by Yiyun Li
Only the muddleheaded would say that spending some time by themselves would clear their heads. The clearheaded—they could be alone or they could be with others and it would not make a smidge of difference to their brains. Lilia wouldn’t mind a befuddled Katherine. But how strange it was that she still kept her resolve to clear her head. Lilia would have applauded if Katherine said, Just a day by myself, to bask in my muddles.
“There’re serial killers out there,” Lilia said.
“You’re being ridiculous.”
“You never know,” Lilia said. “I read in the paper a woman in Glen Hyde hired someone to make a barbecue pit in her backyard, and later the police found her husband’s body cemented into it.”
“Oh gosh, stop making up these horror stories.”
“She told people her husband had gone away to visit relatives.”
“So she killed him?”
“No, he died a natural death. Old age and sickness. And she didn’t know what to do with his body, so she came up with this barbecue pit idea.”
“Do you believe that? Some reporter must have dreamed it up in his bed.”
“I saved the newspaper for you and Iola,” Lilia said, which was a lie.
“Please don’t show it to Iola.”
Iola, Lilia wanted to say, couldn’t read. “The reporter interviewed many neighbors. They all claimed that she was a nice lady, only confused. I’m telling you, people can be very confused.”
“How did she make the worker bury the body?”
“She did it by herself. The worker only dug up the earth and unloaded the cement.”
“I thought she was an old woman.”
“Old women can surprise you,” Lilia said.
“There’re so many holes in the story,” Katherine said. “Besides, are we talking about confused old people or serial killers?”
“Someone could put your life in danger, that’s all I’m saying,” Lilia said. “It’s a miracle murders don’t happen more often.”
“Grandma, if someone else is listening to you, they’d think you’re crazy yourself.”
“The problem with some people is that they will never go crazy, no matter what,” Lilia said. “I’m counting myself as one, and take my word, it’s a good problem.” Not like your mother. No, but no, Lilia thought, Lucy was not crazy, just confused.
LILIA UNDERSTOOD KATHERINE’S HESITATION ABOUT Molly. They came from different generations but were only six years apart in age. When Lilia and Gilbert had decided to take Katherine in, Molly, an accident-turned-princess, had not welcomed the idea. She was four when Lucy married, and after Lucy’s death Molly, unlike her older siblings, saw little point in mourning or in letting their parents mourn.
Why can’t Katherine stay with her dad? Molly had said. If she needs grandparents why can’t they be Steve’s parents?
I have not raised you to question my decisions, Lilia said. All children are selfish. That Lilia accepted, but Molly, unforgivably, did not know how to hide that selfishness.
Why can’t I question? Molly said.
Because that’ll lead you nowhere.
Did you say that to Lucy, too? Molly asked. Did she listen to you?
Molly deserved a slap. If Lilia did it right, it would make a crispy sound but not bruise that peachy face, and it would not be the pain but the sound that Molly would remember. The way she stared at Lilia so unblinkingly reminded her of Lucy. But Molly was not Lucy. No one was Lucy.
By all means continue your questioning, Lilia said. But just know I’m not obliged to answer you.
You’re a meanie, Molly said.
Carol, who was to leave for college after that summer, had slipped into the room in the middle of the argument. She dragged Molly away, saying she had a few things she could not take to her dorm, and would Molly like to take a look to see if she wanted them in her room.
Carol reminded Lilia of her sister Margot. Softhearted, and Lilia was not fond of softhearted people. Of all the children, Carol was closest to Gilbert. There were comforts Lilia could not give him that Carol could. They were like two hummingbirds, feeding on the nectar of love and kindness.
Lilia had never lost her composure. Sharp-tongued she was, and she took pride in that. Aloof sometimes, impatient at other times, but never had she allowed herself to be swept away by extreme feelings. What do you know about me, she could hear herself say to the world at the first sign of her urge to wreck everything around her. God knows she had enough reasons to want to do that, and plenty of times she was just about to. But then she remembered that the world was made up of people who knew nothing about her. She could afford to be nice to them.
Lilia wondered now if it was her very composure that had driven Lucy toward Steve’s volatility. “How have I never thought of that?” she asked aloud. Steve had responded theatrically to Lucy’s moods, sometimes with tears, sometimes with fists. Oh, Lucy did know how to provoke. There was no other way for her to be. She had not known that what she had considered her edge was merely brittleness. Brittleness could be used as a weapon only once in life, and in the end, when Lucy realized that, she had not hesitated to use it.
And what a weapon. What a clever girl.
LILIA DECIDED TO ASK MRS. Nelson to help with Lucy and Timmy while she went to Roland’s hotel that Wednesday afternoon. Always befriend your enemy—or better, Lilia thought, make your enemy your accomplice. Mrs. Nelson could do no wrong, and her innocence would exonerate Lilia.
She wanted to buy Gilbert a surprise present for their anniversary, Lilia explained to Mrs. Nelson. Of course, Mrs. Nelson said, exhilarated by her inclusion in a wife’s secret. She asked Lilia how many years they had been married and Lilia said five. Mrs. Nelson brought out an album in which she kept the cuttings from a Miss Manners column.
