by Unknown
We turned. A woman in her mid-sixties, I’d say, wearing a flowered dress and walking a little dog stood by our car.
“It’s been sold,” she said.
“Where’s Rosemary?” I asked, closing the gap between us. Her little dog yapped at me, but I barely noticed.
“Are you family?” she said, cocking her head.
“Oh, dear God, is she gone?” my mother said.
“Yep, she’s gone. They’re both gone.” Clearly this woman had not understood what my mother meant.
“Where are they?” I asked impatiently.
“At Cleo and Ben’s two doors down,” she said, frowning. “Who are you people?”
“We’re family,” I said. “Why is their furniture still in the house?”
“’Cause she and Lara sold it all with the house. If you wanted some of it, you shoulda come before. Now it’s too late. All that stuff belongs to the new owners,” she said, obviously pleased with herself for knowing so much.
“Which house is Cleo and Ben’s?” I asked, approaching the end of my patience.
“That one,” she said, pointing to a blue-and-cream house two houses away. “But I’m telling you, you’re too late for that furniture.”
“I don’t care about the stupid furniture!” I said.
“Kate, it’s okay,” Mom said. “Let’s go.”
Mom thanked the woman for her information, and we got back in the car.
The woman stepped aside, watching us back out of the driveway while her little dog barked wildly, like he was personally chasing us off the property.
Mom slowly pulled up to the blue-and-cream house, put the car in park but left the engine idling. She sat there just looking at the house. The woman in the flowered dress, who I could see in the mirror on my side, was still looking at us.
“Don’t you want to stop the car?” I said.
“I need to calm down a minute,” she replied. “And so do you.”
We sat there for a few seconds, just breathing in and breathing out. Then she turned off the ignition.
“Are you ready?” I asked.
“Why are they at this house?” Mom suddenly asked. “Why didn’t Rosemary give me this address?”
“Mom, she wrote you three weeks ago. They probably still lived at the other house then,” I said. “Besides, she probably thought you would write to her first and the letter would have been forwarded to her here.”
“Maybe I should have written first,” Mom said, staring at the house as if it were a fortress of stone.
“We’re here now, Mom. Don’t you think we should do what we came here to do?”
She nodded, and I took that as a cue to open my door and get out. She slowly did the same.
“I don’t know what to say if Lara answers the door,” she said as she closed her car door.
“You may not even know if it’s Lara who answers the door,” I said as I waited for her to join me on the sidewalk.
“Yes, I will,” she said softly.
“I can do the talking,” I offered.
She again just nodded her head.
We went up the curved walkway to the front door and stepped onto the porch. I rang the bell. The lady with the yapping dog was still standing there watching the whole thing like it was a movie. I waved to her. She yanked on her dog’s leash and started to walk away, but her eyes never left us.
The door began to open, and both Mom and I took a shallow breath as it swung wide. A tall, slender woman in her late fifties or early sixties stood before us with a dish towel in her hand and an apron around her waist. She peered at us through the screen door.
“Yes?” she said, kindly but authoritatively. She probably thought we were peddling something.
“Cleo?” I said tentatively.
“Yes, that’s me. What can I do for you?”
“My name is Kate Gerrity and this is my mother, Claire Holland. We’re, uh ... friends of Rose—”
But I could get nothing else out.
The screen door swung open, almost in our faces.
“You’re Claire?” she said to my mother, her eyes suddenly alight with something like fear or anticipation. I wasn’t sure which.
“Yes,” my mother said.
“For heaven’s sake why didn’t you write or call her first? Are you out of your mind?” Cleo said, with as much venom but as little volume as she could.
It was on my lips to ask her if she was out of hers, but Mom spoke up right away, absorbing the reprimand like she deserved it, which she didn’t.
“I know I should have, but this has been very difficult for me, and I was hoping Rosemary would understand.”
Cleo just stood there glaring at us.
“She waited days for you to write back to her,” Cleo finally said, saying the word “days” like it had a life of its own. “She had all but given up.”
“I am sorry. I had much to consider. I’m sure you must know that.”
I was proud of my mom for standing up to this woman, but she didn’t deserve this kind of treatment. I had had enough.
“Is Rosemary here? We’d like to talk to her,” I said as civilly as I could.
Cleo stood there for a moment and then stepped aside, motioning for us to come in.
