“I’m glad you did; I’ve been wanting to talk to you.” The plump sister smiled weakly. “I’m worried about your grandmother; she’s not been herself lately.”
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s been going on for several weeks now. She’s withdrawn and unusually cranky, which isn’t like her at all. For one thing, she yelled at Lolly Granger and told her to never enter her room again. They have been friends for a long time, even before coming to Nazareth House.”
Bernie felt a stab of guilt, sudden and sharp, just under the ribs. “You’re right; that doesn’t sound like her, but she did complain a few weeks ago that Lolly had taken her favorite candy or something silly like that. It could just be a petty squabble. A bit of kid stuff, you know.” She reached into her purse for a handkerchief and dabbed at her face, still damp with rain.
“It’s more than petty squabbles, dear. She has not been to the dining hall, preferring to eat her meals alone. That is one of her favorite times, socializing with the other residents at dinner.” The kind Sister was concerned, her familiar smile nowhere to be seen.
“I had no idea.” Bernie tried to think of the last phone call she had with Noni. Was it Monday? Tuesday? She wasn’t sure. Noni was quiet, but Bernie didn’t think much of it at the time. She knew what the problem was, and, as usual, it was all her fault.
“I called the doctor in to make sure it wasn’t a flu or something, and he examined her, but she is fine physically. I asked Father Milton to speak to her, and—this is what is most troubling—she refused to see him. She told him she wasn’t in a mood to talk. Until this started—well, you know—your grandmother never missed mass if she was well enough to go. She has not been for several days and she is not sick. Do you know what is bothering her, Bernadette? Can you help us?”
“I . . . I think I know, and, look, don’t worry, Sister Rose.” Bernie scooted forward in the chair; she’d heard enough. “It will be fine. I’m going to go talk to her right now. It will be fine.” She stood and held her hand out to the nun, who gladly took hold. “Thank you, Sister, for letting me know. I’m going to take her home for a weekend soon. For Thanksgiving. That will boost her spirits.” With the flash of a sincere smile, Bernie hurried out of the nun’s office.
It was her fault. She should never have told Noni about the phone call from Joan Bennett and her birth mother’s search to find her long lost child. She should have told Joan Bennett to go away the first time she called. She should have known how upsetting all this would be to Noni and never breathed a word about it. Noni had spent years making sure Bernie understood what a wonderful mother she had, wanting her memory to live on as the only mother Bernie had ever needed, the one she loved. It was Bernie who had fought to remember her father, a good man deemed forever unmentionable in one failed moment. But her mom, Noni’s daughter, Noni’s greatest loss, should not be replaced by a stranger who had abandoned her, no matter what the reason, no matter how many years had passed.
Bernie peeked into the room. Noni was sitting in her motorized chair at a small table staring at a pink plastic tray of food, mostly untouched. For the first time, she looked old, really old. “Hi-ya Gorgeous,” Bernie said, tapping lightly on the door frame.
“Bernadette. What’s wrong? It’s not Friday, is it?” Her sad eyes seemed to light up at the sight of her granddaughter. “You’re all wet, you’ve been out without an umbrella again, haven’t you?” She pushed a switch and her chair eased away from the table in reverse before moving toward her visitor.
Bernie stroked Noni’s thin grey hair and kissed her on the forehead. “I just missed you, and I was feeling better, so I thought I’d stop by. Whatcha eatin'?”
“Oh, it’s just some chicken and broccoli, not very good tonight. Or perhaps I’m not hungry; do you want it?” She reached her hand out for the tray only to have it intercepted by Bernie.
“No, I’m not hungry. I had a big lunch today.” Bernie kissed the thin hand, felt its warmth, the thin skin barely covering the dark veins.
“Well, if you get hungry, it’s there.” She pulled her hand away and touched her lips, as though she feared there might be food or a bit of drool, the slight tremble betraying her advanced age.
“Noni, you seem kind of down. Are you okay?” Bernie scanned the room, looking for signs of change, but it all seemed the same. It was Noni that was different, smaller, as if a slow leak was draining her spirit away.
