Finding Georgina

by Colleen Faulkner

  Remy doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t like the idea. I can see it on his face.

  “If you think it’s a bad idea, say so.”

  “I’m not saying that talking about things, as a family, is a bad idea.” He sits down on the stool beside me. “I’m just saying that making it this official thing might not be the best way to approach it.”

  “It’s not ‘official.’” I make air quotes with my fingers and get off the stool. We’ll need plates and forks for the pie.

  He exhales the way he does when he’s making up his mind whether he wants to argue with me or not.

  I go to the cupboard to get the plates. “She’s got to start talking to us, Remy.”

  “She’s been here a week.”

  “That whole thing with her taking the streetcar. Without us knowing where she was.” I gesture with a dessert plate. “Unacceptable.”

  “And she and I talked about that. She understands.”

  I take three more plates from the shelf. My back is to him. “You two talked about it. But we didn’t talk about it. Georgina and I.”

  “I don’t think we can gang up on her.”

  “Who’s ganging up on her? Our girls have two parents. We both have a right, an obligation, to have certain expectations of our children. That’s what being a parent is.” I watch him get up, take a glass from the cupboard, and get water from the refrigerator door. “Agree or disagree?” I try to control my tone.

  He takes a sip of water. He’s wearing sweatpants and an old T-shirt with one sleeve that’s ripped. His favorite flag football tee; he plays on a rec team on Saturday mornings.

  I make myself wait for his response. One of the things I learned when I was getting counseling, before and after Remy left, was that I needed to learn to be a better listener. Me barreling through this conversation the way I am is not being a good listener.

  He knows I’m waiting for him to speak. He makes me wait. I take the plates to the counter, set them down, and go back for the forks.

  “Agree. All I’m saying is that the girls may not be receptive to putting labels on this kind of thing. Maybe we can just . . .” He takes another sip of water. “I don’t know. Talk to them.”

  Easy for you to say, I want to say. It’s always come so easy for Remy. Everyone likes him. People open up to him. He’s good at getting people to talk about how they feel. I’m not. But I’m working on it. I’m trying. And having a family meeting is a way that I feel I can be a better listener, to Remy and the girls.

  I take my time at the silverware drawer removing four forks.

  “What do you want to talk about?” Remy asks.

  “Sorry?”

  He turns to face me. “This family meeting. What do you want to talk about?”

  I take the forks to the center island. I see Jojo walk by in the hall, her head down. Texting. I don’t call her in because I want to finish this with Remy first. I want us to be on the same page.

  “I made a list.” I set down the forks. When he doesn’t say anything, I look up. He’s got this look on his face, as if he thinks I’m being ridiculous. “What? There are some things I want to talk about. I wrote them down. And we’re not going to just talk about what I want to talk about. I only did this for me.”

  He just stands there looking at me.

  “You think the list is a stupid idea.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “It’s so I don’t forget anything.” I indicate the legal-size yellow notepad on the counter. “Lots of people use lists so they don’t forget things. I make lists all day at work. Don’t make fun of me.”

  He takes another sip of water. “I’m not making fun of you, Harper.”

  But it feels like he is.

  I get the pie and set it on the island. Then I go back for a knife. “Could you call the girls? I thought we’d sit here. We can each have a turn to bring up whatever. I’ll get the calendar. It’ll be a good time to lay out our plans for the week. I know everyone has things going on, but I think it’s important that we make time for each other right now. Together.”

  He walks out of the kitchen and goes down the hallway to the living room where Georgina is. I don’t know what she’s doing. Reading, maybe. She reads a lot. She told Remy she likes books about history, but also with a story. After dinner he gave her the first book in Ken Follett’s historical trilogy centered around a cathedral. It’s an enormous hardback. The size didn’t seem to concern her.

  I listen to Remy’s voice and the softer timbre of our Georgina’s. I can’t hear what they’re saying. Tears spring to my eyes. I still can’t stop thanking God for returning her to us. As I cut the pie, I hear Remy go the other way in the hall. He calls up to Jojo, from the bottom of the staircase, I’m sure.

