Designs of the Heart

by Renee Ryder

  “If Italian is ‘ununderstandable,’ what do you call Arabic or Japanese?”

  “That’s also true. So how’s it going with the language?”

  “Okay, I guess … Day one, nothing. The driver who brought us here spoke in English to us, as did the owner of the apartment, the salesperson who sold me the SIM cards, the grocery store cashier, and the pizzeria guy. The only one who answered my Italian in Italian was the newsstand woman.”

  “Maybe they’re used to dealing with tourists and try to make them feel at home in some way. I’d like that.”

  “I think you’re right. Today, day two, I did get some practice. This morning Roger and Sue felt much better, so we went out to get familiar with the neighborhood and the city center. We walked along the main street and through the alleys between the buildings downtown. Lauren, you won’t believe how crowded they were,” she exclaimed, still able to feel the sense of imprisonment by the crowd. “We had people in front, behind, on the sides, all over the place. We could only take small steps because it was so packed. At one point we might as well have been a flock of sheep.”

  “I hate crowds. A situation like that would drive me crazy.”

  “Considering the heat and humidity, I was getting there. The shade from the buildings saved me. Anyway, we went into a couple of shops to buy some souvenirs. The salespeople started talking to me in English, too, but I told them I knew their language. It was a good test for me. They complimented me, even though I’m pretty sure I made a few mistakes.”

  “They understood you. That’s what matters.”

  “I agree. In the afternoon, Sue and Roger wanted to go and relax at the beach, but the sun was too strong for me.”

  “Oh, your delicate skin. You brought some sunblock, didn’t you?”

  “Sure did. But today it was terrible and, since I haven’t gotten a tan yet this summer, I would’ve burned even with it on. I really don’t wanna spend my vacation unable to lean my back against anything.”

  “What about them? Did they go anyway?”

  “No. They decided to stay with me. I told ’em they didn’t need to, but they said we’ll go all together tomorrow morning, when the sun’s hopefully more bearable. Plus, maybe ’cause it was a Sunday, but there were too many people on the beach. We would’ve had to step on them to get to the water!”

  “It was that crowded?”

  “Yeah. But then again, the beach is incredibly small compared to ours. Like the footprint of a kitten compared to a T-Rex.”

  Lauren laughed.

  “Then, I grabbed my hat and the guidebook and took Ryan’s parents to the other side of town. The artsy area. We passed through a big piazza with a huge fountain and some statues … nymphs, I guess … and went to the cathedral. The outside was kind of plain, but inside it was gorgeous. The guidebook talked about some of the frescoes on the vaulted ceilings.” The one of The Marriage at Cana remained vivid in her memory. “And I counted at least ten niches, each with a statue of Jesus, the Virgin Mary, or other Saints. Sue loved them and admired each one for several minutes, while Roger and I were busy admiring how cool the air was in there …”

  “Hahaha, like air conditioning?”

  “Natural air conditioning.” She laughed, too.

  “And what else did you guys do?”

  “There are two more churches in that area, but they were closed. We just checked out the exterior architecture. We’ve got time to go back and see the inside. By then, we were so tired, hot, and thirsty that we went to a cafe instead of visiting the local museum like we’d planned. Their gelato is so different from our ice-cream,” she added. She could still remember its taste, even though a few hours later they’d had a dinner of spaghetti with clams and an interesting ricotta and pear pie for dessert. “I can’t tell if it’s better than ours, but I’ve never tasted strawberry or chocolate quite like that! Anyway, we sat at a table outside and chatted, just enjoying the shade and watching people go by and horse-drawn carriages taking tourists around. Sue started telling me about Ryan as a kid always being extremely outgoing.”

  “I believe it! Knowing him, I can’t imagine him being a shy little boy.”

  “Once, at a wedding, he kept bothering the singer until he got a microphone so they could sing a duet together!”

  “That sounds like him!”

  “Sue said she’s still got the video somewhere.”

  “It sounds like you two are bonding …”

  “Yes, she’s incredible. I admit, for a minute I was tempted to tell her about my mother.”

