone, did you? Because some people have said . . . ” Rumi pressed her lips together.
“Gosh, no,” Andie said, looking to Bob and then back to her daughter. “Your father and I made the decision together, just like we told you. I knew that my calling lay elsewhere. I’d been preparing for it for a long time. You know about that. The courses of study, the retreats. Finally, it was time for me to move on. It was time for me to give back to the world.” She looked again to Bob. “Your father understood that. He believed in me. He’s always believed in me.”
Bob nodded. “And my belief proved to be rightly placed. Your mother brings so much peace and joy and wisdom to so many people. It would have been supremely selfish of me to try to hold her back and keep her just for the two of us.” Bob reached for his daughter’s hand as well. “You’ve been happy until now, haven’t you, Rumi? You’ve felt loved?”
Andie tightened her grip on Bob’s other hand. So much depended on Rumi’s honest answer to this question.
“Yes,” Rumi said, looking from her mother to her father. “I have been happy. I have felt loved. I still do.” And then she slipped her hand from her father’s and rose slowly from the table. “I need to think things through,” she said. “Leave the dishes, Dad. I’ll do them later.”
They watched as she went off to her room and heard her softly close the door.
“It’ll be all right,” Bob said, releasing Andie’s hand with a final squeeze. “I think things went well.”
“Hafiz, another great Sufi poet, says, ‘Love sometimes wants to do us a great favor: hold us upside down and shake all the nonsense out.’ ”
Bob laughed. “I always get a headache when that happens.”
“It’s what you did for us tonight, Bob,” Andie went on, “for the family. You acted with love and for the sake of love. Thank you.”
“It was my pleasure,” he said, “and my duty.”
“Now, wish me luck with Danny. I know I need to face him soon. It’s ridiculous to be hiding from each other.”
“Danny might be hiding, but you’re not. You’re just waiting for the right moment.”
Andie wasn’t entirely sure she agreed with Bob, but she didn’t protest. She declined dessert—she thought it best she not be around when Rumi emerged from her room later that evening—and helped Bob to bring the plates to the sink before heading back to Honeysuckle Lane. Tomorrow morning, she thought as she drove through the quiet, darkened streets of Oliver’s Well, brightened here and there by sparkling Christmas lights strung on houses and shops and trees. First thing, I’m going to visit my brother. From this moment on, fear has no place in my life.
CHAPTER 69
Daniel took a deep breath and knocked on the front door of number 32. He did not use his key this morning. He no longer believed he had a right to use it, not with his sisters in residence.
After a moment Andie opened the door. He thought she looke
d thoroughly surprised to see him. Well, he thought, of course she would be surprised. And, he thought, maybe even a little bit scared.
“Hi,” he said. “Can I come in?”
Andie stepped back to allow him past. “I was just coming to see you,” she said, indicating the jacket she held in her hand.
“I’m saving you the trip.” Daniel attempted a smile. “Where’s Emma?”
Andie shrugged. “I’m not sure. She said she was going for a drive. Do you want some coffee? I could make another pot.”
Daniel shook his head. “No, thanks,” he said. “Look, could we sit down?”
“Sure.” Andie led him to the kitchen and they took seats at the table. Daniel saw that while his sisters’ breakfast had been cleared away, the dishes still sat in the sink. He restrained the urge to comment on the housekeeping. After all, he was here on a mission of peace and tolerance.
“I came here to apologize to you,” he said abruptly. “I’ve been completely out of line since you came back to Oliver’s Well. I’ve behaved miserably toward you and I really am sorry for it. Will you accept my apology?”
Daniel watched his sister closely in an effort to gauge her reaction to his words before she spoke, but he could tell nothing from Andie’s expression of what he could only describe as calm detachment.
“Yes,” she said finally. “I accept your apology. And I apologize for any of my words or behaviors that might have hurt you. I promise it was never—I promise it is never—my intention.”
“I know,” Daniel admitted, with a sigh of relief. “I know you always mean the best. And thank you.”
Then Andie took a deep breath and Daniel tensed. Clearly, there was more to come.... But he would just have to be brave.
“I overheard what you said about me to Anna Maria at Norma Campbell’s party,” his sister told him. “About my being useless. It hurt.”
Daniel rubbed his forehead. “I’m so sorry, Andie. I should never have said you were useless. I should never even have thought something so cruel and untrue. I hope we can go on from here. I hope this isn’t the end of our relationship.”
Andie finally smiled. “Danny,” she said, “don’t be silly. We’re stuck with each other whether we like it or not.”
“Blood is thicker than water?”
“That’s what the experts say. But tell me, Danny. Why were you so angry with me? You didn’t always feel so—so combative—toward me, did you?”
Daniel frowned. He wasn’t sure he could properly put his feelings into words that would make sense to Andie, but he would have to try. “No,” he said, “I didn’t. It sounds so ridiculous, but I started feeling put upon. I had convinced myself that you and Emma had been taking me for granted, relying on me unfairly to take care of Mom and Dad and then their estate, when the truth was I wanted to be the caretaker. But then . . . I think my grieving took a wrong turn after Mom died. It became . . . it became all about me, if that makes sense. I kind of stopped realizing that every one of us was struggling with losing our parents, not just me.”
Andie leaned across the table and put her hand on Daniel’s arm. “I do respect you, Danny,” she told him, her tone earnest. “For being a good human being. For being a fantastic father and husband. For being the best darn cook in the kitchen! I’m sorry if I haven’t succeeded in showing you that respect.”
“My feelings aren’t your responsibility, or Emma’s or anyone else’s,” Daniel said firmly, putting his hand over his sister’s. “When I think about it all rationally I can see that you’ve never treated me with disrespect. I can see that you’ve always thanked me for being here for Mom and Dad. Still . . . I guess I just . . .”
