She knew this was the last time she would set foot in Holy Family. Stand, sit, kneel, stand, sit, kneel: She responded and gestured on cue, while using the time to take in her surroundings for the last time. This would be the last time she would see the altar where she had taken her vows with Patrick.
At the end of mass, Cadmus exited to the aisle and held out his arm for Ilona. She smiled, held her head high, and linked her arm in his. Cold stares returned her smiles and nods, the final confirmation coming from a group of women huddled in the corner. Well out of earshot of Father Joseph, one of the voices said loudly, “Maybe it’s time she found another church. Why be a part of ours when there are spots in hell waiting for us?”
Cadmus did not hear the remarks. Ilona only heard them because she knew to tune her ears in that direction. They enjoyed the walk home, Cadmus telling her about his hope to join the Rice faculty and her nodding, looking away when she needed to wipe a tear. My dear, sweet boy, she said to herself over and over on the walk home. Kindest soul … always thoughtful, not a mean utterance, ever.
The next morning, Ilona rose to ordain the garden as her new church, her sanctuary of peace. She found herself bowing to the indigo sky as she began her rosary procession.
“MAY I TAKE YOU TO lunch after mass next Sunday?” Cadmus asked as he placed his books in his bag for school. “I need to make reservations.”
“Yes to lunch but no to mass,” Ilona replied.
“Why?” Cadmus asked, a puzzled look on his face.
“I’m just having a hard time lately, thinking of your father,” she lied. “It’s hard to see so many happy couples, you know?”
She looked away, returning to her book as she sat in the nook.
“Mom, what’s going on?” he asked, taking a seat next to her.
Ilona looked at her son, his eyes full of concern for her. She could not bring herself to tell him about the cruelty she overheard.
“I can’t attend mass at Holy Family anymore, Cadmus. I’ve rescinded our membership,” she replied. “Please do not ask any more questions.”
He nodded his head, giving her the space she needed. She knew she was not off the hook. He would attempt to raise the subject again another time, and until then, she would work on enriching her fib.
A doctor’s appointment that day framed the first day of the week, and on Tuesday, she headed to Kaplan’s to buy a baptismal gift for Callista’s newborn, Baby Timothy. With Wednesday came no official marker. Morning prayer in the rose garden completed shortly after dawn; the day stretched out in front of her. No children for whom to cook; no trips to the notion store for cloth, thread, silk yarns to create fashion for dolls; no weekday mass or prayer group; no Women’s Club activities. She passed her time reading. She placed a phone call to Margaret, who was not available for lunch until the following week because her “cur-sed cousins” were in town from Oklahoma.
While serving breakfast on Thursday, Dear Ernestine asked about the menu for the weekly rose garden lunch for the Women’s Group on Friday, to which Ilona replied in the same words she had said to Cadmus. The exact wording, coupled with the force of her response from someone who was usually much more modulated, prompted Dear Ernestine and Cadmus to exchange a silent look, with Cadmus’ eyebrows messaging, See, I told you something was wrong.
Dear Ernestine followed Cadmus’ lead, nodding in befuddlement with “mmmmm … hmmmm,” before heading back to kitchen, where Cadmus casually joined her for a consultation.
That evening, Ilona slowly retreated upstairs, wondering what tomorrow would bring. She pinned her hair up as hot water filled the tub, catching the profile of her eighteen-year-old self rather than the fifty-year-old reality in front of her.
She looked down at her naked body, reminiscing the passion she once shared with Patrick, the way he had awakened her womanhood, electrifying her in that first afternoon discourse at the M&M, now an almost derelict building. References to sex among women were increasingly common and generally at the expense of the man. She laughed uncomfortably in response. Her only option was to tell the truth, that she and her husband shared the most intense physical experience for most of their relationship, even after their second child, with the exception of the tapering off after his mistress came into the picture. If she had known she was destined to reach pariah status regardless, she may very well have let loose on her tongue. She wondered if it were possible to feel that way again. Patrick flipped a switch she had not known she had, and she wondered if another man could do the same.