“I’ll tell her you’re here,” she said, leaving us to stand there in the entryway, where at least it was cool.
She disappeared down a hallway, then we heard her open a door and close it. Within seconds she reappeared.
“She wants to see you,” Cleo said. “But don’t you dare cause her any more grief, do you hear me? She cannot bear any more pain.”
My mother just nodded.
“Kate, come with me,” Mom said, and together we followed the Accuser down the hall.
Cleo opened the door and stepped away so we could enter. Rosemary was in a rented hospital bed surrounded by equipment I didn’t recognize. She was propped up with pillows. She looked pale and thin but also completely overjoyed to see us. I turned around to face Cleo, slipped my hand over the doorknob, and shut the door so the three of us could be alone.
My mother ran to Rosemary and wrapped her arms around her. For several minutes there was no sound in the room but the aching cries of two sobbing women who had loved and lost so much.
22
When their tears subsided, Mom and Rosemary began to giggle like they had just shared a little joke.
Then Mom whispered something to Rosemary, and I heard Ed’s name. Rosemary closed her eyes and nodded.
“It was so hard to let him go,” Rosemary said, fresh tears welling in her eyes.
“And what about Lara?” my mom asked.
“She was so brave for me, but I know it broke her heart,” Rosemary said. “She and Ed were so close. Sometimes I was a little jealous of them. But we were doing okay. And then this happened, and I...”
Rosemary stopped then, noticing me for the first time. I don’t think Madame Cleo told her I had also come calling.
“Oh, my goodness, it’s Katie, isn’t it?” she said, breaking into a smile and reaching for me.
“It’s just Kate these days,” I said. I went to her and hugged her small body. Within her embrace I could tell both breasts were gone. She felt like all bones, tiny and weightless, like she was slowly disappearing. I winced at the thought I might be hurting her and gently pulled away. Her long braid was gone, replaced by a cropped haircut just beginning to curl at the edges. I guessed she had lost her long hair during treatment for the cancer.
“Katie, I’m so glad you’ve come too. So glad,” she said, leaning back on her pillows. She looked exhausted.
“I’m glad too, Rosemary,” I said.
“You are so beautiful,” she continued, looking at me. “You’re married?”
“Yes, to a wonderful man named Michael Gerrity. We have two children. Olivia and Bennett.”
“Olivia and Bennett. What beautiful names,” she said, looking past me to see if anyone else had come into the room with us.
“Is..
.Is Dan here?” she asked my mother.
Mom paused for just a second as she sat in the only chair in the room, next to the bed. “It’s just Kate and me today,” she finally said.
“Oh...,” Rosemary said, worry creeping into her voice. Perhaps she wondered what that meant, that only my mom and I were there and my dad wasn’t. She sounded very tired and weak.
Mom sensed this as well. I didn’t think we’d be able to stay much longer, and there was still so much to talk about.
“Rosemary, is Lara here?” my mom said gently.
“No, she doesn’t get home from the library until after five,” Rosemary said. “She has a job there.”
I looked at my watch. It was ten minutes to five.
“But you will stay until she comes home, won’t you?” she said, blinking hard as a wave of pain gripped her.
“Will that be okay with Cleo?” I said, motioning with my head.
Rosemary smiled in spite of her suffering.
“I suppose Cleo wasn’t too happy to see you two on our doorstep, was she?” she said in a low voice.
“That’s putting it mildly,” I replied.
Rosemary’s smile grew wider.
“Cleo is as tough as nails sometimes, but she protects those she loves with all her heart,” Rosemary said. “She is my closest friend here and gracious enough to let me die in peace in her spare bedroom rather than at a hospital. So I put up with her rough edges. It’s how she shows her love.”
I suddenly remembered this about Rosemary, how she could see through to the very soul of someone. I recalled the day I met her. She sat with me on our freezing deck and listened to me complain about how nobody cared what I thought. She told me it was hard for my parents to decide what to do when so much lay in the balance. She told me my parents cared very much what I thought. It only seemed like they didn’t because they were trying so hard to protect me from getting hurt, from feeling the pain they were feeling.
“Please stay until she comes,” Rosemary said, looking first at my mom and then me.
“Of course we will,” Mom said, reaching for Rosemary’s hand.
“I want to move into the living room,” Rosemary said suddenly. “Get that chair over there, will you, Katie.”
