I said nothing, thinking about the photograph. Maybe now was a good time to ask her. I walked quickly to my room and back, avoiding Kitty’s eyes as I sat down at the table. She glanced down at the photo album I placed in the center of the table. She looked scared but resolute.
“Who is he?” I pointed to the picture I’d found of Ruby.
“That man is who Ruby claimed was your biological father, but he is no father.”
Not surprised at the disgust in her voice, I asked, “Do you mean he doesn’t deserve to be my father or he really isn’t?”
“That,” Kitty said, “is part of your mom’s story, and I have a few things to explain before you can understand, so you’re going to have to be a little bit patient.”
I leaned toward her and smiled so she’d know I wasn’t upset at her. And I wasn’t, at least not really. I just wanted to know the truth. I had never even asked about him before now. Kitty had once said he was supposedly my father, but it’s all she’d said. Her tone had let me know not to ask more.
“He never married Ruby. His name was George T. Fields, and he was more of a fling.”
“That’s what I thought.” I was surprised at my disappointment.
“I’m sorry, Lucy.” She squeezed my hand.
I looked up and tried to laugh as I told her, “I didn’t even know it mattered to me.”
“Well, of course it matters. You are a daughter who was abandoned by your father, maybe even before you were born, and God took away your mom before you even got to spend very much time with her.”
“How did they meet?”
Kitty thought for a moment. “It’s important for you to know, but remember that it has very little to do with who Ruby really was.”
“Sure.”
She reached over and patted my hand. “I had been living just outside of San Francisco for quite a while by the time she met George Fields. She wanted to live in the city with some girlfriends of hers. They were just trying to spread their wings a little and get away from their mothers, so they spent most of their time waiting tables and partying. I didn’t approve, and neither did the mothers of those other girls. We all knew the dangers waiting out there, but daughters never listen to their mothers.”
I bit my lip. The idea that I would not listen to my mother, or grandmother, was a new one to me. But then again maybe that’s why I’d grown increasingly frustrated with Kitty’s way of selectively sharing details about my mother.
“It’s true,” she assured me. “It’s true from the beginning of time, Lucy. You are a good girl, and so was Ruby, but a time will come when you won’t listen to me anymore.”
Guiltily, I thought of Maxwell Sheffield and realized I already had a secret of my own. Was this just part of stretching my wings? I was torn and decided I’d better tell her soon, or the guilt would start to smother me.
“She met George at a literary reading and was sure he was an intelligent-minded man I would like.”
“Did you?”
“No,” she said emphatically. “It was obvious to me that he was all about himself and lazy as heck.” She shook her head. “I know poetry, and this man was no writer. He was just some rich boy still living off of his parents and using writing as an excuse not to work.”
The man who was supposedly my father was a huge failure. I felt like a shot of lead had hit my stomach.
“He broke her heart and disappeared when Ruby was seven months pregnant with you. She never heard from him again as far as I know.” Kitty’s tone was biting, and it sharpened my disappointment.
I sat still a long while, trying to process this new information. I wanted to know more and yet didn’t. I felt emptier now than before I knew anything about him. The warm fuzzy feelings I had after talking to Max were gone.
“He was a loser, wasn’t he?”
“Oh yes. More than you know. But Ruby was not.” She smiled. “You should also know that Ruby really wanted you, Lucy.”
I gave her a rueful look. “I do know that much, Kitty.”
She shook her head. “I mean she really wanted you even though many of her friends urged her not to have the baby after George left her—but she said no, that she wanted you. It was a terrible time in her life to be pregnant, and her friends were worried about her, but she had you anyway.”
I smiled to myself, thinking it was ironic since she wasn’t here with me now. But the connection I felt with her deepened knowing I was wanted.
