Beyond Deserving (38 page)

“Fair enough.”

Katie watches her mother as June walks across the room to the bath. She turns the television up again, and watches Buddy Holly's story turn inexorably toward tragedy and immortality. Rhea turns over and rearranges herself under the covers. Her little butt sticks up, making a mound in the middle of the bed. Katie can't think just what Rhea looks like in the face. She wonders what she'll look like, older. It's funny how you look at the childhood photograph of someone you know grown and you can see the adult already there, in the face. But then you look back at the grownup—not all the time, but with some people—and you think it's really too bad the person changed so much, turning out lumpy or scrawny or hard in the face or whatever. Like Gary Busey. She saw him a while back on a late night tv movie about some guys who go to a South American country to rescue two hostages. Gary Busey is this banker who goes along to pay for things, and he is fat and disgusting, nothing like he was when he played Buddy Holly. If he had died he could have been remembered for that terrific movie, the way Buddy Holly is remembered for songs that are thirty years old.

When Katie told Fish that Rhea was coming, he said, “What got into your mother? She got cancer or something?”

When June comes out of the bathroom dressed for bed, Katie turns the tv off and crawls under the covers herself. All the lights are off except the one over the table where June was reading. June sits in the chair again, and props her feet on the bed. She squirts lotion on her hands and starts creaming her face.

“The college did a very provocative play last year,” she says. “It's called
Equus
, have you ever seen it?” Katie grunts to say she hasn't, and June goes on. “It's about a very sick boy, emotionally sick, and about the doctor who's working with him. One day, when the doctor is doubting what he's doing, wondering about a decision he has to make, his friend says to him, ‘One must hold on to priorities. Children before adults.' That's how I'm trying to mother your child, Katie. I wish I had done it more with you.”

The silence is palpable. Each waits on the other, Katie thinks. She would like to say something to put her mother's mind at ease, or at least respond intelligently to her quoting a play, but she and her mother aren't operating in the same galaxy. They don't see the same constellations.

“When you were born,” June says quietly, “my whole life changed. I wanted to do everything right. It took all my attention. Then when I looked around I realized that James was gone. He had the store to build up. Not that he liked or didn't like tires, dear. He would have scoffed at such a notion. He was doing what needed doing, in a way that allowed him to run his own life. But he was unhappy. I think he was unhappy almost from the moment you were born. Oh, what a terrible thing I've said to you. Don't think about it, it's the past.” She coughs and covers her mouth with her hand. She looks quite distressed. So, Katie thinks in wonder, Mother has done this kind of horse-trading before. I was the prize. Poor Mother. “I've been trying to understand the past,” she says.

“By the time I realized I'd had a child and lost a husband, I was desperate to make you worth the cost. So I boxed your ears your whole childhood.”

“You never touched me.”

“Not with my hands.”

Katie feels tears brimming in her eyes. She looks at her mother in the lamplight, and her mother blurs, because of the tears. Her mother has confessed something and she knows she could hurt her very much if she said the wrong thing. If she said, for example, you've never stopped hurting me. But what would be the gain?

June turns off the light and gets in bed. In a little while, Katie says, “Remember when I broke my arm out in the yard?” June says, “I remember it well.” “Well,” Katie says bravely, “remember we went to the hospital in a taxi? It was the first time I'd ever been in one, I was excited about it and almost forgot about my arm.” June says nothing. “I remember you were very angry. I don't know why it's been on my mind. But I keep wondering, was it because I fell down? Was it because I was so much trouble?” Katie thinks her mother is crying now. Her nose makes funny noises, and her voice, when she speaks, is thick and sad. Her mother says, “I was angry with your father because he wasn't there when we needed him. I was angry because he wasn't there and I had no idea where he was.”

Katie doesn't know if she loves her mother or not, but in that moment she understands clearly that she does not hate her.

51

Rhea hugs her grandmother and kisses her loudly on the mouth, hugs her some more, and laughs, almost jumping. “OryGONE,” she says. Katie bends down to her. “Oregon,” she pronounces. Rhea is wearing a bright pink dress with a short pleated skirt and white piping on the collar. She also wears lip gloss, a ring with a fake pearl, a red Swatch watch, and black patent Mary Jane shoes. Katie thinks she and her daughter bear no resemblance whatsoever, except for the color of their eyes (brown) and the slightest upturning of their noses. Rhea's lips are full, a lot like Fish's lips, and she has long, nice legs, like Juliette, her cousin.

