Finding Bluefield (22 page)

“You weren’t close?” Abe said.

“We were very close. A long time ago, we were very close.” Nicky filled her wine glass and started circling the living room. “Carol-Ann moved to California before I moved here and we haven’t been in touch since.”

“Is she older or younger?” Susan asked

“Three years older.”

“Was she one of those sixties flower power, summer of love, going to California hippies?” Abe asked.

“Not even close,” Nicky said. “In fact, the exact opposite.”

“Is there anyone else we don’t know about?” Susan said. “Another sister? A brother?” Susan asked, looking at Barbara.

“That’s everyone,” Barbara said. “Just Nicky and Carol-Ann.”

“Does this have anything to do with Paul’s father?” Susan asked.

“What do you know about Paul’s father?” Abe said.

“Nothing,” Susan said. “That’s why I’m asking.”

“I thought we weren’t allowed to talk about that,” he said.

Nicky drank some wine. “This has nothing to do with Paul.”

Susan followed Nicky around the room. “I don’t understand. You were afraid to tell your best friend that you have a sister you weren’t speaking to? Someone in my family is always not speaking to someone else. Most of the time they don’t even remember why so they just start talking again.”

“It wasn’t important,” Nicky said.

“It rarely is. But then why did you hide it?” Susan asked.

“I didn’t hide it,” Nicky said. “It just never came up.”

“How would it come up if you didn’t bring it up?” Susan stopped pacing. “You know, I always pictured you growing up all alone, just you and your dad surrounded by hundreds of acres of nothing but corn. So sad. But you weren’t alone. You had a sister.”

“And cows,” Nicky said, standing and turning toward the kitchen. “And a few pigs, a couple of dogs.”

“I’m not laughing,” Susan said.

“Okay, but for now can we just sit down and eat? I spent a lot of time cooking and I’m expecting everyone to spend a lot of time eating.”

“Don’t worry. All this talk is making me hungry,” Abe said.

“You knew?” Susan said to Barbara.

“It wasn’t my place,” Barbara said.

“At least she told you.”

“I met her,” Barbara said. “Several times.”

“Is that why they stopped talking?” Susan said. “Because you and Nicky were together?”

“You need to ask Nicky.”

“If you all don’t come to the table this minute,” Nicky called, “I’m going to get angry.”

“Let’s not upset her,” Abe said. “She’s had a rough day and I’m hungry.”

Over dinner, Nicky drank more wine than usual. Drank enough so that she was willing to answer Susan and Abe’s questions and enough so that she was willing to leave the dishes in the sink and go right to bed. She dreamt continuously but could not remember anything. She woke up thinking about pie, blackberry pie. The one the bake sale ladies requested, the potluck planners hinted at, and dinner guests hoped for. She still used her mother’s recipe, except that she had to—reluctantly—substitute local berries for those Virginia berries. Nicky insisted that the pies made with substitute berries were never the same. When she couldn’t get back to sleep, she dragged herself out of bed and showered and dressed. She tried not to wake Barbara.

“Where are you going?”

“I have my annual checkup.”

“Want me to make you breakfast before you go?” Barbara sat up in bed and put her glasses on.

“You want to make breakfast?”

“Sure.”

Nicky came over to the bed, leaned over, and gave Barbara a kiss. “That’s sweet, but I’m not hungry.”

“Call me after your appointment.”

“I will.”

“I love you,” Barbara said.

“I love you too.” Nicky stopped by the bedroom door and turned back to Barbara. “You were going to make breakfast?”

“Sure. I still can.”

“What were you going to make?”

“Make? Oh, cereal. Toast maybe,” Barbara said. “Coffee and leftover pie. Definitely pie.”

*

Nicky sat on the exam table and ran her hands over her chest where her breasts once were. Breasts she had willingly given up to keep on hanging on, to improve her chances of sticking around and see who Paul would become—simple as that. She was buttoning her shirt when the doctor returned.

