“Francine’s already bringing bread pudding.”
“Could we bring a main dish?”
“Only if you help cook.”
“Okay.”
Richard cooked fairly well. No worse than I did, anyway. Neither of us had cooked much lately, though, between Jamie and rehearsals. We were living on sandwiches at the moment, but the production was going to be ready. The costumes and props were all perfect, the lines and all the moves. I didn’t like having to be the evil character, so I just pretended I was Mom while I did the Snow Queen. It was convincing and made me feel a little better, too.
Richard broke into my reverie. “What about your mom?”
“What about her?”
“When is she coming to see Jamie?”
“I don’t know.” I don’t even like Mom. Why are you looking at me?
“Shit, Kathy. This is getting old.”
“Yes, but at least Dad is coming. I don’t want Jamie to grow up not knowing any of her grandparents. I thought you believed in forgiving people.”
His faced closed into sullen mulishness. “They have to be sorry first.”
“Look, Dad’s never even seen her. Let him come once and see her big brown eyes and the way she reaches out for hugs and kisses. If he can reject her then, I’ll give up. Just once, okay?”
Richard shrugged, shoulders sparkling with puppet snow.
“Why don’t we go for a walk?” I asked. “We haven’t gotten out in a long time.” I took a glittery sweater from the drawer.
I put Jamie in her stroller and wrapped her up, though it wasn’t cold. November in New Orleans was unpredictable—some days wet and chilly, others warm as Indian summer.
Today it was easy to see the year was packing up to go. Leaves from the hackberry trees along the sidewalk were like soggy black tissue wadded up where last week’s rain had dropped it. A few late roses still dotted the yards.
I wished Richard could learn from Thu, learn from the way she said, “I thought you’d been a soldier.” But Thu just made him feel guilty all over again. He doesn’t want to see Thu, because she’s Vietnamese. My parents don’t want to see Jamie, because she’s brown. Even Black Elk couldn’t bring peace to his people. But why not?
The sparkle on Richard’s sleeve was like bright confetti. What if the puppets were here too, walking all around us, a parade of characters from Denmark and India, Africa and China?
A Vietnamese woman like Thu, a Russian in a fur hat, Immortals and magicians, lovers and saints. Each nation with its own face, its own color, its own stories.
A crowd watches from the curb, smiling and understanding at last that these are only people like themselves. There’s Dad, smiling and tapping his foot to the music, his hair ruffled by the autumn breeze. Beside him there’s a girl, about the age I was, last time Dad took me to a parade. She stands so straight, just like him, but she’s short like me, and her eyes are Richard’s eyes. And her skin is golden—you can’t tell which of the motley puppet band might tell her story. She belongs to all of them, to Dad, to me. She belongs to herself.
A whimper from Jamie brought me back to reality, and I covered her more tightly in her stroller. I put my dreams away and thought over the things I needed to do. The next few months would be busy, full of projects. Thanksgiving with the Motleys, and Jamie’s first Christmas, the opening of the puppet theater. Thu was already talking about plans for Tet, January 23 next year. Nineteen seventy-four, the Year of the Tiger.
~ 24 ~
February 1975
New Orleans
Lacey
Eddie pulled up in the driveway of an old wood house trimmed with the kind of gingerbread a Californian would swoon over. Here, it was ordinary. A plain building in the backyard turned out to be our “hotel.” An elderly lady came out to meet us.
“I’m Francine Boudreaux,” she told us. “I’m so pleased you could come. That’s Kathy’s place, you know. I’ve left everything pretty much like she had it. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind you using it, since you’re friends.”
“Why, thank you,” I said. “It’s very good to meet you.”
She smiled and handed me a key. “I put a few snacks in the refrigerator for you, so help yourselves. And after you unpack and freshen up, I hope you’ll come to dinner. Maybe around six? I’ve invited a few of Kathy’s old friends, and her sister too. It will be so good to hear about her!”
She looked like she meant it. I felt touched, almost upset about whatever had happened to make things go so wrong for all of them.
