Beyond Deserving (39 page)

“The little girl lives in Texas?” Clare says.

“Since she was a baby. Katie took her down for a visit, we thought, and came back without her. I thought I'd die, almost like it was my child.”

“She must have had her reasons,” Clare says.

“We'd have taken Rhea, you know. We'd have been thrilled to have her.”

Clare looks at her daughter. “But how awkward it would have been, think of it. It would never have worked.” She pushes her cup away from her. “Did you and Michael want another child?”

Ursula, surprised at the intimacy of her mother's question, says, “Not really.” She smiles. “We had a boy and a girl, isn't that supposed to be perfect?” When her mother doesn't comment, she goes on to say, “I've always wondered why I didn't have a set of twins. Katie, either.”

“What a handful that would have been!”

“But special.”

“I'd say you did very well, Ursula.”

“Of course! I'm only speculating. And sometimes twins have twins.”

“Has it been special, being married to one?”

Ursula's breath seems to burst out of her chest. “Oh heavens yes!” she says. “Sometimes I've felt I was married to both of them!”

Clare puts her hand over Ursula's on the table. She says, “You've been a good and fortunate mother, Ursula. To be together, and healthy, all of you.” Ursula fears for a moment that her mother is going to cry. Clare says, “Juliette is quite lovely. I feel a very special bond with her.”

Ursula thinks it may have something to do with Juliette's age. After all, Ursula was fifteen when her mother left. Maybe there's a sense of unfinished business. She rises and calls through the window. “It's time to go, Julie!” Both girls look up from the grass. It takes them a moment to find Ursula's face at the pane. When they see her, they both stare, locked for a moment in stillness, like a photograph. Ursula looks at the younger girl's unsmiling face and feels a shock of recognition. What is it I see? she wonders. Maybe it's only Fisher blood, or the loveliness of a girl at nine. Tears spring to Ursula's eyes. Maybe it is longing. Do Michael's ley lines extend to Rhea? Ursula puts her hand up against the window, as if to signal to the girl. As if to send something to her, to make the connection.

Brian makes an awkward speech about his decision to use some contemporary music this year. The program is “a mix of epochs.” There is to be a ballet scene inspired by
Giselle
and choreographed for the small stage, and another especially choreographed for the four young ballerinas. There is a dramatic interpretation of a French poem about the illicit love of a knight for his lord's lady; Ursula fears for a moment that Brian is going to recite the poem, but the allusion is only for the audience's enlightenment. And there is a bit of Gershwin, and a rock number borrowed from U2.

Ursula has packed away the remains of their supper, and they all settle down for the performance. Rhea leans against Fish, and Katie sits close by. As the music begins, the audience hushes, and Ursula feels pride and anticipation rush through her on a shot of adrenaline. Her chest aches. She grasps Michael's hand for a moment, and he leans over to say, “Remember how long they've been practicing.” Then the ballerinas flutter onto the stage, and as soon as she sees Juliette, she relaxes, for her daughter is so obviously at ease, it would be unjust to worry for her. She does not need her mother's vigilant apprehension. She can manage quite well.

At intermission, Clare asks Ursula if she wouldn't like to walk for a few moments. They go past the edge of the audience, toward the parking lot and onto a path. There Glare takes Ursula's hands. “Do you know how much talent Juliette has?” She seems so solemn, Ursula is relieved to hear the question. She thought for a moment her mother was going to tell her something terrible. She doesn't know how to answer her mother, so she smiles and shrugs, the picture of the falsely humble mother. Clare says, “You should think how you can get her better instruction. She can't be getting what she needs here.”

“She has rehearsal every day, and performances all summer, now, once a week.”

“Of course. And in the fall?”

“She dances every morning, four days a week, and she has a class on Saturday. My God, Mother, she's only fifteen.”

Clare puts her arm across Ursula's shoulders. “We'll talk about it later. Let's go back.”

“No. What is it you're telling me? What do you think I ought to do?” Ursula hears a shrill note of self-defense in her voice.

“I think you ought to quit worrying about what Juliette says to you, and worry about her talent.”

“God, Mother, what else am I supposed to DO?”

“I have some ideas. Come along.”

