by Katie Curtis
She walked up the brick path and noticed the purple hyacinths sprouting up like little happy children, next to tiny white forget-me-nots. Her mother had loved these flowers and had planted them all over the front of the house, along with a garden of lilies of the valley, under the shade of the living room picture window. Anna smiled; the flowers reminded her of her mother so much, she felt like they were blooming just for her.
Anna knocked twice before she swung open the thick green wooden door.
“Hey, Dad,” she called out. “It’s me, Anna.” She realized how unexpected her visit would seem, since she hadn’t once dropped in on him since she’d been home. The rooms were exactly as she remembered them. The whole scene looked familiar but aged, like a well-loved photo that had faded with time. The house was quiet and tidy, with a pile of newspapers neatly folded on the dining room table—the same table that had been filled with applications and brochures he was trying to push on her the last time she had been here. His slippers sat by the old armchair in the family room, next to an ash tray with a half-smoked cigar, the scent of it still lingering in the air. She heard the floor creak above her, then her father’s voice. “Hello?” His strong voice seemed to echo through the hall.
“It’s Anna,” she said again. She shifted her weight awkwardly from one foot to another. She could feel her pulse racing. Her father came down the stairs, and in the poorly lit hall, he looked so old. Anna suddenly felt a pang of guilt. She had spent so long being mad at this old man. In her mind, he was a force of nature. In this room, he looked lonely and ancient. She noticed that he had a pained expression on his face as well, one of confusion and resignation. “Hi, Anna, good to see you,” he said, in an even, deep voice. “It was wonderful to have you at the gala last Saturday. Thank you for coming. So, what brings you by?”
“I’m not sure exactly. I just felt like coming over to talk, I guess. D’you want some coffee? Mind if I make some?”
“Sure, I can make it.” He walked into the kitchen, the movements of his long frame as familiar to Anna as her reflection in the mirror. She followed him into the kitchen, the wallpaper the same blue and white flower pattern her mother had picked out one summer. The white had turned yellow, but the tiny blue flowers still looked cheerful. Her dad busied himself with making a pot of coffee silently. As the machine started to gurgle and spit out the caramel-brown brew, Anna led right into her thoughts.
“Dad, I have been doing a lot of thinking over at Uncle Charlie’s house, and when it comes right down to it, I don’t understand. I don’t understand why, after Mom died, you didn’t let me take my time. With school. With art. With Andrew. I don’t understand why you put all that pressure on me. I wasn’t ready for it. I couldn’t handle it. I needed time to heal. Was that so hard to see?” Anna felt the bricks falling off her chest as she laid down these words. It felt like the wall she had put up so securely for all these years suddenly had open doors and windows.
“Milk?” he asked. Anna nodded. He got down two mugs and poured milk into one of them. Anna remembered he always took his coffee black. They both stared at the coffee brewing. His hair was messy at the top like he had been running his hands through it, though his shirt was neatly pressed and his khakis had a crease down the middle.
“Anna, I’ve thought about this a lot since Charlie died, I don’t know why. Maybe because you’re here, in Maine, reminding me of how I’ve messed things up so much between us. Maybe it’s because he died. I’m not even sure I know where to start. In case you didn’t know it, your old man has some stubborn pride running through his veins.” He chuckled, but the sadness around his eyes let Anna know he wasn’t just kidding. “And I am sure I don’t need to tell you that losing your mother was beyond my worst fears, beyond any pain I have ever known. If loving her saved me, losing her ruined me. I am sure you didn’t get what you needed from me because I was incapable of giving anything other than what my blind grief drove me to do.” He picked up the coffee pot and filled both mugs, then handed one to Anna.
“You asked the other day about the girl in the picture. Your Aunt Sheila. You don’t remember hearing about her, do you?” he asked.
Anna thought for a minute while she took a sip of coffee. She remembered that name vaguely. “I remember the name but I don’t remember connecting it as your sister.”
“Yes, she was my sister,” said her dad.
