Getting It Right

by Karen E. Osborne

  "There's something else you need to know."

  The other shoe always dropped. "What?" Her mouth felt dry; she untucked her legs.

  "You asked why now? According to Alex . . ."

  "What?"

  "Your father is deathly ill."

  The man in the photograph was young, the picture of health: blond, bow-shaped lips, tanned muscles, and eyes the color of irises. "What's wrong with him?"

  "Massive heart attack."

  The words floated in the air after Kara hung up. He is mortally ill. She walked in tight circles around her sitting room. In the background, afternoon street sounds of cars and delivery trucks reminded her of the here and now. Alex had emerged. Downstairs the grandfather clock chimed four times. They had finally come for her, and he was dying. Kara slipped to the floor and pulled her knees to her chest. All her life, she'd waited for this moment, and now it might be too late.

  * * *

  The cafeteria was more like a snack stand with a few tables and a television in the building's basement. Refrigerated containers filled with sodas and juices lined a wall. Self-service coffee and tea machines were standing along another wall. After Michael selected apple juice, Alex passed on the coffee she really craved and bought the same.

  "Kara is a special person." Michael sipped his juice.

  "Is she? Have you met her?"

  "No, but Liz has stayed in touch with her all these years, since Kara was six or so. Anyway, Liz is protective, is what I'm saying."

  It felt like a first date. They drank their juices and moved onto other "getting to know you" topics. No mention so far of a Mrs. Michael Rosen or a partner, not even a we, which was encouraging. The bad news was that they had nothing in common. He loved soccer, so much so that he got up at five a.m. to watch afternoon European matches. Alex, on the other hand, was a football and baseball fan. He was a vegetarian; Alex lived on hamburgers. He was Jewish. Alex was what? Not Jewish—her mother would have a fit. What would his parents think of Alex? She'd known him for thirty minutes and she was already worrying about how they'd celebrate Christmas, and who would officiate at the wedding. Get a grip.

  Liz's arrival brought Alex back to reality: "Kara has agreed to meet you today."

  Oh my God—there it was. It was going to happen. The search was over, just like that. "I can't thank you enough. What did you say to her?"

  "I explained the situation just as you explained it to me." Liz held a mug of coffee.

  "Was she surprised? Is she okay with this?"

  "Yes and yes. She's at home not feeling well."

  "What's wrong? I can't bring a sick person into my father's hospital room."

  Liz's gaze was steady, judgmental. Alex realized her mistake. "I hope she's okay."

  "Don't make me regret this." Liz handed over a piece of paper to Alex. "Her address and cell phone number."

  "Thank you so much." Alex glanced down at the neatly written note. She couldn't name what she was feeling—scared maybe, excited, relieved she'd completed her assigned task; she was still the daughter her father could count on.

  "This is a good person who was dealt a shitty hand. Do not—do you hear me—do not mistreat her for the benefit of your father."

  "I won't. I promise."

  Liz gave her one last hard stare, turned, and left.

  "I warned you, she's protective," Michael said with a soft laugh.

  Still stunned, Alex scooped out her car keys. "Well, I guess I should get over there." She made no move to go.

  "Would you like to have dinner afterward?"

  Alex blinked. Was he asking her out on a date?

  Michael seemed embarrassed, or maybe unsure. "You might need someone to talk to, you know, professionally, I mean."

  Ah, professionally. She stood up and he followed suit. "Will that be okay with your wife or . . . ?"

  When he laughed, it was a joyful sound. "No wife, no anyone. What do you say?"

  It was definitely a date.

  * * *

  Alex's cab pulled in front of a row of stately brownstones, many with brightly colored doors glowing in the pale afternoon light. The wind had picked up. Children dressed in baggy pants and oversized coats played on the sidewalks. Several young men worked on a car parked a few doors down, its hood up, with a light fastened to it. A small knot of people in dark coats stood in front of a funeral home situated in one of the buildings. Parked cars crowded both sides of the street. To Alex's left, a man swept in front of his building.

