Susan Meissner - Why the Sky Is Blue

by Unknown

  It was a stifled sob coming from behind the closed bathroom door. I glanced at the clock glowing on the table beside me. It was a few minutes before six.

  I was trying to decide if I should get up and offer to console my mother or let her grieve in private when another sob escaped her, followed by these words—every other one punctuated by a choked-back cry.

  “I am so sorry...I don’t know what I was thinking...”

  I assumed she was praying, but there was a pause followed by, “But I should have told you, Dan.”

  She was talking to my dad.

  I sat up in bed, uncertain what to do next. It didn’t feel right to sit there listening but I couldn’t help hearing everything she said.

  “No...it wasn’t that. I just...I was stupid. I was afraid you wouldn’t understand.”

  My dad must have said something next as Mom ripped a length of toilet paper off the roll, sniffling loudly.

  “I know. I am sorry. You don’t know how sorry I am,” my mom said next. “But I don’t want to make any more mistakes, Dan. I want you here. Please, Dan. Please come.”

  I didn’t like hearing my mother sound so broken and insistent. I wasn’t used to it. I had never heard my mom plead with my dad for anything. Even when she was pregnant with Lara, even when I knew she wanted to keep her, I never heard her beg him to reconsider. There were times back then when I couldn’t decide who I was mad at the most—him for refusing to acknowledge my sister or her for allowing it. I realize now it was a complicated situation, but at twelve, I thought she should have fought for Lara.

  I heard her ask him again to come.

  There were several moments of silence, broken by a sniffle here and there.

  “We’ll be here,” she finally said, relief clear in her voice.

  I heard the sound of her cell phone going off as she pressed the button to end the call. She blew her nose and ran some water into the sink. Then she emerged from the bathroom but hesitated when she saw that I was sitting up in bed.

  “I’m sorry I woke you,” she said and then came and sat on the edge of my bed.

  She seemed to be sorry for a lot of things that morning.

  “You called Dad,” I said.

  “I tossed and turned all night, Kate. You were right,” she said, shaking her head. “I should have told him about the letter. I should have asked him to come with us. I should have asked him first what he thought about Lara’s coming to live with us.” She sighed.

  “Does he know everything now?” I asked.

  Mom nodded.

  “What did he say when you told him?”

  She shrugged.

  “I don’t think he knew what to say,” she said. “He hardly said anything about Rosemary or Lara. He just talked about us. About him and me. How we needed to be together on whatever happens next.”

  “And?” I said.

  “And I agreed. I asked him to drop everything and come here,” she said.

  “So that’s what he’s doing?”

  She nodded and rose from the foot of my bed. “I told him we’d be back at the hotel by three o’clock today. I also told him to bring along some extra clothes for me...” She hesitated before adding, “I might stay a little longer.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that. I knew I couldn’t stay longer than the weekend, but I kind of wished she would have at least asked me.

  “So what are we going to do until then?” I said.

  “We’ll see what we can do to help Rosemary and Lara,” she said.

  It was far too early to think about going back to Two Harbors, yet neither one of us felt like going back to sleep. We got dressed, made a pot of rather tasteless coffee, and with our paper cups in hand, went out for a walk along the shore of Lake Superior. To my surprise, it was one of the nicest walks I ever shared with my mother. It was enjoyable because while I fully anticipated it being a walk weighted with talk of Lara, she instead talked to me about me—about how glad she was I was there for her, how dependable I always was, and how much she relied on me.

  When we got back to the hotel, we ate a quick complimentary breakfast and then got into the car to head to Two Harbors. On the way we stopped at a grocery store and filled a cart with basic staples. I had a feeling Cleo would resent our bringing several bags of groceries into her house, but if my mom felt any apprehension, it wasn’t noticeable. As we checked out, she grabbed a mixed bouquet of daisies, carnations, and tiger lilies sitting in a bucket by the registers and added it to our cart.

  By the time we reached Two Harbors, it was almost nine thirty. We both hoped it wasn’t too early to ring the doorbell at Cleo’s house.