June is immaculate and serene at the gate. She kisses Katie's cheek and says, “I won't worry. Have a good time.”

Katie smiles at her mother. “Sometime you should come, too. When we have our house again.”

June is flustered. “How nice of you to ask,” she manages to say. “I know it's a lovely state.”

“Do you have a dog? Do you have a cat?” Rhea asks. “Do you have horses?” She puts one finger in her mouth and sucks on it loudly. When she sees her grandmother looking at her, she jerks her finger out, rubs her ring against her dress, and tucks her top lip down over her bottom one. Katie thinks she has the natural charm of a child in a movie. You look at her, and you know she is going to be in a lot of scenes.

June and Katie, grateful for Rhea's interruption, laugh uneasily. “Just people, honey,” Katie says. She pulls Rhea by the hand, away from June. The agent announces boarding. “Safe trip, Mother,” she says. Rhea breaks away and runs ahead.

“Who's going to meet us?” she asks when they're settled in their seats.

“I think Fisher and your Uncle Michael will both come.”

“What about my cousins?”

“Carter has a job, and Juliette is rehearsing for her ballet. She has her first summer performance tomorrow night. So you see, you're just in time!”

“I've never been anywhere,” Rhea says solemnly.

“Well, now you will have.”

“Are there mountains?”

“Yes, little ones. And lots and lots of trees.”

As the plane accelerates down the runway, Rhea takes Katie's hand and holds it tightly. “It's so noisy,” she whispers.

They don't speak until they are in the air and the ride is smooth. Rhea says, looking out the window, “I can see the ocean.”

Katie asks her if she wants gum. Rhea takes a stick of Juicy Fruit, which Katie bought specifically to have for now. She thought about getting bubble gum, but she knew her mother would die if she thought Rhea blew bubbles on the plane, and though her mother would have no way to know, Katie quickly changed her choice. It made her realize that her mother would be more or less looking over her shoulder all through the visit, and though the thought initially bothered her, it didn't take very long to realize it was helpful, in a way, to hear June's voice in her ear, like an angel. It would help her decide whether it was okay to do something or not.

Rhea rummages in her pink cotton drawstring bag and comes up with a bright yellow book with blue letters. “The girls in this series are always getting in trouble,” she says. “I love it.”

“That's what books are good for,” Katie comments. “Much better than real trouble, don't you think?” She can't think of the last time she enjoyed a book. Books on how to live your life aren't a lot of fun.

Rhea is puzzled. “I don't know, Katie. I've never been in trouble, I guess.” There is a tiny fleck of jelly at the corner of her mouth. Katie reaches over and carefully wipes it off. “A little bit of breakfast,” she tells Rhea. She hopes Rhea didn't mind.

Rhea grasps her mother's hand. “Flying is just like being in a dream,” she says. She lets go and leans to stare out of the window again. “I'm going to watch all the way.”

Katie closes her eyes. “Wake me when we get there,” she says. “Or when you see a big mountain.” On second thought, she opens her eyes and leans over as far as she can to look out of the window, too. “Rhea,” she says. “What's your favorite color, honey?”

Rhea puts her finger against the window. “That out there,” she says. “The blue of the sky. Like when you sleep late in the morning, and you look outside and the colors from early are gone, and there's just sky. There's just blue.”

Katie absolutely cannot believe it. She and Rhea come in from the plane and Fish is not there in the throng of people waiting. “They're probably parking,” she tells Rhea, and says probably they should wait over by luggage. “We'll take a quick look down the other way first, and then go to the carousel,” she says. They trot down past the airline counters, out to the sidewalk, but Katie doesn't see Fish there either. When she goes back in she recognizes a woman coming in ahead of her. The woman is wearing a baggy “dropped-waist” dress in a blue and black print, and her short black hair is wet and pulled back in a one-inch-long pony tail. She turns a little and Katie sees that it is Joyce, who works for the theatre and who was at the Al-Anon meeting.