  “Really?”

  “Roger got a business call during dinner and took it outside. I was alone with her, but figured he’d come back in the middle of the story, so I didn’t say anything.”

  “I wouldn’t open up with her, though.”

  “No?” She frowned at the advice.

  “I mean, you’ve known her for two days. Everybody is nice in the beginning. Then her bitchy side might come out and you’d regret it.”

  The cold bath of reality chilled her enthusiasm. She strongly doubted that Susan would wind up being like Lauren said; however, she had to admit that her wishful thinking might be affecting her better judgement.

  “I just mean that it seems kinda soon,” Lauren went on. “Waiting longer couldn’t hurt.”

  “Maybe you’re right. But I feel so comfortable with her and … I dunno.”

  “And how are the Italians?”

  “What about them?” she replied, appreciating the blatant attempt to change the subject.

  “They’re like the French, with a reputation for being seducers,” she teased, giggling.

  “None of the men I talked to hit on me, if that’s what you wanna know.”

  “Not even when you went out alone?”

  “Well, some guys standing in front of an arcade said hi when I passed by.”

  “Ha ha!”

  “But I didn’t even look at ’em and kept going.”

  “And what else?”

  “Nothing more.”

  “C’mon, Hannah. I know you. I can hear in your voice that there’s something else in that head of yours!”

  “Okay. If I have to share some of my impressions, and I’m talking basic impressions …”

  “Yes?”

  “The driver. Very polite and respectful when he spoke to me, he had something in his eyes … I don’t know how to describe it.”

  “Mhm, the driver! What’s he like? Dark-haired? Blond? Macho? Tall, I bet.”

  “Blond. Good-looking. Too bad you’re not here with us. He could’ve had the chance to give Zeke a run for his money …” she sidestepped.

  “I don’t need to make him jealous to put pressure on him. My body is enough for that, baby!”

  “Somehow I should’ve known you’d answer like that.”

  “Maybe you know me well, too.”

  “When I go back home and you finally introduce him to me, we’ll have to go on a double date.”

  “You know Zeke can’t be seen in public with me,” her voice turned serious. “But you’re the only one I’ve showed a picture of him to.”

  “Thanks for the honor! I’ll wait fo— Yes?” she interrupted herself at a knock on the door.

  “Hannah, do you have a moment?”

  “Sure, Sue. Come on in,” she called, leaping from the bed like a recruit ready for the lieutenant’s inspection. “Lauren, I should go.”

  “Okay, I’ve gotta go, too. I don’t want Chuck to scold me again ’cause I’m late for work.”

  “Say hello for me,” she added, as Susan, wearing a light-colored robe and holding her phone, closed the door behind her.

  “I will, Hannah. Talk to you soon.”

  “Bye, Lauren.”

  She placed her smartphone on the nightstand and went over to Susan.

  “Everything alright?”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

/>   “No worries, Sue. I was just talking to a friend. What can I do for you?” she asked, happy for the chance to help her.

  “Something’s wrong with the SIM card you bought for me yesterday. I put it in and it works, but I can’t find my contacts anymore. I hadn’t noticed earlier because what with unpacking, going to dinner, and everything, I didn’t think about my phone. But now I want to send my friends a message and … they’ve disappeared. I asked Roger, but he has his European phone plan so he doesn’t know what’s going on with these cards.”

  “I’ve got a guess about what the problem is. Do you have the old SIM here?”

  “Yes. I also have the key to open the thing,” Susan said, pulling them both out of her pocket.

  “Perfect. Come with me—it’ll just take a minute.” She winked, and sat down at the little table. Susan followed her. “You’ve probably got your contacts stored on the old SIM instead of in the phone,” she explained while replacing the old card into the slot. “I’ve just got to save them to your phone and then re-insert the new SIM.”

  The process required several steps, and Susan stood close the whole time, which made her feel good.

  “Oh, here they are,” Susan said, eyes on the screen and a smile on her face. “Thanks, dear. I’m lucky you know how these things work,” and then stood up, putting the phone, card, and key back in the robe’s pocket.

