I wanted to tell him, but how could I? How could I tell Tom that every time I was in his arms, every time he kissed me, Grace’s face lingered near the surface of my consciousness. Grace and her murderer, Grace and the threat of evil in the world. I had the disconcerting feeling that there was something to worry about—something unfinished, unsaid. A nagging fear lingered at the edge of my subconscious.
Time passed and it was time for Christmas and New Year’s.
“Are you going home for the holidays?” Tom asked one Saturday evening, his mouth full of Kung Pao takeout.
“No, Doro and Maddy are coming here.”
He cocked his head quizzically. “Can’t imagine being in the city for Christmas. The holidays are about home-cooked meals and kitchens, and my dad cussing over the shrubbery lights.”
I smiled. “That sounds nice actually. Guess I just have a different sense of home.”
The truth was I felt like a person without a home. I was two years into my resolve not to return to Mt. Moriah. Both Christmases and Easters, Doro begged. “Come home, doll. Everyone wants to see you.” But for me there was no home. Instead, what felt most like home were Tony’s mason jars and Tom’s navy plaid Goodwill sofa.
Tom put down his plate. “Hey, come home with me for the holidays. My sisters are dying to meet you. Besides, if Y2K is as bad as everyone predicts, it might be our last time together.”
Meeting his family. Sitting at a cherry dining table, with sweet potatoes and heavy pewter candlesticks and childhood anecdotes. A table gilded with laughter and the possibility of happiness. A table where ghosts didn’t lurk: a happy place.
“I can’t, Tom. Can I take a raincheck?”
I did agree to go with him one Saturday in February. Tom and I threw duffle bags in his trunk and inched along highway traffic toward his home in Aurora.
“Tell me more about your family. All I know is you have three sisters and a dad who’s a dentist and a mom who’s …”
“A kindergarten teacher. In all aspects of the word.” Tom flashed a dimpled smile. “She’ll probably give you coloring sheets.”
“So tell me something unique about your family. I’ve told you a lot about Doro and Maddy.”
Tom sat on his horn as a truck cut him off from the merge lane.
“Well, let’s see. Probably the most unique thing about us is a little embarrassing.” He cleared his throat. “We all share a monogram.”
“You mean, like something that’s monogrammed?”
“No, the actual monogram.”
“Was that planned?”
He pinched my knee. “Yes, of course. You think there is anything slightly random to a name?”
Tom explained how his mother, Tonya Evans, married Thomas Eugene Rivers, thus becoming T.E.R. like her husband. When Tom was given his father’s name, the trend began. The Rivers thought their second child couldn’t be the only one without the monogram. So she was named Theresa Evans Rivers.
“Wait a second; I’m still processing that your middle name is Eugene.”
He snarled. “Not something I share too readily with people. It was my grandfather’s name, though, and he was one cool old coot.”
“And so the plan continued with your youngest sisters, the twins?”
“Well I’m not sure there was a plan with regards to my mom getting pregnant a third time. You can chalk that one up to random. But when they were born, they couldn’t be the only ones left out of the fun.”
“And so?”
“Tammy Elizabeth and Tracey Elise.”
“Wow. I have to say, that’s pretty unique.”
I pushed Tom to tell me stories from his childhood. I was anxious about meeting his family, perhaps about the notion of a family in general. Tom’s anecdotes were of creek wading and tire swings and Friday night hamburgers and television. Of rowdy Christmas mornings and yellow labs that stole ham off the Easter platter.
“I don’t know that I’ve ever known someone with such a picket fence life.”
“We didn’t have a picket fence.” Tom frowned. “We had an old chain link that the dogs could escape under.”
“And the dogs’ names? They’re both still alive?”
He paused. “I’ll tell you if you don’t pass judgement.”
“Oh my. Really?”
“Yep. Tatum and Tess.”
Built in the 1960s, the Rivers’ ranch style house had lofty maples flooding the front yard with shade. Dr. Rivers had converted the den at the back of the house to a dining room with a china cupboard tucked in the corner. The walls were putty colored, thick knobby paneling that said, “Stay, linger here.”
