All because she had been frolicking around Italy, while the person who had held her hand as she grew up - the person who had encouraged her to dream, who had shared the joys and trials of her childhood - had decided it was time to leave this painful world behind. She wanted to spit at that face, but lacked both the conviction and experience to perform the gesture well. She wiped the fine spray of saliva off the mirror with a paper towel, and walked away.
“Way to go, Iris,” she muttered to herself, stepping up to the only open counter in the deserted food court.
“I’m sorry, Ma’am, what was that?” said the man with caffelatte skin at the cash register.
“Coffee to go, please.”
“I’m sorry, I thought you said something else. Will that be a tall?”
“Yes, that will be all.” Iris fished through her bag for the envelope of money she had exchanged at the airport.
“But will that be a tall?” The man looked at her expectantly.
“A what?”
“A tall. You know, the size.” The guy raised one hand over the other, distancing them at horizontal increments to indicate her options.
“Just make it a large. Or whatever the hell you call the biggest damn cup of coffee you can get in this country these days.” Actually, there was something else she could use. “Oh, and a pack of cigarettes. Any brand that comes in long and light.”
“I’m sorry, Ma’am, we don’t sell cigarettes here.” The guy looked at her wide-eyed, as if she had asked him to score her some heroin. “But there is a vending machine by the door.”
The shades were drawn on Violet and Todd’s dark house when she pulled into the driveway. No one was expecting her at this hour; Iris had not shared her plan to drive the three hundred and fifty miles upstate instead of waiting for her flight the following day, or today, or whenever the hell it was. She knew Violet would have tried to dissuade her, then spent a sleepless night worrying. Now that she had arrived, Iris couldn’t decide whether to ring the bell or let herself in with the spare key she knew would be hidden in a flower pot next to the garage. She stood there for some minutes, trying to decide which option would create less of a disturbance, but couldn’t. She was too shattered, too utterly exhausted and grief-stricken to decide anything at all.
Max had stressed the importance of packing light for their trip, but all the fantasies and expectations she had crammed into her backpack together with her flimsy summer clothes, now soiled from her travels, were suddenly too heavy to bear. She shrugged the pack from her shoulder, let it slide to her hand, then drop to the walkway. Her road-weary eyes were soothed by the velvety darkness; they roamed gratefully over the dewy lawn, feasting on the vision of a smooth, natural surface devoid of painted lines, unmolested by the glare of headlights. The heavy rains that had let up just west of Utica must not have hit here, she thought, as she kicked off the sneakers which might have been dry by now, had it not been for all the parking lot puddles she had been forced to dash through. She peeled off the thin cotton socks glued to her skin and sighed with relief when her itchy feet made contact with the cold flagstone.
She took a few steps down the walk, then abandoned the pathway for the grass. Her feet sunk into the spongy earth carpeted with tender tufts of green that tickled her soles and toes. This was the grass of home, of the barefoot summers of her childhood. She looked around at the upscale suburban cul-de-sac, at the lamplights holding vigil over latched front doors, imagining the dozen neighboring families slumbering safely in their beds, and twice that number of cars resting in their attached garages. Why hadn’t her home in Italy ever given her the same sense of serenity that she perceived here? What would have been different if she had remained here and married here and lived her life here, in a house like these? For years, Auntie Rosa and her sisters had been asking when she would move “back home.” How was she to determine where home really was for her, now that she had complicated her life further? Was it where the Capotosti clan clustered on holidays? Was it where you were born, or where you wanted to be when you died, or where you did all the in-between things? Was it a place you had to look for, or a place that found you? Did you reside in it, or did it reside in you? Or was it the place you ran away from, like she had been doing ever since she was a scraggly little girl with a blue valise.
Iris shivered. Her light cotton pullover, still damp from her dashes in the downpour, did little to stave off the early morning chill or the fear that froze her in place on the lawn. She had traveled long and far to get here, and now it was time to face what she had come for. Sneakers dangling from one hand, backpack from the other, Iris walked to the front door, and pressed the bell once, lightly. Seconds later, Violet opened the door to her home.
