Finding Bluefield (21 page)

“How do you know cars?” Nicky asked.

“My father has a garage and he only had girls. Four of us. None of my sisters took an interest, but I liked the tools, liked fixing things.”

“Tell me. How’d you end up in Medford?”

“School,” she said. “I’m studying mechanical engineering. No surprise there I guess. When I’m done studying, I’m going back to Richmond. So when was the last time you were in Virginia?”

“August twelfth, nineteen sixty-four,” Nicky said.

“Okay. That’s specific. And a long time. How come?”

“That is a long and dull story.” Nicky pulled over at the top of the hill. “Listen,” Nicky said, writing her address onto a slip of paper. “If you ever want some Virginia cooking, or another ride in this car, give me a call. I’d love to hear more about Richmond.”

“Thanks,” she said, taking the address.

“Will you be here for Thanksgiving?” Nicky asked.

“I’m going home.” She stepped out of the car. She put Nicky’s address in her pocket and held the door open for another moment. “You ought to go home. They’ll be glad to see you.” She closed the door and turned the corner.

*

Nicky pulled open the screen door and set the groceries down in the mudroom. She hung her jacket on a hook and entered the kitchen where Barbara was sitting at the table changing the batteries in her beeper.

“Where have you been?” Barbara said. “I was starting to get worried.”

“I picked up a hitchhiker.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. She said she saw my car and wanted a ride. She’s from Richmond. How strange is that?”

“Maybe we should cancel with Abe and Susan. It’s been a rough day.”

“And let this fine cooking go to waste? No way.” Nicky took out the roller and started smashing pecans. “Really, Barbara, I’m up to it.”

“Can I do anything?” Barbara said.

“All I have left is the pie. Put up some water and I’ll bring tea to the living room when I’m done. Now get out and let me cook.”

“She was really from Richmond?” Barbara said.

“Weird, isn’t it?”

“You know what else is weird? You not wanting to talk about Carol-Ann.”

“Nice segue,” Nicky said. “Seriously, what is there to talk about?”

“I don’t know. Maybe that your sister died?”

“You know what I keep wondering?” Nicky said, putting down her rolling pin. “How did Claire get our address? All this time I thought we were in hiding.”

Barbara left and Nicky leaned against the counter. She looked out the window at her garden. There were no seedlings to check up on, only the last of the pumpkins and some winter squash waiting to be picked. In a few weeks it would be Thanksgiving and Paul would be coming home from school. Nicky and Barbara and Paul would have turkey, go for walks, and bed down the garden for the winter. The previous spring, on Paul’s eighteenth birthday, Nicky had let out that deep breath she’d been holding for all those years. She knew it was not original, or even slightly profound, but she wondered where the time had gone. Susan told Nicky that in Hebrew, eighteen was the numerical equivalent of the word life. For Nicky, it meant that Paul had become his own legal guardian and that no one could take him away from her anymore.

*

With dinner set, Nicky filled two mugs with tea and took them into the living room. She was surprised to see an open book of photographs waiting for her. The pictures, almost all black-and-white, were held in place by tiny black triangles that grabbed the photos by their corners. They were pictures of Nicky and Carol-Ann as children. Her father had taken the pictures the summer their mother died.

“Where did this come from?” Nicky said.

“I brought them up from the basement.” Barbara was working on the fire. She stirred the coals, placed two logs on the pile, and stood.

“I meant, why?” Nicky said, lowering the mugs onto the coffee table.

“I thought you might want to see them.”

“I don’t.” Nicky’s legs felt weak and she sat down. “All I want is to forget.”

“Forget what?”

“Everything.” Nicky lifted the tea and warmed her hands. “Promise me you won’t mention Carol-Ann to Susan and Abe. I don’t want to waste and ruin the whole evening talking about Carol-Ann and looking at old pictures.” Nicky sipped her tea cautiously, inhaling more vapor than liquid.

“That’s two things.”

“What is?”

“That’s two things you don’t want.” Barbara took off her glasses and rubbed her face. “What are you going to tell Paul?”

“There’s nothing to tell Paul. He never knew Carol-Ann and now she died. So there’s even less to tell.”

“Nicky,” Barbara sighed. “I’m tired of keeping secrets.”

“What do you want me to tell him? That the reason I stopped talking to my only sister, his only aunt, and the only reason we left Virginia was because he was born?”

“That’s a start.”

“It wasn’t his fault,” Nicky said.

“It wasn’t your fault either.”

“Who cares whose fault it was?”

“Well, it wasn’t yours. But you don’t believe that.”

Nicky straightened up in the chair and drank some tea. “I’ve spent my whole life thinking I did the right thing by leaving without saying a word. Even if I was right and Carol-Ann was wrong, what difference does it make now? I can’t even have that argument with her anymore.”

Barbara sat on the couch and flipped through the photo albums. “What would you have done differently?” She leaned back on the couch.

“Not let it go on. Called her. Talked to her. Argued with her and yelled at her. Cried with her. Now I’m stuck with what if. And there’s nothing I can do because she had to go and die first.”

“You should definitely be mad at her for that.”

Nicky lifted the book of photographs and slammed it shut. Abruptly, she stood, walked over to the fireplace, and dropped the book in.

“Are you crazy?” Barbara jumped up, spilling her tea onto the rug as she rushed to pull the photos from the fire.

Nicky went over to the window and looked out over her yard. Her breath fogged the pane and she traced a face on the glass.

Barbara put the album back on the coffee table. She went over to Nicky and stood behind her, slipping her arms around Nicky’s waist. “You could call Richard,” she said softly.

“Did he call me? Did he write me about Carol-Ann?”