  Thankfully, Lara answered the door and welcomed us in. She looked happy to see us but tired. She must have sensed that we noticed.

  “Mom had a bad night,” she said, trying to sound detached from what she was saying, but not being able to do it. “But she’s finally resting now.”

  Lara’s chocolate brown eyes were suddenly brimming with tears. My mom hastily set down the two bags of groceries she was carrying and drew her other daughter into her arms. Lara wrapped her arms around my mom and began to shake as she let fall tears that had obviously been kept dammed up for too long.

  I felt a little awkward, so I picked up my mom’s bags as best I could with my own bags still in my arms and headed into Cleo’s kitchen. I opened the fridge and started to put away the cold stuff. My mom was wise in deciding to stop for groceries. There was barely anything on the shelves. I opened cabinet after cabinet looking for the proper places to put the canned things we had bought, the boxes of cereal, and bakery items. I couldn’t find a vase, so I put the flowers in an empty mayonnaise jar I found under the sink. I set the bouquet on the kitchen table. When I was done, I stepped back into the living room. Lara and Mom were sitting on the couch, and Lara was drying her eyes.

  “Where’s Cleo?” Mom was asking her.

  “She’s visiting Ben at the nursing home,” Lara said. “She wouldn’t leave Mom’s side all night. When she left, she was exhausted.”

  “What about you?” Mom said. “Did you get any sleep?”

  “A little,” Lara replied. “But I’m all right.”

  “Why don’t you rest a little now?” Mom said. “Kate and I can stay in the room with...with your mother.”

  “I don’t know if I could sleep,” Lara said. “And she may need her pain medication when she wakes up.”

  “Tell me what to do, Lara,” Mom said.

  While Lara told my mother how to start the flow of morphine in Rosemary’s IV, I peeked into a linen closet and found what I was looking for: a pillow and a light blanket. We settled Lara on the couch and then Mom and I tiptoed into Rosemary’s room. As we opened the door, Rosemary’s imminent appointment with her own mortality was almost palpable.

  There were two chairs in the room this time. No doubt one had been Lara’s and the other Cleo’s during the night. It was depressing to picture them hovering over an agonized Rosemary as they kept their vigil in the dark.

  We both sat down. To wait.

  It was a little after ten o’clock when Rosemary woke up with her face wrapped in a grimace. When she saw us, she made a heroic effort to chase it away and replace it with a smile.

  “Lara’s resting, Rosemary,” Mom said to her. “But she told me what to do. Do you want your pain medication?”

  Rosemary shook her head.

  “It’s not so bad right now,” she said softly. “The medication makes me so sleepy, and we have so much to talk about.”

  “Why don’t we wait until Dan gets here?” Mom said.

  “Dan is coming?” Rosemary said, her voice seeming to lift.

  “He’ll be here late this afternoon. I’ll bring him then.”

  Rosemary nodded.

  “There are papers in that desk,” Rosemary said, motioning with her head to a little desk by a window. “Top drawer. You and Dan should look at them. I don’t mean to rush you, Claire, but I ...I feel like ther
e isn’t much time...”

  Mom nodded, and I could see that her eyes were brimming with tears. She then turned her head to me and nodded. I went and got the papers.

  They were legal documents granting my parents legal custody of Lara Claire Prentiss.

  I had forgotten Lara’s middle name. Seeing it in ink gave me a queer feeling.

  I walked back over to the bed with them, but Mom made no move to take them from me. She just sat there holding Rosemary’s hand.

  “We sold the house...” Rosemary whispered. “The money is in Lara’s name. There is enough for her expenses for next year and for her to go to a good college. I already put the car in her name. But she has only had her license for a few weeks, so don’t let her drive down to your place alone...”

  “I’ll drive her down,” I said in a spontaneous gesture to make Rosemary remember I was in the room and that I had never forgotten how kind she had always been to me.

  “Thank you, Katie,” she said, turning her head slowly in my direction.

  The phone rang in the kitchen and Mom offered to get it, leaving me alone with Rosemary.