“Iris!” she cried, her red-rimmed eyes glistening with emotion, as she tightened the belt of her robe around her slender waist and gathered Iris in an embrace. Limp with relief, Iris buried her face in the crook of Violet’s shoulder, wishing she had a robe like hers, made fluffy by tumble-drying with lavender-scented softeners, and laced with the homey aromas of the bacon and eggs Todd fried for breakfast on Sunday mornings, and the wood fires he built on chilly nights, for Violet to curl up in front of with a glass of red wine. She let the shoes and backpack fall from her hands.
“Thank God you made it, Iris,” Violet said. “But how in God’s name did you get here?”
“I drove,” Iris nodded in the direction of the rental car parked in the driveway.
“You poor thing, you must be exhausted!” Violet said, running her hand over Iris’s hair. How good that felt. How soothing and reassuring. She wished Violet would hold her hand there forever.
“I’m really sorry I woke you,” Iris said, averting her mouth as she spoke, realizing her breath must be raunchy from coffee and cigarettes.
“Who could sleep?” Violet said. “I was in the kitchen making some tea.”
“So, I made it in time?”
“Of course! I’m brewing a full pot,” Violet said.
“No, I meant for ... ” Iris broke the embrace, and met her sister’s gaze. “Well, you know what I meant.”
“She’s slipping away, Iris. It’s amazing she has held on for so long. The woman’s a Capotosti, don’t forget. She won’t go until she’s good and ready, and she just hasn’t been ready yet. She’s been waiting for you, that’s what everyone says.”
Iris and Violet stood on the threshold clasping hands, their shared pain and love bridging the time and distance which had created the illusion of separation. A sister was never far away, if you held her close in your heart.
Violet updated Iris over tea, then told her she had to run to the Center for an hour or so to check on a case she was concerned about, but hoped to be at the hospice by eight. Todd was visiting his mother in Florida with their daughters, so Iris would have the house to herself. She gave Iris directions, but made her promise to take a nap before getting behind the wheel again, then sent her upstairs for a hot shower. As she headed for the door, Violet mentioned that all their sisters and brothers had been to see Auntie Rosa. Everyone but Iris and Lily.
A quarter of an hour later, Iris was enveloped in Violet’s bathrobe, her wet hair wrapped in a terrycloth turban, the phone pressed to her ear as she counted the rings, waiting for Lily to answer. Wondering whether she might have dialed the wrong number, she hung up, checked Violet’s address book again, and redialed. She gripped the receiver harder, as if the pressure could travel over the phone lines and force Lily to answer. After twelve rings, there was a click, but no reply.
“Hello?” Iris said. She heard no voice at the other end, only music.
“Hello!” Iris repeated. “Lily, are you there? Answer me!”
Clunk.
“Answer me, darn you!” Iris was shouting now. Lily was going to have to at least talk to her, that much was certain.
“Heeey,” Lily cooed, soft and dreamlike. Iris immediately regretted using such a harsh tone.
“I’m sorry, Lily,” sh
e said. “Did I wake you up?”
“I dunno.” Lily sounded groggy; of course she had been sleeping. No one but Violet would be up so early.
“Lily, it’s me. Iris,” she said, hoping Lily would not hang up now that she knew it was her.
“Iris … wow.” Her speech was still slow and slurred with sleep, barely audible above the music in the background. “I had a dream about you, in your house over there, by the water.”
“I’m here, Lily. I’m home.” Why was music playing, anyway, at this hour? Lily had probably dozed off with the stereo on, and left it looping all night. The thought of Lily hanging out at home killing time while Auntie Rosa lay on her deathbed infuriated Iris.
“Lily, I want you to meet me over at the Good Samaritan Hospice, on the corner of Fleming and Thomas. There’s no time to waste, we have to say our goodbyes to Auntie Rosa now - this morning.” She hoped she sounded firm, but not bossy. She couldn’t take it if Lily attacked her again, like in their last conversation the day of Henry’s funeral. Was this how it would be from now on? Would they only speak to each other when someone died?