That’s why Willis got in the first word when we got inside the guesthouse.
“Lacey, what in the world were you up to, the way you were talking to Eddie back there? I thought you were gonna quit all that sneaking around.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” I said, checking the place out for traces of Kathy. I hoped Willis would back off if I didn’t pay him any mind.
No such luck. “You know good and well what I mean.” He put his finger to his chin in a silly pose that was supposed to look like me. “My goodness, isn’t the weather nice? And what do you know about Kathy Woodbridge?”
“I didn’t say that!”
“Close to it. Look, Lacey, either improve your interrogation technique, or give the man credit for enough intelligence to answer an honest question. Why don’t you level with him?”
“Tell him Kathy hasn’t told me anything? Tell him I’m just rubbernecking?”
“That’s not leveling, honey.” His voice became sweet again. “You’re trying to help a kid who’s in trouble. You don’t have to pull the wool over anyone’s eyes.”
“Willis, do you think you can talk this one out with them better than I’m doing?”
“Frankly, yes.”
“Then I’ll let you do it.”
Willis looked pleased—he’d won. I’d let him be in charge. It wouldn’t take long for him to regret it.
~ 25 ~
April 1974
New Orleans
Kathy
That year’s winter was a cold one, wet and windy. We hauled our puppets around under tarps, struggling against our heavy clothes and slickers. The Christmas performances of The Snow Queen had been white-and-silver enchantment—now we were working through the New Orleans history pieces, traveling from one school to another.
School is the same everywhere: smells of pine oil and chalk, and the shrill of teachers’ whistles and electric bells. There’s no bell to make spring come on time, though. Spring’s lagging in tardy with a mouthful of lies, the way I used to do when I was a kid. I didn’t even tell the principal the dog had eaten my homework—I said the fairies took it. The school psychologist really went to town with that one.
We were looking forward to opening The Legend of Savitri at the New Orleans Recreation Department Theater on the fourth of May. And that was the day Dad chose for his long-delayed visit.
We knew he was coming, of course, but there was nothing we could do about it. The Savitri production demanded every one of the puppeteers. Francine, the troupe’s babysitter, was the only one to greet him. When we got home at eight, Francine let us into her living room, where Jamie was asleep in Dad’s lap.
“Dad, how are you?” I whispered, wanting her to go on sleeping. “Thanks for helping with Jamie. Want me to take her off your hands?”
Dad stood, snuggling Jamie close. “Oh, no, I’ll carry her over to your place. Back in a bit, Francine.”
“Thanks, Francine,” said Richard as we filed out, Dad still holding Jamie. He carried her to our house and laid her in her crib, pulling up the blankets and tucking her in.
“She talked to me for about an hour and showed me her toys. Quite a girl,” Dad said with a goofy look on his face.
Jamie’s “talk” was all baby noises, of course, at nine months, but she was very expressive. I could see she’d made a conquest. I love you, Dad. It’s so good to have you back. I hugged him, suddenly and hard.
He smiled as we stepped
apart. “I’ll see you two in the morning. Don’t want to keep Francine up.” The door closed softly behind him.
“Kathy, you are something else. You can stay mad at someone until one second after they admire Jamie,” said Richard.
“The whole problem was about Jamie in the first place.”
“I’m glad you made up with him.” Richard didn’t sound all that enthusiastic.
We got ready for bed, and I turned out the light and slipped in beside him, overlain by a rectangle of sweet spring moonlight.
Jamie was playing on the white rocking horse I’d been given for my fourth birthday. But now it was Jamie who was four, riding it and singing nursery rhymes in a sweet high voice.
“I had a little nut tree.
Nothing would it bear
But a silver apple
And a golden pear.”
Thu stood by, dressed in the habit of a Sister of Charity, weaving a Vietnamese song into Jamie’s melody. Without warning, the horse turned into a real one, an enormous, muscular horse that leaped through a hole in the sky and disappeared. Thu nodded.
“Tam biêt,” she said, and went back to her song.
