“I like being single. No compromises or negotiations.”
I felt as if an anvil had just hit me. “Diana. You can’t be serious.” I felt like slapping her. That old, familiar feeling.
“Bryan is not the easiest man to live with. He wants everything to be so neat and tidy, with no loose ends. You certainly know this, as you lived with him, for God’s sake.” She narrowed her eyes at me in that snotty way she has.
“Jesus, D. You sound so damn selfish. Have you talked about this with Mom? Shot this arrow through her heart?”
Diana gently pushed Alex back and forth in his stroller. A butterfly fluttered toward his face, and she swished it away. “Mom and I have had conversations. She sort of knows what’s going on. Sort of.”
I looked at my sister, sitting on the bench, her expertly bleached hair wafting around her heart-shaped face, her lips full and pink, but the creases on either side etched sharply into frown lines. Beautiful but aggressively forceful features. Diana, the ruler of the universe.
Diana tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, revealing a one-carat diamond stud. “Look. I don’t know what’s going to happen. I’m leaving the door open for discussion. But right now, I am happy being here with Alex.”
I thought backwards to our years after Mom and Dad divorced. I spent so many days feeling as if my heart had been gouged by knives. Walking wounded. My sister seemed to reinforce herself with thick skin and a heavy-duty attitude. The fact that we both ended up with the same man is the irony of ironies.
“Promise me you will try to make things work.” I grabbed D by the arm and pinched.
“You are hurting me!” She peeled my fingers away. “Beck, I can’t help it that you were so totally devastated by Mom and Dad’s divorce that you can’t deal with life. I can deal with it. I am dealing with it. You need to stop hoping that somehow I will end up living the happily ever after that you and Mom didn’t have. I can’t repair all the things that happened to our family back then by living the right way.” She rubbed the red mark on her arm where I had grabbed her.
Alex gabbled at the sparrows that pecked at the crumbs around the stroller. Diana cooed, “Birdies, birdies! Look at all the birdies who love Alex!” The smile she beamed at her son was Madonna-like.
We stood up, the birds flew off, and we started for home. There wasn’t much conversation as we wheeled the baby down the street. A few horns honked, and a soft breeze dried the cold sweat that had broken out on the back of my neck. We turned a corner, and Diana reached out and took me by the hand. Startled, I squeezed her fingers. She rubbed my palm with her thumb. Something inside me eased a bit. We walked the rest of the way home that way.
I had no idea that D could actually be charming to other people, but Ella seemed thrilled to see D and Alexander whenever they stopped in, which was at least every other day for an hour or so, plus her nighttime stints. I could have time to myself for errands, writing, or just resting, for God’s sake. Being a caregiver was using me up.
Diana made good, strong tea, and while she puttered around in Ella’s kitchen, Alex entertained Ella with his gurgles. Luckily, he wasn’t mobile, so D could just plunk him on the floor and leave the two of them alone. That was the only time that Ella perked up. Even Bob wasn’t able to jounce Ella out of the dumps, it seemed.
Dr. Lauren wasn’t giving up on Ella, though. After two weeks of unremarkable progress with the outpatient therapy, and after Ella refused to do her at-home exercise walking “for good, I cannot stand it,” Lauren prescribed an anti-depressant. “This will take about a month or longer to kick in fully,” she said. OMG. “So it’s not a quick fix. You just have to steel yourself to her attitude and just push her, push her hard. Believe me, this is the only thing that you can do. You just can’t let her convince you that she can’t improve. She can.”
Bob didn’t waver. She drew pictures, inveigled Ella to play cards. She sang songs, acted out playlets, and when all else failed, she made slice-and-bake cookies, all by herself. Gail came over as often as she could, bringing treats and town gossip. Theo, of course, was out of the picture for me, but Gail kept in touch with him, and he sent his regards to Ella, along with a very nice card that I am sure Theo picked out carefully. Funny thing. Although the envelope said To Ella in Theo’s handwriting, both Theo and Gail signed the card.