  “Jojo! Family meeting!” he hollers.

  With four slices cut, I push the pecan pie to the center of the granite island and wait. Then I remember the calendar. I get it from the wall near the back door.

  Remy returns to the kitchen.

  “She coming?” I ask.

  “She?” He reaches for his water glass. “We have two shes. Besides you.”

  I can’t figure out if he’s being an ass or I am. Both of us, probably. “Georgina.”

  “She’s coming.” He takes one of the stools.

  I’m standing on the other side of the island where we prep food. There aren’t any stools on this side. “You think we should move to the dining room?” I ask him. “Or is this okay?”

  “I think this is fine.”

  Georgina enters the kitchen first. She’s carrying the book Remy gave her.

  “Pie?” I ask her. “Aunt Annie made it.”

  “No thanks.” She doesn’t look at me when she speaks. She takes the stool beside Remy.

  She’s not eating much. I’m trying not to worry. Different people react to stress in different ways, regarding food. I think I eat more when I’m stressed. But Ann can’t eat a bit when she has a fight with Makayla or George. Once, when she was waiting for a breast tissue biopsy result, she didn’t eat for days. Thankfully it came back benign.

  “You want something else?” I ask. “Some kind of snack? There’s hummus in the refrigerator. Veggies and crackers.”

  She lifts her head slowly to look at me across the counter. “No thanks. I’m good.”

  “Well, you have to eat. There’s a grocery list on the refrigerator,” I tell her. “Write down anything you want. I’ll get it for you.” I lift one shoulder and let it fall. “I don’t know what you like to eat. I usually go to the market on Saturday mornings. Usually to Rouses and sometimes to Trader Joe’s. But if there’s something you like that’s only at Whole Foods, I can get it.” I stop and then go on. “What do you like for breakfast? For before school?” I make myself say it. “What did you eat in the morning?”

  She hesitates, then says, “I like English muffin bread. Toasted.”

  I grin. “We can do that.” I look at Remy, tickled with my little triumph.

  “It comes from a bakery,” Georgina continues. “We . . . on the street with all the shops. It runs parallel to St. Charles. Closer to the river.”

  “Magazine.” I look at Remy. “It’s probably Magazine. We’ll find it.”

  “It’s fine if you . . . can’t,” Georgina says.

  I turn to Remy. “Is Jojo coming?”

  “She said she’d be down in a minute.”

  I wait a few seconds, then go out of the kitchen. At the bottom of the staircase, I holler, “Josephine!”

  “Coming!” she screams.

  I go back to the kitchen and wait in silence. I’m ready to go call Jojo again when she walks into the kitchen. She just stands in the doorway. Texting.

  “Jojo,” I say.

  “Yup.” She goes on texting.

  I glance at my list. “New phone for Georgina.” I look up at her. “I thought maybe we could go tomorrow. You can pick out a phone,” I tell her.

  Jojo doesn’t look up from texting.
“I thought I was getting a new phone next.”

  “You have the newest phone on our plan. I have your old phone. And Georgina needs a phone on our plan,” I say delicately. “Now put away your phone before I confiscate it.”

  “I’m telling Makayla I can’t go tomorrow night. She’s probably not going either, then. She won’t go without me. So basically, you’re keeping both of us from going to the party.”

  “Tell Makayla you’ll talk to her later,” I say sharply.

  Jojo huffs and slips the phone into her back pocket. She takes the stool on the end, leaving the one beside Georgina open. I stay where I am, standing.

  “So, family meeting . . .” I say, jumping in. “You guys probably think this is a bad idea, and it may be, but I thought we could give it a try.”

  Jojo sighs loudly and rests her chin on her hand, her elbow on the countertop.

  “The idea is to come together at least once a week and talk about whatever we need to talk about. Not just what I want to talk about, or your dad, but what you girls want to discuss, too.”

  “Like you telling me I could go to a party and now saying I can’t?” Jojo demands. “Is that something we can talk about?”