“I’m tired,” Lily grumbled. “And I have a stomachache.”
“Lily, get out of that bed, get dressed, and get over there! If you don’t, I’ll … I’ll …” Iris was awful at making threats, and even worse at carrying them out. What should she say? That she would never talk to her again? As if Lily cared; she would probably be doing her a favor.
“Just come, Lily. Please.” Iris didn’t want to confront Lily, and she didn’t want to see Auntie Rosa die; she didn’t want any of this. All she wanted was to curl up in Violet’s cozy robe and go to sleep.
“Yeah, Iris - oh, shit!” Iris heard the thud of the phone dropping again. Lily was gone. All that was left was the music.
No stomachache was going to get Lily out of facing her responsibilities this time. She would pay her respects to Auntie Rosa if Iris had to drag her over there in person. Lily would thank her later, no matter how she felt now, no matter what unresolved issues she had with the aunt who had been a second mother to them. Iris would have to hurry, though. Her hands shook as she tore the page from the address book, grabbed the street map Violet kept in the same drawer, and threw on the least dirty clothes she could dig out of her backpack.
“Show me the way, God!” she prayed, as she pulled out of the cul-de-sac and headed to the north side of city, in search of the house she had never visited before, and the sister who lived there.
Years of driving in Italy had provided Iris with the swift reflexes and daring maneuvers which served her well now, as she performed last minute turns, U-turns, and K-turns in the blue-collar rush hour traffic, adjusting her route according to the map spread across her lap, steering wheel gripped in one hand, cigarette and cell phone in the other. Between cigarettes, she redialed Lily’s number, but the line was always busy. Spotting the green sign bearing the name of Lily’s street, she cut across three congested lanes of the main thoroughfare, earning herself the baffled looks and meek toots of law abiding citizens unaccustomed to such early morning effrontery. Iris shot up the road, slamming on the brakes when she saw a rusty blue LeMans parked in a clearing. She scanned her brain for updated information about the make and model of Lily’s current car, but came up with nothing more recent than the vague memory of a minivan Joe had bought after Pierce was born. She tried to imagine Lily behind the wheel of the jalopy, taking Joseph and Pierce to school, wherever that was; driving to her job, if she had one; meeting her friends for coffee, if she had any: She couldn’t. A lone mailbox nailed to a stake in the ground bore two reflective stickers with black numbers printed on them: “6” and “6”, with a space in between, left vacant by a third number that had peeled off. Lily’s address was 626, so this could be the right place; then again, it might not. She parked next to the LeMans.
Darting up the hill to the house, Iris sent squirrels scampering every whichway across the unkempt lawn. She tried the door at the back entrance; it was locked. Searching for a bell that wasn’t there, she began banging on the door.
“Lily! Are you there? Open the door!” she called, then paused to listen for a reply. The only sound Iris heard was music: the same music she had heard over the phone. At least she knew she was in the right place. “Lily!” she cried, stumbling down the cracked concrete steps that led to the lower level of the yard facing the lake. A stiff, damp wind shoved the smell of seaweed and rotting fish up her nostrils.
“Lily!” she continued to call, knocking on the door to the enclosed veranda. She tried the handle; it was unlocked. She threw open the door, and hurried toward the music.
If you look inside my soul, let go of all you think you know
You’ll find that I’m a lot like you,
Just someone who hopes their dreams come true.
Iris was startled to see her sister’s inert form curled up on the living room couch, one bony arm dangling from the sleeve of a snagged terry robe speckled with the stains of daily routine. The cordless phone lay on the floor, inches from her fingers.
“Lily!” Iris cried, shaking her, but Lily would not open her eyes. Iris placed her hands under Lily’s armpits and pulled her to a sitting position, sending a half-empty bottle of vodka rolling from the folds of her robe and crashing to the floor. The slaps she planted on Lily’s ghostly pale cheeks were gentle, but strong enough to make her head loll first to one side, then to the other, before coming to rest against the back of the sofa. Her jaw dropped, and her puffy lids opened mechanically, in the manner an old-fashioned doll’s, revealing the whites of eyes just as lifeless.