She felt her skin thinning from a difficult life, but one well lived nonetheless. She caressed the stretch marks from her pregnancies, hands resting over her belly that once insulated those precious souls. One good thing came from overhearing the conversation that set her new trajectory: The women thought she looked good. As vain and fleeting as it was, it was something for God’s sake. It wasn’t something she earned or deserved, but it was a small token. Perhaps she could find love, or at the very least companionship, now that her social circle narrowed once again.
She held the secret of the financial settlement for so many years to protect Cadmus, and now there was another reckoning for the unconditional love of her son. She vowed not to leave him as she had his father, regardless of the circumstances. She would always defend her son and make certain he was protected. Her heart ached when she thought of the continued challenges ahead, as she could not envision a full personal life for him given his sexuality.
Callista did not share her brother’s vulnerabilities. Recalling Michael’s crass reference many moons ago about the Doyle gene, she knew Callista inherited it, as strong-willed as she was. She would be fine, and she was fine, living as a Dunn in River Oaks.
As Ilona eased into the hot bath, she began to think about her life as a continuum rather than as a daily schedule. Preoccupied with filling her days, she lifted her mind to a bird’s-eye view, studying the landscape. Her early memories were like snapshots, the same images developing when she let her mind reflect on her time in East Houston. Even the memories of her brother’s death were fragmented, fitting together like a collage with her other childhood moments, some pieces larger, others more like specks that came together to present an overall image.
Ilona wondered how long she would live, envisioning herself as an elderly lady in The Doyle House alone, with Dear Ernestine long passed. She imagined the next twenty-five years in snapshots, adding to the growing collage of her life that she was reflecting upon in this moment. Knowing she would not remember most of her daily events and interactions, she wondered which ones would make the cut. What would the subject of the photographs be?
CADMUS
Autumn 1962
“I’M NOT ASKING FOR A lot, Callista.”
“I know you don’t think it’s a lot, but you don’t know what it’s like to have household responsibilities and raise three children … one a newborn at that,” she countered.
“You are right. I don’t know what it’s like, but I do know our mother needs support,” Cadmus replied, taking deep breaths to steady his frustration.
Several seconds passed without either of them speaking, Cadmus tightly gripping the receiver while he sat at his father’s desk.
“What happened at Holy Family?” she asked.
“She won’t tell me. She just says she’s been thinking a lot about Dad and that church makes her sad.”
“Well, perhaps Timothy’s birth has something to do with it. Maybe it reminds her that he will not know his grandfather,” Callista offered. “She could be telling the truth.”
“If it were true, she would at least be receiving calls from her church friends. Callista, no one is calling.”
“What do you want me to do, Cadmus? I can’t be her sitter. I have enough to do on my own.”
“Yes, with a full-time housekeeper and a nanny. You do have enough!” Cadmus countered. Callista’s antipathy toward Ilona was the one thing that brought him the most frustration.
�
��And what about you, hmmm? Dear Ernestine still cooking for you while you spend all day reading and thinking? Must be nice!”
Silence again. He knew he had a privileged life. In the end, it did not matter that he used his inheritance to further his education. He chose a profession that would allow him to read and learn, all the while remaining comfortably in a historic mansion with help to cater to his needs. He knew he should not begrudge her for enjoying the same luxuries, albeit in River Oaks.
“I don’t want to argue. All I ask is that you call her more often. Invite her over to see her grandchildren, perhaps over for tea. Please, Callista.”
“I will,” Callista replied after several seconds. “I need to go, Cadmus. See you in a few weeks at the baptism.”
Cadmus sat at his father’s mahogany desk, his index finger tracing the ornate wooden detailing along the edges. He wondered what their relationship would have been like had his father lived, whether he would be working alongside Benjamin and Andrew. It was a challenge to visualize five Doyle men in the office, his father and Uncle Michael still leading the charge. No one had ever told him explicitly of the tension between his father and uncle, but the few memories he held, coupled with action and inaction from over the years, substantiated his theory of a major conflict.
