by Lynne Hugo
“Did I look like Tina, Grandma?”
“Exactly, honey.”
“It could have been me.”
“I guess that’s true.” Cora sighed, sticking out her lower lip so the exhalation would be directed upward and raise the hair on her forehead like a bird ruffling its feathers. “I guess that’s true.”
“Grandma, we have to do something. I mean, we can tell the judge, can’t we?”
“I brought it up to the lawyer, already.”
“You knew? Did Mom tell you? Why didn’t you get him for it? Is that why Grandpa called him Alexander the Goddamn Great?”
“Lexie, I don’t want you using that language. Grandpa was wrong to say that, but it was because of the war. See, Grandpa was drafted in the Second World War, you knew that, right? And he thought Alex was wrong not to serve his country in Vietnam.”
Lexie didn’t know one war from another. “But you knew? About Tina?”
“No, honey. I might have guessed once, but remember, the doctor said accidental choking. Your mother’s the only one who could have said otherwise.”
“But how can you stand it? I mean, it’s not right, he just can leave Mom, and…”
“I can’t stand it, honey, but I don’t have a choice, do I?” Cora answered it simply, in the same way she’d admonished herself after the first glimmer of plausibility.
“Well, I do. I can tell the judge.”
“We can talk to the lawyer about it. I did already, but…she’s the one who told me the person who could have testified about it was your mother.” Cora tried to pick her way through a minefield of possible words, to find the ones that wouldn’t detonate.
“You asked her?” Lexie was outraged. The light in the room was waning, but Cora could still see the anger on her face.
“Well, I can’t prove anything, of course.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“That was your mother’s place, not mine.”
Lexie stood up, sputtering, her hands in the air. “I think it’s my business. I’m the one they want to send to live with a murderer.” Cora could see Lexie’s back reflected in the mirror over her dresser, behind Lexie, and even from that angle the small-boned girl seemed to loom fiercely over Cora.
“I don’t think it was like that, Lex.”
“How do you know?”
Cora shook her head and shrugged slightly. She felt every minute of her age. She put her head down into one wrinkled hand for a moment, then looked back up at her granddaughter. “I really don’t know,” she said. “And I did hate him, I admit that. It’s not like I’m not fighting for you, Lex.” A slightly apologetic tone shaded the last. Cora reached out and turned on her bedside lamp. “Look how late it’s getting. I need to go start us some supper.” She used the edge of the table to pull herself stiffly to her feet on the second try. “Hand me my cane, will you? This dampness—”
“I want to talk to the lawyer myself,” Lexie said, not stirring toward the cane propped against Cora’s nightstand. She couldn’t believe Cora could possibly have explained it adequately or the lawyer would already have put a stop to all this.
“Well, you know, there’s that investigation by social services. They’re coming next week, Brenda said.”
“And I want to talk to whoever that is.” Lexie was going into a stubborn mode, reminiscent of Christine at the same age. Before she’d died, Chris confided to Cora that Lexie was getting cheeky and defiant, that they fought, but Cora hadn’t seen it herself.
“I imagine we can.”
“I’m doing it. My mother will help me.” Now Lexie’s hands were on her hips, and Cora saw how the blade of defiance might cut. And what did she mean by my mother will help me? It was unnerving.
“All right. Will you come give me a hand with supper?”
“I’m not hungry right now.”
“Please, honey, you’ve got to eat.”
“No. I’ve got to get him for what he did.”
THE SOCIAL WORKER CAME to do a home investigation on Tuesday of the next week. Cora, who’d known of the appointment since the previous Thursday, had scoured every inch of the house. Jolene had come over to help her wash, iron and rehang the curtains. There wasn’t enough time to get the drapes cleaned, but windows were washed and a toothbrush used on the grouting in the bathrooms. For once, Cora insisted that every bit of clothing be picked up and put away in Lexie’s room and made her take down the rock-star poster on which the singer’s hips were thrust forward and he wore an earring. She herself removed the green cloth Lexie had draped over the lampshade that made the light eerie as a séance.
