Sometimes I pretended that he was my father too. I was the older sister who’d come home from college to enjoy a few days with my younger siblings. My father might call me into his study to discuss my future plans, my hopes and dreams. Or perhaps he was delighted to find his dear sister enjoying the afternoon with her niece and nephew. Sometimes I was his mother looking down on him from heaven. I would appear in a vision and tell him how proud I was, what a good father he was, and that he needed to be careful with his wife. I did not allow my secret visions to take me any further than this.
I always knew what kind of day he’d had by the way he held his jacket. If it was slung over his shoulder, he’d had a fairly pleasant day—if it was flung across his arm, only moderately so. If his hair was disheveled, the thick waves ruffled by several rakes of his fingers, and he forgot his jacket in his car, I knew it had been a stressful day.
“How’s the brood, Ana?” he’d ask. “How near to the edge of insanity were you driven today?”
“I’m miles away from the edge today, sir,” I’d reply. And then once, when he looked particularly weary, I asked, “And you?”
He was thoughtful, and when he lifted Jessie, who at nine still enjoyed being carried about by her father, he said, “Precariously close today, but all of a sudden I’ve taken several steps back. By later this evening I’m sure that I’ll be miles away, just like you.”
Lillian, who remained busy with her women’s meetings and events, wasn’t likely to greet her husband until dinnertime, and lately we’d all been eating at the table together as a family, which I enjoyed very much. But Millie had been excusing herself early and spending most of her time in her room. Some days I never saw her at all, and when the housekeepers arrived from the service, I’d be the one to direct them. Once or twice I discovered her passed out on her bed with an empty whiskey bottle nearby.
On these days I ordered food out and had it delivered, or put something together for dinner as best I could.
One evening as I was preparing a cup of tea before bedtime, Mr. Trellis entered the kitchen. Whenever I found myself alone in his presence my heart began to beat more rapidly and I became aware of a pleasant hum at the base of my neck that radiated warmth all throughout my body. Over time I’d learned how to manage my feelings for him and resigned myself to appearing red-faced whenever we spoke. If he noticed my discomfort or suspected the reason for it, he never said anything about it.
He removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I’m worried about Millie,” he said. “She’s been drinking more than ever, and yesterday I saw her stumble as she was going down the stairs.”
I’d seen her do the same on a number of occasions, and was surprised that he should bring it up now. After all the years that Millie had been taking her “naps,” Mr. Trellis and I never discussed it.
Mr. Trellis continued. “I’m sure you’re aware that Lillian’s wanted Millie out of the house for years, but I’ve always felt an obligation to her. Nevertheless, I understand Lillian’s concerns regarding the children. Teddy notices everything now and Jessie’s not far behind,” he said with a sad smile. “It’s going to be hard on them, which is why I wanted to let you know first.”
The cup and saucer in my hand began to rattle as I realized what he was saying, and I placed it back on the table. “Maybe if we talk to her about it…”
“I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve talked to Millie about her drinking. And each time I have, she’s promised that she’s going to see a doctor and attend AA meetings—the whole nine yards. In fact there’s a meeting within walking distance from the house, but she’s never gone, not even once.”
“I wish there was something more we could do.”
Mr. Trellis sighed. “Hopefully one day Millie will be ready to stop on her own accord, but I can’t wait for that someday any longer. It wouldn’t be fair to the children.” Mr. Trellis put his glasses back on. “We’ll need you to step in for Millie until we find a suitable replacement. I realize that in many ways you’ve already done that, but this would be in a more official capacity and we’d pay you additionally for your help. I…I hope you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind,” I replied as a heaviness settled over my heart. “When are you going to tell her?”
Mr. Trellis shook his head, clearly pained at the prospect. “I’m not sure. I was thinking about telling her tomorrow, but tomorrow I have a very late meeting and I’m not sure when I’ll be home.”
“And tomorrow Jessie’s trying out for the school musical.”