Tom’s sisters were cut from the same mold: all long-legged, thin, with wavy hair in varying shades of brown. Theresa had her father’s close-set eyes and her mother’s mouth, and the twins, though fraternal, both favored their mother. In their presence, I saw a Tom I had not seen before: a doting brother who lost ten years just by walking through the door.
“Tommy!” squealed Tracy. She was the most rambunctious of the group. At eighteen, she was equal parts woman and little girl. No sooner were we inside than she took a running leap into his arms. They fell together backwards over the sofa.
“Geez, Trace. Give an old man a break!”
Mrs. Rivers—Tonya as she immediately insisted I call her—laughed and pinned her hair back in place. She looked as if she never stopped laughing.
“Let them get it out of their system, JoAnna.” Wiping her hand on a red paisley apron, Tonya clasped my hand in both of hers. Behind me the four Rivers children were rough-housing.
“You’d think they were in elementary school.”
I couldn’t help but smile. The hallway was adorned with school pictures of Tom and his sisters—pictures of dance recitals, baseball team photos. Memories of Easter dresses and Santa laps. I lingered there, looking at the pictures, wondering if my parents’ house would have had such a wall.
“They’re a pain to dust,” Tonya whispered to me. “But truth be told, with the twins in college and Theresa on her own, there are nights that I plant a little kiss on those sweet baby faces as I head off to bed.”
Her face radiated contentment, the sweet visage of a life well lived.
“Excuse me. Let me check the pork chops.”
Tom’s father was the shortest of the family, though he reached 5’9”. In him I could see Tom’s mannerisms. They both pushed their wire rimmed glasses up on their noses every few minutes. They both held their glasses up to the light before breathing on them and shining them with their shirt tails. And Tom’s trademark dimples were on his father’s lined cheeks.
“So tell me what you do at that ad agency, JoAnna,” Thomas said at dinner, passing the steamed broccoli. I thought of Doro and what I would later tell her about the dinner.
“You mean plain old broccoli. No cheese sauce? Not a broccoli and rice casserole?”
I was no longer in the South where cheese, Campbell’s soup, and bread crumbs smothered any vegetable.
I cleared my throat. “My title is copy manager. What I do is proofread and route the copy through the editing process.” I caught the eyes of Theresa, Tracy, and Tammy, all staring at me. Theirs were kind, interested eyes that said they had not met many of their brother’s girlfriends.
“Sounds like a good gig. And there’s room for advancement, I assume.” Thomas adjusted his glasses. “Tom said that was what attracted him to that firm.”
He swatted at Tonya’s hand, reaching to take back part of the lump of butter on the side of his plate. “Forgive my wife, JoAnna. She thinks I’m getting pudgy.”
“I said soft, not pudgy. And just in the gut. Just a little less butter and bread—”
“Shrew, thy name is woman!” He gestured with his butter knife.
“Daddy, you just murdered Shakespeare!” Tammy giggled as Tonya reached out to kick Thomas under the table. Obviously theirs was the kind of marriage that had stood the test of years, the kind of relationship th
at would make Tom believe in plans and destiny.
Thomas was looking at me, with sideways glances at Tom. “Seems a hard business to be profitable at—photography, that is.”
I remembered my conversation with Tom and changed the subject. “Well I really want to be a writer, long-term, but you can’t support yourself on that.”
Theresa’s face said it all. “You’re kidding—you’re a writer? That’s awesome.”
“Theresa is our reader,” said Tonya. “As a child, she worked her way through the whole children’s section.”
“Mom exaggerates,” said Theresa. “Who are your favorite writers?”
She and I lobbed authors’ names across the pewter candlesticks.
“This English major talk is a snooze fest for the rest of us.” Tom rested his chin on his hand and pretended to snore. An elbow to his side made him sit upright.
“This girl appreciates Updike. Have some respect.” Theresa turned her attention back to me, raising her wine glass. “Please excuse my illiterate brother, but let me say I highly approve of his taste in women.”
After dinner the family adjourned to the den to watch the Notre Dame-IU basketball game. I stupidly asked which team they were for. Thomas stuck out his arm. “Take a knife and cut me, JoAnna. It’ll bleed purple.”