“Aunt Catherine said she died young, though, right?” She recalled the photo, remembering she looked a lot like Aunt Catherine. “You guys never talked about her,” Anna said, leaning against the wall.
Her dad put one hand on the counter and with the other ran his fingers through his hair. “Right. There was a reason we didn’t talk about her. I don’t think I have told this story to anyone before except your mother,” he said with a deep sigh. “Let’s sit.” He motioned to the round table in the kitchen, half surrounded by a built-in bench with cushions that matched the wallpaper. The chandelier reminded Anna of a game she had played with her brother and sister—who could push the chandelier highest without getting caught.
Her dad swallowed a sip of coffee and looked out the window, his eyes squinting from the sun breaking out from the clouds. “After my mother died, when I was about twenty, like you, my father just fell apart. He didn’t do much but sit in his chair and drink. He died about five years later. Cirrhosis. That part you know. But I tried to keep Sheila’s story from you and your brother, your sister. Mainly because I was ashamed.” He took another sip of coffee and crossed his arms.
“When my mother died, Sheila was only fourteen. Growing up, she was very talented. She was an excellent student, loved to read and write, and was a virtuoso on the piano. She won all kinds of awards in school, and she had a teacher who took her under her wing and tried to get her to think about college. But after my mother died, my dad was horrible to Sheila. He refused to pay for her music lessons. In a drunken fit, he destroyed her piano. He told her to forget about college. He collapsed, and he brought her down with him. She bore the brunt of his anger at losing my mother, but he also let out a side of him from his own childhood, from his own violent father. I’m sure he must have hit her. I just steered clear of home when he turned into such a mess and I never saw the effects. Sheila met a boy a few years after I left home, and she married him when she was eighteen. They went out to California, joined some hippie commune, about a year before my father died. He introduced her to drugs. Sheila didn’t make it to my dad’s funeral, and I tried to track her down. Eventually, I found out she had overdosed when she was twenty-two. I was so torn up about her, I felt so much guilt.” Her father paused, his voice thick and his eyes filled with pain. “Sheila really loved me. Even when we were little. She was so loyal, like a puppy. And I just ignored her after I left. After she died, I realized I should have done something. I should have given her money for her lessons, but I was a poor grad student at the time. I should have gone home to visit her, to invite her to visit me. I let her be destroyed by my father and I did nothing to stop it. I should have stood up to him. But I just wanted to run away from him. So I did.”
Her dad’s lower lip trembled. He gathered himself and continued talking.
“When your mother died, I held on to one solid thought in my grief. I had to help you, Anna. I had to make sure you didn’t drift like my sister. You were so talented. You had your whole future wide open to you. But you wanted to waitress and go out with your boyfriend. I couldn’t stand it. All I saw was you ending up like Sheila. I could see it. I know Andrew is different. I know that now.” Her father sighed deeply. “But at the time, it felt like history was trying to repeat itself. And I couldn’t let that happen. My guilt couldn’t let that happen. I tried hard to get you to grab on to those chances, those things that would be sure to save you. A foundation that you could fall back on. Instead I pushed you away. I failed again.”
Her father stopped talking. He twisted his mug around absentmindedly. He cleared his throat, then rubbed his eyes with
the palm of his hands. Anna could see his shoulders shake with a sob. She had only seen her father cry when her mother died.
Her eyes filled for the third time that day. The ache of regret mingled with the peace of understanding and found their release in her tears. She went over to her father. She put her hand on his shoulder and tried to comfort him. He grabbed her, clutched her tightly. It was the embrace Anna had deeply wished for and didn’t think possible.
A bird called loudly outside the kitchen window, as the coffee turned cold. At that moment, Anna knew that her prayer had actually been heard and answered.
“It’s ok, dad. It’s ok. I didn’t understand before, and now I do,” she said, holding him tight. “I’m sorry too. I was angry. I ran away, just like you did. I guess you passed down your stubborn streak,” she said smiling. In the warmth of the sunlight, they both laughed, as forgiveness and understanding passed between them.