“Is that tomorrow?” he asked.
“Yes, and you know how upset she’ll be if she doesn’t make it.”
“Well,” he said, somewhat relieved. “It doesn’t look like tomorrow’s the right time to take care of this, but soon. I can’t let it drag on for much longer.”
That same evening I noticed light under Millie’s door and I hesitated outside. I didn’t know what to say to her or how to say it, but I knew that I had to do something. After praying for the words and the wisdom that would reach her, I took a deep breath and knocked lightly. To my surprise, she answered right away, and when I entered the room, I was immediately struck by the sweet and pungent smell of whiskey.
She was sitting in her rocking chair watching TV, entranced by a police drama of some kind.
“Can I sit with you for a while, Millie?”
She nodded and patted her bed, while keeping her eyes glued to the set, holding her drink below her knee, perhaps thinking that I wouldn’t notice it there. She seemed to be in a good mood, but I knew it wouldn’t last when she heard what I had to say. Nevertheless, I dove right in. “Millie, they’re going to ask you to leave here if things don’t change,” I blurted out.
She turned slowly, a shifting pattern of light from the TV moving across her face as she stared at me for a moment or two. “What things?” she asked, her glass no longer hidden.
I glanced at the glass and then at her face. It was cold and challenging. I took a deep breath and continued. “Mr. Trellis told me that he and Ms. Lillian are worried. They don’t want the children to see you this way,” I said, nodding toward her glass.
She turned away to stare at the television, her expression distant and pained. The police actors were yelling at someone they’d just pinned to the ground, their weapons drawn. The villain struggled against the officers, but it was clear he wouldn’t get away.
“Have you ever tried to stop drinking, or at least cut down?”
Her fingers gripped the glass so tightly that I was concerned it would shatter in her hand. “What right do you have to ask me these questions?” she asked.
“I don’t have any right, but I don’t want you to go away.” When she didn’t respond, I added, “I know that drinking can help to ease the pain when life gets difficult.”
She turned to glare at me, her lips twitching into a smirk. “That’s an impressive insight, but let’s face it, you’ve lived most of your life locked away in a convent and since you’ve been here you act as though you’ve never left. What could you possibly know about life and its difficulties?” She chuckled derisively and turned back to the TV. Together we watched as the officers shoved the struggling villain into the back of the police car.
“I had a life before the convent, Millie.”
She turned to me, her eyes wide and cynical. “Oh really? I just figured the stork lost its way when you were born and dropped you there by accident.” She turned back to the TV.
“I know I haven’t been willing to tell you very much about it, but if you want, I’ll tell you now.”
Millie turned around again, took a long and bold swallow of her drink, and turned the TV off with one click of her remote. Then she crossed her arms over her chest and gave me a stiff nod.
Hesitantly at first, I told her about my village and everything I could remember about my mother and my family and how the war began. After so many years of silence, hearing myself say these words out loud e
mboldened me and I began to speak even more freely about the massacre, and how my mother hid me away in her sewing cabinet to save my life. My mind became flooded with the horrific sounds of war, the sight of bodies scattered about like laundry blown off the line, and the bleeding scabs in the soldier’s eyes. I felt the fear and pain rip into my gut as though it had happened only yesterday. And then I told her about my days at the orphanage, my love for Sister Josepha, and how we escaped into the jungle. I told her too about the peacefulness of the convent, and how even today I sometimes hear my mother’s voice when I’m afraid.
Millie’s face grew slack and she stared at me with unblinking eyes. I was concerned that perhaps she wasn’t able to make sense of all I’d told her. It was such a jumble of events and people, and I wasn’t sure I had explained it all in the right order.
“I had no idea,” she muttered.
“When I was younger I hoped that if I didn’t talk about it, the memory would fade and eventually I could make myself believe that these things had happened to somebody else.”
“Is that why you entered the convent?” she asked. “So that you could forget?”