“I’m fine, just a little tired. Did that silly woman, Lolly, call you, or something?”
“No, why? Did something happen with Lolly?” The glint of anger made Bernie smile; that was the Noni she knew and loved.
“Oh, I caught her with her greedy fingers in my candy dish, so I told her to stay out of my room. She got mad and went and told Sister that I was mean to her.” She rolled her eyes and flung her hands up and down. “She even sent the Father after me.”
“Well, don’t worry about it. She’ll get over it.” Bernie offered only a weak smile; she had never seen her grandmother’s eyes seem so cloudy, set in dark circles and heavy lines. She seemed frail, as if a good squeeze would crumble her into a pile of sawdust. “I thought you should know that I thought about the call from that social worker, you know, about the woman who thinks she’s my birth mother?”
“Oh.” Her trembling chin lifted slightly at the mention of birth mother. “Are you going to see her?”
“You know, I don’t see any reason to change things now, not at this point in my life. I had the best mother and grandmother anyone could want.” She wanted to say father too, but she knew that would only release more turmoil. “I don’t need to know anything about why this woman felt the need to give me away. It would just bring up more problems and issues than I care to deal with. I think it’s better that I just remember Mom. She’s my real mother. Besides you, that is.” She moved closer to Noni, stood beside her chair, bent down and wrapped her arms around the fragile shoulders, pulling her close to her, kissing her head. “You were like a mom to me, too. Hell, Noni, you’ve been my mother, father, grandmother, sister, brother, friend, and sometimes even God to me. I think that’s enough for me.” She kneeled down and looked closely into Noni’s eyes. “I love you, Noni. Please take care of yourself. Please don’t give up on me.”
Noni reached up and patted Bernie’s arm. “Bernadette, I don’t deserve you.”
“I know, you deserve better.” She got up from her knees and took her place in the seat of faded roses.
“Did you go to work dressed like that?”
“Yes, why? What’s wrong with my outfit?” She looked down at her khaki canvas pants, big pockets along the side, perfect for holding her cell phone and PDA, and her chocolate turtleneck, soft and warm on a rainy day, her feet tucked in leather clogs. “It’s cute. And comfy.”
“But you’re a lawyer. You should be wearing nice suits to work. When I was a working woman I bought my suits at I. Magnin.” She smacked her lips together. “Downtown. Too bad we don’t have that store anymore. I could take you to shop there, get you some nice business suits to wear.”
“Oh, Noni, you’re too much.”
Bernie curled up in the comfortable rose-patterned chair, ready for a long visit. She would not jeopardize Noni’s health with her childish curiosity. It was her turn to be there for Noni, to sacrifice for her. “Hey, Noni, guess what.”
“What?”
“I met a guy.” Bernie knew the one subject that would cheer her grandmother, the hope of Bernie with a family. Noni was always interested to hear about Bernie’s personal life, eager to know if she had a boyfriend. Of course, no one was ever quite right, and there would be endless hours of finding fault with whoever Bernie mentioned, but still, Noni wanted to see her granddaughter settle down, have a family, a fairytale ending.
“Oh, now that’s news. Who is he?”
“Well, he’s just a friend right now. But, let’s say he’s a friend of special interest. And he’s kind of cute.”
“I
s he a lawyer?”
“No, an accountant of sorts. He’s an economist. And a musician; he plays guitar and sings in a band.” Bernie knew that would get a rise out of her.
“What?”
“He works as an economist, but he also plays in a band on the side.”
“Oh, Bernie. He’s a big kid. Those are the ones who don’t know how to grow up. Be careful with that one.”
“I’m careful, Noni.” She could see Noni returning to her old self, doting and worrying over her, shaking her head, grinning ever so slightly, a hint of mischief in her eyes.
“What’s he look like? Is he tall, dark, and handsome like Clark Gable? You know he’s my favorite. Clark Gable.” Noni lifted her eyes to the heavens and smiled sweetly with the mention of the movie star’s name.
