The Truth About Delilah Blue

by Tish Cohen

  “It’s okay.” Lila pushed her hand into her back pocket. “I’m glad you came.”

  “Me too. Someone stopped to ask me directions to the Wallace Stuckey building. He thought I was a student.”

  “Or maybe a teacher.”

  Elisabeth stopped and frowned. “Now why would you say that?”

  “No reason. I just…”

  “There was absolutely none of that sort of submissiveness or reverence—not even the slightest bit—that people use with teachers. I’m certain he thought I was a student.”

  “You’re right. I mean, I’m sure you’re right.”

  “Actually, I wouldn’t have minded if he’d asked me out. He was darling.”

  Lila exhaled rather than laughed.

  Elisabeth walked ahead a bit, her gait so smooth she might have been on ice. They came to a pretty shop with peach stucco. VERY DEAR, said the sign. Beneath the smooth arch of the window stood a silver mannequin wearing slim black pants, gleaming ankle boots, and a crisp, white trench coat. Elisabeth sighed as if it were an outfit she’d been eying for months. Who knew? Maybe she had. “Classy, don’t you think?”

  “Definitely. You’d look good in it. Try it on.”

  Elisabeth lit a cigarette. “Forget it. You know what ‘very dear’ means? Very expensive. I’m afraid I’m destined to be a window shopper only.” She sucked on the cigarette, then exhaled slowly. “Did you get an answer from your father yet?”

  “It’s been a crazy week. Soon, though. I promise.”

  “Has he explained anything at all? I mean, what does he have to say for himself?”

  “Not much.” Two girls came out of the store, both clutching enormous bags overflowing with silver tissue. Lila moved aside to let them pass. “He’s been having these spells. Plus not sleeping. It’s been a rough couple of months, actually.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s Alzheimer’s. Early onset.”

  “That’s kind of what I was thinking. But he hates doctors. Refuses to go.”

  Elisabeth looked at her, amused. “Of course he doesn’t go. The man’s been surviving on illegal documents for over a decade. If anyone dug into his files too deeply, they’d find out Victor Mack doesn’t exist. Have you ever known him to see a doctor?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe not.”

  “What about you? Did he take you to doctors?”

  Lila ran her fingers along the edge of her shorts. “I’ve always been healthy.”

  Elisabeth laughed angrily and sighed. “The lawyer warned me about that. Doctor. Dentist. Eye doctor—we’ll need to book them all. Please tell me you’re on the pill.”

  “The pill? I really don’t have any need for—”

  “Baby, your dad’s fudging to buy himself time. He could even be making travel plans. My lawyer is breathing down my neck about this; I really think we need to act now.”

  “I need a few more days. It’s just, it’s hard to know what’s going on with him right now.”

  Her mother half laughed, half grunted. Then she shook her head. “I should just hold my tongue. Even with what he’s done, I don’t want you to get stuck in the middle. I’ve never wanted to be one of those parents who gains ground with her children by denigrating their fathers. That kind of thing is damaging to young people.”

  “I guess.”

  They strolled along once more, this time in silence.

  “So tell me more about this psychic,” Lila said after a minute or two. “It’s wild she told you to come west.”

  “I met her back in Toronto. Amelia was her name.” She rolled her eyes, reddened. “You’ll probably think this is crazy.”

  “No, I want to hear.”

  Her mother hesitated, still unsure.

  “Seriously. I’m into that kind of thing.”

  “Well, I was just walking up Amelia’s driveway—I don’t have the gold Mazda anymore. Not with all it cost to look for you. I’ve been using the subway. Got myself a Metropass and it gets me around well enough. Kind of embarrassing at my age, but that doesn’t bother me. Of course, here I had no choice. I leased the little Toyota.”

  Lila nodded. “What happened with the psychic?”

  “Right. I walked up her driveway. She lives just off the Danforth in a narrow place with a shared driveway. Remember? Just like in Cabbagetown. The kind where you knock off your side mirrors every time you back out, but—if I’m going to be honest—hers isn’t nearly as charming as ours.” She paused and Lila worried the story had gone off-road again. Paranoia from living with Victor in recent days, she supposed. But Elisabeth continued, “So, walking up the driveway, I got to thinking about the way you used to sit on the hot pavement in your shorts and leather sandals and draw all over the driveway with that big fat sidewalk chalk. And how you refused to use the white chalk because it reminded you of school. Then I knocked on the screen door, and the moment Amelia let me in, she said, ‘Who’s the young girl with the blond hair?’ I knew right there to trust whatever she said. And she told me you were out west.”

