1929 (66 page)

“Another lighthouse. This one seems
happier.”

“It is.”

“But not perfectly happy.” He pointed to a
dark spot far off over the ocean. “Is that a storm lurking?”

“There’s always a storm lurking,” she said
quietly. He watched her work for a moment, as she tipped the
rolling waves with white paint.

“Let’s go for a walk.” He hadn’t presented it
in the form of a question and walked to the closet for her sweater
before she could answer.

“But we’re due at Arianna’s in an hour.” She
hadn’t taken her eyes off the painting. “I want to see those babies
again.”

“We’ll be back in plenty of time,” he
assured. Outside, she shivered and was glad he had brought her
sweater. “Cold snap. Hope it breaks before Monday,” he said,
glancing up and around as if the sky would tell him whether Monday
would hold favorable working conditions.

“Where are we going?”

“Not too far,” he said and smiled. “There’s
something I want to show you. I’ve been waiting to see if it was
going to work out. And it did. I think you’ll like it.” She gave
him a confused look, and he put an arm around her shoulder. “You’ll
see.” They had walked a short way to the west then a short way to
the north when Aryl stopped and faced her. “We’re moving out of my
parents’ house,” he announced.

She looked at him curiously, as if he were
fibbing.

“Soon as we can get packed, actually,” he
continued with an excited smile.

“Aryl, how? Where? Wh–”

He turned her by the shoulders, and she faced
a small, white house with black shutters. The yard was neglected
and the short, wooden fence needed repair.

“Aryl . . . how?” She stared at the little
house and thought surely it was too good to be true that they could
have a home of their own again so soon.

“The owner of a small shop in town, well, he
went out of business. He’s moving his family in with his parents
and wants to avoid losing this house. When times are better, he’s
hoping to move back in. But that’s down the road. There's plenty of
time for us to save and plan. So, what do you think?” he asked and
grinned at her speechless expression. She threw her arms around
him, laughing.

“I think I’m going to love not sleeping on a
feather tick in the middle of your parents’ living room!”

“That’s the best part,” he said, hugging her
back. “The owner is leaving all the furniture. He can’t store it at
his parents’ house, so we get to use it all.” She pulled back,
resting her hands on his shoulders and looked at him, stunned and
pleased.

“I would have been happy to drag that old
feather tick over here and sleep in our own living room in front of
our own fireplace,” she said with a sincere smile.

“I know you would,” he said and smiled with a
sympathetic look. “God knows you shouldn’t have to, though.” He
pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “Sometimes it amazes me that
you’re still here,” he said quietly. She looked at him with
confusion. “When I met you, I had nothing and I worked my ass off
to build us a life, and then . . . there it went and I was back to
nothing. Yet, here you are. Still.”

“Of course, I am, Aryl.” She didn’t know
whether to be flattered or offended.

“I’m just really thankful for that is all,”
he said softly.

“Aryl.” She slid her hands from his shoulders
up his neck, fingers tangling in the hair at the back of his head.
“Don’t you understand? I can’t be anywhere you’re not,” she
whispered, temporarily losing herself in the depth of his
dark-brown eyes. “No matter what we have or don’t have, it isn’t
possible to live without you.”

He smiled and pulled her tight against him.
“I love you,” he whispered just before he kissed her. He broke the
kiss and touched his forehead to hers. “Even if we had to spend the
rest of our lives on a feather tick in my parents’ living room?” he
asked and grinned playfully.

“Yes. Even then.” She glanced at the house.
“But this is great, too. Much more–” She flashed insinuating eyes,
“convenient to have our own place.”

“I agree. I think I’ll spend the whole first
day walking around entirely naked,” he announced with a sly grin.
She laughed and released his head. “C’mon.” He took her hand and
pulled out two keys. “I’ll show you the inside.”

∞∞∞

“How far away is that rental?” Kathleen asked
and grinned mockingly as Aryl and Claire came up the walk.

“Oh. Well, you know, we had to do a thorough
walk through, make lists, measure windows, that kind of thing,”
Aryl said nonchalantly as they walked past her. Claire refused to
look directly at her mother-in-law's insinuating grin.

“Well, that’s good. Aryl, ya fly’s open and
ya shirt’s stickin’ out in the back,” she snickered. Claire blushed
crimson and scurried past them into the house.