Cold fear drained through me. Where was Jamie? I heard shouting, and I knew Richard was coming with artillery. I tried to make Thu hide in a puppet theater, but she smiled and said, “I thought he’d been a soldier.”
I woke to Richard shouting, thrashing, in the worst nightmare I’d seen him have yet. He was wound in a sheet, struggling to get free. He was so frenzied, I didn’t dare touch him, but I fumbled across the room and turned on the light. Jamie woke and added her crying to the din. As I picked her up and soothed her, Richard sat up, blinking.
“Is she sick?” he asked after a few moments of unwinding the blanket and rubbing his face.
“No, you were yelling. You woke her up.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
Jamie had fallen asleep again, and I laid her in the crib. Richard straightened the covers and stretched out, and I turned off the light and lay down. It won’t help to nag about the nightmares. But they’re getting worse. I scrunched over and put my arm over him. We fell back asleep together.
Breakfast was ordinary—coffee and toast for us, in between spooning oatmeal and mashed banana into Jamie. A lot of Jamie’s breakfast ended up on the floor, on her face, and on me, but she got enough of it. She didn’t look upset by our bad night. I was, but it wasn’t a good time to talk about it. Someone, probably Dad, was knocking at the door.
When I let him in, Jamie squealed with delight and held out her arms. He went right to her and lifted her high above his head. Banana and oatmeal smeared over him in several places, but he didn’t wipe it off. I sponged myself off with a dishcloth, poured another cup of coffee, and set it on the table for him. I handed him the dishcloth too, but he ignored it. He set Jamie back in her high chair, and I hugged him. Richard started some more toast.
“I was wondering if Jamie needed anything. I mean, you have your furniture and so on, but what about clothes?” Dad asked.
“She’s growing so fast, we don’t even try for anything fancy,” I told him. “Just diapers and T-shirts from the Sally Army.”
“Do you have clothes for cold weather?”
“We won’t need those until November, at the earliest.” Now we have something to talk about. He can be my father because I’m Jamie’s mother.
“Well, at least I want to get some good pictures of her. Is there a photographer anywhere close?”
“Francine would know.”
“Why don’t you give her a call? I only have today for shopping—all next week is medical appointments.”
When I called Francine, she said her cousin was a photographer. His studio was in Gentilly.
“Why so far?” asked Dad. “It would be nice to patronize Francine’s cousin, but there must be someone local.”
He checked the phone book and found a photographer in Algiers, about a mile away. I called and made an appointment for noon.
“She needs a cute outfit for the picture.” Dad was starting to take charge more than I liked.
“Dad, it’s a waste of money. She’ll grow out of it in two months.”
“Baby pictures are important,” he insisted.
We finished eating, chivvied along by Dad’s impatience. There weren’t any baby stores in the neighborhood, so Dad drove us over to New Orleans. We got to Maison Blanche as it was opening, and spent an hour in the children’s department, looking at everything. Nothing was good enough to suit Dad. Richard stood away from us, ignoring the merchandise, even when Dad asked him what he thought. He looks sulky. Is he embarrassed?
Jamie was starting to whine and squirm by the time Dad picked out a white eyelet dress with a pink sash, and a pair of pink shoes. Then he dashed over to the toy department and bought her a Raggedy Ann. He was almost as keyed up as Jamie.
“We’re going to be late for the photographer, Dad.”
“Okay, let’s go.” He tried to hurry, but he couldn’t seem to stop fingering fabrics, considering toys. Richard followed slowly, like someone who had nothing to do with us. I changed Jamie into the eyelet dress in the car.
We were about five minutes late for our appointment. As we came in, the receptionist gave us a startled look.
“I’m afraid there’s some mistake,” she muttered. She went into the back of the shop. We waited several minutes before another woman came out.
“When you didn’t come at your time, we gave your appointment to someone else. Sorry,” she said. Her face was blank.
“Can we arrange another time?” Dad asked. The woman looked coldly at him.