“My God, Lily!” Iris cried. She grabbed Lily’s wrist and felt for her pulse; it was weak but detectable. “How much of that stuff did you drink?” Iris had never seen Lily drink more than a couple of glasses of wine, usually at Iris’s insistence. She never thought she’d end up guzzling vodka. “Come on, Lily! Get up!” Iris slid her arms under Lily’s armpits again, and pulled her to her feet, but realized that she herself had very little energy to invest in the endeavor; she simply did not have the strength to hold Lily up and make her walk without both of them ending up on the floor.
“Iris,” Lily moaned. Her eyes popped open a split second before she puked. Iris instinctively pulled back as far as she could while still holding onto her, but was sprayed by the foul-smelling brownish liquid that spewed from Lily’s mouth onto Iris’s shirt, Lily’s bathrobe, and the carpet. Lily lowered her head to her arm, wiped her mouth on her sleeve, and coughed.
“What in God’s name is going on here, Lily?” Iris would have wept upon discovering her sister hiding out from the rest of the world in such a slovenly house and reduced to such a pitiful state, had it not been for the anger she felt, and the urgency for action.
“Leave me alone,” Lily mumbled.
“No, I will not leave you alone!” Iris said, squeezing her arms above the elbow. “You’re coming with me. We have to go see Auntie Rosa.” Her voice cracked with emotion and exhaustion. “She’s dying, in case you didn’t know that.”
“Oow, stop it!” Lily whined, trying to squirm out of Iris’s hold. “Go away.”
“I will not go away,” Iris said, losing her grip on Lily, who flopped back onto the couch. Her total lack of cooperation made Iris furious. “I flew all the way over from Italy to see her, and you’re coming with me whether you like it or not!”
What Lily needed was a dose of caffeine, Iris decided, picking her way toward the kitchen through the cardboard boxes littering the floor. She hoped she would find some leftover coffee to warm up; there was none, nor was there time to brew a fresh pot. She opened all the cupboards, looking for some instant coffee she could stir into some hot tap water, then slammed them all shut again. Not only was there no Nescafé, there was nothing, period. But if the cupboards were empty, the sink was full. Iris looked with disgust at the dirty cups and encrusted plates piled up in the basin, wondering how long they had been sitting there. She opened the ref
rigerator; the shelves were so empty it was easy for her to spot what she needed. She grabbed a can of Coke and hurried back to the living room, pulling the tab as she walked.
“Drink this, Lily,” she said, placing one hand behind Lily’s head to tilt it forward, pouring the frothing soda down her throat with the other. Lily sputtered, gulped, sputtered some more. Iris set the can down. Lily burped. Her eyes were open, but did not look at Iris. Instead, they remained trained on the floor strewn with the accoutrements of a life Iris knew nothing about.
Iris pulled into the driveway of the hospice with Lily strapped into the seat beside her, clad in the clothes Iris had found in a pile on top of a dresser in an upstairs bedroom, into which she had managed to coax her sister’s uncooperative appendages. An empty Coke can, the second poured down Lily’s gullet during stops in traffic, sat between Iris’s thighs.
Iris cut the engine, sighed, and stared at the house. It wasn’t a very nice one, though less shabby than the others on either side of it. And a home, any home, was better than a hospital, or one of those nursing homes Auntie Rosa had always dreaded more than death itself. In recent weeks, she had received reports that Auntie Rosa was declining, but it was easier for Iris to believe in her aunt’s remarkable resilience than it was to abandon Max and his plans. It was easier for her to appease her conscience by phoning every week; it was easier for her to feel reassured by the sound of Auntie Rosa’s voice, still telling Iris that she loved her, still asking when she would visit, still pretending they had all the time in the world. But everyone – even Auntie Rosa - knew people only went to a hospice when time was running out. After all the distance Iris had traveled, after all the adversities she had overcome to get here in time, she did not want to get out of the car. She wished she could just sit there until she felt stronger. Or better yet, drive away.
“Let’s go, Lily,” she said, sounding more determined than she felt.
The Complete Series Page 129