“Kathleen, leave those poor kids alone. I
swear, you do love tormenting them.” Michael shook his head
hopelessly. “Make ‘em self-conscious about it and you’ll never get
those grandbabies.” He shook a finger in warning.

“Oh, I’m only teasing.” Her mouth twisted
into the same mischievous grin that Aryl’s did when he was teasing
Jonathan and Caleb.

∞∞∞

Ethel and Hubert’s house was brimming by the
time Jonathan, Ava, Jean and his parents arrived. Arianna sat in
the corner of the living room in a rocking chair, a blanket thrown
over her shoulder as she nursed one of the babies.

“This is all I do,” she said, not entirely
joking. “I’m a walking dairy.” She peeked under the blanket,
arranged herself, and then handed Samuel to Caleb, who then deftly
handed her Little Girl. Everyone crowded around Arianna, and Little
Girl screamed in protest, preferring food over attention.

Caleb closed one eye and stuck a finger in
his ear. “She’s the loud one,” he said and grinned. Arianna threw
the blanket over her other shoulder and the wailing stopped
quickly.

Aryl smiled at Samuel, who was perched high
on Caleb’s shoulder. “Hey, little guy, remember me?” Caleb turned
around.

“Oh, that’s right. You two have met.” He
rubbed his sore arm and handed Samuel off to Aryl. “She feeds and I
hold. And neither one of us sleep.”

“The whole house doesn’t sleep,” Hubert
interjected, sitting by the fireplace, grinning. Everyone laughed
in sympathy. He stood up with the grunts of old age and stiff
bones. “I’ll get you a hot pad for your arm while you’ve got your
friends here to do the rocking for a while,” he said and smiled,
patting Caleb on the back as he passed.

Jonathan watched him leave and then looked
with question at Caleb. Caleb shrugged and blinked with a grin,
telling Jonathan it had all worked out. Jean tugged at Jonathan’s
shirt. Jonathan bent over while Jean whispered something in his
ear.

“Oh, okay, well, let’s introduce you then.”
He took Jean by the shoulders and walked him over to Aryl, who sat
down on the couch to let Jean get a better look at Samuel.

“He’s so little. I’ve never seen a bebe this
close before,” he whispered.

“Well, here.” Caleb picked Jean up from
behind and sat him next to Aryl. “Why don’t you hold him?”

Jean looked up with wide eyes. “I won’t hurt
him?” he asked panicky.

“You won’t hurt him.” Jonathan rumpled his
hair as Caleb took Samuel from Aryl and helped position him in
Jean’s arms.

“No,” he whispered. “I would never hurt him.”
He looked over the little baby in awe. Samuel reached up and
grabbed Jean’s finger, gripping it tightly. Jean’s face lit up as
he looked from Caleb to Jonathan. “He likes me!”

“Of course, he likes you,” Jonathan said. In
getting to know Jean, he had recognized the pattern that Jean’s
first and foremost concern was whether people liked him, and he
grew very insecure when they didn’t. He still fretted over Ava’s
chilly disposition. Jean’s brow furrowed in concentration.

“What is he? To me, I mean.” He looked up at
Jonathan with big eyes.

“Well . . . .” Jonathan narrowed his matching
eyes.

“You’re his cousin,” Caleb said, squatting
down in front of him.

“I’m his cousin? What do I do as a cousin?”
he asked with concern.

“Well, when he gets older, you can play with
him, be his buddy, and teach him things, and look out for him,”
Caleb said, “like your dad did for me when we were kids.” Jean
looked down at Samuel with all the seriousness he could muster.

“Oh, I will,” he vowed.

May 17th 1930

“Dinner's ready.” Ava stepped into the living
room, wiping her hands on her apron. Jonathan was sitting on the
couch, hunched to the side, Jean whispering in his ear.

“I’m not sure,” Jonathan said, returning
upright. “But I’ll find out and let you know, okay?” Jean nodded,
slid off the couch, and walked past Ava into the kitchen.

“What was that all about?” she asked with the
usual tight-mouthed, reserved expression she used with topics that
revolved around Jean. Jonathan motioned for her to come closer.

“He wants to know what to call you. He
realized today he’s never called you anything. He’s only spoken to
you when you happened to be looking his way or within earshot.

