by Sharon Potts
His father sprang from the couch, his hand balled up in a fist.
“Go ahead, hit me again,” the devil said, using Javier’s voice. “You can’t hurt me anymore. I’m out of here. I won’t stay under the same roof with a sick fuck like you.”
His father’s hand slapped against his heart. He took a staggering step toward Javier. “Please, wait. They’ve lied to you.”
“No. You’ve lied to me. You’re pathetic and all I feel for you is disgust. I wish you were dead.”
Javier stomped out of the room, but not before he caught the wave of desolation on his father’s face, his mouth agape like a suffocating fish’s. That was the last memory he had of his father.
He had packed his bags and moved into a small room in Robert’s garage until he went off to college two years later. His father never bothered to look for him and Javier’s wish came true. When Javier was eighteen, he got a letter notifying him that his father had died of a heart attack.
Javier did nothing. The monster was dead, some detached voice in his head whispered. The same monster that had risen from the murky waters of that river near the campsite so many years before. And when the memory of being lifted and held tightly by those strong arms tried to push its way into Javier’s consciousness, Javier shut them down. The monster was dead, just like Javier had wished for. How could he have known that his mistake and youthful prayers would haunt him the rest of his life?
The film was over. Grainy black-and-white filled the screen. Leli Lenz was gone. Javier lit another cigarette, took a puff, and closed his eyes. “Oh, Vati. I’m so, so sorry I’ll never be able to make it up to you.”
Pathétique cried in the background.
Javier sat up straight. What was he doing? Perhaps things weren’t working out as planned, but Javier was closer than he’d ever gotten before. He’d been so focused on finding the woman for his father that he hadn’t been thinking clearly. After all, what was the likelihood she would still be alive at ninety-three? But the painting would have been too important for her not to have passed it on to her descendants. And it remained just as crucial to the Movement as ever.
Maybe the woman known as both Leli Lenz and Ilse Strauss was no longer attainable, but Javier could still redeem his father. And himself in his own son’s eyes.
23
Kali had tried to act nonchalant when she mentioned to Seth that she was going to her grandmother’s house. “To straighten up a bit before she comes home tomorrow,” she’d said.
She was afraid that if he imagined her scouring floors and vacuuming, he’d intervene, using her pregnancy as an excuse. Or worse, that he’d remember the other night and imagine a secret liaison with Neil. But he had mumbled, “Fine,” perhaps preoccupied by the dreaded golf game with his dad and dad’s colleagues that he was heading off to.
She stopped first at the hospital to check on Lillian, who was expectedly irascible about getting out of “confinement,” as she called it. Then Kali headed down Alton Road. The street was blocked off to cars so that a large group of Sunday morning bicyclists could get by. This caused a brief delay, and Kali didn’t get to her grandmother’s house until after ten. As she pulled into the driveway, she noticed a black sedan driving slowly down the street. It paused briefly in front of the Rabins’ house, then continued on. She checked the carport. Neil’s car was gone.
Good, she thought. It was probably best if he didn’t come over.
She was eager to get started. Yes, she was planning on cleaning, but she also wanted to take the opportunity to explore the house without Lillian here.
First, she went through all the rooms opening the casement windows and letting in the outside air. She picked up the smell of the ocean and something clean like fabric softener. Possibly the exhaust from a neighbor’s clothes dryer.
She mopped the marble floors, cleaning away the firemen’s footprints, then went into the kitchen and scrubbed off the crud on the counters and appliances. She filled heavy-duty garbage bags with old newspapers and expired food from the refrigerator and cupboards. Then she went from room to room throwing away Yahrzeit candles, feeling oddly uncomfortable. Her recent conversion classes were still fresh in her mind. Was it sacrilegious to be disposing of the little glasses with their partially burned down wicks and wax? Or was the sacrilege in the act of a non-Jew lighting them?
She dragged the bags outside to the garbage cans, holding her breath to avoid the bite of cat musk. She noticed the black outline of dirt from where the terra-cotta planter had sat before Neil had moved it to retrieve the spare house key the night of the fire.
She wondered where he was. Perhaps visiting his mother at the nursing home.
When she got back inside, she glanced at the door behind the étagère. Neil had moved the étagère back, blocking the door.
Kali was pretty sure she’d exhausted her search of the storage rooms. The Leli Lenz cigarette card might turn out to be a good lead, but Kali was certain there was something else that would explain why Lillian had lit those candles and the secret she seemed to be keeping. The logical place to look was in Lillian’s bedroom.
Kali needed to know if there was something more to her mother’s death and if there was any basis to Lillian’s concern that someone was trying to break into the house.
The scent of lavender drifted up, making her feel like a thief as she opened and closed each drawer in Lillian’s closet, chest of drawers, and nightstands, then sifted carefully through the contents, trying to put everything back as she’d found them. There were neatly folded blouses, sweaters, underwear, and nightgowns. One drawer had things that her grandmother probably hadn’t used in years— half- and full slips, several lace-trimmed handkerchiefs, and three pairs of silk stockings, probably fifty years old, still in the box they’d come in. Kali shook out the lace-trimmed handkerchiefs, noticing they were all the same except for one. It had initials embroidered on one corner. Very subtle—ivory thread on white—H.S. Nothing Kali recognized. She refolded the handkerchiefs and put them back.