“I’m afraid we’re booked up,” she said.
Dad frowned. “We were only five minutes late! What’s going on?”
“Sorry, can’t help you.”
Dad was breathing hard and his face was splotched-looking. I can see what Sharon means about his health. I shifted Jamie to one hip so I could take his arm.
“Let’s go, Dad.” We walked out.
On the sidewalk, Richard stood clenching and unclenching his hands. I wanted to yell at someone, to cry, to throw up. Instead, I pulled the scrap of paper with Francine’s cousin’s phone number on it from my jeans pocket. I marched to a phone booth on the corner and called him. If he was Francine’s cousin, he was Creole. He wouldn’t take one look at us and throw us out. He said we could come in forty-five minutes.
We scrambled back to the car for the long ride to Gentilly. We were late there too, but Francine’s cousin was sweet to us and Jamie. He took pictures of her alone, and with Richard and me, and with Dad. He promised to mail them in a week.
“Can we go to a bookstore now?” asked Dad. “I want to get a baby album.”
“I think Jamie’s had it for now,” I said. It was true. She was starting to whine, and if she didn’t get a nap soon, a full-scale snit was in the works.
“Could Richard maybe take her on home? I do only have just the one day.”
“Take her home in what?”
“Oh, we’ll get a cab.” Why is he being so pushy? Is he covering up embarrassment about the photographer? He flagged a cab and Richard got in with Jamie. He looked stiff and upset when he saw Dad pay the driver in advance.
Dad and I went to a bookstore downtown, one that turned out not to carry baby albums. But while he was there, Dad wanted to just about buy out the children’s department.
“She won’t be able to read for years,” I objected, feeling embarrassed by his largesse.
“But you have to start reading to her. You should start right away, so she’ll love books when she grows up.” He was all teacher. He turned to a salesgirl. “We need some children’s classics. Winnie-the-Pooh, The Wind in the Willows, Peter Pan.”
Half a dozen books later, I pulled him out of the shop. I got him about fifty feet along the sidewalk before he saw a stationery store.
“Maybe they have baby albums,” he said.
They did. He picked one
out, but he browsed along the aisle instead of going right to the cash register. He pulled a large book off a shelf, and I went to see what he’d found. It was another album, white with silver script on the front: Our Wedding. He put it back without comment and bought the baby book.
He was exhausted by the time we got to Gretna in the bridge traffic. Is he sick? I don’t like this. I carried the packages in from the car, and he didn’t try to help. Richard had undressed Jamie and laid the new outfit on the bed. Dad sat down in a chair with a thump. I hung up the dress and put the shoes away, sponged off the table, and put her in her high chair.
I arranged a snack plate of fruit and sweet rolls and started a pot of coffee. Richard cut up some fruit into tiny pieces for Jamie. He sat beside the high chair and fed her, making goofy faces to get her to laugh.
When the coffee was ready, I brought the pot to the table and poured out three cups. I set a plate at each place and put the snack plate in the middle. Richard took a sweet roll and sipped his coffee.
Dad sat up straighter in his chair and fiddled with the handle of his coffee cup. “I was wondering when you two were going to get married,” he said.
Richard went as still as the loser in a game of freeze tag. After a moment, he shook his head. “Marriage isn’t necessary if things are working, and it’s one more problem when they aren’t.” His voice was cold and dismissive.
Dad adjusted the cup a millimeter. “Don’t you think Jamie needs a father?”
“She has a father.”
“What about when she starts school, though? Children can be cruel.”
“I doubt it will be an issue. Lots of couples don’t marry.”
“I think most parents do. Even if it’s a little late.” He turned the cup a few more degrees. “What about you, Kathy? Do you believe marriage is passé too? I didn’t think your mom and I had raised you to think that.”
I couldn’t slam out, the way I had when he told me not to move to New Orleans. I had nowhere to slam to, unless I went into the bathroom. It was pretty nice to feel like Dad’s daughter for a while. Didn’t last long, did it? I looked from one of them to the other.
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