Iris had no desire to talk about what had happened, but as she sat there on the edge of the mattress, Lily comforted her. The physical nearness of her sister, the regular sound of her breathing, the outline of her form in the dark, told her that nothing had happened, really. Nothing had changed. After several minutes, she lay down, and though the night was still uncomfortably warm, she pulled the sheet up over her head, and tucked it tight all around herself. Her stomach growled, Lily snored, the freight train wailed, she slept.
She awoke early and fuzzy-headed, but as soon as she moved, the aches in her arms and legs forced her to recall the previous night’s events, while pangs of hunger reminded her that she had not eaten anything since the grilled cheese sandwich she had lunched on with her little brothers the previous day. She looked over at the bed next to hers, where Lily still slumbered. She was thankful to have the morning off, and that she would be out of bed before Lily could notice anything, in case there was anything to notice.
She dressed in baggy jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, and went down to the kitchen, where all was still, except for the noise of the lawn mower running in the back yard. Her father liked to get an early start on hot days. Iris opened the refrigerator, and nearly dropped the milk when she spotted the thorny stem of a pink rose poking out from the second shelf. Instead of the usual sandwich bag, next to the flower there was a small manila envelope, the kind bank tellers put cash in at drive-up windows, with the name “IRIS” scrawled across the front. At least he remembered her name today. Nausea surged in her stomach, filling her mouth with hot saliva as she picked up the envelope and the rose, and sat down at the table. Inside the envelope was a sheet of ruled paper folded several times to make it fit. She opened the note and read:
“Today is my last day at the factory, praise Jesus. College starts next week. Senior year! Which means a heavy class load plus field work for me. As for you, it’s time to focus on finishing high school and taking care of your family. Your dad needs you. Don’t disappoint him.
PTL Rick”
“You hypocritical freak!” Iris spat, beating the rose against the table until all the petals fell off. “You weirdo!”
Her father walked in the back door, his blue boxer shorts peeking out from beneath the hems of his grey work shorts, his white sleeveless undershirt sticking to his torso. “Jeepers Cripes! I’m already sweatin’ like a pig!” he said. Iris would have liked to smile and say good morning, yes, it’s a scorcher, and can I make you some of that iced coffee you like so much? But she just sat on the bench, staring at the decapitated rose she held in her hand.
“Is something the matter, honey?” her father asked her. She shrugged.
Even if she could have found the words to express the feelings of shame and anger and injustice and betrayal churning inside her, she knew she would never be able to speak them out loud: not to her father, not to Lily, and certainly not to Rick. She would not validate such feelings by granting them form, she would not permit their passage through her mind or mouth, or allow them to dwell in her memory. As her father looked on, her shrug was swallowed by a shudder, then a series of shudders that rattled her until the tears broke loose. Her father sat down beside her on the bench, drew her close, and heaved a sigh deep enough to hold both their pain. He cradled her head to his chest, swaddling her in his humanity, as she bathed his sweat with her tears. She cried at the familiar smell of his body odor intermingled with tobacco, she cried at the strength of his sinewy muscles wrapped around her, she cried at all the silent forms of consolation that still inhabited this old house.
Though she surely must have done so countless times as an infant, it was the first time Iris could recall crying in one of her parents’ arms.
From: Lily Capotosti
To: Iris Capotosti
Sent: Sat, July 17, 2010 at 2:10 PM
Subject: Why didn’t you tell me??!!!
Iris:
I am horrified by this! Why didn’t you ever tell me about what happened with Rick?!! I can’t believe, that after all these years, I find out that you were molested, too. I wish I had known - not only because I could have comforted you, but we could have talked, you know? It’s really hard to explain to someone who hasn’t been through it what it feels like to be violated that way.
Why didn’t you tell me?
Love,
Lily
From: Iris Capotosti
To: Lily Capotosti
Sent: Sat, July 17, 2010 at 5:18 PM
Subject: Because
Dear Lily,
I didn’t tell you any of those things about Rick because I was ashamed. Not only about what had happened, but about my poor judgment. I should have known there was something wrong with him, and in fact I guess I did know, but I chose to ignore the warning bells. Which made me stupid, as well as molested. Though back then, I never would have thought of myself in those terms. (Molested, I mean. Not stupid.)
Besides, would you have really wanted to dig up what had happened to you all those years ago in the chicken coop? After you talked to Mom that time, you never complained about Henry again, so I figured the situation had been taken care of, and that you would rather just forget about it. And that was what I wanted to do about Rick. Forget about him.
Didn’t we already have enough crap to deal with?
Love,
Iris
24. Lily
“Merry Christmas, Lily,” James reached into the back seat of his Oldsmobile and retrieved a box about the size a pair of shoes would come in.
“Oh, you got me a new pair of sneakers - just want I wanted!” Lily laughed to cover up her disappointment. Nothing exciting ever came in a shoe box. She knew she couldn’t expect James to give her the opal ring that she had seen in the Present Company catalog, but she would have been happy enough with a little gold heart locket or even an ID bracelet.
“Open it up,” said James.