Shoes, handbags, scarves, and dozens of hats were arranged on the closet shelves. That was odd—she’d never seen Lillian wearing a hat. But aside from clothing and accessories, there were no boxes with secret documents. None of the paper-and-memento clutter that was present in Kali’s own closet. It was as though Lillian was expecting someone to go through her personal possessions and had left everything in perfect order. But in that order, there was no trace of her daughter, granddaughter, or the life she’d lived before she married. No keepsakes, photos, letters.
Kali thought about the fairy picture her mother had made in her closet, now painted over. Just like in her old bedroom across the hall, there was a sterile quality in here.
The doorbell rang. Kali closed the closet and went downstairs, wondering if it was Neil. Hoping it was.
She looked through the peephole and opened the door. Seth was facing away from her watching the street, his golf shirt stuck to his back with perspiration. A hint of cigarette smoke wafted off him and her abdomen tightened as she remembered his smell when he came home late the other night, their unsatisfactory discussion the following morning, and the awkwardness between them ever since.
“Hey,” she said.
“Oh, hi.” He turned toward her, looking surprised that she was standing in the doorway. “I thought I’d come by and see if you were still here.”
“Is the game over already?”
“Yeah. We finished up about an hour ago, then sat around the locker room.” He glanced at the street again as he stepped into the foyer. “It’s weird. There’s a black sedan that keeps driving past your neighbor’s house, then slowing down looking at the house. He’s been by twice since I got here.”
Kali closed the door after them. “I think I saw the car earlier.”
“Could be a realtor. It’s amazing how those guys have a sixth sense for when a house is coming on the market.” He looked at Kali’s clothes, which she noticed were spattered with scouring p
owder. “Do you need help?” he asked.
“No thanks. I’m about finished.”
He nodded and took in a deep breath. “I could use some water.”
“There’s nothing bottled, but the sink water’s pretty cold.”
He followed her into the kitchen and rested his hands on the back of a dinette chair as she filled a glass with tap water. “My dad and his friends are crazy,” he said, taking the glass from her and drinking it down. “Thanks. Boy, I needed that. It must have been ninety on the golf course. I had a beer, but I’m sure I sweated out at least a gallon.”
Kali took the glass from him and refilled it. “How’d it go?”
“Thanks.” He had another sip and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “It was horrible. No. Worse than horrible. Nightmarish.”
“Really? A golf game?”
“It’s not the golf.” He pulled out the chair and sat down. “It’s this sense of manly fraternity. All this back pounding. I’m sure I’m all bruised.”
“They were pounding your back?”
“Yeah. Congratulating me on winning my case last week.”
“That doesn’t sound too bad.”
“I mean, they were nice enough. Especially since they all think my dad’s the greatest. But most of the time they were talking about stuff I couldn’t care less about. Football. Draft picks.”
“Yuck.” Kali and Seth had made a pact on their first date never to talk about sports, which suited Kali since she knew practically nothing about them.
“But the worst part was in the locker room. It’s like some kind of time warp there. Before noon and these guys are guzzling Scotch and smoking cigars.” He shook his head. “They don’t even shower first, so it stank like—well, like a locker room.”
Kali laughed. She was relieved that he was talking to her so naturally. That the crisis between them had apparently passed. “So you figured anything’s better than the locker room? Even cleaning Lillian’s house?”
His lips twisted like he was holding back a smile. “Something like that.” He glanced around the kitchen. “But it looks like you don’t need me. It’s all spic-and-span in here.”
“For now,” Kali said. “I think I’ll try to persuade her to hire someone who can come and clean once a week. Just to stay on top of it.”
“Good luck with that.” He took another sip of water. “Have you told her about the aide?”
Kali shook her head.
“Damn, Kali. She’s coming home tomorrow. When are you planning to tell her?”
“I’ll find the right moment.”
Seth started rubbing an imagined spot or stain on the kitchen table. “And what if she refuses to let someone stay here?”
“She can’t refuse. She has no choice.”
“Well, she probably thinks she does.” Seth got up and went over to the étagère. Kali noticed the wicker was unraveling.
“What can she do?” she asked. “She can’t live here alone. She needs a walker to get around.”
He picked up a pile of magazines on the étagère and jogged the edges until they were in alignment. His back was toward her. “She might ask you to stay with her.” His voice was so quiet, she could hardly hear him speak.
“She won’t do that.”
He didn’t answer, just kept jogging the sides of the magazines against the shelf.
“And if she does, I’ll tell her it isn’t an option.”
Seth turned to face her, holding the magazines tightly against his chest. His eyes were bloodshot, but it was probably from being in the sun for so many hours. “The other night when you didn’t come home when you said you would—” He looked down at the magazines, his jaw twitching.
“What, Seth?” She took a step closer. “Did something happen? Did you—” She couldn’t finish the sentence. Seth would never, ever hurt her.
He took in a long breath, but kept staring at the magazines. “I’m only good when I’m with you, do you understand that?”
