Finding Georgina

by Colleen Faulkner

  “True,” Remy agrees. “But her attorney will advise her of the best way to proceed. If she does take a plea, the attorney will help to ensure that her sentence is fair. And that she gets any mental health care she might need.”

  “Is she in jail now?”

  “She is. But it’s some sort of holding facility. I don’t know where. Eventually she’ll be moved to a women’s prison.”

  I glance at my other daughter. Her eyes are wide. She’s looking from Remy to Georgina and back to Remy again.

  This is not how I was hoping our first family meeting would go.

  “I want to see her,” Georgina says, getting off her stool. “I lived with her for fourteen years. I thought she was my mother for fourteen years. I think I have a right to see her.”

  She sounds as if she’s going to burst into tears. But she also sounds angry. So angry. And I feel as if all of her anger is directed at me. Why me? Why not Remy? He agreed with me that she should go to Ursuline. And he also agreed that Georgina shouldn’t have contact with Sharon Kohen. At least not right now.

  “I understand that you want to see her. And I understand why,” Remy says diplomatically. And I love him for that. I’d marry him all over again for his ability to negotiate waters I just can’t keep my head above.

  “And I’m not saying no,” he continues. “I’m just saying not yet. Okay?”

  They stare at each other for a moment.

  “Okay?” he repeats.

  “Okay,” she whispers.

  I let out my breath. “Anything else, Georgina?” I ask.

  She shakes her head. Apparently she’s had enough of the family meeting, too.

  I turn slowly to Jojo. I dread it, but I know I have to give her a turn. “Anything you’d like to talk about? Other than Megan’s party?” I revise.

  Jojo shakes her head, easing off her stool. Her eyes are still wide with the spectacle of our first family meeting. “Nope.” She holds up her hands, palms out. “I’m good here.”

  I want to throw my arms around her and give her a big hug.

  20

  Lilla

  I stand in the hall, waiting for Jojo to come out of the bathroom. She’s been in there forever.

  “We’re leaving in twenty minutes,” Harper Mom announces loudly as she comes down the hallway. “Jojo?” she asks me, pointing at the closed bathroom door.

  I nod.

  “Out of the bathroom, Jojo!” she shouts. “Downstairs in fifteen minutes!”

  I watch the mom go into her bedroom and close the door. Remy’s already in there. He gave us the thirty-minute warning bell on his way to take a shower.

  It’s crazy how two more people in a house can cause such chaos. It’s a little overwhelming. People talking all the time. Coming and going. Disagreeing. Jojo will argue about the color of the sky with her parents. I guess teenagers are supposed to be that way. I had friends at school who argued with their parents over everything. It’s not been my experience. Growing up, our house was never like this. It was just the two of us. And no one ever shouted. Or even disagreed, really. I was thinking that the number of people in a house affected the overall confusion, but I imagine it’s more complicated than that.

  Leaning against the wall, I knock lightly on the bathroom door. No answer.

  I’m wearing my favorite jeans and a sweater that Harper Mom insisted she buy me. After we got the cell phone this morning. After Remy and I went to temple. Temple was boring. I felt a little silly making a fuss about going, acting like my faith was a big deal, like Sharon Mom and I went all the time. But it was kind of good to sit there. It felt a little bit like my old life. And Remy was nice about it. We hardly talked walking there and back and then it was only about the fact that he skipped playing flag football to go with me. He seemed to sense I wanted to be left alone.

  So, all in all, it’s been a good day. This afternoon I painted. The walls are almost done. Harper Mom wants to buy me furniture. She offered to take me to IKEA, even though it’s hours and hours from here—Houston, I think. I wanted to ask her if I seemed like an IKEA person to her, but I didn’t because that’s kind of smart-assy. And a little mean. She was just trying to be nice. If she really wants to buy me a dresser and whatever, what I’d really like is to go to some stores that sell old stuff. Not expensive antiques, just . . . interesting furniture.

  I knock on the bathroom door again. “Come on, Jojo. I need to use the bathroom.”

  She jerks open the door. “There’s a bathroom downstairs,” she tells me.