Charles’ phone calls became more frequent. He must have gotten more minutes, somehow, because he called Bob once a week, too. Bob loved those calls, and Ella perked up whenever she heard her grandson’s voice. So we chugged along, but I was beginning to lose my positive attitude.
One evening, when Ella and Bob were watching America’s Got Talent (Bob was watching; Ella was staring), I left them to go over to Diana’s. Wait. To MY apartment. Diana had brought Mom over to have a gab session. Diana picked up some New York style cheesecake from the bakery, and she knew that there was always great coffee to be made, thanks to my Starbucks perks. Well, former Starbucks perks. I had stocked up before I left my job.
Alex was getting some more caramel-colored hair. He was more adorable by the minute. Other than the scream-sessions at night, he was happy-go-lucky. It was entertaining just to watch him wriggle. With cheesecake, it was an event.
Mom looked great. She wore a flowing, slate gray chiffony tunic top with tiny white flowers. D looked spectacular in black leggings and a tight fuchsia tank top. She gurgled back at Alex, who turned on a lopsided grin that melted all three of us.
Diana, sipping her latte, broke the spell, pronto. “Well, now that all seems to be on an even keel, I think I need to start thinking about getting my own apartment. I’m going to call Gail.”
Mom and I spit coffee simultaneously. Then we both said “WHAT?” also at the same time. D squinched her eyes at us, and pulled a stray eyelash off her cheek. “If I am going to have to end up a single mom, I need to be here. I need support.”
The look that crossed our mother’s face was an amazing combination of joy and consternation. She smiled, then covered her mouth with one graceful hand while drawing her eyebrows together as if someone had just pinched her. “Oh, honey. It’s that bad?”
I, on the other hand, didn’t know how to sort out the maelstrom of emotions rocketing through me, despite the fact that I had ample warning from D. Nausea at the thought of another divorce to get through with my sister. Anxiety at the prospect of having to “support” Diana while somehow propping up Ella and Bob. Dread at the idea that little Alex would have to be “that kid with no dad” at school functions, Little League, and Boy Scouts. And finally, joy at the realization that I would have Alex handy—maybe forever.
Mom set her cheesecake down on the coffee table and stood up. She leaned over D and hugged her. D wrapped her arms around Mom and whispered, “I am so sorry I couldn’t make marriage work, either. I guess I screwed up.”
I yelped, “Not just you! I fucked up my life, too! My God, I was the first one to leave Bryan!”
With that, Mom pulled herself upright to face us both, clenching her fists and stomping a foot. “Diana and Rebecca. You are MY girls. I am so proud of you. Neither one of you screwed up, or anything near that! My guess is that Bryan is a difficult man. He has his good points, of course. I am sure he adores his son, what little time he has had with him.” Mom’s hazel eyes softened, and she dabbed away a tear before it could run down her cheek. She tossed her head. “Your father was also a difficult man. He was charming. He loved me as well as he could, and he adored you both. He couldn’t help the fact that other women found him so magnetic.”
D put out her hand to stop Mom. “Don’t. It’s okay.”
Right at that moment, it was like my soul had just had it. Instead of leaving my body like a coward, to float around the room, it erupted. I heard myself shout, “NOPE. DON’T STOP. WE HAVE TO FACE THE FACT THAT ALL THREE OF US FUCKED UP.”
Mom, shocked, sat right back down next to D, and they
clutched each other.
I took a breath. “Mom. As wonderful and beautiful as you are, there must have been something simmering under the surface. Dad might not have left if you were both happy in the marriage. And we all three know that I walked away from Bryan because I felt hemmed in; it was way too soon for me to be in that sort of committed relationship Oh, hell; I was totally selfish. And for God’s sake, D. You can be a royal bitch.”
With that, I put my head down in my lap and covered it with my arms, waiting for the explosion. Silence. Nothing, just jagged breathing from me.
I heard a fork clinking against a plate. I looked up to see my mother pick up her dessert, take a generous bite of the cheesecake, and for the first time in her life, probably, speak with her mouth full. “D, your sishta maksh a lot of sensh.”