  “That’s incredible.”

  “She didn’t know where, exactly. But the more she went on, the more apparent it was that she was seeing palm trees. And hot sun. Never-ending sun, she said.”

  “She got that right. Other than today.”

  “Then she said you looked very different. Your dyed hair, I suppose. I figured he’d either have cut it off or colored it. Not exactly necessary, if you think about it; it’s not as if I knew to come here before now.”

  “Are you planning to stay in L.A.?”

  “I’d like to.” She smiled. “Especially now. But beyond selling the odd painting or sculpture, I’m not really earning anything. It takes me a long time to finish a piece of work these days. I’m not one of those artists who keeps pumping them out.”

  “No? I always imagined you working away at it.”

  Elisabeth blushed, touched her throat. “Don’t forget the years have been stressful. Some years I managed a watercolor or two, or maybe a small figurine, then other years, well. It’s not the number you produce—it’s what you sell them for.”

  “I guess. I just can’t imagine not painting all the time. I finish hundreds, I just don’t keep them. One day, I like to think, I’ll have enough confidence that—”

  “To be honest, what I became very good at, and grew to love, were the media interviews. All the activity surrounding your disappearance made your mother something of a star. One time I popped into Pharma Plus for vitamins and caught two older ladies whispering and staring at me. They actually came up to me and said they’d seen me on Citytv. Can you imagine? It was like being a celebrity. I thought for a minute they were going to ask for my autograph.”

  They strolled past a coffee shop, through the delicious scent of fresh-roasted beans. “But speaking to the press isn’t a skill that would translate into many positions, other than maybe newscaster. And I’m too old to start up with that.” She turned to her daughter, studying her face. “You could, though. You have the presence, the looks. The camera would love you.”

  Lila laughed at the suggestion. “I’d be terrible. I’d blurt out the wrong thing. Draw on my clothes.”

  “Don’t be too quick to dismiss it. There’s a reason so many people chase fame. It feels damn good to be a celebrity. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss the attention.”

  Lila tried to make sense of it. Her mother came to enjoy being interviewed about her abducted daughter? And missed the attention once it died away? She supposed it was possible to become so entrenched in the job of looking for someone that it becomes part of your makeup. Even people kept captive could feel anxious or displaced upon their rescue. She’d seen it on TV. “Maybe.”

  Elisabeth stopped at the corner of a short street called Bitter Cherry Drive and pointed toward a grand two-story Georgian mansion with thick columns stretching from roof to ground. Black shutters flanked massive windows, and vines scrambled up the whitewashed bricks. Iron fencing buffered it fro
m the street, but the imposing gates had been left open. The front yard was a gravel courtyard lined with riots of trees and tropical shrubs.

  “Wow,” said Lila. “Nice place.”

  “It’s not mine. Belongs to a friend I met when we first arrived. It’s converted to apartments inside; the rooms are mostly rented out to artists. There’s a photographer and a few students. Worth about four million, if you can believe it.”

  They walked into the courtyard, gravel crunching beneath their feet. “Incredible.”

  “I have a little deal with the landlord. I get half-price rent in exchange for art lessons. He’s a very talented individual, but he’s struggling a bit with his creativity. We think working in another medium might be just the jolt his subconscious needs. What he doesn’t know is he could also use the sort of stability a female brings.”

  “So you’re dating?”

  “Not for now. But we’ll see. I would definitely consider it.” She pointed toward a pond in the center of the courtyard, where a concrete statue held an urn on one shoulder. “The fountain comes on after dark. It’s set up on a timer.”

  “Pretty glamorous place to live.”

  “I suppose so.”

