Leota's Garden (41 page)

“Eleanor always seemed to be enjoying herself when she was sewing on that ancient machine, but then again, you can’t judge by me. I’ve been told I don’t know anything about anyone. Except myself, of
course.” She made a little sound like she was clearing her throat. “How much is that painting going to be?”

“Painting?”

“Your painting in the gallery. The one you called to tell me about. How much are they going to ask for it?”

“Oh . . . I don’t know, Grandma. I was so excited, I didn’t even think to ask.”

“Any chance I could see it before you sell it?”

“I could ask for it back for a few days and bring it over this weekend. Unless you have other plans.”

“Not unless you count plucking the hairs from my upper lip as plans. But don’t get it back. Take a picture of it. You should keep an album of pictures of your work, noting who buys each piece. Oh, and, Annie, before I forget, do you have any books around your place? Children’s books?”

“I have a box of things I brought from home. There might be a few in there. Why?”

“Arba’s children have been over here the past few afternoons. They come after school, and I read to them. They’ve even started bringing their homework here so they can do it at the breakfast-nook table. And now they’re bringing friends. Two little Mexican boys from down the block and a Vietnamese boy from across the street. Can’t remember their names. Tom, Dick, and Harry, I call them.”

“You’re reading to
six
children?”

“I’m halfway through
Robinson Crusoe
, but they don’t seem much interested. The language is too old-fashioned for them. Carolina brought me some books yesterday. Children’s horror stories, if you can imagine. I’ve never seen such book covers. Horrible things. She said all the kids are reading them. No wonder the world is going mad.”

“I’ll stop by the library.”

“Just bring anything that will keep them interested until Arba gets home. I don’t want the children getting restless and tearing my house down around my ears. At least they’re bringing their own snacks now. I thought they’d be eating me out of house and home after the first day. I’ve never seen children put so much food away as those three Wilson children.”

Annie could imagine. Three growing children were undoubtedly
hungry after a long day at school, and her grandmother’s Social Security check probably didn’t stretch beyond feeding herself. Annie smiled at the picture of her grandmother reading stories to six children under the age of nine. No small task. She could help her grandmother’s literacy efforts by picking up some peanut butter, jelly, and a few loaves of bread. And a couple of gallons of milk. Maybe a bag of apples and a bunch of bananas as well.

“I have some good news, too,” Grandma Leota said. “Barnaby’s eating just fine. Even tossed some seed on the floor today. Still hasn’t made a peep.”

“Great! I’ll tell Susan. She’ll be relieved. Do the children like him?”

“They leave him alone. Anyone even approaches that bird and he has his beak open and ready for attack. Arba calls him Jaws. Now, listen, honey. We’d better hang up. This is costing you.”

“Only a couple of cents, Grandma.”

“A penny saved is a penny earned.”

Laughing to herself, Annie shook her head. “I’ll see you Saturday morning, Grandma.”

“Not Friday this time. Do you have a date with that Sam fellow on Friday?”

“Nope. I’m working at the restaurant.”

“A pity. Such a nice young man. And handsome, too.”

Annie laughed. “And dangerous. I love you, Grandma.”

“I love you, too, honey.”

Annie called her father with the good news, but he wasn’t available, so she had to leave the message with Monica. She knew it was unlikely her father would receive it. Monica always seemed to forget to pass messages along. Annie punched in the numbers for home, then pressed the Off button before the telephone had time to ring.

She sat with the telephone pressed against her forehead for a moment, praying silently that her mother would rejoice with her. She knew it was a lot to expect, but she wanted to share her good tidings with all those she loved. Besides, if her mother heard the news from someone else, it would just give cause for more hurt feelings.

Taking a deep breath, Annie pressed the numbers again and waited, counting the rings. She was trembling slightly, hoping—just this once—that their conversation would be pleasant. Someday her mother was
going to have to accept the fact that Annie was no longer a child. She had to find her own way in life.

Oh, Mother, please, just this once . . .

“Gaines residence.”

“Mother, it’s Annie. I just called to share some wonderful news with you.”

“The only good news I need to hear is that you’ve decided to be sensible and come home.”

Annie steeled her resolve. “One of my paintings is going to be in a San Francisco gallery. For sale.”

“How did that happen?”

Annie hesitated. “Well, my professor told me he was so impressed with it, he showed it to a friend.”

“How nice for you.” Her voice was so dry, Annie wished she hadn’t called. “How old is this professor of yours?”

What tack was this? “Forty, forty-five. I don’t really know. What does that matter, Mother?”

“All you have to do is think about it, Anne-Lynn. Do you really think a first-year art student is going to have a painting shown in a San Francisco gallery? Those galleries show paintings of well-known artists. I should know. I’ve been in them often enough buying paintings for this house. If you ask me, that professor wants something from you, and I can guess what it is.”

Annie hadn’t asked. All the excitement and joy she had felt was gone, along with the heady taste of confidence. “He’s married, Mother.”

“Do you think that makes a difference?”

“He’s
happily
married.”

“Oh, is that what
he
told you? You’re intimate enough with him already that he’s telling you about his personal relationship with his wife.”

“Why do you twist things—?”

“I’m not twisting anything. I was young once. Men in power positions are always hitting on stupid girls who are so starry-eyed they can’t think straight. Use your head, Anne-Lynn.”

