"It's okay, sweetheart. It's okay. I love you so much. I can't live without you."
"I love you, Susie. I mean, Mama."
"Susie is fine. Let's not change that, okay. You'll make me feel old." I looked up and saw Joe standing about a half-block away. He waved and walked off, smiling.
*
Over the next few days, as we prepared for my book tour, Lilly had lots of questions. I told her I was only eighteen and not married when she was born. I told her it was impossible for me to raise a child while I was in college, so far from family, and that, anyway, my family couldn't know about her. I tried to explain that my dad, at the time, was mayor, then a senator, an important person and what I had done could damage him politically. The explanation sounded crazy to me, so I'm sure she thought it was insane, but she glazed over my explanations and asked about what it was like to be pregnant, alone.
I told her about Josh being with me through my pregnancy and her birth, but that once she was chosen by Joe and Emma, he stopped seeing me and started seeing her. I told her Josh couldn't keep both of us in his life, so he chose her. That seemed to make her feel good and, I think, she might have thought that Josh was her biological father because she never asked the question. There would be a time when she'd know her dad was African American and the pieces of her puzzle wouldn't fit so neatly; but for now, we were straight.
*
It's not the case that you wake up on the one-year anniversary of your spouse's death and things are different. I still missed Josh as much from one morning to the next and went to bed reaching for him every night. The house in Brooklyn Heights held too many memories and ghosts, yet I didn't want to leave for fear I would lose his memory and the sweetness of what we'd had.
In the back of my heart and soul I wondered if what I'd had with Josh was real and authentic. I was losing memories from our life together yet I could still remember every detail of each time I'd been with Rodney. What did that mean?
Lilly and I labored over our decision to sell the house in Brooklyn Heights and we had a number of soul-searching, heart-to-heart talks. We'd decide we could never leave because it would be like leaving Josh behind, then we'd decide the only way to move on with our lives would be to sell the house.
Joe came over for dinner one night and we told him about our dilemma, how we felt one way, then another. He understood, having lost Emalene, and said that moving on was the best way, because staying mired in the past would cripple us.
In the end, we sold the house and kept the Manhattan apartment. I hired a decorator to furnish the apartment with things Lilly and I loved—our beds from Brooklyn Heights, the overstuffed chair from her bedroom, the sectional sofa from our den. We put Emalene's old dining room table in the kitchen and our designer, Amy, added lots of new things. She changed the drapes and brought in pillows and comforters and all sorts of beautiful things that made Lilly and me happy and comfortable. We kept enough things from the past so that we were still attached in a small way, but brought in new things that told us, subliminally, that we had a future.
Decorating the condominium was therapeutic, but it was complicated by our travel schedule for the book tour, which began on the first of July.
We flew to Baton Rouge and drove to Jean Ville. We had four days in our little house on Gravier Road and spent that time visiting with Marianne, Tootsie, and the cousins in the Quarters. I went to see my dad twice and had long, wine-laced chats with Sissy.
*
The book launch took place at the Toussaint Parish Library where I donated ten copies of the book, one for each of the branches in the small towns in the parish. Sissy came to the launch and brought Daddy with her, which was a bit tense since Tootsie and Marianne were there, along with Sam, Tom, Jesse, and their families to whom I'd dedicated the book. I credited them with providing me with information and stories to fill in the gaps after Catfish died and presented Tootsie with an autographed, hardback version of the book.
I saw Daddy say something to Sissy as I was reading from one of the chapters and they disappeared through the door and onto the street. Later, Sissy came over to my house and said Daddy was offended that I didn't recognize him and, instead, gave all the credit for my success to a colored family.
"Not just any colored family, Sissy. Tootsie raised us! And she and Daddy…" I was angry and hurt that Daddy felt that way. After all, the book was about Catfish and his family, not about the Burtons.
"Don't get mad at me. I'm just the messenger." She hugged me, and we laughed because Sissy could make me laugh at my own insanity.