“Actually, he’s Vietnamese so he doesn’t look much like Clark Gable, but he’s dark and handsome. He’s not really tall, but tall enough.” She scrunched up her nose trying to recall how tall he actually is, shook her head in confusion, then dragged her fingers through her wet hair. “I think we’re the same height. I haven’t been close enough to check that out. I definitely have a bigger butt.”
“What?” She feigned exasperation. “Bernadette, shame on you.”
“All I know is that he’s different from most other men I work with. Most lawyers are just jerks. Like me.” Bernie flashed her eyes and smiled brightly, working to entertain the old woman.
“Phhhhhhhh. . .” Noni chuckled and wagged her index finger at her granddaughter.
“I told you, he’s just a friend right now, and I do like him. I mean I enjoy his company; we’ve had a couple meals together is all.”
“Hmmmm Hmmmm.” She nodded knowingly, as if she had heard this speech a hundred times, which she had over the years.
“I was thinking I might bring him to meet you sometime, or even better, have you come home for Thanksgiving weekend. He can come over and meet you then.” Bernie was making plans and creating a friendlier relationship with Don than existed as the words left her mouth. She just wanted to cheer her grandmother up, give her something else to worry about other than the possibility of a strange woman coming in to steal away her dead daughter’s memory.
“What’s this short friend’s name?” Her wry sense of humor was showing itself at last, and Bernie smiled.
“He’s not short, just not tall. His name is Don Fielding. Sounds so sophisticated, like a movie star name.”
“Well I hear a lot of movie stars aren’t as tall as they seem. I think Frank Sinatra was a shorty.”
“Yeah, well, Don’s not a movie star like Frank and I don’t know how tall he is, but he’s around my height, so enough about how tall he is. Here’s what’s interesting. He was adopted, too. I guess there’s some kind of adopted radar out there or something.”
“Does he know about . . . about your. . .?” Her smile vanished, and her hands shook as her fingers fumbled with the fabric of her dressing gown, twitching and plucking at the folds.
“No,” Bernie answered calmly, wanting desperately to hold on to her grandmother’s hands to keep them still, but she knew better. She knew the constant movement helped control the involuntary tremors. “He knows my parents died, but I told him they died in a car accident. It’s just easier to say that, Noni. No one needs to know what really happened.”
Noni nodded her head and looked out the window at the darkness, where the rain continued to fall. “It’s bad out there. You better not stay long tonight. You can come back Friday.”
Bernie sat with Noni a few minutes more, told her about the lights going out on the other side of town, about the lime rickey she’d had at lunch with Don, about the stacks of files she’d been going through, and a little bit about her favorite case these days, the Luna case. The image of Carlos and Moochie grinning into the camera continued to haunt her. Two little boys having fun, innocent and unprepared for the harshness of their futures. She wished she could spare them, freeze them in the moment and joy of the flashing camera.
Bernie gave a gentle hug to say good-bye. “I’ll be back on Friday and then on Wednesday to pick you up. I want you to spend the whole weekend with me, help me cook a big meal.”
“That would be nice, but I don’t want to be in your way.”
“That’s impossible. Now, get some rest, and make up with Lolly.” Bernie kissed her grandmother’s hand and left the old woman happier than she’d been earlier that evening. She was confident that Noni would be back in the dining hall at breakfast, sitting with Lolly and the other women, sipping Earl Grey tea, bragging about her recent visit with Bernadette, her granddaughter the lawyer, who was taking her home for Thanksgiving weekend. Under the table, she would slip Lolly a caramel, and their tiff would be forgotten. Old children, Bernadette thought.
It was eerie driving down her familiar street, the houses dark except for the occasional glow of candlelight and the reflection of her car lights on the wet blacktop. There were no streetlights, no porchlights blazing as beacons for the weary traveler searching for home. She pulled into her driveway and made a mad dash through the rain for the front door and managed to get the key in the lock with little trouble. She’d been unlocking that door for most of her life; she didn’t need a porchlight to feel the key slide in, to turn the key left and give a slight push and hear the brass knocker rattle as the door gave way.