“Maybe he asked Claire to,” Barbara said. “I still can’t believe they had our address.”

“I can’t believe they stayed together.”

“Maybe he’s changed. It’s been a long time. People change.”

“Maybe she changed. When Richard heard I was pregnant, he told Carol-Ann that I should be committed, that I’d gone too far. He said he was willing to find a doctor and sign the papers and then he and Carol-Ann could adopt Paul.”

Barbara began to rock Nicky back and forth. “Still, it’s been eighteen years.”

“I’m not reaching out to Richard. Even if it was eighty years.”

“Then you could call Claire. Ask her about Carol-Ann. Get to know her family. We could take a trip out there with Paul. Give him a chance to know the rest of his family.”

“That’s not going to make up for Carol-Ann.”

“No, it won’t. Nothing will.”

“I just want to forget her again,” Nicky said, turning to look at Barbara.

“Have you ever forgotten her?” Barbara said, putting her arms around Nicky.

“No.”

“Then call Claire before even that’s too late,” Barbara said. “She wrote you. She called me Aunt Barbara. How cool was that? You have to try if you want to know things about Carol-Ann.”

“I don’t know if I want to.”

“I think you do. And Paul is certainly going to want you to,” Barbara said.

“That’s just it.” Nicky wiped the pane clean.

“What?’

“Carol-Ann wanted to separate Paul and me, and I’m scared that she’s finally going to do it.

*

Susan and Abe arrived for dinner carrying a case of wine they bought at a small winery on their recent trip to California.

“You know it’s just the four of us?” Barbara said.

“We went on a wine tasting tour,” Abe said.

“We tasted a lot of wine,” Susan said. “This was our favorite so we brought a case for you too. Hope you like it.”

“Because we really don’t know much about wine,” Abe said. “I mean, compared to that sweet wine we use for holidays, everything is good.”

“I love that wine,” Nicky said.

“This winery doesn’t make enough wine to sell outside of California,” Susan said as Abe uncorked one of the bottles. “Probably because they give away so much of it to visitors. It’s not that hard to get drunk on all the tastes they offer you. And then you get back in the bus and drive to the next winery and keep drinking.”

“I can’t believe you two are seriously thinking about moving there,” Barbara said.

“Well, the university made Abe a nice offer,” Susan said, “and then there’s the weather. It’s always sunny there. I mean, I love upstate New York, but these winters here are getting to me. And Lila is just starting high school, so she can start there.”

“And the free wine,” Barbara added.

“It’s tempting,” Abe added. “Their research facility is the real draw.” He filled four glasses. “You should think about California. Doctors can set up practice anywhere.”

“But we haven’t decided anything, so let’s not dwell on it,” Susan interrupted. “Nicky, tell me about the new sanctuary family. I haven’t met them yet.”

“They’re just staying a few weeks before heading to a church in Vermont that offered them permanent sanctuary.”

“Where’s this family from?” Abe asked. He handed everyone a glass.

“El Salvador.” Nicky said. Turning to Barbara, Nicky added, “Did I tell you that Sonia, the mom, is pregnant?”

“Shit. They’re on the road, for God’s sake,” Barbara said. “Do they have other kids?”

“Three.”

“Does she want to keep it?”

“They’re Catholic,” Nicky said.

“So no birth control. Think of all the extra resources your Sanctuary group will have to provide.”

“I may have told the committee that I’d ask you about giving Sonia a checkup.”

“May have? I hate when you do that to me.”

“You can say no,” Nicky said.

“It’s easier to do that if you ask before you volunteer me,” Barbara said.

“All I offered was to ask you.”

“The family probably hasn’t had a checkup in a long time,” Barbara said.

“Maybe never,” Abe said. He raised his glass. “How about a toast?”

“And the kids will need immunization records for school. I should probably examine the whole family together. I’ll learn more that way. Will you translate for me?”

“So I’ll tell them yes?” Nicky said, giving Barbara a kiss.

“Good times,” Abe said, raising his wine glass.

They touched glasses and drank.

“This is good,” Nicky said. “It will be great with dinner.”

“I thought you’d like it,” Susan said.

“We also have some California news,” Barbara said.

“What news?” Susan said to Barbara. “Are you looking for work there? It’s pretty easy for doctors to move. Maybe we could still be neighbors.”

“It’s not about me. It’s about Nicky.”

“I thought we weren’t going to do this,” Nicky said to Barbara.

“Okay,” Susan said, “now you have my attention.”

“I never agreed.” Barbara pushed back her chair and stood.

“Is everything okay?” Susan asked.

“You two are making me nervous,” Abe said. He drank more wine.

“Nicky’s sister died.” Barbara finished the rest of her wine and put the glass on the fireplace mantel.

“Sister?” Susan said. “I don’t understand.”

“Carol-Ann,” Barbara said.

“Did we know about a sister?” Abe asked Susan.

“No.” Susan moved closer to Nicky on the couch and put her arm around her shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Nicky.”

“It’s okay,” Nicky said.

“No,” Susan said, “it’s not. Something like this is never okay. Let’s put aside, for the moment, that we’ve been neighbors and friends for more than twelve years and you never told me you had a sister. But talk to me now. How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine. It’s not such a big deal.”

“Are you going to the funeral?” Abe asked. “Jews bury the next day. I know other religions allow you to wait, but we don’t wait. I’m not sure why we’re in such a hurry. I think it has to do with—”

“She died a few weeks ago,” Barbara said. “They already had the funeral.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Susan said.

“She didn’t tell us about the sister,” Abe said, “why would she tell us about the funeral?”

“We only found out today,” Nicky said.