The day after the book launch, Lilly and I drove to New Orleans where we met two Shilling representatives, Billy and Cynthia, at the airport and drove to a local bookstore for another book reading and signing. From there we were off to Jackson, Mississippi; Mobile, Alabama; and Jacksonville, Florida. Every two days there was an event, followed by a day of travel, checking into a hotel, getting some rest, and meetings. Lilly became a vital part of our four-person team and helped with handouts and book supplies at the events.
We left Jacksonville on a Friday morning and drove to Charleston, South Carolina, arriving at a hotel on King Street early in the afternoon. We checked in, put our luggage in the rooms and walked to Harvey's, the bookstore downtown where the event would be held the next evening. We went to dinner and returned to the hotel.
I thought I recognized a tall man who was talking with the concierge at the hotel desk when I walked by, but Lilly was talking to me and I ignored my original impulse to speak with him. The next evening, as I stood at the microphone and read one of the stories from the book, I noticed the same man walk in through the glass doors and take a seat in the back of the room. There were fifty or sixty people in a deep room so I couldn't make out the face, but something about his presence, his swagger, his demeanor made me pause. I kept reading and tried not to stare at him.
After the readings, people queued up in front of a table where I sat signing books. As each person got to the front of the line I'd look up and ask their name, then write a short dedication, sign my name and date it. It was a long evening, and by the time the last person finally got to the table I didn't look up.
"Your name?" I took a book from Billy and opened it to the title page and started to write.
"Rodney." His voice was the same as ever—throaty and full, and I could smell his familiar scent of Ivory soap and starch and mint, orange, and lilac. My hand froze with the pen in it and I looked up slowly. A wide smile spread across his face and his eyes lit up, green with amber specks. "Rodney Thibault."
I dropped my pen and stared at him. The book slammed shut over my hand but I didn't feel it. Then my impulse was to look for Lilly and hide her. She was in the back of the room helping Cynthia pack books and flyers. Billy was standing next to me and I could feel his chagrin, waiting for me to sign the last book so we could leave and have dinner.
I stood up, and Rodney and I were eye-to-eye, the table between us. I was so nervous that he'd see Lilly, afraid of what would happen if they met each other, here, in public.
"Can you give me a phone number and I'll call you later?" I whispered across the table. He bent down and took the pen I'd dropped and wrote a number on one of the flyers.
"Will you sign the book for me?" He left the flyer on the table and stood up straight. I sat down and scribbled a note, his name and mine on the title page, and when I looked at it I realized what I'd written and blushed. He took the book and walked to the register while I sat stuck in my chair, unable to move.
I didn't call him.
We left the next day for Raleigh, then Virginia Beach, where I put Cynthia and Billy on a plane to New York and Lilly and I started the long drive back to Jean Ville. We had two weeks to recover, then we would fly back to New York for several events in the city and a review with the folks at Shilling about book sales.
My heart was still beating extra fast from the encounter with Rodney. I thought a lot about what to tell
Lilly, because meeting him was bound to happen again.
Part Four: 1984
Chapter Twenty
***
Whole Again
March 1, 1984
Dear Susie,
I'm sure you are shocked to hear from me. It's taken me over a year to find the courage to write after seeing you in Charleston last summer and not hearing from you. Thank you for the personal inscription. It means everything to me.
“We are forever connected… Always, Susie.”
I've written you countless letters that I never mailed. I finally convinced myself that you would not want to find out things through the grapevine that you should hear from me, personally. We have too much history and I have too much respect for you to ever hurt you (again).
Maria and I didn't work out. We stayed married almost two years but we were both broken, damaged people from the War, and it just didn't work. I've spent the past eight years getting myself back on track and I think I'm better than I ever was. I saw a psychiatrist for a few years, I've worked hard, and will retire as a Major—not bad for ten years in the Army and thirty-five years old.
