Twist of Fate

by Sheri L. Brown

  “So, you think I’m saying I’m gay is my form of rebellion? This is why I can’t talk to you.”

  “You know, Skye, I realize that I chose to be a stay-at-home Mom and I didn’t stay in college to have a career and move up in the world, but I’m not stupid. The rebel in you I was referring to is you disappearing, lying, moving-in with a girl, a woman, I don’t know. You’ve always been a rebel and I love that about you, but you have to have a little thought behind it, that’s all. Rebels with a cause can change the world, I think.”

  Skylar looked down, feeling ashamed that her mother was exactly right—Skylar did think Sarah had chosen to live a sheltered life staying at home… to make a home. She was looking down on her mother and thinking she wasn’t smart enough to begin to understand her or where she was coming from. She couldn’t speak.

  Sarah cleared her throat and got up to turn on a pot of water. She sighed and looked at Skylar.

  “I will always have your back, Skylar, that’s my job. Talk to me.”

  Skylar started sobbing. It was entirely normal for Claire, Sarah’s beloved-yet-sometimes-histrionic oldest daughter, to sob in such a way. But it was notably out of character for Skylar. She was the bubbly, confident, bright, sassy daughter.

  “Honey, please talk to me,” Sarah said again.

  “I know you think I can just be me and everyone will love me, but it’s not like that. There are kids at school that still look at me weird… not even because I’m gay. Just that they heard a rumor about it. So, it’s hard enough and isolating enough as it is. All the kids go to dances, homecoming, parties… whatever, and I can’t hold a girl’s hand. You don’t know what this has been like for me.”

  Sarah really didn’t know. She knew she would love Skylar no matter who she decided she truly was and she assumed in this day and age that coming out wouldn’t be so bad.

  “Honey, I had no idea.”

  “So, then, I go to the coffee shop and I meet Felicia. And she flirts with me, we have chemistry like I’ve never felt with a boy and she doesn’t care who knows she’s gay. We sit for hours and she holds my hand. And when we’re in a booth, she’ll lean over and kiss me… kiss my neck. She’s so… brazen. I want to be like that. She makes me feel good about myself in a way I can’t explain.”

  Sarah didn’t know what to say. In all the years she spent mothering and worrying about her girls, the thought of one of them being gay hadn’t entered her mind. She thought one day they’d each start dating boys and it never got past that in her thinking. Claire never made a big deal out of seeing anyone and Skylar didn’t either, so dating had never been something to talk about. And the two younger girls weren’t quite ready yet.

  Sarah knew that whatever feelings Skylar had, they were real and the gender of her affection didn’t matter. It was the age difference Sarah struggled with.

  “Just keep talking to me, Skylar. Please don’t shut me out of your life. Take it easy. I’ve been, and your father’s been, so supportive and patient throughout this time. We’re not the bad guys, you must know that. If I let you leave and run willy-nilly and didn’t care what you did, what would you think of me then?”

  “I feel awful about my behavior. I just… I’ve been so crazy. Then I decided last week I could get drunk and make myself straight. It didn’t work,” Skylar chuckled.

  Sarah brushed the hair off of her daughter’s face, “Oh, honey… just promise me you’ll keep me posted on Felicia. I don’t want you to get in over your head.”

  Skylar smiled. It felt nice to be seventeen and a kid again for a second.

  “I went to my first gay bar in New York,” Skylar said with a grin.

  “You’re not old enough,” Sarah shot back.

  “You only have to be eighteen.”

  “You’re not eighteen yet, Skylar.”

  “Mom, its Manhattan, give me a break.”

  Sarah was going to give her a break. She remembered sneaking into bars when she was on the verge of being legal. She dragged Skylar into the den to sort through photographs for Zia’s funeral. Skylar felt at ease for the first time in a very long time. And the woman who did nothing other than raise her daughters and make a home for her family had become a hero to Skylar in an entirely new way. She was a lesbian and for the first time, she felt like her mother had really understood her.

  “So, where did you go with Felicia?”