  “But my toothbrush is in here.” I watch her prance down the hall. She’s dressed kind of weird for a visit to a nursing home. She’s wearing a short, tight, black skirt; a T-shirt; and ankle boots. And makeup.

  “Mom and Dad in their room?” she asks.

  “Getting ready.” I watch her go down the hall to her room. A minute later, I hear her come out of her room and close the door. She passes the bathroom door that I’ve left open while I brush my teeth. I watch her in the mirror. She’s got half of her hair up in a ponytail and half down. She’s carrying a little black crop sweater. I step out of the bathroom as she goes down the stairs.

  I’m halfway to my bedroom to get my shoes when I realize why she’s dressed like that. I sit on the edge of my bed that’s still in the middle of the room. There’s a bag with sheets in it, gray and white. To replace the ugly pink ones. We bought them today. Also some underwear and a new pair of shoes. Black loafers. For the school uniform. Aunt Annie and I went to the school store and got a sweater, two gray plaid skirts, two white oxford shirts. We had to order some things, too. I have to wear a blazer sometimes. The uniform is kind of dorky, but whatever. I’ve gone to schools where I had to wear a uniform before. The good thing about it is everyone looks just as dorky as you do.

  I grab my new jacket that we bought today. So I didn’t have to go to dinner wearing Remy’s hoodie. My jean jacket is hanging in my closet in the green shotgun. The new jacket is one of those fleece North Face ones like everyone wears. I’ve always secretly wanted one. We found it on sale. In gray. Harper Mom said it was obviously meant to be mine.

  I flip off my bedroom light and go down the hall. Remy and Harper’s door is still shut. Just as I get to the bottom of the staircase, I hear the back door close. I stand there for a minute, debating what to do. My first impulse is that this is none of my business.

  But it kind of is because it doesn’t matter whether I like it or not, these people are my family. And Remy and Harper really are trying to help me make sense of it all, make it work. Don’t I owe it to them to keep Jojo out of trouble? If nothing else, to cut down on the drama in the car ride to the nursing home?

  Annoyed that Jojo would put me in this position, I go out the front door. I catch her in the backyard, just heading for the little alley that runs between our property and the one next door. “Where are you going?”

  She spins around, startled.

  “They said you couldn’t go to the party.”

  She makes a face at me. “Who died and left you in charge? Wait. You died. But then you came back. I still don’t think that makes you my boss.”

  I shake my head. I know fourteen-year-old girls act like idiots sometimes; shoot, I know sixteen-year-old girls who act like idiots, but I don’t think it has to be that way. “Think about this for a minute. It’s not like you’re going to get away with it,” I tell her.

  “You got away with going to your old house without telling anyone.”

  “Special circumstances,” I say.

  She just stands there looking at me. Pissed.

  It’s starting to rain. It’s cold and I’m glad I have the new jacket. I should thank Harper Mom for it again. I glance away, then at Jojo again. If the parents come downstairs, they’re going to wonder what we’re doing out here in the rain. Especially with Jojo dressed the way she is.

  I pull up my hood. I would rather have had the jacket without the hood but it was the only one they had. Harper Mom sai
d it was the perfect coat for NOLA winters. I should tell her she was right. Sharon used to tell me we’re always big on telling people what they do wrong. She said that was okay, but it was important to tell people when they did things right, too.

  I look at Jojo standing there, shivering, in her shortie skirt, ankle boots, bare legs, and crop sweater. “If you go to the party, they’re going to drive over to Megan’s and embarrass you in front of your friends. Harper will walk right into the house and tell you to get your butt in the car. You know she will,” I say before Jojo can interrupt me.

  She hugs herself, glancing in the direction of the house. “I really wanted to go to the party,” she says, all pouty. “If you weren’t here, I could go.”

  I know she says it to hurt my feelings, but it doesn’t. Maybe because it’s a dumb thing to say, or maybe because I don’t care what she thinks. I guess I should care, but I don’t. “You think I wanted this to happen?” I ask. I don’t say it mean or even angry. Though I am starting to get angry. Because I’m standing in the rain having this conversation with her. “Don’t you get it, Jojo? I was happy where I was. I was happy with the life I had.”