  Elisabeth pointed to a tree at the far edge of the property. “It grows oranges. Kieran loves picking them, but I never let her eat them. Nothing serious, but her hands break out in these tiny red bumps. The itching makes her crazy and I refuse to use those corticosteroid creams on a child. On myself either. People are always looking for that quick fix. Well, I never used that stuff with you, not even with the eczema you used to get each winter. No, it was oatmeal paste for Delilah Blue and it’s oatmeal paste for Kieran Scarlett.”

  Lila imagined, rather than remembered, her mother standing at the kitchen counter of the Toronto house, stirring oatmeal in one of the deep cobalt bowls from her childhood. “Must be why I love oatmeal.”

  Elisabeth’s face broke into a smile. She linked her arm through her daughter’s and led the way toward the house. “Come. Let’s go upstairs.”

  THE INSIDE OF her place had the sorrowful stillness of an apartment that had sat empty for too long. One that had seen too many residents come and go to waste any energy on absorbing the personality of any particular person. The curtains were gathered so tight that they seemed more intent on keeping in the dark rather than blocking out the light, and the minimalist futon-sofa-and-black-TV-stand decor allowed the stains on the battered carpet to become the only real focal point in the room. If Lila had hoped to gain any insight into whom her mother had become in the years since they’d parted, it wasn’t going to come from this lifeless space.

  “The furniture came with it.” Elisabeth yanked back the curtains. “Amelia said I wouldn’t be here long, which gave me such hope. Of course, now I hope she’s wrong because I don’t want us to be apart.” Staring at Lila, Elisabeth set her hands on her hips. “Now what can I get you? A cup of tea?”

  Lila nodded. “I haven’t had tea in years.” It was so different with Elisabeth. So easy. With Victor, she had to fight for her place as child of the family. He had always needed his daughter to pick up grapefruit juice from the store, top up his scotch, soothe irate neighbors who found notes on their cars. With Elisabeth, she could just stand back and let her mother be the parent. Take Lila for breakfasts on Sunset, brew her tea. It felt delicious.

  She followed her mother and dropped into one of two vinyl chairs squeezed into what was probably not meant to be an eat-in kitchen. Just as she kicked off her boots, settled back in her chair, and tucked her feet beneath her, Lila felt a small, demanding presence. She turned to find Kieran standing, calm and silent, right behind her. “Kieran! Where did you come from?”

  “From the babysitter.”

  “Just across the hall,” said Elisabeth. “Works out well because Kieran can run home as soon as she hears our door thump shut.”

  Kieran blinked. “I go there after school some days.”

  Lila looked down at the girl’s outfit. Same as at the restaurant: trim white blouse, pleated skirt, kneesocks, and oxford shoes. “Must be some fancy school.”

  “Just the local public school,” said Elisabeth as she set the kettle on the stovetop. “That’s just Kieran’s way of expressing herself, right Kiki?”

  The girl ignored her, opening up the pantry and pulling out three yellow mugs that she set on the table. She pried the lid off a striped ceramic jar and plunked tea bags in two of the mugs. Then, making little clicking sounds with her tongue, she took a carton of milk from the fridge and filled the third mug. After setting the carton in the middle of the table, she sat and stared at it. Quickly, she looked at Lila. “Do you take milk in your tea?”

  “Yes.”

  “My mummy does too.”

  Lila couldn’t help herself. Having Elisabeth back was still so fresh. “Our.”

  Kieran scrunched her nose.

  “Our mummy. She’s my mother too.”

  The moment Elisabeth sat down the kettle whistled, so Lila got up, wrapped a tea towel around the hot metal, carried it to the table, and filled two of the mugs with hot water.

  Kieran jumped up to pour the milk, then held up the milk carton and waggled it back and forth. “Empty.”

  Elisabeth said. “All right. Just be sure to rinse it out a few times. There’s nothing worse than the smell of old milk.”

  Kieran dragged her stool to the sink. Just as she started to climb up, Elisabeth stopped her. “Just a minute, young lady. Finish that glass of milk so I know you didn’t empty the carton on purpose.”

  Reluctantly, Kieran climbed down and drained the glass in one gulp, then went back to rinsing her carton, careful not to soak her shirtsleeves. After emptying it of water, she set it on the counter. “Will you play hide-and-seek with me, Delilah?”

  “Umm…” Lila looked to her mother for assistance. The last thing she wanted was to waste precious mother-daughter moments playing with Kieran. But Elisabeth just laughed. “Kiki loves her hide-and-seek.”