“You don’t have to say anything else, Danny, not for my sake anyway.”
Suddenly, Daniel laughed. “Good,” he said. “Because I’ve said more about my state of mind and my feelings in the past two or three days than I probably have in my entire life! I’m exhausted.”
“Identifying and then expressing your emotions gets easier the more you practice. Trust me, Danny.”
“I do.” Daniel glanced down at his watch—once his father’s watch. “I should be going,” he said. “I asked the produce manager at the grocery store to set aside some good Hass avocados for me, but if there’s an unexpected run on avocados, all bets are off.”
Andie smiled. “A client in the mood for guacamole?”
“No, actually. Anna Maria’s been craving avocados for some reason these past two weeks.” Daniel got up from the table. “Look,” he said, “I was wondering if we could all get together soon to sort through Mom’s jewelry. It will be fun. I promise. No drama, no throwing paintings.”
“Sure,” Andie said. “How about this evening? I’m certainly free and I’m sure Emma will make herself available.”
“Good. I know the kids will have fun. Well, at least Sophia will.” Daniel hesitated a moment before saying, “Will you ask Rumi? Or do you want me to invite her?”
“I’ll let her know. About seven?”
“Great,” he said. “I’ll bring ingredients for ice-cream sodas. You like coffee ice cream in yours, don’t you?”
“You remember that, after all these years?”
Daniel shrugged. “Who knows how memory works? I can’t remember what day of the week it is sometimes, but I can remember that you like coffee ice cream and that Emma was obsessed with playing dominoes when she was ten.”
With a laugh, Andie let him out of the house. And as Daniel walked down the driveway to his car he felt a sense of relief he hadn’t felt in a very long time. He and his oldest sister were two very different people and he wasn’t naive enough to think that they would never again clash or view a particular situation from two very different and maybe even incompatible perspectives. Still, he believed—he had to believe—that from this point on their relationship would be one of mutual respect. And that, he thought, getting behind the wheel, was a very good thing.
* * *
“Emma’s got the auction house lined up, but we still have to settle on a real estate agent if we’re going to get this house sold,” Daniel was saying to his wife as he and his family approached the front door of number 32 at just before seven o’clock that evening.
“That’s true, but let’s just have fun tonight,” Anna Maria suggested gently. “Let’s keep all talk about anything other than necklaces and bracelets out of the conversation. All right?”
Daniel squeezed his wife’s hand. “All right,” he said. And he thought, I should listen to my wife more often. Really listen.
Before Marco could ring the doorbell Emma opened the door and welcomed them all inside the house.
“And here comes Rumi,” she said. Daniel turned to see that his niece had just parked her car along the curb. A moment later she joined the family in the living room; Andie, too, was there.
“I can only stay a minute,” Rumi told them. “But I wanted to say hello to everyone.”
Daniel was disappointed. “Please stay, Rumi. I was hoping we all could be together this evening.”
“I’m sorry, Uncle Daniel. My friend Marina’s boyfriend just dumped her by text, if you can believe it, and she feels awful. I need to be there for her.”
Andie nodded. “Being a good friend is always important.”
Rumi smiled. “Thanks, Mom. Have fun, everyone.” And then she was gone, hurrying back to her car and her friend in distress.
Daniel looked to his oldest sister. “Did you two talk?” he asked. “She seems . . . She seems better.”
Andie nodded. “Bob got us together last night. We three talked openly and honestly with each other. I think it was helpful. At least, when I called her earlier about coming over this evening she took my call and was pleasant.”
“Good,” Daniel said. “I’m glad.”
“So am I,” Emma added. “Now, let’s get this party started. Into the dining room, everybody.”
Daniel first went to the kitchen to deposit the ingredients for the ice-cr
eam sodas and then joined his sisters in the dining room, where they had laid out Caro’s jewelry on the long dining table. “Wow,” he said. “I never knew Mom had this much bling.”
“Me, neither,” Andie admitted. “She never wore much jewelry at any given time. I guess I thought she didn’t care all that much for baubles.”
“Mom!” Sophia cried. “Look at these earrings!”
“Let me see them,” Daniel said. He took the teardrop-shaped danglers from his daughter and clipped them to his earlobes.
“Dad!” Sophia screamed a little, and Marco pointed at his father and howled with laughter. “I so have to have a picture of this!” he gasped. “Aunt Emma! Aunt Andie! Someone take a picture!”
Emma obliged her nephew.
“If you send it to your friends, Marco, you’re grounded. Ow, these things really pinch.” Daniel removed the earrings and put them back onto the table.
“Anything for the sake of fashion, darling,” Anna Maria joked.
Emma picked up a pearl-studded piece about the size of a fifty-cent coin. “Look at this brooch,” she said. “It’s really exquisite. The mark says it’s a Dior. Obviously their costume line, but how lovely.”
Daniel picked up another brooch, this one made with blue and green crystals in a spiral pattern. “Remember when Mom wore that turban for a while to parties?” he said. “Back when it was fashionable to wear turbans, I suppose. She used to pin a different brooch on it depending on what color dress she wore.”
“I do remember. Was she channeling Elizabeth Taylor?” Andie wondered.
“Elizabeth Taylor wasn’t classy enough for Mom to emulate,” Emma said. “No insult to Liz; I think she was fantastic. Grace Kelly was more Mom’s fashion icon, though I don’t know if she ever wore a turban.”
Anna Maria sighed as she examined a marquise-shaped brooch studded with rhinestones. “People don’t wear brooches and stickpins like they used to. It’s a shame, really. They can be so pretty.”
“Like a silk scarf, a brooch elevates an outfit,” Emma said. “Though I can’t see most of these pieces working with anything I own.”
The House on Honeysuckle Lane Page 31