He accepted Callista’s propensity to default to their father’s side, just as his inclination bent toward his mother. What he struggled to reconcile, however, was the degree of allegiance Callista held for Michael and Sybil, a much stronger connection than he could ever recall her holding for Ilona. It was a natural fit, his sister and William. She spent so much time with her aunt and uncle, especially after they moved to River Oaks. Tennis, swimming, dining—so many memories at the country club that became a natural part of her childhood. She was a Doyle, and her name granted her access on her own, despite the fact that her membership was tied to her uncle and aunt.
It was understood why her mother never came around given her outburst at Easter, along with Ilona’s propensity for reflection that became even more pronounced once she became a widow. Ilona was reserved with most people after his father’s death. The people who had come to know her after she became a widow, however, attributed at least part of her constitution to the fact that she was a lady of means with an air about her, which could not have been further from the truth. Although church became Ilona’s world, she was a quiet participant, with her reserved smile and a good set of hands to work, preparing a luncheon at her home, baking goods to sell, or assembling dolls for the booth throughout the year.
He sensed that Ilona struggled with Callista’s adult life, and although Callista did not know what he knew, Cadmus believed that she should be able to piece together more than she did, at least enough to give Ilona the occasional benefit of the doubt. He believed she should be a greater part of her mother’s life, especially now that Ilona had never been more alone.
ILONA
Autumn 1962
ILONA COULD NOT RECALL THE last time she had driven so far by herself. Turning on the ignition, she checked her fuel, adjusted the mirrors, and took a deep breath. She had not been to Lawndale in almost a year.
Nerves getting the best of her, she pulled the car over in front of Robert Cage Elementary. She watched the gaggle of students crowding the fountains on the side of the building. She could not help but laugh aloud seeing one little boy, the tiniest of the bunch, jumping up and down to gauge how many were in front of him while a young teacher tried desperately to create order.
Another teacher appeared at the door and blew a whistle, which appeared to do the trick. The students lined up quickly—four rows, one in front of each fountain. At first glance, all of them looked the same, roughly the same height, same types of clothes, even the same general colors. Ilona thought about the unique souls inhabiting their little bodies, hoping the teacher was nourishing their individuality, giving them strength to be who they were meant to be. She hoped the teacher thoughtfully exercised her authority in word and deed, thinking back to how one of Cadmus’ teachers at Heights High had discouraged him from studying literature, telling him to “man up and learn how to play ball.”
After the students returned to the schoolhouse, she resumed the drive. Save the crumbly patches of brick here and there, it was the same place, the dulled sheen of the navy blue cursive Lawndale Café lettering offering a greeting. She could not make her way from her car for the longest time, scanning the façade, knowing that something else was different. Newer car models were a given, but there was something else she could not quite shake. It looked smaller than she remembered.
Scents of bell peppers and tomatoes greeted her as she opened the door, breaking her unease. Patrick enjoyed a great many things, but stuffed bell peppers were not one of them. She smiled knowing that was what she would order. Perhaps she would even introduce them at The Doyle House, although the potential for feeding people other than herself was rapidly dwindling.
Only a few seconds passed before her mama looked up from the register and saw her, but the universe can reveal much in even the smallest particle of time. Her tight silver-haired bun and neat periwinkle dress spoke regally while resting on a shrunken frame. Ilona knew her placid mien had been curated by a lifetime of happiness and hardships, perhaps more on the hardship side, but more important, it was in how her mama navigated the two. Ilona had inherited her mama’s restraint, her ability to remain calm and observe. As she smiled in gratitude, her mama raised her eyes to meet her daughter’s. The wrinkled forehead prompted Ilona’s stomach to take a turn; she had not intended for her presence to cause upset. But not more than a moment later, Ilona realized the expression was an attempt to stop the tears that fell from her eyes, her mama rising to meet her, cupping her hands around her daughter’s face as she broke into a smile.