  “Okay,” said Lila, sipping from her tea. “You hide, I count.”

  “Promise you won’t forget to come look for me? Mummy always forgets.”

  “Cross my heart. Now go. One. Two. Three…”

  When Kieran left the room, Elisabeth’s eyes flashed with the wiliness of a teenager whose parents had just left for an out-of-town weekend, and she nodded for Lila to follow her into the living room with her teacup. She wandered over to the open window and perched herself on the sill, setting down her cup, striking a match, and holding it to the end of a cigarette. Lila watch the tip burn red as Elisabeth inhaled deeply. “I never get a minute to myself.” She exhaled out into the afternoon air. “I’m not complaining. I never complain, not after what I’ve been through.”

  Lila adored the moment. She and her mother, coconspirators, sharing confessions in the soft afternoon breeze. She reached for Elisabeth’s cigarettes and raised one brow.

  “You smoke?” Elisabeth’s expression was one more of pleasure than surprise.

  “Only on special occasions.”

  Her mother grinned, holding the match while her daughter sucked on the filter. Lila blew clumsy smoke rings through the screen, watching them break apart, hover unsteadily a moment, then vanish.

  “Remember my sister? Your auntie Kathleen? And her sons, Jeremy and Clayton?”

  Lila nodded.

  “They’ve emailed letters for you. I think those kids missed you almost as much as I did. They’re all planning to come out here in a couple of months. We’ll have a bit of a reunion. Grandma, of course, is gone. But my brother Trevor and his new wife will come. And one of my aunts. You’re finally going to have family.”

  “Wow.”

  “My one wish was that my mother would live to see you again. But I like to think she’s looking down now, cheering and waving.” Elisabeth hugged one knee to her chest, her bare foot propped on the ledge revealing toes painted a sultry red. The inside ledge was blackened with small b
urn marks. “Actually, knowing Mum, she’d be waving to the police, pointing out the way to your father’s house.”

  A hornet landed on the screen and, feelers searching, crawled over to the edge where the dirty aluminum frame met the mortar surrounding the window. After feeling his way along the edge, he located a slender gap and tucked himself inside. Moments later, two smaller hornets emerged and flew away. When Victor and Lila had moved into the cabin, there’d been a huge wasp nest under the eaves.

  They’d discovered it only when wasps started flying out of one corner where the wall didn’t quite meet the ceiling. Victor had come home with four cans of insect spray and, come dusk, when he figured they’d all be inside the nest, Victor emptied them into the attic. The chemical stench had been so bad, they’d had to camp on the back deck for two nights.

  “Aw, baby. I can see I’ve upset you.” Elisabeth slid off the sill and took Lila’s shoulders in her arms, pulling her tight. “Forgive me. But I believe in justice.”

  “It’s not enough to have me back? I mean, you won in the end. You’re the good guy; he’s, well…He’s not looking so good these days.”

  “Okay. No more of that talk, I promise. We’ll deal with it when you’re ready. You will be ready, won’t you?”

  Lila shrugged. “Soon.”

  “I’m beginning to think I’m ready to confront him. Face-to-face.”

  Like the police being called, this was inevitable. And no matter how much Lila didn’t want to be there when it happened, she would be. With the tension of twelve years to ratchet up the emotions, anything could happen. The only way she could guarantee no bloodshed would be to park herself squarely between her parents with milk and cookies.

  “Can you arrange it?’

  Here was Elisabeth needing her. Just like at the restaurant when her mother asked her to watch Kieran. Lila rolled this request around in her mouth a bit, savored the precious metal taste of it, before answering. Here was Lila, the remover of robes, the wrecker of cars, the doodler of boots. Queenlike, she need only pick a date, pass it around amongst potential attendees, and all would be there. If she cared to, she could moderate. Set a few ground rules. Dad sits here, in his recliner by the window. Mum sits in the good dining-room chair, the only one whose seat bottom doesn’t have any runs in it. Soft music—from The Big Chill soundtrack—should thump all sexy and reminiscent from the old speakers. It would be cinematic, this meeting of the parents. Rife with tension, but quirky and adorable at the same time.