  “A couple of cool bars on Christopher Street.”

  “What impressed you the most?”

  “Being gay was not only normal. It was totally cool.”

  “I’m sorry, Skye, for not wrapping my mind around this sooner. I really am.”

  “It’s okay, Mom, I’m glad you’re here now….”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  A thousand emotions welled up inside Claire as they approached Zia’s house. For Claire, coming to Zia’s was like coming home. And she was gone. Forever.

  Everything Claire had ever learned in her church’s CCD classes went out the window—ever-lasting life, Salvation and all the blessing s that come entering Heaven—she realized she had been coping better three days ago, and evidently had more faith, than when she and Rachel got out of the car to walk up the stone path leading to Zia’s front door. Claire wondered how her faith could switch on and off so quickly—feeling stable and in control, brimming with spiritual understanding in one minute and be a devastated, blithering heathenlike mess the next minute.

  She had walked the stone path a million times in her life, but nothing could have prepared her for this day.

  “Claire?”

  Claire was taken aback by the delicate, whispering tone of Rachel calling her name. She wasn’t aware that Rachel was capable of controlling her voice in that way.

  “Yeah, Rachel?”

  “Pardon?” Rachel asked.

  “You just called my name,” Claire said, “what did you want?”

  “Honey, maybe we need to go in and sit down. I haven’t said a word.”

  Claire was sure she heard someone call her name. Then she remembered Candy telling her about Zia being with her. But it was a far cry for Zia to be hanging out as a soul watching over Claire versus Zia actually talking to her… and Claire hearing her.

  “Wow,” Claire said, unable to keep her thoughts to herself.

  “Claire, what is it?” Rachel asked.

  “I… I just heard Zia talking to me… calling me, Rachel.”

  “Oh, honey, I’m sure you’re going to hear her voice in your head for a long time. At least I hope so.”

  “No, it wasn’t like that. I can’t explain it.”

  “Well, let’s go in and see if she talks some more then,” Rachel said.

  Claire pursed her lips astounded, confused and pleasantly surprised by Rachel’s response. She grabbed her key out of her pocket and put it in the door. She took a deep breath and smiled at Rachel.

  “I’m really glad you’re here with me, Rachel.”

  “I’m glad I’m here, too, honey.”

  Claire opened the door and immediately turned toward the right to dip her fingertips into the holy water at the front door. She made the sign of the cross and smiled. She remembered the day Zia brought the holy water stoup home. Father Robert came and blessed both the stoup and the water.

  It was large and it was solid marble. Claire was with Regina when she bought it. The church had a fundraising event with a live auction and one of the items up for bid was a large Carrara marble stoup taken from a church renovation. The man who owned the stoup had it sent back from Italy where he purchased it at an antique fair. The holy water vessel took up most of the wall in the foyer. Zia thought it was more suitable for her needs than an entryway table cluttered with things she’d rather not have to dust.

  There wasn’t a lot of historic information about the stoup, other than it came from the famous Carrara marble quarry in the northwest part of Tuscany and was taken out of a church somewhere in Tuscany dating back to the late 1500’s.

  Z
ia was ecstatic, getting it at the bargain price of one thousand dollars. She saw it as a way of tithing and helping a Christian cause. And she convinced the Priest to come every month with fresh, blessed water. It was another ritual for her to celebrate and she did. She made dinner every first Tuesday of the month, first for Father Robert and at some point in time Father Sullivan, who had replaced Father Robert after he left the church to get married.

  Claire chuckled as she thought about Zia and her incredulousness when Father Robert announced he had fallen in love with a woman and had regretfully completed his time serving God in his particular role. Claire thought he was brave and honest, but she remembered how the gossip flew, how the parishioners pointed fingers and most everyone decided to become a small version of Pontius Pilate in one way or another.

  Zia got over it and remained friends with Robert and his new wife, Grace… Claire wondered if they were on the list to be notified about Zia. It would have been devastating is they happened to miss Zia’s obituary and her services. Claire took out her phone and made a note.