Ilona had been at the cafe for almost an hour, resting in Mrs. Jilufka’s old seat while savoring the last few bites of stuffed bell peppers over rice. Her mama was walking back and forth to the counter from the register as often as customers would allow while her baba quietly read the paper at the other end. After catching up on neighborhood news and old church friends, there was not much more to say; the breaks in conversation served them well.
Ilona began to realize how little she talked to her parents, even her sister, for that matter. She made an occasional visit to the restaurants, first to Franklin and then to Lawndale after the downtown location closed because of the flood. But her life had taken such a different trajectory the day she visited the M&M with Uncle Demetrius. After her marriage to Patrick, she assumed the role of lady of the house, hosting parties and volunteering at Holy Family. And then they welcomed the children, precious souls who brought her immense joy, but their dependency bound her to The Heights even more so, especially since she counted on Dear Ernestine for help. Her family bore the burden of travel since she had assumed life as a Doyle, enduring the jaunt from East Houston to The Heights, the days before the interstate.
“You had a nice lunch crowd, Mama.”
“Yes, it steady … it good,” she replied, nodding and moving her hand side to side, palm down.
“And Uncle Demetrius and the boys are still doing well, right?”
“Yes, it funny how things work out. Expanding again! Make it three fancy restaurants in Houston. Can you believe it?”
“I know. It’s wonderful. It’s wonderful to see a dream become reality,” Ilona said, thinking of Patrick as she folded her napkin, looking toward her baba hunched over the paper and reaching for his coffee. Closing Franklin Diner was such a huge disappointment, but he could not afford to rebuild during the Great Depression.
“And now, what your dream, eh?”
“That’s a good question. I’m working on it, Mama,” Ilona conceded.
“It okay to search … We all search. Go back to heart,” she said, left hand gesturing to her chest. “What do you really want?”
Ilona looked down at her hands, her engagement ring maintaining its promin
ent role despite Patrick’s death. She caught a look at herself in a mirror against the far wall, her painted face, pearls, and posture distinguishing her from the other patrons. Such a subtle transformation over many years, she had not realized how far she was from her life in Lawndale. In her eyes, she would always be the girl from East Houston, although she was the only one who held that opinion. She was the reason the cafe was different.
“Eh? Time es moving, love,” her mama said, nudging her arm. “What you want?”
Ilona looked to the family in the corner window booth. One child counted sugar packets while another moved a toy car underneath the table.
“I want to teach, Mama,” Ilona replied with a grin, feeling a bit like the teenager who had cleaned the counters and refilled coffee cups.
“Then do it … find way, and do it.”
ILONA AND CADMUS ENTERED THE church, eyes looking to the front, where the other family members were already gathered. Anne Dunn stood near the baptismal font, holding Lillian in her arms, swaying her back and forth while whispering in her granddaughter’s ear. Michael and Timothy stood together in the main aisle, Timothy animatedly moving his hands, the malachite stone visible even at that distance. Michael gave a hearty laugh in response to his business partner and in-law, striking a sharp contrast to the sanctity of the church.
“Cadmus, please leave me a moment. Let me light a votive. Please go ahead, greet your family.”
Cadmus embraced her before heading down the aisle, where Michael and William turned to greet him with formal handshakes. Ilona counted it a blessing that they were polite to her son. They were never warm or affectionate as they were with Callista, but their societal status would never permit them to be anything but gracious in public. She was certain Cadmus’ pursuits at Rice also contributed to their reception, knowing he held virtually no interest in Doyle & Dunn, a name that now spanned Houston, interlocking Ds on signs in front of many construction sites throughout the city that continued to expand west. The city’s rapid ascent might have humbled even Patrick’s vision.
Drops of Cerulean: A Novel Page 17