  I nod. “Yes. Except in that instance, we already had that discussion. You’re not going to the party, Jojo. We’re all going to see Granddad together.”

  I meet Remy’s gaze. “You want to start?”

  “Nope. What’s on your list?” But he doesn’t say it in a mean way.

  I glance down. “Granddad tomorrow night and dinner. Cell phone for Georgina.” I look up. “I can take her.” I glance at Jojo. “Do you have basketball practice in the morning?”

  “Attendance not required. It’s extra, if we feel like we need it. I barely get off the bench, so no need for me to go.”

  It’s on the tip of my tongue to suggest that’s an excellent reason to attend an extra practice, but I keep it to myself. She’s a decent basketball player, but certainly not one of the best on the freshman team. It was her choice to play. I think the physical exercise and team dynamics are good for her. I’m content if she’s content.

  “You playing flag tomorrow morning?” I ask Remy.

  “If it doesn’t rain.”

  I check off the phone and Dad’s visit on the notepad. “Have some pie.” I push the pie plate toward them. “Okay . . . next. I know you’re all going to hate this, Remy most of all, but . . .” I look up. “We need to discuss making an appointment for family counseling.”

  Jojo drops her face into her hands on the counter.

  Remy cracks a smile.

  Georgina just sits there as if she’s in her own glass cubicle and can’t see or hear us.

  I’m beginning to think the family meeting was a bad idea, but I forge on. “The social worker strongly advised counseling. We could all go to individual appointments, I suppose, but I thought that maybe we should try something together. To see if someone can help us figure out how to communicate more effectively.”

  “I—want—to—go—to—the—party—at—Megan’s,” Jojo says. She looks up at me, her head still on the counter. “How’s that for communication?”

  “Enough, Jojo,” Remy says. “Apologize, please.”

  Jojo groans and sits up. “Sorry, Mom.”

  I suddenly just want to give up on this whole thing. At least for tonight. I want to pour a glass of wine, crawl into bed, and watch something silly on the BBC on my laptop. I don’t even care if Remy comes to bed with me. “Thanks, Jojo,” I murmur. Who was I kidding when I thought I could be a good parent? I’m a terrible parent. I love my girls more than anything, but I’m a terrible parent.

  “So, moving on,” Remy says. “Harper, you see what you can find out about family counseling and then we’ll talk about it.” He glances at the girls, then back at me. “Anything else, baby?”

  “No,” I’m relieved to say.

  “My turn, then.” He turns on his stool to face the girls. “I want to talk about a plan to start giving these two more freedom.”

  “Yes!” Jojo says, slapping her hand on the countertop.

  He looks to me. “Once Georgina gets her phone, how about if we let her figure out where that bakery is on Magazine and let her go get the bread. She can tell us where she’s going and how long she’ll be gone. She can take the streetcar to the right cross street and then walk to Magazine.” He turns to our eldest. “Would you like to try that?”

  She meets Remy’s gaze. “I would.”

  I don’t want her to try that. I don’t want her out of my sight, but I know Remy’s right. When I was Georgina’s age, I was driving a car. I had a part-time job. And Georgina’s clearly every bit as mature as I was. Probably more mature.

  I keep my gaze fixed on the legal pad and doodle with the pen. “Okay. Once she gets a phone.”

  “Can I go get coffee after practice with the girls?” Jojo asks excitedly.

  She’s been asking to go since the beginning of the school year. A group of girls get coffee and pastries somewhere every Wednesday after school or sometimes after school events. It’s usually near the school, but they don’t even go to the same place every week. Jojo wanted to walk with the girls and then just call me and let me know where to pick her up, but she’s not always reliable about that. In December, she was supposed to call me to pick her up when her CPR class was over. I waited and waited. Then I texted her, then I called her. One of the older girls dropped her off. She didn’t have permission to get a ride home and she certainly didn’t have permission to ride with a teenager. I grounded her for the weekend for that one.

  I glance at Remy. Great, I want to say. Now you’ve started a revolution. Instead, I say, “Let’s see what Aunt Ann says. Maybe Makayla wants to go, too. Next item on the agenda?”