  “And who are these friends you have to write to?” she asked, not caring if it sounded intrusive, in hopes that Susan might stay longer.

  “My church group. We work in the kitchen all together every Sunday afternoon. We make food for the Community Dinner.”

  “What’s the Community Dinner?” Opening the door into Susan’s personal life piqued her interest.

  “It’s an initiative at our church. We collect food donations and cook a big meal. Anyone who doesn’t have enough, single people but also whole families, are all welcome to join us in the refectory. We usually meet at the church around three. Now it’s almost one in Seattle, so I want to check in with them before they go.”

  “That is such a wonderful thing to do. People who volunteer have a great heart, and you’re proof of that,” she said, remembering all the nice people she’d met when the idea about Lifeline had started to swirl around in her head.

  “Oh, it’s nothing, dear.” Susan blushed and waved her off. “It’s simply to give people in need the chance to enjoy a good old-fashioned Sunday dinner on the day of the Lord. Besides, I’ve been doing this kind of thing since I joined my sorority in college. I consider myself lucky to have an opportunity to help.”

  “I think they are lucky to have you … You know, I was telling my friend about Ryan’s duet at that wedding, and thinking what a great guy he is. The credit must go to you.”

  “Oh,” Susan exclaimed, her face and tone softening. “That is really nice of you to say. Thanks,” she added, taking her hand tenderly.

  This unexpected touch amplified the effect of Susan’s loving look. The cautious barriers she’d put up at Lauren’s suggestion wobbled.

  “I admit I envy him,” she said without thinking.

  “Ryan?”

  “Not a resentful envy. More of a sad one. I would’ve loved to have a mother like … like you.”

  She spoke looking Susan directly in the eyes, but with hesitation. Her logical side felt a shadow of fear, but was dwarfed by an irrational confidence in speaking freely at last.

  Susan remained impassive for a few seconds, before hugging her all of a sudden. She melted in the warmth of that hug.

  “I can only imagine how hard it was to grow up without a mother, dear,” Susan whispered, patting her back and rocking slightly to comfort her. “But I have no doubt that your grandmother gave you all that she could.”

  “I told you my mom abandoned me when I was seven, but I didn’t tell you why.”

  At these words, Susan pulled back, anxiety and curiosity on her face.

  Standing in front of this potential mom, her heart started pounding as she approached the dark forest of her childhood. She felt that she couldn’t get lost if she stuck to the path. The cautious barriers holding her back collapsed.

  “I was an accident, Sue. Nothing more. My mother was seventeen when she had me. She was one of those girls who party and have fun without thinking too much about the consequences. Well, she got stuck with one of those consequences for nine months after a one night stand with a guy no one has ever been able to tell me anything about. That was how … ‘this beautiful child with skin pale like the moon and eyes blue like the ocean came into the world,’ as Grandma always said.”

  She was used to these thoughts. She had lived with them since she’d begun to understand how life works, but she hadn’t imagined that voicing them would cause her eyes to prick with tears.

  Something more akin to affection than compassion shone in Susan’s face, and that spread a trail of breadcrumbs along the right path of the forest.

  “She tried to be a mom. She tried for seven years, but evidently the dawning of the new millennium gave her the idea to start a new life. She was wasting her time with me and needed a way out.”

  “No, dear. Why would you say that?”

  “One night she took me to my grandma’s, like always when she was on the night shift,” she resumed, moved by Susan’s sweetness, but determined to go on. “That time it was different because the next morning she didn’t come back to get me. A letter came instead, asking her mom to look after me. For me, though, nothing. Not one word. Not even a good-bye … I don’t know how it actually went. I was little and later Grandma made it clear that she didn’t want to discuss it.” She tried to calm herself, but her eyes threatened to overflow. “I would’ve liked to know the whole truth. If she ever called Grandma or if Grandma ever tried to track her down. Things like that. And I don’t deny that even today, at times … It’s my life, after all,” she justified herself, failing to control the vibrations of her voice and the tears. “But I never felt like I have to know, whatever it takes, because … because … I don’t know.”