  Alex made her way between the parked cars to number 106. She was glad she'd left the Jeep in the garage near Liz's office and taken a taxi—this neighborhood might not be safe. She rang the bell and waited. A tall man with a high forehead and deep brown skin answered the door.

  "Hello." In spite of her stomach doing flips, she tried for a cheery tone. "My name is Alexandra Lawrence and I'm here to see Kara Lawrence. I believe she's expecting me."

  The man stared at her with a perplexed expression. He stepped back, gesturing her inside. "You're related to Kara?"

  "If you could just let her know I'm here." Alex shifted from one foot to the other.

  "I'm Danny Waters," the man said, still looking dumbfounded.

  * * *

  Danny went to the top of the steps and peered into Kara's sitting room. "There's someone here to see you."

  It was real. Alex was here. Kara rubbed the dried salt from the corners of her eyes and licked her lips. She had waited what felt like a hundred years for her real family to come for her, to rescue her from Big Jim, from the group home, from belonging to no one. Now, here she was, her sister Alex ready to claim her.

  "You've been crying." Danny extended his hand toward her, square-tipped fingers slightly curled, palm up.

  She put her hand in his and let him pull her up. "I want to show you something." She grabbed the photograph of her imagined—now real—family. "This is all I had up until now."

  He studied the picture. "You were mighty cute."

  The corners of Kara's mouth lifted. "I don't know how to feel."

  "Just be."

  * * *

  Alex was pacing up and down the hall. The place smelled like a bakery. Something wonderful was going on in the kitchen for sure.

  "Hello."

  The voice, as familiar as her own, made Alex whirl around—she would know her anywhere. She had the oval-shaped Lawrence face, with large eyes etched with thick, arching eyebrows. Although Kara's eyes were not violet-blue like her own and her father's, the almond shape was the same. Unsure of what she'd expected, she saw that Kara's skin color was a honeyed beige, fairer than Michael's.

  Alex put out her hand and stepped forward. "Hello, Kara. I'm Alex."

  Kara just stared at her, her hands in the pockets of her slacks. Alex let her own hand drop back to her side.

  "Thank you for agreeing to see me," Alex said.

  Now what? Kara didn't seem the least bit happy to meet her. Why should she? Liz had said she wasn't feeling well. That might explain her lack of animation. Kara was still staring; Alex couldn't think what to do next. An old woman in a wheelchair rolled into the living room.

  "Welcome to our home, I'm Eloise Edgecombe."

  "So nice to meet you."

  "Have you met Danny Waters?" Alex was about to reply, but the old woman kept talking. "Danny, Kara, where are your manners?" She turned back to Alex. "Please, have a seat. I've made a red velvet cake and iced it. Would you like some?"

  "That would be wonderful."

  "Some tea or instant coffee?"

  "Don't go to any trouble."

  "You probably like the real thing."

  "Instant is fine." Caffeine from any source would help. She felt in her pocket for a cigarette, but there were none left.

  Eloise Edgecombe swung her wheelchair around and pushed it toward the back of the house. "No trouble at all."

  Danny led Kara to a rocking chair as if she were an invalid. Jeez, maybe it was something serious. Alex followed a
nd found a seat on the sofa. The three of them looked at each other in what felt like an excruciatingly awkward silence. In the heat of the search, Alex hadn't planned the conversation. Rarely at a loss for words, her brain failed her now.

  Danny broke the ice: "I see the family resemblance."

  Alex leaped in: "Me too. Don't you think so, Kara?" It was as if the woman was a deaf mute. Alex was tempted to speak louder and more slowly. "I didn't know you existed until a few days ago," she continued. "My . . . our father had a heart attack."

  Danny squinted. "Is he okay?"

  "For now." She waited, but still no response from Kara. "He's a good person. I mean he's flawed, but decent."

  Danny said, "Where's he been?"

  "He's trying to right the wrongs of his past. That's why he asked me to find Kara." Then, leaning forward, she said, "He desperately wants to meet you before . . . if anything . . ." Her words caught in her throat.