“Everything looks fine,” Dr. Hirsch said, holding her EKG. “I’ll have the results from the other tests in a few days and go over them. If you don’t hear from me in a week, then you know the results were all normal.”

“I want you to call me either way.” Nicky said.

“Sure.” Dr. Hirsch stopped writing and looked up at Nicky. “Is something bothering you?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Because there’s really nothing to be concerned about. Your tests have been coming back clear for several years. You’re in great shape.”

“Maybe just lucky,” Nicky said.

“Nothing wrong with lucky. I have a feeling you’ve made a lot of luck for yourself.”

“Like getting cancer?”

“How’s Barbara?” Dr. Hirsch asked.

“Fine.”

“And Paul?”

“Paul’s in his first year of college, having a good time,” Nicky said.

“That’s what he should be doing. Will he be home for Thanksgiving?”

“Sure. I know that’s not what you’re asking. Don’t worry, I’m fine,” Nicky said. “We’re all fine. I’m just nervous about the tests. But thanks.” Nicky hopped off the table. “I’m good.” She grabbed her jacket and slipped it on.

“Okay. But if you need anything, call me. Anytime.” Dr. Hirsch put his hand on Nicky’s shoulder and opened the office door. “Say hi to Barbara.”

*

Sitting there in the parking lot not listening to the rain as it tapped on the roof of her car, Nicky didn’t want to go home. The hood was turning the drops of rain into steam. The radio was tuned to the local college station and the DJ was playing requests. The next song was going out to Lucy, but Nicky wasn’t listening. Instead, while she waited for the windshield to defog, she was composing a letter to Carol-Ann. A letter she had once started but never finished, a letter she had so deeply tucked away, so thoroughly forgot, that she might have believed it never existed.

Nicky leaned over and placed her right elbow on the passenger seat. With her left hand she opened the glove compartment and took out the envelope from California. From inside the envelope she removed the photograph of her sister that Claire had sent with the news. Nicky held the photograph against her cheek for several moments before sliding it onto her lips. When she pulled it away, she traced Carol-Ann’s face with her forefinger. She looked great . Claire, now a mother of three, took the picture shortly before Carol-Ann died. Claire didn’t question Nicky about the past, didn’t ask her to explain all those years of not seeing, not speaking to, not hearing from. She just thought that Nicky, her Aunt Nicky, would want to know.

Nicky sat back up. She crushed the photograph and threw it onto the passenger side floor. I’m alone now. No parents, no sister. Just me. Even through all those years of not speaking to Carol-Ann, I always felt like the younger sister, the baby of the family. But now there’s only me. Carol-Ann and I buried our mother together, and later we buried our father. But I wasn’t there when Carol-Ann was buried, and she won’t be there when it’s my turn.

The windshield cleared and Nicky turned on the wipers, pressed down the clutch, eased her car out of its parking spot, and headed for the Quaker Meeting House to cover her shift with the latest family being given asylum. Nicky wasn’t a Quaker, but she had taught herself Spanish and after Paul’s eighteenth birthday had felt the freedom and the need to take risks.

Nicky spent all her time with Sonia, who already missed her home. Sure, she was grateful to get out safely with all her children, but she prayed she would get back home some day before she changed so much that she would feel like a stranger in her own land, before her children turned into Norte Americanos. The one inside, Sonia said, she would not even be born on Salvadoran soil. Losing your country, your land, Sonia said, was like losing a limb.

*

On her way home, Nicky pulled into a gas station and convenience store. While her tank was being filled, she went inside and bought a large cup of black coffee, a
Medford Gazette
, a
New York Times
, and a large bag of peanuts. She tucked the papers underneath her arm and returned to her car. As she took that first hot sip of coffee, the sun poked through the drizzle and Nicky could see a piece of a rainbow. She maneuvered onto the highway and listened to a report on the public radio station describing the dedication of the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in Washington. The ceremony was a homecoming for some veterans and families, while others had decided to boycott the event because they were unhappy with the design. More than one veteran said that he hoped the memorial would help the nation move on while not allowing it to forget. Remember but not relive, Nicky thought. Her family had been to many Passover Seders at Susan and Abe’s house, and she was always struck that the text instructed Jews to remember being enslaved, but not relive the experience. Could the Vietnam Vets do the same? Can I do that with Carol-Ann?