  Rachel walked by the stoup and looked into it, “Maybe you could donate that or something, huh? Someone might want that, you know.”

  “Yeah, it’s cool, Rachel, it’s made out of Carrara marble. People actually carved that from stone. If I were still catholic, I would take it.”

  “When did you decide you weren’t Catholic? So that explains all the questions about me and Grandma Rose. My little bubby-seeker, so cute.”

  Rachel actually turned and pinched Claire’s cheeks as a sign of affection. Claire let her, it felt good to labeled as a seeker. She was a seeker, but she never heard anyone say it like that before. And she liked the attention from her grandmother.

  “I stopped being Catholic when I encountered too many hypocrites in one place.”

  “Honey, the world is full of hypocrites. And don’t forget, you can do bad things as a Catholic, whatever that means… confess every week, say a few Hail Mary’s and you’re back to your game, right? Forgiven till next time. Maybe they don’t see the process as being hypocritical. That’s why Jesus died. For their sins… so… I don’t know, maybe anything goes.”

  “Rachel, that sounds awful.”

  “Well, I’m being a little tongue-in-cheek. Your grandfather, my darling Giorgio, was a gentle man… a good man. Honest and hardworking and very Catholic when met… less so as the years went on. I believe he always tried to do the right thing. And if he could put up with me, well, he should be canonized.”

  Claire laughed, “You’re funny, Rachel.”

  “I’m just saying, Claire. I’m not going to cast the first stone, as they say, but I think Catholic or not, people are good and bad. It’s human nature. So, don’t wear your heart on your sleeve and expect too much. It’s not the way the world works… and living in New York, you know you need to have thick skin.”

  Claire knew Rachel was right, but she had to believe it mattered to be good and conscious and do the right thing… without getting eaten alive by those less scrupulous than she. Claire stepped into the living room and surveyed the space. She breathed in deeply through her nose, just like she did in yoga class and slowly expelled her breath. She felt a wave of calmness envelop her. It was as though Zia was going to pop out from the kitchen or bedroom any minute.

  “Claire, honey, I’m going to give you minute to be alone and just step out back.”

  “Do you mind, Rachel? I just need a minute… I’ll come get you if I need you.”

  “Yes, by all means, come get me if you need me. I’m going to sit down and have a cigarette.”

  Claire smiled at Rachel and watched her leave through the sliding glass door. Claire sat on the sofa. She wondered where Zia had taken her last breath. She wondered if she was scared or if she knew she was dying. Claire had to shake her head to make the thoughts leave her brain. There was no point anguishing over things she couldn’t control or change. She wished she could have been there for her, maybe to hold her hand or pray or something. She took another breath and sat, hoping Zia knew how much she was loved and admired.

  The one thing Candy hadn’t realized when she told Claire to look for the statue of Jesus with the key taped underneath it was the fact that Zia’s house contained several Jesus statues in each and every room of the 1950’s ranch-style home. The largest statue was in the living room, in the corner by the entertainment center. It wasn’t quite life-size, but it was close enough. Zia used to tell Claire that particular Jesus made watching the news less stressful. When Claire thought about it, Zia had a rationale for all of her statues. Of course, there were a handful of Mary statues and paintings, too. St. Francis kept on eye on things in the garden out back as well as the front lawn. And beautiful St. Claire, which Claire liked to spell without the letter i… Clare, or Chiara in Italian that sounded even more beautiful, sat on Zia’s dresser in her bedroom always surrounded by fake flowers and an occasional bouquet of fresh flowers.

  Claire pulled out her phone and dialed her mother.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, mom, it’s me, what are you doing?”

  “Going through pictures with Skye for the life celebration. Is everything okay?”

  “Everything is fine. I just wanted to make sure you picked out Zia’s outfit and found the cross she wanted to be buried with.”

  “Oh, Claire, I didn’t know about the cross, but I have the outfit. Are you okay over there, going through her things to look for it?”

  “I’m okay. Rachel is here. Hell, Zia is here for that matter.”