Inside her home, she knew exactly where to find a box of matches; candles were everywhere. She lit votives on the coffee table, a hurricane lamp on a hallway table, and long tapers in Noni’s crystal candlesticks on the dining room table. Everything glowed and glimmered in the flickering light. She sat on the sofa, rested her head back, and watched the shadows dance along the ceiling and against the folds of window curtains. She didn’t care if the lights ever came on. She could see everything so much better in the dancing shadows of candlelight.
At some point, sleep took over. A telephone ring woke her from her brief nap, still sitting up on the sofa. A ringing bell piercing her dreams.
“Bernie?”
“Hi Don.” She knew his voice instantly, no need to ask who was calling. For a moment, the irrational fear occurred to her that he knew she had talked about him to Noni, that he knew she had invented some sort of affair or relationship to get the attention of a troubled old woman away from fears of a searching biological mother’s ability to destroy the memory of her own daughter. Bernie blushed at the possibility of his knowing.
“Hi, I hope I’m not bothering you, but I thought I should check on you. I drove by your office a few minutes ago and all the lights were on, but your car wasn’t there. Anyway, I just thought I’d make sure everything was okay.”
“Oh, you know what? The power went out, so I left in the dark. It all must have come back on. What time is it?”
“It’s about seven, maybe a little after.”
“It’s early. I dozed off for a bit. I guess I can blow out these candles and turn the lights on.”
“Yeah, the power’s back on your street, too.”
“How do you know that?”
“I’m out front.”
“What?”
“I’m in front of your house. I’d gone by your office to drop off the CD; you forgot it, and you weren’t there, so I headed this way on my way home.”
Bernie opened the front door. Don was parked at the curb, looking in her direction, the phone still held to his ear. “I guess it would be rude not to invite you in.”
“Well, I don’t want to bother you.”
“Come on in,” she said and flipped on the porch light, then the lamps on the end tables. The room was well lit by the time he came through the front door and saw Bernie blowing out the candles on the dining room table.
“It smells good in here,” he said.
“It’s the candles; they’re scented.”
“Hmmmmm. . . it smells like freshly baked cookies.”
“It’s definitely the candles. Have a seat.” Bernie took his jac
ket and flung it over the back of a dining room chair and hurried out of the room. “It’s also freezing in here, let me turn the heat on.”
“You should put a gas insert in your fireplace,” he said. “They’re not as warm as a wood fire, but gas is cleaner and easier to start.”
“Yeah, I think I’ll do that this year. I’ve slowly been doing little things to bring the house into the twenty-first century.”
“Here you go,” he said, holding up the plastic CD case from the car. He sat perched on the edge of the sofa and held it out to her. “I forgot to give it to you at lunch.”
“Thanks. I didn’t expect company, so excuse the mess.” She took the disc and nodded toward the scattered newspapers and coffee cups on the dining room table.
“Been cutting out any more articles?”
“Not today.”
Bernie examined the small plastic CD holder that featured a picture of the band standing next to a white pickup truck on some dirt road. “Wow, look at you,” she said, running her finger over the image of Don, nodding her head slowly.
“I hope you like it,” he finally said.
“Well, I’m impressed.” Bernie set the CD on the small bench near the door beside her handbag, so she would remember to take it with her to listen to while she drove to work. She looked toward Don, still perched on the edge of the sofa, ready to stand and leave at any moment. “Can I make you a drink? Or maybe some tea?”
“I don’t want to impose; I’m sure you’re busy.”
“Actually, I’m not. I was going to work, but I left in a hurry and didn’t bring any files or work home, so . . .” She finished the sentence with a brief wave of her hand. “And I’m still full from lunch, so I wasn’t going to have any dinner, so a cup of tea might be good.”
“Okay, a cup of tea, then I’ll leave you to your quiet evening.”
He followed her into the kitchen and sat at the kitchen table while she filled the tea kettle and pulled ceramic mugs from the cupboard. “I went by Nazareth House and saw my grandmother on the way home, so I haven’t been home all that long. I sat down on the couch and dozed off for a bit, but I must have only slept for a couple of minutes.”
The Circle Game Page 19