“I hate to rip the paper,” said Lily. “The wrapping is so beautiful.”
“I have to confess that my Mom helped me with that. In fact, she helped me a lot with this gift.”
Lily couldn’t imagine what sort of a present James would need his mother’s help with, but any vestiges of hope for something romantic or sexy flew out the crack in the driver’s side window. Lily gently tore at the taped corners, one by one, wanting to savor the experience of at least having been given a gift by James, and hoping to save the paper, which she would put into her scrapbook along with the dried carnation, an assortment of movie ticket stubs, and the spattering of store-bought greeting cards he had given her over the past year. She released the main seam in the wrapping, lifted the lid from the box and pushed the white tissue paper aside to reveal a brown stuffed kangaroo with a white belly and pink ears.
“A stuffed animal?” she said. Afraid that her response sounded ungrateful, and worried about discouraging future gift-giving, she lifted it out of the box and added, “It’s so cute!”
“Look,” said James. He took the kangaroo from her and showed her the tiny joey, which he removed from the kangaroo’s pouch and placed in the palm of her hand. “It comes with a baby!”
“Aw,” said Lily. As chagrined as she was on one level, a revelation presented itself to her. “Do you know,” she said, looking up at James somberly, “that this is the only stuffed animal I’ve ever owned?”
“Get out,” said James.
“I’m serious.”
“You never had a teddy bear or anything like that?”
“Not that I can remember,” said Lily. “There were old stinky stuffed animals around, but none of them were mine. No one ever gave one to me as my own.”
“That’s a shame,” said James.
“I do remember getting a baby doll once - the kind that closes its eyes automatically when you lay it down, and then when you stand it up the eyes open again. My mother gave her to me for my tenth birthday
. I felt that I was way too old for a baby doll by then, but she was so pretty - and she was mine.”
“There you go,” said James. “That counts.”
“Except that she went missing the next day,” said Lily. “I tore the entire house apart looking for her. I finally found her in the basement. Her hair had been all cut off, she was stripped naked, and her body was covered with blue ink.”
“Oh, God - that’s awful,” said James. “Who would do that?”
“One of my little brothers, I’m sure,” said Lily. “Or all of them, more likely.”
“That’s one of the saddest things I’ve ever heard.”
“I’m sorry!” said Lily. “Talk about being a downer...”
“I’ll have you know,” said James, “that this is a very special kangaroo.”
“I know it is,” said Lily. “It’s from you.”
“Ah, but that’s not all,” said James. He turned the kangaroo over and showed Lily the tag attached to its tail. It read, “Merry Xmas Lily! Love, James.”
“Oh, my God!” said Lily. “How did you do that?”
“I made it,” said James.
“I know, but how did you get it on the kangaroo? It looks like it’s sewn right in there.”
“It is,” said James, with a laugh. “I made it, Lily - I made the whole kangaroo. That’s why I needed some help from my Mom... I didn’t understand some of the instructions for the pattern.”
“You made it?” Tears sprang to Lily’s eyes. James had sewn her a stuffed kangaroo. With a baby in its pouch. She snatched it from James, returned the joey to its home, and hugged them both to her chest. “Thank you, James. I love it.” I love you.
“Oh - I almost forgot your presents!” Lily reached into the bag at her feet, pulled out two packages, and handed them to James.
“I get two?”
“Well, I didn’t make them myself,” said Lily. “Yours is better!”
“It’s not a competition,” said James. He opened the larger shirt box first and pulled out a brown and tan plaid flannel shirt. “I love it!”
“I chose it to match your brown eyes,” said Lily. “Try it on.”
“Right now?”
“Yes, right now, silly,” she teased. “I want to make sure it fits OK.”
James extracted his arms from his jacket and pulled his sweater off over his head, tossing both garments into the back seat. The sight of his bare chest, his smooth hairless skin stretched taut over chiseled muscles made Lily’s hands tingle. James slipped into the flannel shirt, but left it unbuttoned. He fully extended both his arms out in front of him, measuring the length of the sleeves. “Perfect!”
He leaned over and kissed Lily. He quickly broke away, but she reached out, cupped the back of his head in her hand and pulled him toward her again. The kiss continued as she slipped her hand under his shirt, slowly running her palm over his erect nipple, down the length of his exposed belly, finally coming to rest on his belt buckle. He didn’t object.
“Want to get in back?” he said.
“Yes,” said Lily breathlessly. “I do.”
They climbed over the front seat and lay down in back, on a mattress of shed coats and sweaters. Lily relished the way James’ skin felt against her own. Judging from the way his hands eagerly explored her neck, her back, and then her breasts, he liked it too.
“Oh my God!” said James. “I didn’t open my other present - I’m so sorry!”
“That’s OK,” said Lily. “You can open it later.”
“Just a sec,” said James. “I can see it from here. I can get it without even getting up.” He reached into the front seat and retrieved the smaller gift. “Let’s see what we have here,” he said, planting a kiss on Lily’s forehead.
James ripped the paper off and threw it on the floor. He flipped the book over so that it was right-side-up. “The Prophet!” he said.