5
Where have you been?” Kitty stood beside Louise, both of them with hands planted on their hips. I didn’t want to disrespect either of these women this day. I’d stayed after class at the request of an instructor, and right in the middle of a discussion we were having, I’d jumped up, grabbed my backpack, and practically ran out of his office with barely a good-bye. I ran halfway across campus before stopping and nearly choking from lack of oxygen. After a puff of my inhaler and a brief sit-down on a bench, I quickly walked the rest of the way to the museum.
Today Louise was having a display of early American art types by women, and Kitty’s quilts were the center attraction.
“I’m so sorry. So sorry, Louise. I’m sorry, Kitty.” I leaned in and kissed both of them. Both held their grumpy stances, but I could tell from the pats they give me on each arm that they weren’t mad, just nervous. Not only had the invitations been sent to everyone in the fine arts and humanities departments, but the governor’s wife was stopping in as well.
My job was easiest, so I wasn’t nervous. All I had to do was play the beautiful grand piano that had been donated by a benefactor of the art museum. I’d played it on other occasions for Louise and loved it. The piano was turned away from the center of the room, facing a corner filled with colorful abstract sculpture. Even though I loved the piano in our living room because it was Ruby’s, this piano was something amazing. I considered it a privilege to be able to play on both of them.
Apologizing quickly for my jeans, sandaled feet, and white peasant top, I parked myself on the bench and Beethoven’s Fifth poured out. As the sounds carried throughout the gallery, I wasn’t even aware of those who browsed around me, studying quilts and other art.
I didn’t need to see the visitors to know that Kitty’s quilts were a hit. Her artistry in quilting wasn’t unknown in the area. In fact, it was famous among quilters all the way over to Colorado. She’d even won numerous awards in the arts and often had quilts commissioned, which is why the governor’s wife had been invited to the show. She had already commissioned quilts for each of her children, and Louise was hoping she would be in the market to buy more.
Kitty’s quilts were loved because they told stories. They were maps of a life that people speculated about, but Kitty always said their guesses were all wrong. There wasn’t anything special about her life. When she said that, I always got a feeling she wasn’t telling the truth—not really lying but withholding. This is another reason I was late.
The instructor I’d been meeting with was an excellent researcher, and I’d been asking for advice on how to reconstruct my past through research. He had been giving me some excellent advice, and now I only needed to decide if I wanted to pursue digging, even if it uncovered the images Kitty herself kept hidden.
Some of the images that would pop up in her quilts were so beautiful and amazing that she surely couldn’t have conceived them without experience. And they were never half-finished like my memory portraits either. Kitty’s quilts were tapestries rich and deep, even though the full meanings were known only to Kitty.
“Maybe she just made them up,” I once heard an observer say.
Maybe so, I’d thought, but probably not. Kitty didn’t make things up.
As those thoughts filtered through my mind, I gave my entire body to the piano keys, losing myself in the rhythms. After a little while, I abandoned the sheet music and started playing favorite tunes I knew by ear. I even played through the score from Harry Connick Jr.’s soundtrack from the movie When Harry Met Sally.
I hoped Louise wouldn’t mind, but I felt the need to play something different, something not so stuffy.
I closed my eyes and enjoyed the music as I went through each song. “Autumn in New York” and “It Had to Be You” were my favorites, but “Stompin’ at the Savoy” earned me a round of applause. As I finished, I stood and nodded my head in thanks to the crowd. I was trying to hold back the embarrassed flush in my cheeks, when I saw Max standing only a few feet away. I nearly fell over the piano bench as I sat back down.
I felt my cheeks go warmer and had the sensation I was Sally in New York, seeing Harry in the bookstore. I wondered how long he’d been standing there.
“Beautiful.” His voice was so deep I could barely make it out.
His smile broadened and he winked, then turned and walked toward the door. I had a panicky urge to run after him, but Kitty and Louise were suddenly at my arm, proudly telling the governor’s wife that my name was Maria Lucero DiCamillo, Kitty’s granddaughter, but she could call me Lucy. I was obliged to turn all attention to the first lady of California. I heard the click of the door as it shut behind Max and suddenly felt like I’d been injected with a four-day dose of caffeine.