Ursula tries to watch Juliette with a stranger's eyes, but of course she cannot. What she can see is that her daughter seems to float where the others dance, that her legs and arms go on forever, and that she seems utterly without hesitation. There are no false steps. It becomes apparent that Brian has choreographed rather wisely, to keep Juliette from dominating the company. His wife is the prima ballerina, and he has kept Juliette well away from her, mostly offstage when she is on. He has saved all the dramatic, large movements for his wife, and given the younger women the lively, cat-like moves. Two of the women are in their twenties, dancers who have come from San Francisco for the summer. They are more expert than Juliette; they have the steps that cause the audience to break into applause when they pause, as if to say, “Didn't you like that?” But Ursula sees what her mother sees, even with Juliette's restricted role. Juliette is the company's angel. She is a dancer. The girl who has been whining and fussing and drooping around the house for two months is the picture of radiant confidence.

Ursula thinks she knows what her mother has in mind, and as she watches Brian's aging wife wilt before her young lover, she feels tears, on her cheeks. She wishes the dancers were more convincing and able. She would like to weep.

53

At the house, there is a celebratory air. Rhea dances around on her toes, attempts an arabesque, and falls laughing onto Katie's lap. Michael pours wine for everyone. Carter and Annabel arrive, too. Ursula is amazed when Annabel says, “Where's Juliette? I want to tell her how wonderful she was. We loved it!”

“You went to the ballet?” Ursula asks Carter.

“Sure. I traded nights at work.”

“Why didn't you come down to our blanket, son?” Michael asks. “We had chicken.”

Annabel replies, “We got there a little late and sat up on the hill. It was nice from where we were. Where's Juliette?”

“She's bathing,” Ursula says. “Carter, there's soda in the frig. Have you introduced Annabel to your Texas cousin?”

Carter's girlfriend is lovely, Ursula thinks. She kneels beside Rhea and talks to her in hushed tones for several minutes. Rhea giggles, Annabel squeezes her hand, and goes back to Carter. “We're going swimming out at the lake tomorrow,” she says. “Maybe Rhea and Juliette could come.”

“I don't know,” Ursula says, because Annabel is looking at her. “Katie and Fish may have plans.”

“I've got to work,” Fish says.

“Whatever,” Katie says.

“Oh boy,” Rhea says.

Clare stands up. “I'm going to look in on Juliette,” she says. In a little while she returns and says, “Ursula, you'd better come up.”

Juliette is on her bed in a nightgown, her knees drawn up and a sheet pulled over her feet. She is sobbing.

“Darling, what is it!” Ursula cries and sits on the bed. She tries to take Juliette into her arms, but Juliette stiffly pulls away.

Clare comes close, and Juliette moves over to make room for her beside her. “It's all right, Juliette. But I want you to show your mother, so she won't see accidentally and get all upset.”

“See what!” Ursula asks. “What is going on?”

Slowly Juliette peels back the sheet and reveals her feet. She turns one to the side, and Ursula gasps. The foot looks as if it has been chewed.

“What in the world!” Ursula says.

Juliette sobs more loudly.

Slowly Ursula touches Juliette's feet. All along the sides, the skin has been peeled away somehow. There are large raw pink spots. She slips her hands under the heels and feels the rough broken texture there, too. In places along the tender center of the sides of the feet, there are a few scabs.

Clare puts her arms around Juliette and pulls her against her. “Shhh,” she says. “It's okay now.”

“I don't understand,” Ursula says. Her hands are trembling.

“I just—I just scratched them a little,” Juliette whimpers.

“A little!” Ursula cries.

“Shh,” Clare says.

“It's all OVER.” Juliette says. “They're HEALING.”

“All over?” Ursula looks at the feet again. She cannot imagine that they were once worse. “How did you do this, baby?” she whispers.

“Sometimes—I—picked—at—them.”

Clare reaches down and pulls the sheet up. “There's no infection,” she says to Ursula. “And Juliette is telling the truth, they're healing. She's just peeled the skin, picking at it.”

“So that's why the socks, the feet always hidden.” Ursula touches her hand to her forehead and shuts her eyes for a moment. “Why?”

“I don't know.”