  Pushing her wheelchair forward with both hands, Mrs. E. came in with a silver tray balanced on her lap; it was crowded with cups on saucers, slices of cake, forks, spoons, and napkins. The aroma of hot coffee and cake could lift anyone's spirits. For several minutes they were all distracted with serving, sipping, and chewing.

  "Wow." Alex was impressed.

  For the first time, Kara smiled.

  Danny said, "Mrs. E. is known for her sweets."

  "I can see why. You ought to go into business." Alex took another bite of cake and made appreciative sounds. "Do you two get to eat like this all of the time?"

  "Every night." Danny licked crumbs from the corner of his mouth.

  Alex changed the subject back to their father: "Do you remember him at all? He told me he hasn't seen you since you were four or so."

  "Yes, and I remember you too."

  Hearing Kara's voice again, Alex realized why it sounded so familiar: it was Pigeon's voice when she was scared. Alex swallowed. In spite of the coffee, her mouth went dry.

  "I have a picture of all of us together in a park in DC—you, my mom, our father, and me."

  That had to be the picture Alex had found in her father's desk when she was rummaging for the insurance cards. She could feel heat creeping up and she knew red splotches were forming at the base of her throat and would soon reach her cheeks. Two persistent thoughts echoed in her head: How could he desert his own flesh? . . . It could have been me.

  Kara pulled a photograph from her pocket, leaned forward, and handed it to Alex. A three-legged cat joined them; first he circled Alex's legs and then brushed against them. Absently, Alex stroked him as she studied the picture. When she'd first seen the photo at the house, she had not remembered the day. Now, a flash of memory came to her. "I fell off your bike and your mom cleaned my scrape." She examined the bruise on her knee. "I didn't know who you were." A terrible sadness descended. "He never said."

  Kara nodded. The somber music of the rocker against the wood floor added to the swirl of emotions in the room.

  Alex knew she was about to cry. She ducked her head and pulled a fresh tissue from her bag. When she looked up, Danny appeared panicked, which made Alex laugh. "Don't worry, Danny, we'll get ahold of ourselves."

  He chuckled.

  "Will you come and meet him?" Alex passed the picture back to Kara.

  "No."

  "What?" Why wouldn't she want to meet him? "He loves you and I know he loved your mother—he told me so. Please don't let him die in pain. He's sorry."

  "He doesn't know what he's sorry for," Kara said. "He doesn't know what happened to me." She shook her head, curls swishing left and right. "I appreciate your coming, Alex. I used to play a game—trying to find you on the street."

  Alex had nothing left to say.

  "I hope he lives, for your sake." She got up, and this time she put out her hand and took Alex's. "Be well." She went back up the stairs from whence she'd come.

  Alex turned to Danny.

  He hiked his shoulders in response to her unspoken question.

  "Do you think she might change her mind?"

  "It sounded kinda final."

  It did to Alex as well. She pleaded with Mrs. E.: "Would you help me persuade her? She has sisters, not just me."

  "Sisters?"

  "Two others."

  The old lady gathered the dirty dishes. Before Alex could offer to help, Danny took them and finished the job.

  "I'm sorry for your troubles, young woman," she patted the crown of braids on her head, "but Kara holds her own counsel."

  Feeling like she'd failed, Alex dug in her backpack and pulled out a business-card case. It took a few seconds to separate two cards from the others. "Here's how to reach me, in case she changes her mind." She gave one to Danny and one to Mrs. Edgecombe. "Even if she doesn't want to see him, maybe just to get together." They each took her card.

  Not knowing what else to do, but feeling she'd somehow missed something important, Alex put on her coat, thanked her hosts, and left. Once on the front steps, she realized she had no idea how she was going to get back downtown. Did cabs cruise Harlem? It was almost dark; the side-by-side buildings blocked the setting sun. Alex surveyed the block. The funeral across the street must have ended because everyone was gone. She wished she had her cell phone with her, but stupidly she'd left it in the Jeep's glove compartment.

  "Let me get you a cab," Danny said from behind her.

  Alex jumped, recovered. "Thanks, I was starting to panic."

  He gave her a look.