“Dad has a statue of the Touchdown Jesus in his office,” smirked Tracy.
By ten o’clock, I could not hide my heavy eyelids. The three glasses of wine at dinner had taken their toll. I caught Tom looking at me quizzically when I held my glass up for a third refill. And then again when I caught the edge of the plate upon trying to set my glass down, making a loud clang.
His mother noticed me nodding off. Football was over, Notre Dame had lost, and Theresa was putting on the DVD of Forest Gump.
“Heavens, honey, that’s a three hour movie. Haven’t you seen it enough?”
Unbeknownst to me, Tom and his sisters could quote every line in the movie along with Tom Hanks.
“Some families play cards; we quote movies,” Tom said.
“JoAnna, would you like me to show you your room? It looks like you’re about ready to turn in.”
I looked at Tom who told me with his eyes that he wanted to stay up a bit longer. He reached over and kissed my forehead.
I followed Tonya down the hallway to the end, where black walls and a leopard bedspread met me. “Is this … Tom’s room?”
“Yes, he went through this phase as a teenager and wanted his walls painted black.” She lifted her palms in mock despair. “And, now it would take so much paint to cover up the black.”
While I was looking at the wall beside the bed—covered with photos, mostly black and white—Tonya left the room and returned with towels. “Now you make yourself at home and just ask for anything you need. With four women in the house, we surely have everything covered.”
Then she looked pointedly at me and said, “Tommy is going to sleep on the living room sofa bed. I know that you two are living together—”
My face immediately flushed. “No, ma’am, we’re not … uh …”
“Well, I know it’s a different era than when I was your age. But at any rate, house rules here and that means girlfriends and boyfriends sleep apart.” She shrugged and laughed, trying to ease the awkwardness.
“Thank you, Tonya. Your home and your family are wonderful.”
Closing the door, I changed into my nightshirt and slid under the covers. The ceiling was a canopy of lights—those iridescent plastic stars that were the design dream of every eight year old. I lay awake for a long time, listening to the faint voices of Tom Hanks and Sally Fields, to the Rivers’ children trying to over-talk each other. I tried to imagine the Tom of six, of twelve, of eighteen. What would a child in this home dream about? What would he fear? What would there be to fear?
As the house quieted under the watchful eyes of those majestic maples, I was lulled to sleep with a sense of safety.
“I wanted this, Mama,” I whispered to the Anna Wilson who could not hear me.
The next morning the twins headed back to Loyola for a sorority formal. Issuing a word of caution, Tonya gave hugs that said she knew them better than she knew herself. Warm, tight, all-consuming but never stifling hugs.
“Your mom’s a good mom,” I told Tom.
Without a trace of sarcasm, just pure pleasure on his face, he agreed. “Yeah, she’s the best.”
That afternoon we went antiquing, leaving Thomas snoring loudly in his recliner, the Tribune crumpled against his chest.
We walked along the main street of Aurora, the charming shops beckoning us inside, the prices driving us back out. Theresa and I talked books while Tom and his mom argued over an antique ottoman she wanted to buy him.
“It’s low. Doesn’t look comfortable.”
Tonya sighed. “It’s not supposed to be comfortable. It’s supposed to look nice.”
“Form over function, eh?”
Tonya turned to me. “Help me here, JoAnna. We females need to stick together.”
His arm around my shoulder, Tom pulled me next to him. “This girl is hardly your typical female. We became friends over drywalling, and she even knows her way around a table saw.”
“I think you just insinuated I’m not a girl,” I teased.
Tom leaned down and kissed me full on the lips. “Oh you’re a girl alright.”
Tonya and Theresa exchanged smiles, and we strolled on.
Something in the window of a corner store caught my eye. On display outside a glass shop was a hand-blown cardinal, the edges a deep scarlet receding into the berry colored body.
“What do you see? Tom asked, his hand on my shoulder.
“I’m looking at that cardinal.”
It was Memorial Day, 1990. Tuck, Grace, and I were clearing plates and cups. Doro had hired a jazz quartet to play patriotic music, and they were on their last song. Guests were starting to head back to their rooms, and people from Mt. Moriah who had sprawled beach towels and picnic blankets on the back lawn were saying their goodbyes.