Katie still hasn't decided if it is okay to say something to Joyce when she sees her, if that violates the anonymity principle of the meeting. Of course they get their paycheck over the same signature, so that's a bond of sorts. Thinking about this quickly, Katie is frozen just inside the door, and Rhea waits, looking all around, as if she would know her father when she sees him.

Joyce spots Katie and rushes over to her. She squeezes Katie's arm above the elbow, with both hands. She says, “I was hoping you would come again,” so that they could be talking about tennis lessons or anything. Katie smiles and says, “I just got here with my daughter.” She remembers that Joyce spoke at the meeting, but she can't remember what she said. Joyce said, “If you didn't like group, but you'd like to talk sometime, you could call me anyway.” She smiles at Rhea. “I'm Joyce Devlin,” she says. She looks back up at Katie. “I'm in the book, initial J.”

Rhea rubs the front of her shoe on the back of her other leg. “My name is Rhea Fisher,” she says politely. Then she looks at Katie, as if for approval.

“I've seen you at work a couple times,” Joyce says to Katie. “I thought maybe we'd run into one another, but I guess the costume shop is closed now.”

“Yes,” Katie says. She scans the room over Joyce's shoulder. “Are you getting a plane?” she asks her.

Joyce looks sheepish. “I'm meeting my boyfriend, he's been in Seattle, job-hunting.” She drops down to Rhea's height, so quickly that for an instant Katie thinks she's fallen. “You look a lot like your mother,” she says, which Katie thinks is only true on the nose. Look at Rhea's light, curly blond hair, with its permed wings brushed back above each ear. Katie has never had such hair in her whole life.

“I look like my daddy, too,” Rhea says, at the same moment Katie spots Fish and Michael coming in the far door.

“I've got to go, there they are,” Katie says. She thinks she still feels Joyce's handprints on her arm. Impulsively, she reaches out and touches the back of Joyce's hand. “Thanks,” she says. “I hope your boyfriend had good luck.” At that, Joyce looks so forlorn, Katie remembers the meeting and how Joyce was unhappy because her boyfriend didn't want to stay in the valley, and she feels foolish and sorry to have said anything at all, but she has no idea how to smooth over what she said. “Que será será,” Joyce says, and turns briskly away.

Katie wants to call out, Come back, come back. Tell me what to do now. I don't know how you introduce your daughter to her father. I don't know how I could make my mother think we won't all be sorry.

52

“What is it they're doing?” Ursula's mother asks. She is standing in the breakfast nook, watching the girls through the window. Ursula wishes she had thought to clean the panes.

“Baton work,” Ursula answers. “Rhea was here about twenty minutes yesterday before she had it out.” She moves closer behind her mother and watches her daughter as Juliette puts her hands on Rhea's chest and back and says something that makes the child raise her whole body, rather nicely. Then Juliette puts her own arm in front, lifts a leg slightly, and tips her head. Though she isn't holding a baton, Ursula thinks she can just see her at the head of a band. “I guess it's a big deal in Texas,” she adds.

Clare turns back into the kitchen. “I like your new kitchen floor, Ursula. The fellows did a fine job. It looks quite European.”

Ursula pours them coffee and they go back to the nook and sit down. Michael has gone for a bucket of chicken, Ursula has made salad. She only needs to pack up for their picnic at the park. She checks her watch. “I need to run Juliette up to the park in a little while. We'll go back at six-thirty, so we get a nice spot.”

“Where is the child's mother?” Clare asks.

“She's gone to work a matinee. She'll join us at the ballet.” Ursula sees her mother's brow knit ever so little above her nose. Out under the sycamore, Fish dozes in the lawn chair. The girls begin to strut about the yard and then, laughing, sprawl on the grass.

“They get on, don't they?” Clare says.

“Rhea slept with Juliette last night. I'd made up your bed but she never got that far.” Katie went home before Ursula went to bed. “Rhea wants to stay,” Juliette insisted. Ursula wondered if her daughter had some fine-tuned sense, to pick up Katie's nervousness. Katie agreed that Rhea should stay, with such obvious relief.