  Alex felt embarrassed. Was she as bad as her mother and Aunt Peggy, being afraid because she was in Harlem? As it turned out, cabs did cruise around the neighborhood—all kinds—a few yellow cabs as well as private service cars, but mostly battered old cars called gypsy cabs. A dented Chevy responded to Danny's wave.

  A cigarette was all Alex could think about as the car rode downtown. If she just had one, then she could sort through all she was feeling. People use the term surreal for the dumbest things. This experience, however, fit. She placed two fingers against her lips and sucked in imaginary smoke, held it deep in her lungs, and then blew it out in a stream.

  Kara was strange. Yes, she had a tough life—Michael and Liz had both hinted about something but didn't say what. Kara had said their father doesn't know what he's sorry for. Still, compassion should have moved her at least to meet him. Alex took another unsatisfying phantom drag.

  It would be bad for both of them—Kara and their father—if this didn't work out. Besides, who wouldn't want to meet their real family after all these years? Alex pictured family Christmases . . . Hmmm. She could remember more than one conversation filled with disparaging remarks about black people. Did her father criticize them? Not that she could recall.

  No matter, she wasn't going to give up—her father was counting on her. Kara would like Vanessa and Pigeon, and they would like her. There was no need to tell her dad about today's meeting. What Alex needed was a new strategy.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Kara watched from her front window as Alex's taxi pulled away from the curb. In many ways, Alex looked like the little girl in the picture, but now there was seriousness around her mouth, with parentheses carved into her skin. People always commented on Kara's eyes; she bet people did the same to Alex—their color was arresting. It was Alex's hair, however, that Kara remembered the most. Red-gold with waves upon waves of squiggly curls going in all directions, framing her face and hanging down her back, just as it had in the picture.

  She let her mind run through the encounter. The conversation had been positive: her father wanted to make amends, and Alex wanted Kara to meet her other sisters. Wasn't that Kara's dream? She replayed every aspect from the moment Liz had called. What was missing? Why did Kara feel so bereft? It came to her in a flash of insight from the child inside of her. She wanted Alex to run to her, to hug her, to weep and laugh, to tell Kara how long and hard she'd searched for her, how much their father loved her and wanted her. This was, of course, both childish and impos
sible. Nevertheless, without it the hollowness remained that Kara had lived with since the day her mother died.

  With a mental head shake, Kara placed her treasured photo facedown in a drawer. The FBI and Zach were pressing problems. She could not continue barely sleeping, having nightmares, throwing up, crying all the time, and believing in a fantasy life that could never be. In addition, she had to find a way to help Flyer and Tuesday—especially Flyer. When they were small, she couldn't save them; today, she could do something. Alex and her father were no longer a priority. They were her past and she had to focus on a better future.

  Resolved, Kara walked out of the sitting room and into the hallway just as Danny passed by on his way to his rooms above hers.

  "Thanks for helping me today," she said. "It's been tough, and without you and Mrs. E., I don't know how I'd stay sane."

  "No problem." His face muscles were tight; his mouth opened, then closed again.

  So wrapped up in her own drama, Kara realized she didn't know how Danny was doing. Was he ready for the sergeant's exam, did he need help studying?

  "I'm going to listen to some music," she said, gesturing toward her record player. "Would you like to join me?"

  He hesitated and then stepped into her sitting room. It was six in the evening and dark, so Kara switched on the lamps. She tried to see the room through Danny's eyes: a ceiling-to-floor bookcase crammed with paperbacks and a few hardcover books stood against one wall. The mantle of the fireplace held a variety of inexpensive carved figures, some African, some Asian, some Native American. Several framed photographs dotted various surfaces—Kara and her principal in front of the school; Tuesday, Flyer, Kara, and Liz at Kara's graduation; her mom and grandmother. The jazz collection, stacked in a corner of the room, was one of the few luxuries Kara allowed herself. She wondered what kind of picture this room painted of her.

  Danny walked over to the pile of albums and picked up a Sarah Vaughn. "Who introduced you to the great divas?"

  "My mother loved jazz. As far back as I can remember, jazz and Motown were all I heard."