The main thing I want to tell you is that I'm moving back home next summer after I retire. I'm planning to go into practice with Jeffrey and Sarah, who opened their law offices two years ago in Jean Ville. It's simple family law, probably boring compared to what I've been doing, but it's where I'll start.
I heard you got married and that you lost your husband. I know you well enough to believe that if you married him, you must have loved him with all your heart, and I am so very sorry for your loss. I hope you are healing and that your sadness lessens every day. I have prayed for you and thought about you during your mourning.
I would like to call you to catch up when you feel ready.
Yours forever,
Rod
Lilly and I were in Jean Ville for spring break and I was opening the mail that had stacked up. I sat down hard on the sofa and without realizing it, pressed the letter to my chest. I started to cry, then I didn't know why I was crying and tried to stop, but the tears kept coming. Lilly walked in the living room and stood looking at me.
"Why are you crying?"
"I don't know, honey." The tears kept running down my cheeks unchecked and I couldn't control them.
"How can you cry and not know why?"
"I'm not sure. The tears just started coming and they won't stop." I tried to smile but it was barely a smirk. Lilly sat next to me and put her arm over my shoulder. She would be fifteen in August and was almost as tall as me, and she was gorgeous, like her dad. Her brownish, auburn hair fell in long corkscrew curls down her back and she often had to pull some of the soft curlicues away from her face with a barrette or a clip. Her oval face had high cheekbones and her eyes were as large as half-dollars, only they were shaped like almonds, pointed on both ends. Her skin was the color of walnuts, almost as light as mine, but with a tan-yellow cast to it so it was obvious she was part African American, even if only a small part.
We sat without talking for a while. I could hear the carpenters outside building the carport that I'd been meaning to construct ever since I traded our brown Torino for a navy blue Oldsmobile. I was eyeing a red Mustang fastback for Lilly's fifteenth birthday, so the garage needed to be large enough for two cars, our ride-on lawn mower and some yard tools. We didn't need cars in New York, but when we were in Jean Ville they were a must.
"What would you like for supper?" I broke the silence and turned to look at Lilly. She pulled the paper I had clutched to my chest from my hands.
"Did this make you cry?" She started to read it and I snatched it from her. She looked shocked. I'd never done anything so, well, almost violent. "What's the matter?"
"It's a letter from a friend. We don't read each other's mail, remember."
"I'm sorry. I didn't know it was a letter. I just want to know what made you sad." She looked sad and angry at the same time and I knew she was hurt and trying to hide her feelings. I hugged her close and kissed the top of her head.
"I'm sorry, sweetheart. I didn't mean to scare you. It's just that… well… it's personal. I need to digest what my friend said. You understand, don't you?"
"Not really, but it's okay. It's your mail." She got up and started to walk away, then she turned towards me. "I didn't think we had secrets." She stood there and I could tell she knew there was something I wasn't telling her, something that she should know.
"You're right. We shouldn't have secrets and I guess I've kept this one too long. Something you need to know, deserve to know, about your biological dad." She plopped down in the chair across from the sofa and slumped low, her shoulders below the back of the chair, her chin on her chest.
"It wasn't Josh? My dad… I mean?"
"No. I'm sorry. I never said it was."
"But you let me believe…" She stared at her feet and started picking at her fingernails. I was at a loss as to how to tell her.
"Lilly, surely you realize that some part of you is African American. Josh was white. I'm white. How could you justify that?"
"I don't know. Mama is black." Her eyes flew opened when she heard her own words, and she pulled in a gallon of air and held it. "That's right. Mama was not my…"
"Yes, she was. She was your mother in every way. And she was a wonderful mother. It takes more than biology to make parents."
"So; my dad. I mean my biological father. He was black?"
"Is. Is black."
"Oh." She was quiet and I felt she needed time to digest what I'd said. We sat there for a long time and I watched the darkness begin to crawl over our lawn. The birds stopped tweeting. The crickets began to chirp. I heard an owl hoot in the distance, then a car went by. I inhaled the sweet fragrance of the lilies on the dining room table.