Nicky was driving on automatic. Muscle memory was directing the car while her mind replayed scenes of her and Carol-Ann together. Their father loved to ask: What is life without regret? He waited, but they never answered. Better, he said with both certainty and finality. They were never sure if he was talking about himself or trying to save them from having any.

By the time Nicky paid any attention to the highway signs, she found herself heading south instead of north. She realized where she was going and without any thought, without any hesitation, she continued driving south, crossing into Pennsylvania. It was clear to her that if she didn’t go at that moment, she might never go home again.

Nicky had tried to find a way to avoid selling her farm. But that money allowed her to start a new life, to have some security in case Barbara backed out of the relationship. But she and Barbara lasted. Better than lasted. And while they had not set out to live a life of example, nor did they think they had, many younger women in the area had taken to tracking them down to hear their story, wanting to interview them for radio shows and articles and dissertations. Those young women—the flannel women, Barbara called them—wanted to know what it was like way back when.

“They think we’re dinosaurs,” Nicky once told Barbara.

“They think I’m a dinosaur,” Barbara said. “You? They want to sleep with you.”

After crossing the Mason-Dixon line, Nicky pulled into a Maryland rest area for something to eat. As she paid, she remembered that movie where the hero, who is on the run, gets tracked down by his credit card use. She wondered if Barbara could trace her movement south.

Nicky stopped at the cigarette machine. It took dollar bills. She fed the machine but found that the humming noise it made as it swallowed her bills and the electronic push button were far less satisfying than the sound of coins dropping and the pull of the mechanical handle she remembered from her days as a smoker. She thought about the pinball machine in the church basement that she and Carol-Ann had competed on before choir practice. She wondered if Carol-Ann’s high score still stood, or if the machine was still there, or even if the old church was still there.

Nicky looked around at her fellow travelers. Why were they there? What was their journey? How many others were on spontaneous road trips? She stuffed the cigarettes into her jacket, picked up her snacks, and headed back out on the road.

Just before eleven that night, Nicky pulled off the interstate and onto Route 212. Five minutes later, she stopped in front of an
Entering Bluefield
sign. She got out of the car and took a deep breath. She bent down and grabbed a handful of dirt, letting it sift through her fingers as she stood back up. “I’m home,” she said out loud. “And I’m hungry. And I’m talking to myself.” She got back in her car and drove south on Jefferson toward Route 147 and the Bluefield Diner.

*

Bluefield’s Main Street was brighter and a whole lot busier than Nicky remembered it. She slowed down as she passed The Squire, which was showing
E.T.
, and the ice cream shop that had a frozen yogurt sign in its window. The hardware store was gone, and in its place was a clothing store. At the intersection of Route 147, Nicky turned left and was greeted by a cluster of too many familiar fast food chains. Their full parking lots gave her pause. It’s not as if Nicky expected that nothing would change. She’d have been disappointed if Main Street was exactly the same, but it occurred to her that the Bluefield Diner might no longer be in business, and that was a change she was not ready for. So as she approached the hospital with its new wing, she paid it little mind. Instead, her attention and smile were focused across the road where the familiar blue neon letters spelling out Bluefield Diner still rested on the building’s roof like a beacon in the night. The diner had aged well and looked exactly the way Nicky remembered. Nicky turned the Bel Air into the parking lot that had been paved and lined and was struck by the number of imports mixed with all those pickup trucks. She found a spot and took a deep breath. I’m ready for this, she thought, getting out of the car. And if I’m not, it doesn’t matter because I’m already here and I’m really hungry.