I looked at my sister. Diana had stopped in the midst of taking a sip of her coffee to stare at Mom, dumbfounded. Slowly, she lowered her coffee and set it back on the table. She raked her hot pink nails through her hair, scraping it away from her forehead. She turned her hands up in a gesture of helplessness. “They say the truth hurts. Damn right.” D framed her face with her palms and smiled. “And I am the best looking royal bitch you two will ever meet!” With that, she threw her head back and cracked up.
Mom and I joined in, and the three of us laughed so loud that we alarmed Alex.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Ella sat on the wicker chair on her porch. The early fall breezes ruffled the fine strands of her hair, sending wisps into her eyes, which she batted away like flies. We had spent a somewhat successful morning doing stretches; and although she still seemed to dislike walking, either I was getting more persuasive, or she was just worn down by all my pushing and prodding. Perhaps the anti-depressants were kicking in sooner than expected. Just now, we had made it around the block once. Of course, by this time, Ella should have been cruising around town wielding her walker like a pro, but it was what it was.
Resting on the porch afterwards, I told her about Diana’s apartment hunt, and that she had found a couple of cute places within walking distance. I exclaimed how great it would be to have Alex so nearby, and made a smart remark about how maybe it wasn’t so great to have D so close, though. Ella didn’t seem to hear that. She shifted around restlessly in her chair.
“Ella, is something bothering you? Does your hip ache?”
Ella dug around in the pocket of her housedress and brought out an envelope. “Rebecca, I don’t know what to do about this.”
She held it out to me. It was postmarked Des Moines, Iowa, and it was addressed to Bob. “A letter from her Iowa grandparents?”
Ella shook the letter at me, so I took it.
“Rebecca, it isn’t from her grandparents. It is from Rowena. I know that handwriting.”
I looked down at the rectangle in my hands. Pale, sickly green stationery—probably from the Dollar Store or the like. Dirty around the edges, as if it had been in Rowena’s possession for a long time. It was addressed in barely legible red ink to Roberta Bowers, c/o Ella Bowers, etc. No return address. I smoothed out some of the wrinkles in the envelope. I turned it over. The flap was sealed with a piece of Scotch Tape, what looked like a black dog hair (or maybe Rowena’s) stuck underneath it, along with several dirt particles. I wondered how long ago it had been written.
“I don’t want to give this to Bobby.”
Ella looked at me. Despite the wispy hair, the cataracts clouding her gray eyes, and the age spots on her cheeks, I could see the fierce protectiveness behind it all. She must have been a real warrior back in the day.
“But, Ella, Rowena—no matter how damaged—is Bob’s mother. And this is addressed to Bob, so I don’t see how you can keep it from her.” I set the envelope on Ella’s lap.
“What if it has something in it that will devastate Bobby?” She stared at the letter as if it were contaminated.
“I know what you mean. But I just don’t see how you can hide something like this from her.” Ella looked so stricken, I wondered if maybe we should destroy the damn thing. “Do you think it would be easier if you gave it to her when I’m here? So we both can support her if it’s something upsetting?”
Ella folded the envelope in half and slid it back into her pocket and pointed to the end of the block. “She is heading home from school right now. Oh, Rebecca, what should I do?”
Bob waved at us gaily and began skipping towards us, her lunchbox banging against her knees. She looked carefree. I felt a pang. “Ella, it is your decision, but the letter is for Bob. Do you want me to stay here or to go?” I wanted to bolt.
“Don’t you go. No.”
So I stayed put, clapped my hands as Bob hopped up the front steps, and I asked, “Hey, kiddo, how was school? Did you flunk anything today?”
Bob dropped her lunchbox on the concrete and flopped down in the chair next to me, waving her hands in front of her face to cool off. “Of course not! Gran, do we have any Popsicles?”
Ella smiled. “Bobby, you know Rebecca keeps us stocked up. Why don’t you bring us all one? We need something cool.”
Bob jumped up and went into the house, letting the screen door bang behind her. A small reprieve. I looked at Ella. “You might as well get it over with. You don’t need to have one more thing to worry about right now. You need to trust Bob’s ability to handle her own life. Bob is a very strong kid. You need to focus on your recovery, Ella. You owe that to Charles and to Bob.”