“I’m not sure,” she said softly.
He raised his eyes to meet hers. “I love you, Kali.”
“I know you do.”
“I feel whole when we’re together, but when we’re apart—It’s hard to explain. Something happens in my brain. I get—scared.”
“But that’s silly. I was hardly gone the other night.”
“Please, Kali. I need you to promise me you won’t leave me alone again.”
“I don’t understand. What are you afraid of?”
“Promise me.”
She looked at the étagère, the unraveling wicker.
“Promise me.”
“Okay,” she said, even as she sensed that somehow she was letting someone else down. “I promise.”
24
Her grandmother pushed the walker along the bricked path from Kali’s car in the driveway to the front of the house. She was wearing the light-gray pantsuit Kali had brought to the hospital and she took slow, uncertain steps. Kali noticed her dragging her left leg ever so slightly. Her forehead was black-and-blue where she’d hit her head when she fell, and there was a line just above her eyebrow with a dozen stitches.
Lillian brought the walker up against the portico step. She seemed to be assessing how to maneuver the contraption, then banged the palm of her hand against the handgrip. “Damn thing. How the heck is this supposed to make me independent if it doesn’t go over steps?”
“I’ll help.” Kali lifted the front wheels up on the step while making sure her grandmother’s balance wasn’t upset.
She still hadn’t said anything to Lillian about the nurse’s aide. Kali had told the woman to come to the house around noon, after her grandmother was settled in. That would give Kali time to prepare her.
She and Lillian made it to the front door and up over the small step into the house. Kali carried the tote with her grandmother’s nightgowns, robe, and slippers.
Lillian stopped in the middle of the foyer and glanced around as though she was in an unfamiliar place. Or maybe she was looking for the Yahrzeit candles.
“Who’s been here?”
“I have. I straightened up.”
“No one else?”
Kali shook her head. It felt like déjà vu. But maybe the paranoia was good. At least Lillian was mentally in the same place she’d been before the stroke.
“Good. He hasn’t found me.”
Kali held back her frustration. It seemed impossible to tell if her grandmother was becoming demented or whether there really was some outside threat.
“Who hasn’t found you?” Kali asked.
But Lillian ignored the question as she rolled her walker to the circular staircase and looked up. “All these steps,” she said, shaking her head. “How am I going to get up all these steps?”
“Don’t worry about them,” Kali said. “I thought for now you’d be more comfortable sleeping downstairs in the TV room.”
“That’s not a place to sleep.”
“It’s just temporary. Until you’re able to manage the steps.” Though Kali wasn’t sure that would ever be the case. “The shower in the bathroom may be easier for you to get in and out of than your bathtub upstairs, and we can open the sofa bed.”
“That sofa bed? The springs will break my back.”
“We can see how comfortable it is without opening it up.”
“I suppose.”
Kali followed her grandmother into the living room and then through the pocket door that led to the TV room. The wheels of the walker made a soft whirring sound against the marble.
Lillian surveyed the TV room from the doorway. It had originally been a screened-in porch that was accessible from both the kitchen and the living room. Kali remembered when her grandparents had enclosed it many years before, put in a window air conditioner, and added a small bathroom. There were casement windows on two sides, but shrubs and vines kept much of the sunlight out. The terrazzo floor, a mosaic of amber and turquoise pebbles, was covered with a beige shag area
rug and the sofa was pushed up against one wall.
Lillian sat down on the tufted sofa and patted the brown velvety fabric. Kali used to curl up on it to watch one program a night on the old television in the corner of the room. Her grandmother didn’t approve of television, so this was the only TV in the house, and even its use had been restricted.
“I suppose this will do,” Lillian said, reaching for her walker. “I’ll just get some sheets, my pillow, and a blanket.”
“I’ll get them,” Kali said, relieved. Her grandmother was being uncharacteristically cooperative. “Would you like something to eat? It’s almost noon.”
“No, thank you. I think I’ll just rest a while.” Lillian leaned her head against the back of the sofa.
Kali shook out the crocheted afghan that was lying over the arm of the sofa and was hit by the scent of lavender and wool that wafted toward her. She draped the afghan around her grandmother, then started toward the door.
“Where are you going?” Lillian sat back up, her face alarmed.
“Just upstairs to get your pillow and blanket.”
“You can do that later. Would you come sit with me?”
“Of course.” Kali arranged herself beside the frail old woman, close, but not quite touching.
Lillian closed her eyes, hands resting on the afghan in her lap. Despite the swollen arthritic joints, the shape of her hands and fingers were much like Kali’s. “Doll’s hands,” Kali recalled her grandfather joking. Kali tried to remember what her mother’s hands had been like.
“How are you feeling?” her grandmother asked.
“Fine.”
“With the baby, I mean.” Lillian opened her eyes. “Are you feeling okay?”
“I’m mostly good,” Kali said a little cautiously. She had told her grandmother she was pregnant a few weeks before, when she was bursting with the news, but Lillian’s reaction had been almost hostile, so Kali hadn’t brought it up again. “I get morning sickness sometimes.”
“Still? Aren’t you finished with your first trimester?”