  She smiled at me.

  “I kept your letter,” she said and winked.

  “I kept yours,” I said. “For a long time I kept it.”

  “I want you to have it. It’s in Ed’s Bible, back in the map section. Over there in that basket by the desk,” she said.

  A worn, leather-bound Bible lay atop a stack of other books, and I quickly found the letter I had written to Rosemary in Ecuador when I was fourteen. It made my heart race a little to handle it. I shoved it into my purse and sat down again by Rosemary.

  She reached for my hand, and I met her halfway with it.

  “Do you remember what you said in it?” she asked.

  I looked to the door wondering if Mom was going to walk through and feeling like I was about to be caught with my hand in the cookie jar.

  “Yes.”

  “You said it didn’t matter how far away Ed and I were, Lara was your sister and she always would be.”

  I nodded.

  “She always will be,” Rosemary said, squeezing my hand.

  We sat in silence for a few minutes as she let this thought envelop me.

  My mom opened the door, and I stiffened. Rosemary squeezed my hand again. Mom was carrying a tray with a teapot and three cups on it.

  “Rosemary, do you think you could manage a cup of tea?” she said.

  Rosemary smiled.

  “I’d sure like to try,” she replied.

  The phone call had been for Cleo, so as we sipped our tea, Mom distracted Rosemary from her pain by telling her about Tennyson’s Table. I could tell Rosemary was wishing she could see it for herself. When we finished our drinks, Rosemary tentatively asked if Cleo was back yet. It didn’t appear that she was.

  “Do you need something, Rosemary?” my mom asked.

  Rosemary wrinkled her brow.

  “I need my bedpan,” she said, barely above a whisper.

  “I can help you with it,” Mom said. “I don’t mind, Rosemary.”

  I rose to leave while Rosemary began a series of protests I knew she would not win.

  I went to use the bathroom myself and noticed a hamper full of laundry that needed to be done. Anxious to be of use, I grabbed the hamper and began to look for the washer, walking silently past Lara asleep on the couch. I didn’t see a washer in the garage or anywhere near the kitchen. I decided to try the basement. Downstairs I found a small family room, another bedroom, and the laundry room. I sorted the clothes and got a load of whites going in the washer. I then gave in to my curiosity. I figured this other bedroom had to be Lara’s since I saw no other bedrooms besides Rosemary’s and Cleo’s upstairs. I peeked inside.

  The only light coming into the room was from a small egress window on the north side. I switched on the light. The room was sparsely furnished with boxes lining one entire wall. It looked like someone had just moved in. Or was preparing to move out.

  Several of the boxes were marked with Lara’s name. Lara’s winter clothes. Lara’s books. Lara’s camera stuff. Lara’s baby things. Others had been scrawled with labels like “Mom’s books,” “Dad’s journals,” and “Ecuador.”

  The bed wasn’t made, evidence that Lara had been called from it in the middle of the night, no doubt. I decided to make it for her. I picked up some clothes in the corner and put them in the empty laundry basket I was holding. As I turned, I noticed that the wall by the door was covered with photographs of all sizes. Some were framed; some were not. Some were in color; some were black-and-white.

  There were photos of the black cat I had seen upstairs, photos of Ed and Rosemary, photos of landscapes and seascapes, and photos of Ecuadorian children wearing brightly colored woven capes. They were beautiful photographs. The artist in me couldn’t help but stare at them. I didn’t even hear Lara come into the room.

  I was marveling at a photo of Ed sitting on a rock with surf behind him and a wonderful smile on his face. I jumped when Lara spoke from behind me.

  “That’s my favorite picture of my dad,” she said.

  “Lara!” I said sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to intrude. I should have asked first.”

  But she would hear none of it.

  “You’re not intruding,” she said, as if the very idea was laughable. “I wanted you to see my pictures.”

  “They’re beautiful,” I said, looking back at my sister’s art and trying to regain my composure. “You took them all?”