Later that afternoon, as she curled up on the guest bed at Uncle Charlie’s, the picture with Aunt Sheila next to her bed, she stared out the window and watched the sea. She watched the water swell and fall, over and over, and the rhythm matched the two thoughts that wound around her mind, over and over, until she fell asleep. Thank you. Thank you. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.
Chapter 19
The next week, Anna boarded a train for New York. It wasn’t Raphael or Genevieve that made her decide to return. It was Georgia.
Her best friend had called mid-week with devastating news. Her boyfriend had left her. He decided to move to LA to pursue his career in acting. Despite Anna’s desire to stay in Maine, to spend time with her dad, to heal, the idea of her friend alone, coping with her sudden loss was more than Anna could bear. She knew all too well how that felt.
Marie drove her to Portland with Henry in tow, and they had lunch along the wharfs at Casco Bay before her train. They were early for her train, and the day was warm, like a prelude to summer. They ate lobster rolls and Henry had clam chowder with oyster crackers, and after they sat back, sunning themselves.
“Do you think going back to New York will make you want to stay?” Marie asked her as they sat on a bench watching Henry push his toy truck on the deck.
“I don’t know,” Anna answered. “I just know that Georgia needs me to be there for her. Coming back home has been amazing. To reconnect with Maine, with you and your family. That much I know. And I know that I don’t want to sell Uncle Charlie’s house. I realized that as I was sprucing it up and spring cleaning. So I know I’ll be coming back up here a lot more. But I don’t know how it will feel to be back in the city. I guess I’ll have to see.”
“It’s been great to have you here. But I am sure Genevieve or Raphael will suck you back in,” Marie said with a knowing smile. Anna hugged her sister and helped her corral Henry into the car. “And make sure you make it up to Stephen’s restaurant. I talked to him yesterday, and he sounds a little on edge. I think he could use a visit. I’m going to try to make it down soon too but I’m not feeling that great right now. I’ll try in a few weeks.”
Anna hugged her sister. “I hope you feel better. You’ve been strait out with the funeral and the gala. And your annoying sister crashing at your house. Thanks, Marie, for everything. I love you.”
“Hurry up before you make me cry,” Marie said, blinking her eyes from under her bangs, her dimples punctuating her tender smile.
Her train was right on time, and when she boarded she put her head back on her seat and closed her eyes. As they rolled and lurched, she thought about everything the train was pulling away from. The rocking of the car lulled her to sleep, and in her dozing state, images of Andrew kept playing through her mind - walking up the ramp at Shaw’s Wharf, teaching his class, in a tux standing next to a beautiful blonde.
How had she messed things up so badly? she thought. When she realized how much she must have hurt him, on that cold day at her mother’s grave, she wanted to run right over to his house and apologize. Tell him she was sorry. Then Georgia called, and here she was on her way to New York. Would she ever get to tell him how sorry she was? That she understood how she had hurt him? She stared out the window, watching the East Coast weave past her, towns and cities and fields and rivers, the sunlight bouncing off the water.
Georgia met her at Penn Station. Her normally glamorous hair was pulled back into a ponytail and her eyes were red. “Hey,” Anna said as she reached for a hug.
“Hi, I’m so glad you’re back.” Georgia sobbed into her friend’s shoulder.
“Do you want to go somewhere and talk or just head back to the apartment…” Anna began.
“I just want to grab some wine and pizza and head home - is that ok?” Georgia said, her face like a little girl’s, raw and honest.
“I think that sounds great,” Anna said. They gathered up their favorite groceries at the corner market, and steaming pizza from their favorite place on the corner, and climbed the marble stairs to their apartment.
“Thank you so much for coming back to the city right away, hon. I couldn’t bear to be alone right now and you know I think most of my other friends in the city are assholes.” Anna laughed at her best friend’s honest evaluation. “I know it’s not fair to say that but really you knew Jake the best and you know how we were together. You know how I feel right now better than anyone.”