Cora baked fresh gingerbread and had a pot of coffee all set up to drip fifteen minutes before the appointment. Lexie picked out what Cora should wear as meticulously as if she were a designer—a white blouse and black skirt with stockings and her good black shoes, not the slacks and sneakers she usually wore. “And no apron, Grandma. These earrings.”
“We’ll take a tray into the living room, I thought,” Cora said. “And use the good china, don’t you think?”
Lexie, whom she’d picked up from school an hour early, had changed into a green plaid skirt and green sweater. Cora could tell she was nervous and tried to hide her own nerves, frayed to the breaking point.
“I’m going to tell her,” Lexie said. “Did you clean the bathroom mirror?”
“No, would you take care of that?” said Cora, who had, indeed, spit-polished the bathroom mirror and every other glass surface, as well as the wooden and plastic ones. “I guess I should wish this person came every week, huh?”
“This isn’t something to joke about.”
“No, honey, I’m sorry. I guess not.
At five after three the doorbell rang. A woman who looked barely older than Lexie stood on the porch. She wore a trench coat and carried a briefcase. Brown hair waved past her shoulders. “Mrs. Laster?” she said. “I’m Heather Guard and I’m here for the home investigation regarding your granddaughter.”
“THE REPORT’S IN,” Brenda told Cora two weeks later.
Cora twisted the phone cord around one hand and leaned against the wall for support. “What does it say?”
“Well, she’d checked the death records and found that Tina died of accidental choking, so she gave no credence to what Lexie told her.”
“But Lexie showed her Christine’s journal. It does sort of say…”
“Sort of are the operative words there. Apparently, she discussed it with Alex and he stuck to his story. Says he wants a relationship with his daughter, and I guess he’s got a decent job and a place with a room for her.”
Cora closed her eyes and swayed slightly. She’d just returned from taking Lexie to school and had been heating up some coffee for herself when the phone rang. She pulled out a kitchen chair and sat down to take in the rest of the news. “So, we lost?”
“Well, not technically. We don’t lose until the judge rules, but I have to tell you, it’s very rare that a judge would go against the findings of social service, especially when he’s already disposed toward the natural parent.”
“Do we go back to court?”
“Unless we settle, and just agree that Lexie goes.”
“No, we can’t do that.”
“I can argue for visitation for you,” Brenda said.
“Yes…definitely. But I…we want to keep fighting this.”
“I don’t want to run your bill up, Mrs. Laster. It may be a losing issue.”
“Just keep fighting.”
“Well, then, we’ll want a hearing date and we’ll call witnesses. Of course, Mr. O’Gara will call the investigator.”
“She…did she have something bad to say about me, about Lexie being here?”
“No. She just raises the issue of your age.”
Cora straightened her shoulders as much as she was able. She’d gone without her cane when the investigator came, trying to make herself look more spry, and had Lexie put a little lipstick and blush on her s
o she’d look younger. Not enough, apparently, though now that she thought about it, Lexie had used a dollop of mascara, too. “It’s not a problem,” she said.
“I know, Mrs. Laster, and I’m sorry. See, from their point of view, it’s…”
“But they don’t know him.” Cora was clenching the phone. The arthritis in her hand hurt.
“I know. I know. We’ll do the best we can, all right? I’ll file a motion for a full hearing. We can get that much, at least. Lexie can ask to speak for herself, too. Often the court will consider the expressed preference of a child over twelve.”
“There’s no question about what she wants.”
“I know that. I do know that.”
Cora asked Brenda to call her as soon as she knew the hearing date. Outside her back door, the air had softened and a pale chartreuse halo was emerging around the naked branches. The undergrowth around the edges of the yard was leafing out. And Christine’s birds: the early returnees were already evident in the early mornings when their chirping preceded dawn and penetrated Cora’s sleep. The damn black grackles had taken over the feeders for the past month, chasing off the cardinals. The dark underbelly of spring.
Without really deciding to, Cora made her way upstairs and down the hall to Christine’s old room. She opened the door, and went to the bureau where she knew Lexie kept Christine’s picture. She took it out, the last picture ever taken of her daughter, and sank onto the bed. “What can I do?” she whispered. She felt her eyes fill and put her head down into her hands.