  She nodded. “I started taking photographs for a monthly newsletter Mom and Dad sent to their supporters. After a while, I found I had a passion for it. That one,” she said, pointing to the one of Ed on the beach, “was taken at Galapagos. It’s the most wonderful place.

  “These are some of my friends in Otavalo,” she continued, pointing to three, dark-skinned girls with their arms around each other, their teeth as white as pearls.

  “This is my cat, Silhouette,” she said, pointing to a photo of the black cat sitting in a pile of autumn leaves.

  Looking at such beautiful pictures and realizing they weren’t just nicely composed portraits but precious slivers of my sister’s life – a life that had been hidden from me for sixteen years. I began to feel emotionally unhinged. I had to get out of that room.

  “They are very nice,” I said and quickly moved to the door, banging the laundry basket against one of the frames and nearly knocking it off the wall.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, wincing. I tried to steady it, making it worse.

  Lara reached out to help me.

  “It’s okay, Kate,” she said calmly. “No harm done.”

  I nearly fled from the room.

  24

  We returned to the hotel a little before two to await Dad’s arrival. While we waited, I dozed. My mom did not but instead sat at the little desk in our room studying the papers from Rosemary’s desk. A few minutes before three, I told Mom I was going for a walk. She must have known I thought she might want a few minutes alone with Dad when he got there.

  “Thanks,” she said, but then added. “But don’t be gone long. I told Rosemary we’d be back before five.”

  I nodded and left.

  When I returned some time later I saw Dad’s truck in the hotel parking lot. I made my way up to our room and stopped at the door to listen. I could hear nothing. I had my card key but knocked anyway.

  Mom opened the door. She looked remarkably happy. Dad was at the little table, looking at the same papers Mom had been studying when I left. He rose when I came in and hugged me.

  “Everything okay?” I said, looking from one to the other.

  My dad eased into a smile that I knew didn’t come easy, but it was sincere.

  “Everything’s okay,” he said.

  But I suspected he had a different view of these new events than Mom had. I doubted he was thinking, “We’ve got her back!” like I believe Mom was.

  Just then Mom went into the
bathroom to change into some clothes Dad had brought for her, and I took advantage of the opportunity to be alone with him for a few minutes.

  “So, what do you really think about all this?” I asked.

  He shrugged and looked at the papers in his hand. “Ed and Rosemary were wonderful to Lara,” he said. “Now Rosemary needs our help. Her daughter needs a place to live for the coming school year.”

  Then he looked at me.

  “And that’s who she is, Kate. She is her daughter. She is not ours.” Then he looked away.

  He was right, of course, but I knew it wasn’t that simple. I was sure he knew it too, but I wanted to hear him say it.

  “But, Dad...,” I asked, as gently as I could. “Don’t you think there’s more to this than just providing a place for Lara to live for a while?”

  He looked back, and I could see the shadow of old wounds in his eyes.

  “Right now there isn’t more to it,” he said, but not unkindly.

  Mom emerged from the bathroom. The conversation was over.

  But I couldn’t take my eyes off my father. I’m sure Dad would have said his primary motivation for agreeing to take Lara in was his compassion and admiration for Ed and Rosemary. But I knew that what really made him do it was love for my mother. He knew Mom had never stopped thinking of Lara, had never stopped loving her, even though she hadn’t spoken of her in years.

  I was touched by Dad’s obvious devotion. He was doing this because he loved Mom and knew it would make her happy, despite his fear of what the future held. I suddenly remembered, as a bitter twelve-year-old, thinking my dad made such selfish choices when it came to Lara. I winced now at those remembered thoughts.

  And I could see my dad’s reasoning, of course. I could see what gave him the courage to say “yes” this time. It was different now than when Lara was born. It was very different. The infant girl who had worn a hospital anklet that bore the name “Holland” was long gone. In her place was a teenager whose last name was Prentiss.

  Mom drove us back to Two Harbors in her car, me sitting in the back. Dad was quiet. He asked only one question. Who was handling the details of Rosemary’s estate? Neither Mom nor I had even thought of that.