“Well, I have a name. He can use that,” she
said while untying her apron and wadding it up into a ball.

“I suggested that. But . . . .”

“But what?”

“He said that being here with us almost feels
like a real family. In Paris, he only had his mother, and now there
are two parents. He feels like it’s too formal to call you Ava. He
wants me to find something else.”

“Well, he’s not calling me Mother, if that’s
what you’re getting at.” She crossed her arms.

“No, he doesn’t want to call you Mother,” he
said. “Just think about it, okay? What you’d like him to call you.
He’s going to need to address you at some point.”

“I’ll think about it,” she said quietly as he
walked around her and into the kitchen.

The three of them sat down to dinner.
Jonathan’s parents had gone out for the evening and the mood was
tense. It was left to Jonathan to make conversation.

“Did Claire tell you that she and Aryl are
moving out?” he asked.

“She did.” Ava's eyes remained on her plate.
“We’re supposed to help them move in on Saturday.”

“Well, that shouldn’t take long,” he joked.
“You want to do something after that?”

“A picnic?” Jean suggested with Jonathan’s
grin. “You can teach me how to throw the ball very far like you did
the last time.”

Ava threw Jonathan an annoyed look, recalling
that throw and the subsequent flirting in an effort to get her
attention. He read her face and grinned back at her.

“Well, it worked,” he said with a wink. “Do
you want to have a picnic? Or maybe do something else?” he asked,
inviting her into the conversation.

“It doesn’t matter to me,” she said
indifferently. Jonathan watched as Ava avoided looking at Jean
completely while the child stole little peeks in her direction
every few minutes. Toward the end of dinner, which had remained for
the most part silent, there was a sharp knock on the door.

“Who in the world could that be?” Jonathan
asked as he rose. Jean stole a timid glance at her, and after he
looked away, she stole one of him.

The eyes. They’re exactly the same. If only I
could look at his eyes and nothing else, she thought.

There was a loud thud in the living room, and
Ava jumped up to see what it was. Two deliverymen walked out the
door, having deposited a large trunk in the living room. A delivery
boy from the telegraph office waited while Jonathan dug in his
pocket for a tip.

A moment later, he opened the telegram and as
he read, his face wilted into something between sorrow and
gloom.

“Who’s it from?” Ava asked, glancing over his
shoulder. She read it, took a step back, and looked at the floor,
waiting for Jonathan to say something. She turned for the kitchen
as he spoke.

“I need to talk to Jean alone . . . . Jean,
come sit, please,” he said, dreading the task before him. “I have
something to tell you. It’s not . . . good news.” Jean stared at
him, not yet connecting the telegram with the trunk delivered from
Paris. “Jean, your mother, she’s gone. She passed away last week.”
Jean stared at him for a moment as if he hadn’t heard him at all.
He looked down at his empty hands lying palms up on his lap. When
he raised his head again, his eyes were full of tears. His father
scooped him up and held him close before they fell.

Ava peeked around the corner and saw Jean
sitting on Jonathan’s lap with his arms tight around his neck,
sobbing as quietly as he could. Jonathan rubbed and patted his back
alternately, and bent his head, speaking to him in a voice too low
for Ava to hear. She retreated into the kitchen and leaned against
the wall. Her eyes filled with tears, not for Jean’s heartache, but
because she was glad. And she was sure she would burn in hell for
being relieved that another human life had ended. But she was. She
hated herself for hating Elyse and for rejecting Jean. In her
rational mind, she knew he was only a blameless child caught up in
this mess. But the emotional side refused to communicate with the
rational. Every time she had opened her mouth to speak sweetly or
be kind, the intention shut itself down and what came out were
monotone and cold words.

“Did it hurt?” Jean cried between sobs.

Ava gasped, and then her breath came quick.
That’s what I asked my aunt when they died, she remembered. She
closed her eyes tight against a flood of memories conveniently
locked away for many years: being called up to say goodbye to both
of her dying parents only one day in between, seeing them pasty
white, still glistening with sweat from a fever that cooked them
from the inside out, their eyes red-rimmed and sunken, mouths that
wouldn’t stay closed. All this had scared her, and she felt guilty
for it. And then later, she asked her aunt if it hurt when someone
died. They looked like it had hurt.