Green Jell-O. The thought came to her and Cora decided she was losing her grip if she couldn’t even pray without her mind wandering to some ridiculous unrelated notion. It made her feel like a well gone dry, and more than a little hopeless.
eighteen
THE INVESTIGATOR LADY didn’t believe me, even though when I talked to her she said she did. She had already talked to Alex, and he snowed her. He’s such a liar. She said she’d talk to him again, about what happened to Tina, and how he dumped Mom and me, and how nobody ever heard from him again. If that isn’t showing you’re guilty, I don’t know what is. But obviously he just lied some more and gave her this crap about how he wants me and never had a chance. He probably wants to kill me like he did Tina. She doesn’t decide anyway, the judge does, and Brenda the lawyer says I can talk to him probably. She’s going to tell him I want to.
Aunt Rebecca and Jill came over for dinner tonight. Rebecca was a complete idiot, blabbering about how maybe she could talk to Alex and see if he’s sincere. I think Grandma wanted Rebecca here to help her calm me down when she told me about the report, but Rebecca told Grandma, “It is a lot for you to have a teenager.” I know she wants me gone. Jill and I came upstairs right after dinner. I’m not as close to Jill as I used to be, but she understood how I felt about what her mother said, and she told me she was sorry her mother is a moron. I wish my hair were blond like Jill’s, even if her face does look like an apple. Sometimes I hope Rebecca’s cancer comes back. Why couldn’t God have the sister die who already had something wrong with her instead of my mother? When Rebecca and Jill are here it just makes me miss Mom more anyway, not feel “family support” (gag) like Grandma says they mean it to. I try not to think about it.
And Grandma made pork chops again, with potatoes and carrots and green Jell-O. That made me feel awful, because Grandma never makes Jell-O and I think she must have made it so I’d feel close to Mom. Like everything else, it worked the opposite. And green was her favorite. She used to put a frozen strawberry on top, with whipped cream out of a can, but Grandma must not have had any. Besides, I’ve told her I want to be a vegetarian. She says that’s not good for me. Sure. Me eating pork chops is good for pigs or something.
We’re supposed to go to court again, and Grandma told me I could probably talk to the judge if I wanted to, but we could just not fight it anymore if I didn’t want to. She said she didn’t want to put me through it unless I was sure I was strong enough. Like I’m some fragile flower in a greenhouse and she’s worried about taking me outside. Well, Grandma, outside is where I live now, and I’m still alive. That was when I got so mad, and Rebecca said maybe Jill should show me upstairs, like I was a little kid being sent to her room. What does that mean, show me upstairs? I live here. I’m the one who can show someone the upstairs, not Jill. That made me mad at Rebecca, too, and I said something about her under my breath, but I don’t think she heard me. Jill was nice about her mother having cotton balls for brains. But I don’t get how Grandma can even say that to me. I’m not going to Alex’s, case closed. She knows that, and she says she wants me. I guess it’s possible that she doesn’t really. A lot of things are possible that I never thought could be.
I think Tim wants to break up with me. We fight all the time and he blames it on me. He says I’m moody, which I’m not. Grandma says I’m too demanding, that men don’t like being tied by apron strings. She says I shouldn’t fuss when he wants to do something with other guys, but I’m afraid they’ll talk him into going out with another girl. I’m so lonely. Nobody else’s mother is dead, or if she is it was a long, long time ago and they don’t remember. I hardly talk to Emily anymore. I used to think she was so pretty, but her hair looks awful because it sticks up behind her stupid headband from ratting it. She made friends with Tara Rusco who is a cheerleader, and Emily thinks she can be popular if she rats her hair and hangs out with cheerleaders. She’ll never be a cheerleader because when she jumps her boobs flop up and down even with a bra on. Everybody can see it. They’re like watermelons. Jill called me last night and asked me if I wanted to go to the movies on Saturday. I told her I would. I don’t care what we see. She can pick.