“I have been officially bitten by every stupid mosquito in Mt. Moriah.” Tuck alternated slapping his shins and gouging at bites with his nails.
“It’s not because you’re sweet, Tuck.” Grace retied her apron, opening the two dishwashers and surveying her options.
“What’s the point of a mosquito anyway? If every animal has a purpose, what the hell is with mosquitos?”
“I can’t see much use in cockroaches,” I remarked.
“True that.” We worked in silence for a minute, then, “If I came back as an animal, I’d be a lion. What about you guys? What would you be?”
“Easy. A golden retriever. Everyone would love me and pat me all day long,” I said.
“Eh, too common. Too much fur.” Tuck hopped up onto a bar stool and examined a match box. Soon Doro would come in and find him lounging and that wouldn’t be a pretty sight.
“Oh, ‘cause lions don’t have much hair at all,” I said.
“Well, yeah, but I’d be in Africa and I’d be used to the fur. It wouldn’t bother me.” Tuck winked at me. “And I’d be king.”
“You’re not going to feel like king when Doro finds you up there on your throne.” Grace paused from scraping the plates to wipe beads of sweat from her forehead. “Little help here!”
“You seem to be doing okay,” Tuck replied, using a clean table knife to scratch his ankle, then dropping it back into the silverware drawer. “So what’s your animal, Gracie?”
Grace dried her hands on a towel, then ran it across her face. “Shh, don’t tell Doro.” She hung the towel back up and, hands on her hips, declared, “A cardinal.”
“What the hell kind of obscure animal is that to pick?”
“They are not obscure. They’re unusual,” she said, resuming her plate scraping. “Besides, I’m a little afraid of flying but if I were a cardinal I wouldn’t be.
“I’d be free.”
I already knew
of Grace’s obsession with cardinals. Maddy had given her his St. Louis Cardinals baseball cap; she had a deck of cards with cardinals on the front, and a huge stuffed cardinal sat on her bed.
“They mate for life and they are so royal,” she said.
“People hate birds. They have to hunt for food and eat worms,” said Tuck. “Think of that.”
“And people are scared of lions, but they love to watch cardinals fly,” retorted Grace. “In your next life, you will have no friends.”
“It’s beautiful,” said Tonya, interrupting my thoughts. “I love cardinals’ symbolism, too. Legend has it that when you see a cardinal in the tree, it’s a visit from a loved one who has passed.” Tonya paused. “I’ve noticed a couple of times that a cardinal will show up on a tree in the middle of winter, and I wonder if it’s a sign from my parents.”
“Hello Granddaddy,” Theresa whispered to the window.
Tonya cut her a sharp glance. “Make fun if you like but I think it’s a lovely idea.”
I smiled at this woman whom I liked so much after such a short time. “I do too, Tonya.”
You’d love this, Grace, I thought to myself.
And I thought the same thing when, on my birthday, I opened a box to find that glass cardinal with a single carat solitaire resting on its delicate scarlet crest.
20
THE CHRISTMAS GIFT
“SO YOU LOVE ME,” I asked when presented with that diamond. It was a rhetorical question, as Tom had told me so more than once in the time since I moved in.
“Apparently, I do.” He swept the curls out of my eyes and kissed my forehead, the lightest touch that made me feel so secure. “You mystify me. You’re an enigma that I can’t get out of my head, and I want to spend my life with you.”
A pause. “How’s that for a non-writer?”
I was quiet, running the tip of my finger over that lovely gem, holding it up to the light.
“Are you going to say something? Yes and I love you too would be nice.”
“You know I love you, Tom.” It was not the first time I had said it. And I did love him. He was like a powerful drug, the effects carrying me through the work weeks. We had taken to leaving each other little notes at our desks, so many floors apart. I spent most of my time in the main house, no longer a tenant, more of a co-owner. At the end of the evening, however, I always returned to my room. It’s not that I didn’t want to sleep with Tom. His kisses made my heart race and my legs tingle. But he seemed to sense my need to move slowly. And the thought of complete intimacy stirred in me a primal fear, long buried.
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