I lowered my eyes, feeling suddenly ashamed. “I wanted to be somewhere safe and I wanted the hurt inside to go away. The peacefulness I felt in the convent made it easier, and as the years passed it became part of me. Sometimes I wish that I could still wear my veil and feel the weight of it on my shoulders protecting me. It may sound silly, but I miss my veil most of all.”
Millie reached for her glass, but she didn’t take a drink this time. Instead, she swirled the golden liquor and watched it spin round and round, enjoying the way it moved and flowed. “Who would’ve ever guessed that you and I were so similar?” she said, as a strange sad smile played on her lips. “I always thought that we couldn’t be more different, but for years we’ve been living exactly the same life. It’s really quite amazing when you think about it.”
“What do you mean, Millie?”
“I’ve been hiding behind my God,” she said, nodding to the glass of whiskey on her knee. “And you’ve been hiding behind yours.”
Two days later, Millie and I found ourselves sitting in a room with thirty or so strangers, men and women of all ages and backgrounds. We sat more or less in a circle, although Millie and I had placed our chairs a bit farther away from the rest. People began to speak of their experiences and to share testimonials of their lives, but only after introducing themselves one by one. “Hello,” they’d say, “my name is so-and-so and I’m an alcoholic.” The group would respond, “Hello, so-and-so.”
I didn’t think Millie would say anything during this first meeting, but to my surprise, when it came time for her to introduce herself, she said, “Hello, my name is Millie and I’m an alcoholic. I’ve been an alcoholic for more than thirty years, give or take a few.” The group welcomed her warmly. When it was my turn, I felt at a loss. I was not an alcoholic, yet I felt at one with the wounded souls in the room, as though we’d all come from the same village and experienced life’s cruelties together.
I tried to speak, but I was so overwhelmed with emotion that I wasn’t even able to say my name. Millie placed her hand on my back and spoke for me. “This is my friend Ana. She is one of the kindest and most courageous people I have ever known. She agreed to come here with me because I was afraid and ashamed to come by myself. Thank you, Ana,” she said.
Millie attended her meetings every night, and although my responsibilities with the children made it difficult for me to attend every meeting, I went with her when I could. Before long, she didn’t need a chaperone. Not only was she comfortable attending on her own, but she looked forward to it. She began to tell me about a special friend she’d made there. His name was Fred, and when she spoke of him more it became obvious that their relationship was evolving into something beyond friendship. Sometimes he drove her home from the meetings and sometimes she invited him in for a cup of tea.
It was easy to like Fred. He had a full head of snow white hair and a cropped white beard. He was an uncomplicated, happy man with a soulful laugh that could tenderize the tensest of moments. Even Ms. Lillian liked him, and his presence seemed to make Millie more tolerable to her.
One day Jessie said to me, “Millie’s in love.”
“Do you really think so?” I asked, amazed by how perceptive a ten-year-old could be.
Jessie nodded, her eyes round and serious. “When she looks at Fred, it’s like her insides are melting. That’s how I feel when I look at Joey Robinson.” She’d had a crush on Joey Robinson for two years in a row and she didn’t care who knew about it.
“And do you think that Fred is in love with Millie too?”
“Of course,” Jessie answered confidently. “That’s why he laughs at everything she says. That’s what I do with Joey Robinson. Joey Robinson is very funny, Nana.”
“Oh, I know he is,” I replied.
“The other day I told him that he was the funniest boy in school.”
“Really? And what did he say to you?”
“He said…” She looked down at her shoes, unwilling to finish.
I lifted her chin to find her eyes filled with tears. “Jessie, what did he say to you?”
“He said I was the ugliest girl in school.”
“That is a horrible lie,” I said, embracing her. “Joey Robinson doesn’t know beauty when he sees it.”
“Joey Robinson loves Tiffany Michaels,” Jessie muttered. “She’s the beautiful one, not me.”