Annie wiped the dampness from her cheek.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?”

“What would you have me say, Mother?”

“You want the truth, don’t you? I’ve always told you the truth about everything.”

“You’ve never even seen my painting, and yet—”

Her mother sighed dramatically. “Well, I suppose now you’re going to feel sorry for yourself.”

Something inside Annie ruptured, leaving anger and sorrow in its wake. “I’ll leave that to you, Mother.” She pressed the Off button and put the telephone back in its cradle. Within seconds, it rang again. Annie ignored it. The answering machine clicked on.

“Stop pouting and pick up the telephone, Anne. I’ve really had enough of this childishness. . . .” She kept talking until the machine clicked. Annie leaned over and turned the machine off. The telephone started ringing again. It rang ten times before it stopped. Within a minute, it started ringing again. Fifteen this time. When it finally stopped, Annie sat down and wept. It would take a miracle for her to have the kind of relationship with her mother that she longed to have. She was battle weary.

The telephone started ringing again and went on and on. Her mother wouldn’t stop until she answered. Picking up her jacket, Annie went out the door.

Nora fumed. The longer the telephone rang, the angrier she felt. How dare Anne-Lynn not answer? Leota was to blame for this. Nora’s nails pressed painfully into her right palm as she waited for her mother to answer.

One, two, three, four . . .

The click sounded and she didn’t even wait to hear Leota’s voice. “What have you said to my daughter to turn her so against me?”

“Excuse me?”

It was a man’s voice. Heat flooded Nora’s face. Had she dialed a wrong number? She slammed the phone down. Trying to calm herself, she took a deep breath and pressed the numbers carefully. It was answered on the first ring by the same male voice, belligerent this time. “Who is this?”

“Is this Leota Reinhardt’s number?”

“Yes, it is. Who’s calling?”

“Who are
you
?”

“Corban Solsek, if it’s any of your business. Now I’ll ask you the same question. Again.”

What impertinence! “Nora Gaines. And it
is
my business. I’m Leota Reinhardt’s daughter.”

“Pleased to meet you, I guess. Hold on. I’ll see if Leota wants to talk to you.” Nora went hot all over while he muffled the receiver. She couldn’t hear anything and wondered at the pause before her mother came on the line. “Eleanor? What’s wrong?”

“Don’t
Eleanor
me, Mother. What lies have you been telling Anne-Lynn?”

Silence reigned for several seconds. “I haven’t been telling her any lies. What are you talking about?”

“She hates me! That’s what I’m talking about.”

“Of course, she doesn’t.”

“Oh, yes, she does. And it’s all your fault. I know it. She spends all her time with you and never comes home where she’s wanted.”

“She’s wanted here, Eleanor. Just as you are.”

“There’s a lie right there. You
never
wanted me, and you’re just using my daughter to hurt me!”

“Is this the same old territory, Eleanor? Because if it is, I’ll tell you once and for all, it’s
hogwash
!”

Nora felt herself blushing hotly at the rebuke. “What did you say to me?” Only once in all her years had she ever heard that cold, steely tone in her mother’s voice. And that had been aimed at Grandma Reinhardt.

“You heard me, Eleanor. I said
hogwash
! I should’ve said it to you a long time ago instead of letting you go on like a spoiled brat. If you want to have things straightened out and put right between us, you should come for tea sometime. You’ve been invited often enough!”

Nora jerked as the telephone was slammed down in her ear. She stared at it. The line was dead. She couldn’t believe it! Her mother had hung up on her. She’d never done that before.

Fear gripped her.

How does it feel to be alone?

I am here, beloved. Turn to Me.

Voices warred in her head. Sometimes there was a chorus of them, ranting, raving, fanning her pain and anger. And then the quiet one
would prod at her conscience, making her twist in discomfort, impelling her to cry out for help.

Come to Me, beloved . . .

What help have you ever gotten?
She let the louder voice drown out the other.
You’ve never been able to depend on anyone but yourself.

“I’m not to blame.”

“Eleanor,”
her mother had once said,
“someday you’re going to have to stop laying the blame for everything at someone else’s door.”

Quick tears came at the memory. Her mother had said it to her the day she had come to tell her Dean Gardner had filed for divorce.

Shutting her eyes tightly, Nora remembered Dean’s parting words:
“The only good thing that ever came out of our marriage was Annie!”
She had gotten back at him for that by winning custody when the court supported her charges of abuse. She’d dedicated herself to making sure Anne-Lynn didn’t grow up to be a dreamer like her father. She had sacrificed.

You lied.

She had given up her own dreams . . .

You took vengeance.

Like your mother is taking vengeance?

Nora remembered her mother standing in her bedroom doorway. She remembered being angry about something. She had gotten up from the sewing machine, come over, and slammed the door in her mother’s face. She could still remember Leota’s expression. Stunned, hurt, confused.

Why was she remembering that now when her own pain was so great?

So that you might know . . .

Know
what
? Know that nothing had been right between her and her mother in years? She didn’t want to listen to the voice whispering that she was the one in the wrong, not just about her mother but about everything. Yet it was that voice she was beginning to hear more loudly than her own, like a steady rain upon her head, impelling her to find shelter from the harder storm to come.