  “But Sharon kidnapped you,” she blurts out.

  “Yup. She did. But she took good care of me.” Tears fill my eyes and I look away because I don’t want to cry in front of Jojo. I don’t want her to think she can make me cry. “And I could have lived the rest of my life thinking she was my mom. So don’t act like I did this on purpose. Grow up, Jojo. Stop being so selfish. Stop thinking everything is about you. Because you know what? I don’t want this, either.” I say it louder than I mean to, and then I’m quiet for a second. She’s staring at her boots. “But this is how it is. For me and for you.” I shrug. “So just get over it, Jojo.”

  I start to walk back toward the house, leaving her standing there. I don’t even care if she goes to the stupid party. But I don’t think she’s going. I look back over my shoulder. “Just get in the car.”

  I’m halfway back to the house when Remy appears at the back door. He holds it open for me. He’s wearing jeans and a sweater and a blazer that makes him look like a professor. “What’s up?” he says as I walk into the laundry room.

  “Forgot something. Jojo’s in the car.” I don’t look at him. I don’t know what he saw from the back door.

  “Okay. We’re going in a sec.”

  “I’ll be right down,” I say. I take the narrow, steep back staircase that was probably used for servants back in the day. I run into Harper Mom in the hallway. She looks nice. And I swear she looks younger than she did the day I arrived here. She’s wearing black jeans and boots and a pretty blue sweater. She’s got beautiful blond hair. Jojo, too. And I’m a little envious. Brown hair’s so boring.

  “Forgot something,” I say, walking past her. I go into my room. She’s still standing there in the hallway. Now what do I do? What could I have forgotten? The little cross-body bag I use for a purse is at home hanging on the end of my bed. My wallet’s in my backpack, but it seems dumb to bring that. They’re buying dinner. Why would I need my wallet?

  I hear Harper Mom walking down the hall. But slowly. She’s waiting for me. I pick up the book I just started reading off the nightstand and go back out into the hall.

  “Your book?”

  “In case we have to wait for a table,” I say. I make a face to myself. The book is huge. I used to read on my phone a lot, but I like real books, too. But I don’t usually walk around carrying huge books like some kind of dork.

  I zip in front of her and down the stairs. I make a beeline for the back door, walking past Remy, who’s standing in the kitchen. I run out the door and get into the Subaru. Jojo’s waiting in the backseat. I shut the door and put on my seat belt.

  “You tell them where I was going?”

  “You better wipe some of that makeup off your face,” I say. Then I open my book and pretend I’m reading.

  21

  Harper

  “You look nice,” Remy tells me when I walk into the kitchen. He leans forward to kiss me.

  “Thanks.” Our lips meet but don’t linger. “Where are the girls?” I like saying that. The girls. I love saying it.

  “Waiting for us in the car.”

  I look at him suspiciously. “Why?”

  He shrugs and cuts his eyes at me. “Excited to see their grandfather?”

  I grab my bag off the counter, scowling. “Not hardly. Certainly not Jojo. What are they up to?”

  He shrugs again. “I gave up trying to figure you ladies out a long time ago. Women are made to be loved, not understood.”

  “Is that a Remy quote or someone else’s?” I sling my bag over my shoulder. My raincoat is hanging in the laundry room. I’ll grab it as I go out.

  “Oscar Wilde.”

  I laugh and kiss him again. This time it moves beyond platonic. “I love that you’re an accountant and you can quote Oscar Wilde,” I say against his lips.

  “Is that right?” He kisses me again, wrapping his arms around my waist. “I can quote Shakespeare, too. Wanna hear? ‘Neither a borrower nor a lender be; for loan oft loses both itself and friend, and borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.’”

  I laugh and try to pull away, but he won’t let go of me. “What does that have to do with the girls in the car?” I ask. “What does it have to do with anything?”

  He’s laughing with me. “Hamlet, Act I.” He closes his eyes, then opens them. “I can’t remember what scene. No, it doesn’t pertain to us at this moment, but it was the only quote this accountant could come up with.”