I’ve gotten really far behind in Spanish. I don’t get what the teacher is saying, because she’s started talking only in Spanish, no English. My mind used to wander around the room when she explained things in English, but now it actually leaves the building. My grades have gone down, and Grandma is worried it will count against us in court. If she’d told me sooner, I’d have tried harder.
Grandma tries to act like she’s not nervous about court, but I know she is. I’m only worried about the judge giving me a chance. He has to, I know it.
After Grandma went to bed tonight, I came into Mom’s room. I got the picture out and the candle, which I lit. First I laid one of Mom’s scarves around them on the dresser, the blue one she liked because it brought out her eyes, but then I had another idea. I got my old teddy bear that Mom said she bought me after Tina died so I wouldn’t be lonesome in the crib and set him on the dresser like a guard. Then I put Mom’s scarf on him, the candle next to it, and I propped her picture against his foot. Then I put her pearls around his neck. Grandma said I could wear them tomorrow. I don’t know why she had to tell me that, they’re supposed to be mine now, anyway, not that I’ve worn them yet. Then I sprayed a little lilac cologne, and it smelled the way Mom used to. It was making me feel better and I just said, “I wonder what else?” sort of out loud, but really just like you do when you’re talking to yourself and in my mind somebody said, The birds. Feed the birds.
Why would I think about that now?
nineteen
ON COURT DAY, THE WAY Lexie carried her head put Cora in mind of an Egyptian queen, at least the picture-book profiles she’d seen. On the drive, Lexie had responded in monosyllables to Cora’s chatter, containing herself in a separate, elegant vase, while Cora spilled worries and thoughts all over both of them. Cora was a talkative woman living with an adolescent girl who wanted to be left alone—unless, of course, she didn’t. Cora had hoped that uniting against Alex would bring her and Lexie as close as they’d been before Christine died, that Lexie would confide in her as she had when she was small and their lives had been a braided hearth rug all laid out, every strand showing.
It appeared it was not to be. Whatever the reason, the only time Lexie had really let her close was the night they’d lain in the dark and briefly cried together. Cora rememb
ered the way Lexie’s shoulder blades felt: each like the bones of a bird’s folded wing.
But it was daylight now, and Lexie’s back and shoulders were high and straight and she touched nothing as they made their way up the courthouse stairs. Cora, the hump of her back weighing on her wide hips, held the chilly wrought-iron rail with one hand and leaned on her cane with the other.
Brenda spotted them before their eyes had adjusted to the dim wattage of the lobby hall. “Upstairs,” she said apologetically. “Another flight. We’re in a full hearing room. It’s just a formality.”
The wooden steps each dipped in the middle from the weight of thousands of grievances. Cora was breathing heavily by the time they reached the landing and stopped to rest a moment. She patted the front of her hair back into place and took a tissue from her pocket to wipe her forehead, where a cool sheen of exertion had appeared. At least they’d dressed right, she thought. Or, more accurately, Lexie had dressed them right; for Cora, a navy pantsuit and shoes with a white shell top and a print silk scarf of Christine’s artfully tied, and more makeup. “To make you look…healthy,” she’d said. For herself, she’d gone with a gray skirt and a white dressy blouse, and, “to make me look older,” stockings and low-heeled black pumps that had been Christine’s and were a size too big. Not an outfit Lexie would normally consider, but she had an eye for visual effects. Cora made no comment about the eye makeup Lexie wore, nor that she’d put her hair in a bun, which did make her look older, though certainly not as if she were on the edge of turning eighteen and an unnecessary subject for the court to be taking up at all, which was Lexie’s hope.
The hearing room Brenda led them to was daunting. There was, this time, an actual raised bench with an American flag flanking one side and a witness chair on the other. Before the bench were two wooden tables with chairs facing the judge’s spot and a polished brass rail. Behind the rail, rows of chairs were empty. In spite of the high windows, the room was dark and imposing.
“Are there going to be other people here?” Lexie asked. “Who are those chairs for?” She’d not imagined an audience, though now that she thought of it, of course courtrooms on TV shows were always packed.