I felt afraid—afraid to mishandle things and lose Lilly's love.
"What was, what is… was he like?" She was looking at her hands that rested in her lap.
"I haven't seen him in ten years, but he still exists," I told the white lie because I could justify that seeing him in Charleston was not really seeing him, and running into him at the Burger Barn.
I waited and tried to gather my thoughts. "I can only tell you what he was like… amazing, kind, caring, loving, smart, generous; all the things you'd want your father to be, and more. And he was gorgeous. You look a lot like him. He’s tall, maybe 6' 4", with light skin and big greenish-hazel eyes with amber specks. He was the most gentle, interesting, intelligent person I'd ever known. Until I met Josh, I didn't think anyone else like him existed."
"Does he have a name?"
"Rodney."
"Rodney?"
"Yes. He's a lawyer, and he's been in the army for ten years. He's getting out next summer and moving back home."
"Home?"
"Yes. He's from Jean Ville. It's where we met, where we fell in love. And that's the most important thing you should know. We loved each other very much when we made you."
"Why has he never… I mean he's never tried to meet me." She looked at me and I took a deep breath. How could I tell her that I had lied to everyone? I had to blurt it out.
"He doesn't know about you." She looked at me with shock and dismay and I, too, wondered how I could have gone fifteen years without telling Rodney he had a daughter. It seemed the longer I waited, the more impossible it was to tell him. Now he was getting out of the army and moving back to Jean Ville, and he would see her and he would know.
Lilly stared at me as if she didn't know me. I barely knew myself. I couldn't remember why it had been so important to keep my pregnancy from him and then to keep Lilly a secret from him. It seemed ludicrous now, but back then it had made perfect sense. "I never told him."
"How could he not know you were pregnant?"
"I was in New York. He was in Baton Rouge in college. We couldn't see each other. He never knew."
"I need some air." Lilly got up and st
ormed out of the house, the screen door slamming behind her. I watched through the front window and saw her run towards the Quarters. I hoped Marianne was home. I went to the phone and called her number. She picked up on the second ring.
"Mari. Lilly is on her way to the Quarters. I just told her about Rodney. She's very upset. Would you please…?"
"I'll take care of it. It had to happen sometime. Just calm down. I'll talk to her and call you later. I love you, Susie. It'll be okay." Marianne always knew exactly what to say and how to say it.
I'd never told Marianne that Rodney was Lilly's father or that I was her mother. I'd stuck to the story of Joe and Emalene Franklin. In fact, the only two people who knew that Lilly was my and Rodney’s child were Josh and Emalene and they were now both… gone.
I called Sissy. "Can you come over?" I hung up the phone and fell on the sofa. I thought about all the things Lilly would need to know now that she knew about Rodney. The Thibaults were her grandparents. They should know Lilly, and Lilly should know them. She needed to know that her best friends were actually her cousins, not only because Marianne and I were sisters but also because Rodney's uncle, Bo, was married to Tootsie's sister, Jesse.
Most importantly, she needed to understand that blacks and whites weren’t allowed to date, to love, to marry in the '60s and '70s in the deep South without being punished, even killed, by bigots. Even in the 1980s, discrimination still existed in the South.
I'd have to teach her about prejudice and hate and bigotry, and I didn't want her to know any of that. The more I thought, the more I cried.
When Sissy walked in, I blurted it all out. She listened as though she'd always known and had waited for me to be honest with her. She wasn't shocked or disgusted about what I'd done. Her attitude gave me strength. When I ran out of words and tears, she got up, went to the kitchen, and came back with a bottle of wine and two wine glasses.
"Here's to honesty, and how great you'll feel tomorrow when you realize you no longer have to keep all of this inside." She opened the bottle and poured two generous glasses. We took our wine outside to see the progress on the garage, and we talked and laughed like sisters who have no secrets are apt to do.
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