Five years, Mrs. Nelson said. Wood. Something made of wood? A picture frame? Here it says silverware would do, too. But really it’s Gilbert who should get you a present, don’t you think?
It’s also to celebrate his promotion, Lilia said. This is a special year for him.
Of course, Mrs. Nelson said, her eyes glancing at Lilia’s midsection meaningfully, though Lilia was confident that she was not showing yet.
She’d better have something to show Mrs. Nelson at the end of the afternoon, Lilia thought when she entered the Fairmont’s lobby. The shops inside looked even nicer than Emporium, but Lilia was confident that she could afford something. She was an efficient housekeeper, frugal when needed.
She had left neither address nor phone number in her note to Roland. He was at liberty not to be at the hotel, but there he was, and he showed little reservation when he invited Lilia up to his room. She had not allowed herself to imagine in advance what would happen, but in the elevator she found herself clutching her elbows, as though she felt nervous, and she had to keep her back to Roland so that she would not break out laughing or humming.
Lilia, you’re not a kid anymore, Roland said when they entered his room.
Mrs. Murray, Lilia held out her hand to him. His glasses were not the ones she remembered, but the eyes behind were the same bluish gray. His hair, parted impeccably, did not show any sign of receding, unlike Gilbert’s. Do men ever age in Roland’s world? Lilia did not know what that world was like, but she imagined that there each day and each night were distinct, meaningful, memorable. In her own world there were days that were marked on the calendar—holidays, birthdays, anniversaries—but there were many more days that looked just like one another.
How do you do, Mrs. Murray? Roland said, and then asked if there was a child of Mr. and Mrs. Murray to whom he could send his regards.
Children, Lilia said.
Children? How many are we talking about?
Two, she said. A weaker soul would reveal that one of them belonged to him.
So I wasn’t wrong, Li
lia. I knew you would waste no time in getting married.
And with no trouble, either, but let’s leave Mr. Murray out of this for the afternoon, shall we?
Fair enough.
Roland had made no effort to hide his wedding band. Tell me about Mrs. Bouley, Lilia said.
Let’s leave her out, too, wouldn’t you agree? Roland replied, leading Lilia into his bedroom with an almost fatherly gentleness.
Afterward Lilia asked about his wife again. She’s not your Mrs. Ogden by any chance?
You have a good memory! I forgot I told you about Sidelle.
You don’t talk about her often with your women? Do you talk about her with your wife? How does Mrs. Bouley feel about Mrs. Ogden? Have they met? Are they friends?
Roland laughed. You haven’t changed at all, Lilia.
How wrong he was, but she did not correct him. What made you write to the ranch? Lilia asked. If you thought I was already married, didn’t you worry that the letter might never reach me?
It never hurts to send out a message in a bottle. And here we are, in any case.
But why?
Why I wrote you? Roland said. In fact, I don’t know.
Was she to think that he came all the way to California on the same impulse that she went to his hotel five years ago? Or was he dismissing her with the easiest answer? I thought you always knew everything, Lilia said.
This, Roland said, is what I know. A man can love a woman like he loves his worst sin, and a man can also love a woman as his salvation. A man is lucky to have either kind of love, but if he has both, sometimes he must take a break.
So he sends out a random message in a bottle and hopes for the best?
Random? Have a little faith in yourself, Roland said. You and I get away with things, but you’re more of a natural. If we were pickpockets I would be a well-trained one, I would perfect my skills, I would count my gain. But you, Lilia, you’re not even self-taught. You could just take something away from one person and slip it into another person’s pocket like it’s nobody’s business.
Is that a compliment?
Yes, Roland said. If only we lived closer.
Mrs. Ogden—is she still in England?
Yes.
Then it doesn’t matter if we don’t live so close, Lilia said.
With her it doesn’t matter.
With me?
If we see each other once every five years, Roland said, what’s the point?
He meant adultery performed once every five years could hardly be called adultery. What he needed was her infidelity to her own husband in his daily life.
Later they made love again. Lilia recognized some signs of his age. He must be over forty now. How old would that make Sidelle Ogden? When Lilia’s mother had turned forty Lilia had thought of her as ancient.
What’s on your mind? Roland said.
At least that was one thing he shared with Gilbert, as though a woman’s thoughts after lovemaking became a man’s property.
I wonder how it feels to be no longer young, she said.
Like you’re talking on the phone, and before you can finish a sentence, the line clicks. You know all the things you want to say but you can’t say them anymore.
Lilia was surprised by the melancholy in his tone. I’m asking about being old, she said. Not being dead.
When you are dead you don’t have anything left to say.
Of course you do. I think most people die before they can say what they want to say.
Well then, once you are dead you can’t want anymore, Roland said. That solves all problems. But getting old? Who will connect the line for you again?
Is that how you feel? That you want to say all these things but the line is already disconnected? Lilia asked.
Don’t you have those feelings sometimes?
I’m not old, Lilia said.
How young you are, indeed.
Who do you want to say those things to? Lilia asked.
And what a good interrogator your youth makes you, Roland said.
Is that how Mrs. Ogden feels about growing old, too?