  Claire smiled. Zia was there. She just had to let herself feel it.

  “Okay,” Sarah said, “just call if you need anything.”

  “Things are good with Skye? Did Felicia show up yet?”

  “Things are good with Skye and no sign of Felicia yet.”

  “I’ll try and get back before she gets there, you know, for moral support.”

  “Claire, you have enough on your mind right now. I’ll be fine.”

  Claire said goodbye and got up to look for Zia’s cross. It was substantial in size and weight and really was a work of art. It was a gift to Zia’s mother, Maria-Benedetta, made by a jeweler in Venice when Regina was born. Claire had to find it. It was always a wish for Zia to be buried with that cross around her neck, or in her hand, she would often say, if the mortician had a hard time getting it around her neck. Claire went through each room and was unable to find it. Frustrated, she searched each room more closely, certain she would discover it in an obvious place.

  “Claire, honey, I’m coming in now,” Rachel said from the living room, “I hope you don’t mind.”

  Claire didn’t answer. She sat on Zia’s bed to concentrate on the cross’ location. Rachel popped her head in the door seconds later.

  “I can go back out if you still need more time,” Rachel said.

  “No, no, Rachel, I’m fine. I was looking for this cross Zia always said she wanted to be buried with. I can’t find it, though.”

  “Well, I’ll help you look.”

  “Wait,” Claire said.

  “Wait? Wait for what?” Rachel asked.

  Claire held her hand up as though to quiet Rachel from speaking so she could hear something else.

  “She left the cross in the bathroom behind the toilet.”

  “What?!?” Rachel exclaimed, “Is she talking to you?”

  Claire moved nimbly through the house to the bathroom and looked in a basket sitting on an over-the-toilet set of shelves. She pulled it out and met Rachel back in the living room.

  “Claire, I’m sorry, honey, but this crazy.”

  “If I focus I can hear her speak to me as though she’s sitting right here. I’m going with it. Maybe it’s crazy, but I never would have found this.”

  Claire held out her hand and revealed the cross she was so desperate to find. Rachel could now understand her granddaughter’s mission. The cross was absolutely breathtaking. Rachel gasped.

  “May I?”
Rachel asked.

  She delicately picked up the piece by its gold chain and held the cross in her palm. The almost three inch height of the cross was solid gold, but the inside was stamped out, etched out or carved out—Rachel couldn’t decipher the nature of the workmanship— with settings for each of the thirty or so stones that comprised it. Emerald-cut diamonds outlined the cross and shining round green emeralds filled the remaining interior space. It looked like something that should have belonged to the Pope or someone else as equally pious and wealthy.

  “Claire, this is really beyond magnificence,” Rachel said, handing it back to Claire, “God, it seems almost… priceless.”

  “Well, I’ll never know because Zia wanted me to be sure I buried it with her.”

  “Claire, you can’t bury this with her.”

  Claire snapped her head back toward Rachel surprised by her tone of voice and certitude about something that wasn’t any of her business. On second thought, Claire realized Zia was her sister-in-law and Rachel had every right to offer an opinion probably more so than Claire. But Zia had been so specific in her request and it deserved to be honored.

  Claire looked at the cross. She had seen it throughout her entire lifetime. She always assumed the jewels weren’t real. Zia wouldn’t have asked to be buried with it otherwise, she was far too pragmatic.

  “Rachel, I’m sure they’re not real… maybe the gold is real, but the stones are… I don’t know, but they’re not diamonds and emeralds. That would be crazy. I used to wear this playing dress up as a kid,” Claire laughed at the thought.

  “Well, I think you need to have another inter-Heaven conversation with Regina about this before you make any decisions. Maybe she never knew.”

  “Well, fair enough, she certainly acted like she didn’t know. But whatever, I can’t not put the cross in with her. She’s.…”

  “She’s what, Claire?”

  “Well, she’s looking down on me. I can’t… she’s getting buried in two days. She’s watching all of this right now… I can’t betray her.”

  “Hang on,” Rachel said grabbing her cell phone. She walked out of the room.