  “Hannah, dear. Come here,” Susan said, hugging her, voice affected and eyes shining.

  She accepted the hug and, cuddled by the scent of lavender, tried to steal some motherly love by holding Susan’s waist. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the security she’d dreamed so long about feeling, in a silence broken only by their breaths.

  She’d told Susan she hadn’t searched for the truth and didn’t know why. But she did. She’d only withheld that because some pain is manageable in the mind, but hurts too much to say aloud.

  Feeling ‘unwanted’ cuts deep. She’d chosen not to dig up the truth because underneath it all was the unchangeable and definite fact that she was nothing more than a ball and chain to the two people who had created her. She just dragged them down. That’s why they had both gotten rid of her, one by rejecting her since conception, and the other by dropping the burden that slowed her down in the marathon of life.

  If the ones who brought you into the world don’t want you, who ever would?

  She had grown up believing in this deception. Over the years, her grandma’s and friends’ love had revealed it as a trap. Even a psychotherapist—sophomore year of high school—had explained with convincing arguments that this question was a trick of the mind. However, alone at night her demons returned and sucked energy from her very essence. The emotional reactions we have as children don’t disappear with age, but can seep into our bones and become part of the structure of how we experience the world. And so it happened that, in those solitary moments, she unraveled the work woven during day with her grandma’s, friends’, and therapist’s help. The therapist, who shared a beautiful theory, then headed home afterwards to see her children or call her own parents. But what about her? Who could she call? And who would call her to hear how she was doing? No one. So she quit agitating the sediment with therapy and let it settle where it may. That’s how this perpe
tual disappointment, suffered day after day, became the cruel refrain ‘we do not want you,’ and she had eventually surrendered to it. The only way to alleviate a pain that doesn’t go away is to get used to it.

  Aware that answers from neither her grandma nor a private detective would undo the abandonment, it seemed pointless to investigate how and why her mother did it. To add insult to injury? No, better to let it go. So she’d focused on the future. A future that she’d sketched for herself, thanks first to Grandma and later to Ryan, until it became the present. And now, through Susan, she had let her pencil cross over the edges of the present and create images of a future she’d never dared hope for, a future so sweet that it could heal the suffering from her past.

  That was what she wanted to tell Susan, but the time for words had gone. Now she could only let herself be snuggled into that maternal embrace, comforted by the simple thought that sometimes life’s surprises aren’t bad at all.

  8. “Ci”

  It was nine in the morning when Hannah and the Corwins left the apartment. It stood on a street that became a long, wide staircase which connected the marina area with the downtown residential neighborhood. The street only allowed foot traffic—considering the stairs—while the paved road coming from the other side of the marina was for vehicles. The two converged at the beach below in an area already filling with people.

  While they went down the cobblestoned staircase, the breeze carried the salty tang of the sea to them. But this wasn’t the only breath of fresh air for her.

  Admiring a palace from the outside and being invited in for a tour are two completely different experiences; it’s another thing entirely to cross to the other side of the barricade and become the tour guide. She’d felt that kind of profound change after venting the night before. She’d shown the painful emptiness that she carried inside her to Susan, who had responded as if ‘everything’s all right, I’m here now.’ She’d felt that beyond any doubt when they’d said goodnight. Not from words, but a look. A look that relayed depth in its simplicity. A look that gave her a flash of the potential happiness that her mother had taken from her. She remembered, although vaguely, the sense of protection and belonging that children feel with their mother. But everything related to that connection between a mother and daughter, and how it changes between childhood and adulthood, represented an unknown that she had to be satisfied with fantasizing about. She’d always wanted to nurture a connection like that—maybe because it was denied to her—which Susan now offered. Except that trying it had made the enormity of the change inside her clear right away. It was like only having black and white on her paint palette and, even though she knew other colors exist, she’d gotten used to shades of gray. But from the moment when Susan had brought blue, yellow, and red, the paintings began taking on different forms—not only because of the colors, but the subject matter. Looking at these new brushstrokes, she could see its direct effect on her painting style, too.