Ella didn’t respond. She seemed to be lost in her own head. I leaned back against the wicker headrest and waited.
Bob opened the screen with her rear end. “Here’s an orange half for you.” I took it. The wooden stick was tacky.
“Gran, you get the last cherry one. Just a half, the way you like it.”
Bob broke the red Popsicle in two. Ella took the proffered Popsicle half in both her hands and stared down at it. Bob slurped vigorously at the other half, hopping on one foot while balancing with her free hand on the back of Ella’s chair.
Ella set the treat on the table beside her, untouched. She reached into her pocket. “Bobby, honey. How fast can you finish your Popsicle? I have something for you.”
Bob smiled and took an icy bite. “I can eat this in about ten seconds.” She grimaced as the Popsicle melted against her teeth. “I might get a headache, though!”
I licked my half without really tasting it. We sat awkwardly, Ella and I, as Ella’s Popsicle melted on the table and I tried to finish mine without choking on it.
Bob took one final bite and set the stick on the table. She turned to us. “Okay, guys!”
Ella smiled half-heartedly as she pulled the letter from her pocket and handed it to Bob. “Honey. It’s a letter from your mother.”
Bob backed up, nearly tripping over her lunchbox in the process. She threw out her hands as if warding off blows. “I DON’T WANT IT! RIP IT UP! I DON’T WANT IT, GRAN!”
I watched Bob’s expression go from anger to hurt to terror, all in a nanosecond. I tried to grab her arm, but she flung herself away from me and turned to run into the house. As she swung the screen door open and hurtled inside, she began to cry. Her sneakers scudded against the stairs as she ran up to her room. The door didn’t slam, however. We both waited for that, but it didn’t happen.
I was surprised at Bob’s explosive reaction. I turned back to look at Ella, who sat, still holding out the letter as if she expected Bob to magically reappear and take it. “Ella, is Rowena some sort of monster?”
Ella dropped her hands and the letter into her lap. “No. Not a monster. Rowena is just a very sick, weak person. Angry. And she shouldn’t have ever had a baby in the first place. Rowena wasn’t cut out to be a mother. She was too young, too troubled. Bob was just a victim of all of that.”
“Do you want me to go up there and take it to her? Get it over with?”
Ella p
ushed the letter off her lap onto the concrete. “Yes. We have to know what we are dealing with.”
I picked up the soiled rectangle and leaned down to squeeze Ella’s bony fingers. “Let’s hope for the best, here.”
I walked as slowly as I could up the stairs. I knocked on Bob’s door.
“It’s okay. Come in, Beck.”
She sat on her bed, legs crossed, her father’s teddy bear in her arms, her face flushed. I sat on the bed and held out the letter. “Shall I stay while you look at it?”
Bob buried her face in Teddy’s. Her voice was muffled. “No. I need to be by myself.”
I left her with her father’s bear and her mother’s envelope. Before I shut the door, I turned and whispered, “Bobby, we love you, your gran and I.”
Dinner that night was very quiet. The subject of the letter didn’t come up, but the letter might as well have been taped on Bob’s forehead. Ella tried to talk about what we should watch on TV later. I asked Bob if she had any homework. We all poked at our spaghetti. Bob answered in monosyllables.
After I cleared up and loaded the dishwasher, I joined the two of them in the living room. Ella stared at the television. Bob lay on her stomach on the floor, her forehead on the carpet.
When the doorbell rang, Bob sprang to her feet and raced upstairs, this time slamming her door behind her.
Gail stood on the porch, a bouquet of bright orange chrysanthemums in her hand. As soon as she saw my face, she said, “Oh, no. Some sort of shit just came down, am I right?”
“Come on in. You and I need beer. Ella needs sherry. We have to make a plan.”
By the end of that evening, Gail and I had a buzz on, Ella had finished two glasses of sherry and seemed a bit more relaxed, and the three of us decided to leave Bob alone for a while. Gail convinced us that to try to force Bob to talk about the letter, or even to tell us what was in it, would be an invasion of her privacy at the moment.
Crossing the Street Page 22