A few months later, when the holiday season was approaching, Millie surprised us all when she came home from a weekend in Las Vegas with Fred and announced that they were now husband and wife and that she planned to move out a few days before Christmas. We were all delighted for Millie, and it was wonderful to see her so happy, but it was a somber day when Fred pulled up the drive in his truck and loaded Millie’s things into the back.
Ms. Lillian left to do a bit of Christmas shopping, but Mr. Trellis, the kids, and I helped Millie with her things. We were almost finished when Millie appeared with a tray of fresh-baked cookies. As we sat on the front steps to enjoy them, the children chatted with Fred about what they hoped to receive for Christmas this year.
“So I take it you’ve already mailed your list to Santa Claus?” he asked seriously.
Teddy rolled his eyes, and Jessie gave him a friendly nudge on the shoulder. “We figured out years ago that there’s no Santa Claus. I was still in diapers when I figured it out, wasn’t I, Nana?”
“Not quite that young,” I replied.
“What is this?” Fred asked, properly shocked. “Don’t tell me that after sixty-odd years of believing in Santa Claus, I’ve been wrong all this time.”
Teddy nodded, not buying a word of it. “I’m afraid you have, Fred. Very wrong.”
“Well then, if there isn’t a Santa Claus, how do you explain all the presents under the tree on Christmas morning?”
“Simple,” Jessie replied, happy to solve the mystery. “Mom and Dad buy the presents, and Nana wraps them up and puts them under the tree.”
“And how about my Millie? Doesn’t she have a role in this charade?”
“She sure does,” Teddy chimed in. “When we put out the cookies for Santa Claus, Millie’s the one who eats them.” And everybody broke out in laughter.
Once the truck was packed and they were ready to go, Millie climbed in next to her new husband with many promises to return on Christmas Eve so she could eat Santa’s cookies. Teddy and Jessie gave her hugs, as did Mr. Trellis, who quickly disappeared into the house so that we wouldn’t see his tears. Even Teddy, who’d acquired a new stoicism now that he was entering his teenage years, shed a few.
“I’ll miss you most of all,” she said when we embraced.
“I’ll miss you too, Millie.”
Then she held me at arm’s length, and whispered softly so that only I could hear, “Take care of Adam. He needs you as much as you need him.”
&nbs
p; To think that Millie knew of my true feelings for Mr. Trellis left me speechless. I could only nod as my eyes filled with guilty tears.
The children and I stood out front and waved to her as they drove down the drive and out the front gates. Once she was out of sight, Jessie buried her head on my shoulder and began to whimper. “It’s not going to be the same around here anymore, Nana. Who’s going to make dinner now that Millie’s gone?”
“I am,” I returned as brightly as I could, although I shared their concern.
“You?” Teddy said incredulously. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“I’m very serious.”
Teddy and Jessie eyed each other nervously. “No offense, Nana,” Jessie said, “but you’re not exactly a good cook. Not that you’re horrible…”
“Yeah she is,” Teddy said.
“Come on, you guys. If Millie can get married again after all these years, don’t you think I can learn how to cook?”
They thought about it as we walked back into the house. “I’m not sure,” Jessie said.
“Maybe you should just get married too,” Teddy added.
“No way!” Jessie cried, wrapping her arms around me. “She’s not going anywhere. We’ll just order takeout every night until we hire a new cook.”
I was in the kitchen a couple of nights later, navigating my way around as best I could while following a recipe for spaghetti and meatballs that Millie had simplified for me, when Mr. Trellis came in looking for a predinner snack. Sometimes Millie would prepare a small fruit and cheese plate for him and take it to his study, so I offered to do the same.
“Yes, thank you, Ana,” he said with an awkward nod, but he lingered in the kitchen as I prepared his plate. I felt him watching me as I worked, and the warm, tingling sensation erupted all over my cheeks, more intense than usual. I hoped that he wouldn’t notice me blushing, but the more I willed myself to stop, the worse it became, until I was quite certain that my face was as red as the strawberries I was slicing.
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