“Khalil Gibran - remember we were talking about that a few weeks ago?”
“I do!”
“You haven’t read it yet, have you?”
“No - but I’ve really been wanting to,” he said. “Thank you!” James opened the cover and flipped through the pages. He began reading aloud. How ironic that he chose Lily’s favorite poem. She had memorized it before wrapping the gift and as James read the admonition to follow love - even though it may shatter your dreams - Lily knew it was fate that he had turned to that page in this precise moment, a moment when Lily felt as Gibran had so beautifully expressed - enfolded in the wings of love. Tonight simply could not get any more perfect.
In the middle of the poem, James closed the book and let it drop to the floor. Lily rested her cheek against his chest and listened to the beat of his heart.
“I could stay here forever,” said Lily.
James abruptly sat up, causing Lily to do the same. “Speaking of forever,” he said, “what time is it? I should really get you home; it’s late.”
“It’s OK,” said Lily, confused. “No one even really notices if I’m there or not anyway. We can stay.”
But James was already trying out the buttons on his new shirt.
“Dolores!” called Lily, as she dropped her purse onto the floor and ran over to embrace her cousin.
“Your hair is gorgeous, Lily.” Dolores ran her hand over the crown of Lily’s head and down her back. “As shiny as satin.”
“That’s because I put that stuff on that you got me from the salon. The girls at school all call me Farrah now, after Farrah Fawcett from Charlie’s Angels.”
“You’re much more beautiful than any of those TV angels - you’re a real angel - a cherub,” said Dolores. “Have you been rehearsing your song?”
“Every day,” said Lily. “I’ve started taking voice lessons as one of my electives, and Mr. Howell said that we could work on it in class.”
“Fabulous,” said Dolores, tapping the end of Lily’s nose with her index finger. “They will be begging you to come to that college - but there’s a lot to do to get ready; we have no time to lose! Now let’s talk about the next step.”
Dolores took Lily’s hand and led her over to the love seat by the window, upon which sat two small pillows with hand-crocheted covers and a box of loose photographs. Dolores removed the box and slid it under the love seat. Lily picked up the single photo that had been left behind on the cushion. It was a worn and cracked black and white photo of two little girls standing, holding hands. They each wore a drop waist dress with a large floppy collar, dark stockings, and black lace-up boots that came to mid-calf. The little girl on the right had a serious look on her face - almost a scowl - the look that people in old photographs always seemed to have, as if having your photo taken was some form of punishment.
“Who are these people?” asked Lily.
Leaning over to see the photo in Lily’s hand, Dolores let out a heavy sigh. “That’s your Auntie Rosa and her sister Teresa - would have been your Auntie Teresa if she had lived long enough to grow up.”
“She’s the one who drowned, right? In the canal?”
“She’s the one.”
“Which one is she?”
“This one,” said Dolores, pointing to the little girl on the left.
“Geez - what’s with the look on Auntie Rosa’s face?”
“Who knows?” said Dolores. “Your Grandma Capotosti was known to be a hard woman. She laid a lot on your Auntie Rosa. In fact, I think she even blamed her for Teresa’s death.” Dolores kissed the photo. “Can you even imagine, Lily? Your Auntie Rosa and Teresa were like you and Iris - or like me and Felicia. They did everything together. They were best friends. Then one day, Teresa was just gone. Forever.”
“How awful,” said Lily. She couldn’t even imagine what it would be like to get up one day and find that Iris was gone.
Dolores placed the photo into the box, slid it back under the love seat, pulled a tissue from the cuff of her sleeve and dabbed at the end of her nose.
“Let’s move on to happier thoughts, sh
all we?” She closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, and shook her head as if to scatter the sadness, as though she were tuning into a new station in her mind. “I almost forgot - I have something for you!”
Dolores grabbed her purse from the floor and pulled out a five-by-seven-inch book, which she handed to Lily.
“Jonathan Livingston Seagull?”
“That’s my copy of my favorite book. I want you to have it,” said Dolores. “I want you to read it and I want you keep it with you always, and whenever you start to think that something’s not possible, I want you to open that book and read it again.”
“It’s about a bird?” Lily asked.
“Kind of. You’ll see. Promise me you’ll read it?”
Lily opened the cover. On the inside page was a note, written in Dolores’ hand. “Lily, Don’t ever be afraid to soar above the rest. With love, Dolores.”
“I promise,” answered Lily, holding the book to her chest.
“Well, now - you and I have some shopping to do today, young lady. We need to buy you two outfits – one for your audition and one for your interview. And then we have to book you some time at the recording studio to lay down the tracks for your song. How does that sound?”
“Sounds expensive,” said Lily, wincing.
“Now stop that,” said Dolores. “I’m taking care of everything. It’s an investment in your future. “
“But that’s going to be a lot of money,” Lily protested.
“Not compared to what you’re going to have one day, my little star,” said Dolores. “If you want, you can pay me back when you’re rich and famous.”
“It’s a deal!”
The Complete Series Page 40