Anna nodded and took off her boots, then sat back on their couch. “Start at the beginning, what happened?”
“Well, I knew after Christmas that he had sort of been looking into acting classes and auditions that were based out of LA. I talked to him about it, but then he got some commercials here and got promoted at the restaurant, and he said it was nothing, he was just trying to get a handle on what opportunities there were for him there. Then he went to visit a friend in LA a few weeks ago, and when he came back he said that his friend has a lot more opportunities there than he does here.” Her face twisted in grief, and a sob caught in her throat. “He said that he decided to move, that he knew it was the right thing for him and that he wanted to go out there alone, single. That he wasn’t ready for a big commitment when he was trying to launch his career. What kind of bullshit is that after being together for two years? I didn’t see it coming at all. It was totally out of the blue. I even booked a weekend trip to come up to see you in Maine in a few weeks with him. He’s such a selfish prick.”
Anna couldn’t believe her friend’s relationship was over so fast. Jake had been a little selfish, or maybe vain was a better word, but not anything extraordinary. Keeping her waiting while he worked out or got a haircut was a frequent occurrence, but he acted as though Georgia was everything to him and he definitely threw out the signs that getting married, having a family, sharing his life with Georgia was what he wanted. Anna felt angry and blindsided for her friend.
“You know what, he’s just having a mid-mid-life crisis,” Anna said. “He’s freaked out that he is almost thirty, his career is stalling, and he feels like he has to copy his friend to keep up. Men are so competitive. If they even begin to feel behind, their anxiety is through the roof. But I bet he will realize he made a huge mistake. After a few weeks of being out there and seeing how empty his life is without you, he’ll be begging you to take him back.
“Well screw him,” Georgia said. “I wouldn’t want him back after this. He just seems like a flake to me now. I mean, you are either all in or you are all out as far as I’m concerned. Wanting different things will only tear you apart in the long run. It’s better to realize it now in a way that he wants something so different than I do. I mean, could you imagine me in LA? Surrounded by fake boobs and plastic lips?”
Anna laughed at the thought of her sweet friend Georgia - who should have been born in the 50’s just so she could have fully embraced the 70’s minus the drugs with her hippy hair and clothes and love of all things Bohemian - surrounded by the LA scene. She felt confident that it would have fallen apart quickly if Jake had asked her to move out there with him. “It couldn�
��t have worked,” Anna agreed.
“It still hurts though,” Georgia said, re-crossing her legs on the couch and picking at a bag of potato chips. “He was still my best friend, besides you I mean. We were just talking about going to France this summer. He was supposed to come out to my parent’s house on Long Island for my little sister’s birthday next week. It just is so sudden. It’s not like we were even fighting at all. It’s just like cardiac arrest or something.”
Anna thought of her Uncle Charlie. His real cardiac arrest showed her how hard it is when someone is suddenly gone. The shock of the surprise has to be dealt with first before you can get to the other feelings.
“I’m sorry, Anna,” Georgia looked up. “That was a crappy analogy. I’m such a jerk.” She wiped her eyes with a sad looking tissue.
“Whatever, Georgia, I know what you meant. You’re right. Jake was totally unfair to you. I hate him for you right now, if that’s any consolation.”
Georgia smiled at her friend through her tears. “I don’t want you to hate him,” she said as she dabbed her eyes with her wad of paper. “Ok, maybe just for a little while,” she laughed. “I don’t know. I guess I just wanted to believe in the fairy tale version of us. And, minus the crappy ending, we had that. He used to bring me home bagels after his run every Sunday morning, and he always brought me my favorite magazines home from the newsstand when he walked by and saw there was a new edition. I knew what he would order on a menu before he even got back from the bathroom and I could plan my meal around it like clockwork. I thought those things were what the old people on the couch being interviewed on their 75th wedding anniversary said made them last. The little intimacies that weave between each other and tie you together.”