Kitty and Louise didn’t seem to notice that I’d discovered the first man I’d ever imagined could be my boyfriend.
I thought about Max all through the next morning, replaying the moment I caught him watching me at the gallery, and realized after class that I hadn’t even taken notes. How does one keep from thinking about a crush every moment of the day?
I was scanning the cafeteria around me, watching for Susannah among the clang of trays and the chatter of students. Numerous backpacks were tossed over the backs of chairs and strewn across tables. Some students were bent over books trying to study, and I wondered how they could concentrate with all the noise.
Strangely enough, I felt nervous about talking to Susannah outside of class. For a moment I even thought about leaving. I was just reaching for my backpack when I spotted Susannah’s curly blond ponytail bobbing through the crowd. She waved at me and headed across the cafeteria to my table. I’d never really thought about how I looked, but now I couldn’t help noticing the contrast between us.
My own hair was long, brown, and wavy compared to her locks, which were hanging from a scrunchie, literally resembling those of Goldilocks. She was at least four inches shorter than me. And while I’d never had a reason to think much about my figure or how I looked in my clothes, I couldn’t help but notice that she was no bigger than a large child, and she was downright cute. Beside her I felt like an Amazon woman.
Kitty had always claimed that I inherited Freda’s curves and looks. Freda was the “beauty of the land” in her time, Kitty said. I was lucky to inherit her genes.
“What land?” I probed, partly joking but mostly serious.
Kitty frowned and changed the subject.
Susannah’s chatter brought me back to the present, and I smiled appreciatively when a few minutes later we were standing in the lunch line and she selected two slices of lasagna and buttery garlic bread. I selected the same.
“I haven’t got very far today.” She sighed once we were seated and digging into our lunch. “Maria has afternoon kindergarten class and is home all morning. She wanted me to play with her, and I eventually gave in.”
“You have a daughter? Maria?” I was shocked. Susannah didn’t seem like a mom.
“Yes, Maria is five.”
“My name is Maria too!”
“Really?” Susannah stopped, fork midair. “How did you end up being Lucy?”
“Maria Lucero actually. Lucy is short for Lucero.”
“Like the legendary goddess of light? Hispanic? Latino?”
“Something like that,” I said. “At least, I know Lucero means light. I don’t know that Ruby cared much about goddesses or all that much about her roots, besides the obvious.”
“Ruby?”
I felt warmth flood my face as I explained my mother and how she died.
Susannah reached across the table and grasped my hand for an instant.
“I’m sorry to have pried.”
“Oh, you didn’t. I was just thinking I was close to your Maria’s age when it happened. Do you have pictures of Maria?”
“Of course!” Susannah reached into her bag and pulled out a lavender wallet-sized photo album decorated with colorful handprint stickers.
I thumbed through pages of Susannah with her quite handsome husband, Troy, and mostly Maria.
“She is gorgeous!” I was surprised to see that she had darker coloring, actually more similar to my own and nothing like Troy and Susannah. “Does your mom have brown hair?”
“Maria’s adopted.”
I nodded. “You adopted her as an infant?” I was happy our conversation was coming so easily. The proud look on Susannah’s face was one I wondered if Ruby ever had for me.
“Oh yes. I’ll tell you all about it if you have all day.” She laughed at herself, and motherly pride seemed to shine brighter in her blue eyes.
“Not all day, but a few hours.”
“Well…” Susannah raised her eyebrows and smiled. “Maria’s mother was a pregnant teenager who didn’t feel old enough to raise her, but neither did she want to, well… you know.”
“Get an abortion?” I said for her. The word rolled right off my tongue before I could even think of good manners. I smiled wryly as a few heads turned toward us. “Sorry,” I whispered.