No, she never grows old. Mark my words, she’ll die one day but not as an old woman.
Why are you so certain about that?
Because I’ve known her my entire adult life. Things happen because she makes them happen.
Lilia thought she could do that, too. Things happened because she wanted them to, didn’t they? Here she was, a child of Gilbert inside her, and Roland back in her life. Never before had her two lives coexisted so peacefully. Look at all those politicians and diplomats who talked about world peace yet achieved nothing. If only they could learn a few things from her.
That night Lilia asked Gilbert, Do you remember what day it is tomorrow?
Of course, he said.
She told him there was something in the nightstand drawer for him. For tomorrow, she said.
Can I look now?
You have to wait.
The tie in the nightstand drawer—a new one—she had taken from Roland’s closet before she left him. A memento? Roland had asked, watching her put the tie away in her purse. She had asked for it, knowing he would not say no.
Yes, Lilia said.
Are you not worried about your husband discovering it?
I thought we agreed to leave him out, Lilia had said.
Even Roland did not know how a woman kept her secrets. Perhaps no man knew.
KATHERINE STOPPED THE CAR A block from Molly’s place, and Iola asked her again why she was not coming to the dinner party. Lilia reminded the girl that they had had this discussion for the duration of the drive. “They’re your aunt and uncle and cousins,” Lilia said. “They’ll be happy to see you.”
“I don’t even know them,” Iola said.
“You don’t have to know them well,” Lilia said.
Katherine turned around and fixed Iola’s curls. “Listen, sweetie, sometimes going to a dinner party is like going to school. You don’t have to like it. You just do it.”
“You don’t go to school during Thanksgiving break,” Iola said.
“You can’t take a break from living,” Lilia said, and opened the car door. They could sit there for hours, talking in circles.
Katherine handed the pan of pumpkin brownies to Iola. “Tell everyone you helped me make them,” she said.
Before Iola had time to protest and say she had not helped, Lilia cut her off. “Let me carry them,” she said. “And make sure you come on time. We don’t want to be stranded here.”
“Stranded,” Iola said. She liked to repeat words she did not understand, a habit that made Lilia pity the child. You could easily see the holes in her brain, like Swiss cheese. Any child would have a similar number of holes but a smarter one would at least know how to hide them.
“Iola has a condition,” Lilia said to Katherine. “She repeats words.”
“Do you mean echolalia? She doesn’t. She’s only expanding her vocabulary.”
“Echolalia?” Iola said.
Lilia had asked Katherine several times where she was planning to spend the night, but she had avoided giving a definite answer. Could she be cheating on Andy? Unlikely. Infidelity is too high an art.
The next morning, Katherine called and said she would be picking Lilia and Iola up at two o’clock. Lilia reminded Katherine to be on time—with the holiday traffic the drive might take them longer than usual to get back. Lilia did not want to miss dinner, which was at five. She wanted to be walking down the hallway with Iola and Katherine, so everyone could witness her homecoming.
“Still not here?” Molly asked Lilia, who had insisted on rolling the suitcase to the top of the driveway herself when Katherine hadn’t shown up by five after two. They were like leftover kids whose parents had forgotten to pick them
up from camp. Another disadvantage of growing old: You’re reduced to the status of a six-year-old.
“Not everyone is as capable as you are,” Lilia said. But it didn’t sound sincere, so she added: “Quite a party you had yesterday.”
“The more the merrier,” Molly said.
The stale words, Lilia thought. How good Molly was at distributing them. The night before, other than Molly and Robert and their two children who had returned from college (Natalie, the oldest one, had stayed in Chicago with a friend’s family), there were Robert’s two siblings and their families. Molly had also invited her Israeli colleague and her two children (Where’s your father? Lilia had asked both children, but neither gave her an answer), and two young couples, one from Brazil and one from Canada, who had something to do with Robert’s research group. Lilia had taken an instant interest in the Canadians, but it turned out that they were from British Columbia. Had she been? they asked her, and she gave them the honest answer that British Columbia was not much of an attraction to anyone growing up in California. Had the couple come from Nova Scotia Lilia would have been more excited.
“Looks like it’s going to rain soon,” Molly said.
“Rain is what we need,” Lilia said. “We’ve had a decade-long drought now.”
“I mean there’s no point getting wet outside,” Molly said. “Too bad Jason and Amanda are out shopping and Iola has no one to play with.”
How did Molly become so skilled in make-believe? Any observant person could see that Iola was not one of those indiscreet children who would welcome any random person into her world. She had met Jason and Amanda no more than five times in her life; they might as well be two strangers. Not to mention that they were college students now. To stay home and entertain a bratty little cousin? Lilia would think much less of them if they would do so willingly.
“No, the rain will just wait until we get into the car,” Lilia said, and thanked Molly again for the dinner. Lilia had not explained Katherine’s absence, and Molly had not asked. Staying clear of the many minefields, Lilia and Molly enjoyed each other reasonably. Lilia had never lapsed in sending birthday presents and Christmas presents to Molly and her family. Molly had not missed her biweekly check-in phone calls with Lilia, and her monthly visit.