“What do you mean you don't know?!”

Clare reaches out to touch Ursula. “It's all right now, Ursula. In a way it's too bad you have to see, because it's all over, isn't it, Julie?” The child nods miserably. “So please, go back downstairs. I'll see to Juliette and be down shortly. She's exhausted. She just needs to sleep.”

Ursula cannot move for a moment. “Oh Julie,” she says.

Juliette bursts into fresh sobs and turns to put her face in the pillow. Ursula finds it heartbreaking not to touch her, but she can see it would make things worse. She stands up. Something occurs to her. “Has Brian seen your feet?”

Muffled by the pillow, Juliette says, “Yes, tonight. He said he is going to call you tomorrow. He said if I didn't tell you he would.”

“Good for him,” Ursula says, and marches out of the room.

It is relief to find that everyone has declared the evening a success but a tiring one. Carter has left to take Annabel home. Rhea has fallen asleep on the floor. “I could put her on my bed,” Fish says, “and sleep on the couch.” Ursula nods. Katie gathers glasses, takes them to the kitchen, and exits without saying much of anything. Finally, Ursula, Michael, and Clare huddle on the couch to talk about Juliette.

“I went up to tell her goodnight,” Michael says.

“Did she show you her feet?” Ursula asks.

“No. She was awfully tired. She gave me a big hug and I think she was asleep before I left the room.”

“Good,” Clare says.

“I told you she needed a therapist,” Ursula says.

“Don't be so hasty,” Clare says.

“Hasty! How long has this been going on?”

“A few weeks, I gather. And that was a few weeks ago. If Brian hadn't noticed, probably none of us would have, either.”

“God,” Ursula says.

“Her
feet
?” Michael says.

“She's only mutilated them,” Ursula says.

“She's been picking at them,” Clare says. “It looks worse than it is.”

“Hmmm,” Michael says, unalarmed.

“You didn't see,” Ursula says. “I think I should call someone tomorrow.”

“Maybe,” Clare says, “you should talk to someone yourself.”

“Me!”

“To get a handle on your anxiety.”

“Mother!” Ursula looks to Michael, who maintains a clearly neutral expression. “Michael!” Then, she crumples and begins to cry. Michael puts his arm around her.

“Darling,” her mother says, “take a tranquilizer or something and get a good night's rest. Go to work tomorrow and let me spend some time with her. Now her little secret's out she won't feel so guilty and confused. You know, as bad as it looks, I don't think she's hurt herself, really. Sometimes when you're worrying too much about something, and you don't have the coping skill, you do something else to distract yourself. Chew your nails. Drink. Tear paper. Julie scratched her feet.”

Ursula feels as if she has already taken a sleeping pill. “I can't hold my head up much longer,” she says in surprise. It seems negligent, to go off to sleep now.

“You go along,” Michael says. “I'll be up in a while.” He kisses her forehead. “If Clare is interested, I'll open the wine from the back of the frig. The good stuff.”

Clare gets up too. “I'll wash us some glasses, Michael.”

54

While the men help Mr. Melroy pack up his stuff from the flea market table, Rhea lies in the back of Gully's truck on his makeshift bed. It is rumpled and it doesn't smell very fresh, but Rhea has never been in any kind of camper before, and she loves the cozy feeling. She is reading a book her Uncle Michael gave her about birds and birding. She never heard about “birding” before. Uncle Michael and his students make nesting boxes for bluebirds, and take them out into the woods every year. He says she can put out water dishes, and hang fresh fruit in the yard tomorrow, to make more birds come; he says his kids weren't so interested in birds, so he didn't think right away to tell her about them. Juliette does love the hummingbirds that come around the back of the house where the feeder hangs. Rhea loves to sit out there with Juliette, who is beautiful and smart and a wonderful dancer too.

Rhea recites the names of birds. She isn't sure how you say some of them, but it doesn't really matter. It's like saying a poem or singing a song: mourning doves, ring-necked pheasants, grackles and catbirds, tufted titmice, slate-colored juncos and redpolls, finches and grosbeaks. When Rhea gets home, she is going to tell Granny that they should feed birds in the winter, and when she has a project at school, she will do it about birds.