“It’s okay, but, yes. It was a huge decision for Anna—she was only thirteen years old. She learned that carrying a baby takes a huge toll on one’s body, and hers wasn’t ready. I’m frankly surprised her mom allowed her to carry it to term.”
I thought of Ruby and her unplanned pregnancy. “How was it for her, as far as the pregnancy?”
“We came into it at month five, and we only met with her a few times,” said Susannah. “But her doctor said she had a terrible time of it from the start. It must have been scary. When I was her age, I was probably still playing with Barbie dolls.”
Inside I tried to imagine having a baby that young or even now. Had Ruby’s pregnancy been easy or difficult?
I felt heaviness in my chest as Susannah, eyes longing, wished aloud that it had been her giving birth to Maria.
Her eyes brightened suddenly. “Something that meant a lot to me was the prayer that little mother said for our baby.”
I thought of Ruby and the prayer we used to say together, the one I wouldn’t say with Kitty after Ruby died.
“Anna said the prayer in Spanish first.” Susannah brought my attention back to the table. “And then in English. It was such a short prayer, asking Jesus to watch over Maria.”
I thought about the young Anna giving up her baby for adoption. Ruby had been older when she got pregnant with me but was still young to be having a baby alone. Some things about motherhood, like each woman looking out for her baby in her own way, were starting to knit themselves together in my mind. Would Ruby have been praying for me were she alive?
I locked eyes with Susannah. “That’s beautiful.” When I said it, I really did mean it.
She smiled weakly, as if I hadn’t responded the way she wanted me to, as if she’d hoped for more—to find some kind of kindred belief between us. I felt a little sad that I couldn’t give her that.
I felt Susannah studying me for a while. “You haven’t had an easy time yourself, have you? It must be hard without your mother.”
I laughed, nervous about such a personal question. “Well, I have a grandmother for a mother. It’s a mixed blessing, I guess.”
“What about your father? Are you in contact with him?”
I shook my head no. “I know he exists because there’s a picture.” I paused. “It’s funny. Kitty and I were just talking about him last night. Ruby was pregnant with me in the picture, but I don’t remember him. It doesn’t seem to be something Kitty thinks I need to know too much about. She told me he was a jerk.”
> “Were they married?”
“He sounds like a fling, and I know even less about him than I know about Ruby.”
She remained silent, as if willing me to go on, but I was tired of talking about all the things I didn’t know. That small bit of conversation was the most I’d talked about Ruby with anyone besides Kitty that I ever could recall.
Susannah grimaced. “Maybe he’s dead.”
It felt like a slap. The thought wasn’t new—it was just that I’d never heard it spoken aloud. In fact, I’d never had anyone ask me directly about my father. It was as if he never existed, except through the photograph in Ruby’s album. I’d memorized the photo: a tall, broad-shouldered, lanky, brown-headed leftover hippie with a bushy mustache standing next to Ruby. My Ruby, a tired smile on her face, her brown hair in two braids, and a pink tank top stretched over her tight, round belly, which was exposed above the elastic waistline of a flowing lime green skirt splattered with bright yellow flowers.
Susannah touched my hand and the introvert in me wanted to cringe, but I couldn’t pull away. “Can’t Kitty just answer all of your questions?”
I felt eight again as the blood roared in my ears. If only it were that easy.
“It would be best if I could get my memories to come back on my own. I don’t think Kitty wants to share everything. There must be secrets that are too painful or something.” I stared out the window at students walking back and forth to class, backpacks slung over their shoulders.
“You really think your grandmother would do that?”
I shrugged.
“Sometimes I get the feeling she’s keeping things from me—maybe to protect herself. Maybe to protect me.”
“Maybe she has her reasons.”
“I’m sure she does. That’s why I just wish I could remember on my own.” For a moment I considered telling Susannah about the half-completed paintings hanging on my wall but decided not to for fear she’d think me odd.
“Do you feel her? Ruby?”
I sat back, trying to mask the surprise on my face. That’s exactly how it was. “Yes. Every day.”
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