  “I love you.” I kiss him again and pull away. I realize I’ve forgotten my lipstick and I dig in my bag for it. The shape is so easy to distinguish from other objects; I don’t know why it’s always so difficult to find. “How did Shabbat at temple go? You didn’t say.”

  “It was fine. It was good.”

  “Yeah?” My fingertips touch the little silver king cake baby I carry with me. I don’t know if it was ever baked in a cake. My grandmother gave it to me when I was a teenager. It’s sort of a talisman, a good luck charm or whatever. “Did she seem like she liked it?”

  He looks at me as if I’ve said something ridiculous. “Does anyone like Mass?”

  I’m tempted to say that people do, but I can’t give an example. I don’t necessarily like Mass when I’m there. Later, I like that I’ve gone. And I do like the ritual of it, going through the same motions Sunday after Sunday, year after year. I like the idea that people long dead followed these rituals, and those who follow me will. I finally find my lipstick and pull it from my bag. I remove the lid and twist it up a little. “Does she want to go again?”

  “Didn’t say.” He steps into the hall and flips off the light overhead, then flips on the front hall light.

  I apply the lipstick to my top lip. “You didn’t ask her?”

  He comes back into the kitchen. “I didn’t ask her. She didn’t seem as if she wanted to talk.”

  “You walked all the way home and didn’t talk about the service?”

  “No.”

  “I don’t know how I feel about letting her go to Shabbat every week. I don’t know what the point is.” I press my lips together. “Because . . . I know I’ve said this before.” I hold up my hand as if to bear witness. “She’s Catholic.”

  He crosses the kitchen. “We should go.”

  So apparently we’re not going to discuss this now. Okay, but I’m not going to just let it go. Not long term. Of course some conversations between husband and wife are appropriate in the time it takes to get out the door. Some aren’t. I’m giving Remy the benefit of the doubt on this one. I change the subject. “We had a nice time together today, Georgina and I.”

  “I’m glad.” He waits in the laundry room doorway for me.

  “Leaving Jojo home was a good idea. We bought Georgina’s cell phone and then we went shopping for a few things. Then the grocery store. Did you know she knows how to make eggs Benedi
ct? She can make hollandaise sauce. From scratch.” I walk past him.

  “I didn’t know that. Did you talk?”

  I grab my raincoat off a hook and hand him my suede bag so I can put the coat on. “A little. Not really. Not about anything important, just . . . A little bit about what she likes to wear, what she doesn’t. She really likes gray.” I slip my arm into one sleeve, then the other. “Don’t you think that’s weird? Aren’t teenage girls supposed to like . . . I don’t know. Purple?”

  Remy grabs the back of my coat at the collar and helps me into it. “Not necessarily. She likes what she likes.”

  “She’s not crazy about the idea of going to family counseling.”

  He hands me my handbag. “Neither am I.”

  “Remy. You said you’d go.”

  “I said I’d go. I didn’t say I was crazy about the idea.”

  I exhale. I’ve had a pretty good day. I was upset about Remy taking Georgina to temple, but once I got over that, once I had Georgina to myself, I was better. And I feel like we had a decent day. No, Georgina didn’t pour her heart out to me, but she did talk a little. More than she has. And she let me buy her some things. That’s progress. She got a cute jacket. Gray. But cute.

  I open the door, then turn back to Remy.

  He’s starting to look annoyed with me. I should quit while he’s still in a good mood. But I can’t. I have to say this one thing because I’ve been thinking about it all afternoon. Obsessing.

  “I asked her if she remembered me.” I say it quietly. And suddenly I’m on the verge of tears. It comes out of nowhere and I wonder what on earth is wrong with me. Why can’t I just be happy having Georgina home? Having her alive, for heaven’s sake. God answered my prayers. The way I wanted them answered. How many people can say that?

  Remy exhales. We’re standing close enough that I can smell the body wash he uses. He smells good. Manly. Earthy.

  “She said she didn’t remember us,” I tell him. “Not me. Not you. Doesn’t that make you sad?”

  “She was two years old.” He says it softly, meeting my gaze.