  Remy opens his arms. “That’s all I have.”

  “Georgina?”

  “How about if we talk about Megan’s party?” Jojo. Like a dog with a bone. “Maybe I could go see Granddad with you and then go to the party?”

  Remy meets my gaze. He thinks I should consider it. What he doesn’t realize is that I didn’t really want Jojo going to Megan’s party anyway. One of her classmates’ mothers was telling me after Mass last week that she had heard that there was alcohol at Megan’s last party. Supplied by an older sister.

  “Georgina’s got the floor,” I say.

  “So I’m last. What?” Jojo demands. “Because I’m the youngest?”

  “Yup,” Remy tells her. “Today you go last. Next family meeting, you’re first.” He takes the biggest slice of pecan pie from the pan and puts it on a plate.

  I pass him a fork. We’re all waiting for Georgina and I say a little prayer to God and the Virgin Mary, just in case she’s listening. Please let her speak, I pray. Please let Georgina have something to say to us. What I really want is for her to have something to say to me. Something just for me, but I don’t pray for that.

  “I want to go to Shabbat,” Georgina says, her voice surprisingly strong.

  I look at Remy.

  “There’s a temple right down the street. They have a service on Saturday mornings.” She is staring me down with those Remy eyes of hers. “Nine thirty,” she adds.

  I look back at Remy. I didn’t see this coming.

  “Okay . . .” he says slowly.

  I want to say no, of course. Didn’t we already cover this? We’re Catholic. I’m Catholic. Catholics don’t send their little girls to temple for Shabbat. But he holds my gaze and I swallow hard.

  “Is this important to you?” Remy shifts his gaze to Georgina.

  Jojo is suddenly interested in our family meeting.

  “I always go to Shabbat on Saturday mornings. I don’t think you have the right to keep me from going,” Georgina says, her voice taking on a stubborn tone.

  Her eyes get teary. Then I tear up. I don’t know what to do with these feelings. It never, ever occurred to me in all these years that when . . . if Georgina was ever returned to us, s
omething like this would be an issue. How could she come back to us believing in a different religion? Why would God do such a thing?

  I shift my gaze back to Remy. He’s watching me. Waiting for my reaction. Afraid I’ll flip out, I imagine.

  “You can go,” he says, slowly moving his attention from me to Georgina. “Okay if I go, too? I’ve never been to temple. I’m curious.”

  Georgina hesitates, then shrugs. “Okay. I guess.”

  I exhale. I hadn’t realized I was holding my breath.

  “My turn to speak now?” Jojo pipes up.

  “One more thing,” Georgina says, her voice stronger than it had been a moment ago. “Two.”

  We all look at her.

  “School. I don’t want to go to a Catholic school. There was nothing wrong with my school in my old neighborhood. I liked it there. A Catholic school . . . they make you take religion class and go to Mass. Is that even legal?” She’s looking directly at me.

  “I think that, legally, we can do what we want, as far as education, because you’re our child.” Remy.

  Georgina stares at the counter.

  “I think you should give Ursuline a try. If you don’t like it there . . . we’ll revisit the subject next semester. For convenience’s sake, it’s just easier for all of us if you go to Ursuline.” He’s still holding his fork. “What else did you want to talk about?”

  “Sharon,” Georgina says. “I’d like to know where she is. If she’s okay.” She’s just staring straight ahead now, but not at me, across the counter from her. Not at anything. “You talked to the police today. I know they told you what’s going on with her.”

  He sets down his fork. “She has an attorney. A public defender. She had a psych evaluation and—”

  “She wasn’t mentally unstable,” Georgina interrupts.

  I want to argue that clearly she was unstable, otherwise she wouldn’t have kidnapped someone’s baby and ruined so many lives. Or at least altered them in ways no one’s life should ever be altered. But I keep my mouth shut and I let Remy speak.

  “And,” Remy goes on, “the conclusion was that she is fit to face the judicial system.”

  “There’s no trial if you confess to the crime.”