She motioned to a wheelchair in the corner.
“Are you sure, we should do this?” I said. “Maybe I should get Cleo.”
“No, no,” Rosemary said, pushing back her covers and grimacing. “We can do it.”
I got the chair, and Mom helped Rosemary into it. It didn’t take much effort. Rosemary hardly weighed anything. I fetched an afghan from the foot of her bed and wrapped it around her.
“Thank you, dear,” she said. “Let’s go. I want to be settled when Lara gets home.”
I opened the door, and Mom pushed Rosemary out into the hall where Cleo stood, aghast at the parade.
“What on earth are you people doing to her?” she said, hands on her hips.
“Cleo, I asked Claire and Katie to help me come out here,” Rosemary said. “I want us all to be able to sit down together and talk about what we need to do. There’s more room out here.”
“You know I’m supposed to go visit with Ben as soon as Lara gets here,” she said stiffly, like we couldn’t have a conversation without her.
“Of course you can go on and have supper with Ben,” Rosemary said to Cleo. “Ben’s living at the nursing home these days,” she said to us, then added, “We’ll be fine, Cleo. Please don’t worry.”
Cleo leaned down close to Rosemary but said loud enough for all of us to hear: “I didn’t put in enough chicken for four.”
“Oh, I’m sure we’ll manage,” Rosemary whispered.
“We aren’t planning on staying very long,” Mom said.
Rosemary looked quickly over at my mom and then back at Cleo.
“Cleo, why don’t you go on now to the nursing home,” she said. “I’ll be fine here with Claire and Katie. And Lara will be here in a few minutes. And...and we really need some time alone. You do understand, don’t you?”
Cleo straightened and sniffed. Then she untied her apron and laid it over a chair back. She walked over to a coat closet and took out a black purse, reaching inside for a set of car keys.
“I’ll be back by eight,” she said, and I half expected her to add “and they had better be gone.”
“Say hello to Ben for me,” Rosemary said.
Cleo stood there for a moment. “Nice to have met you,” she said to my mother and me, nearly through her teeth. Then she turned on her heel and walked into the kitchen and then into the garage. We heard a car start and the garage door open. Then through the living room window we saw her drive away.
“I apologize for her,” Rosemary said. “This has been a tough year for her. Ben has Alzheimer’s real bad. She can’t look after him at home anymore. She will also miss me terribly when I....when I am gone. And she has asked me repeatedly to let Lara stay and live with her.”
That seemed like a sentence far too stiff for a young, grieving girl, but I said nothing.
“But I don’t think that is what’s best for either of them,” Rosemary said, turning to look at my mother.
“Does Lara know that you wrote me?” Mom asked.
“I told her I was going to ask you and Dan to take her in,” Rosemary said.
“What did she say when you told her that?”
“She asked me if I thought that would make you and Dan happy.”
My mom was quiet for a moment.
“What does she think of me, Rosemary?”
Rosemary leaned over and took my mom’s hand in hers.
“She thinks you are very brave,” she said.
We heard another car then, one pulling into the open garage. My mom’s breathing quickened as did mine. She held tighter to Rosemary’s hand, and I wished I had somebody’s hand to hold. The door to the kitchen opened, and we heard the sound of someone entering it mixed with the sound of a cat meowing.
“Hey, kitty,” a gentle voice said.
Lara.
Then we heard the sound of keys hitting the kitchen counter.
“Cleo?” Lara said.
“Lara, I’m in the living room, dear,” Rosemary said, holding my mom’s hand tight. “There are some friends here I’d like you to meet.”
My mom stole a glance at me and then quickly turned her head back toward the doorway to the kitchen.
Lara stood framed in it.
She was slender and petite, maybe five foot five. Her dark brown hair fell loosely to her shoulders. She had soft brown eyes, a nose like my mom’s, and a tiny mole on her left cheek. She was wearing a pale blue sleeveless top that complemented her fair complexion.
“Hello,” she said, smiling and revealing a perfect set of white teeth.
My mom just looked at her, unable to speak.
She came closer, choosing my mom to approach first, and held out her hand.
“My name is Lara,” she said politely.
Tears filled my mother’s eyes as she stood, and still she could say nothing.
“Lara,” Rosemary said softly, “this is Claire.”
Lara turned back to my mom as understanding came over her. She seemed to be frozen, like she was unable to decide what to do, like she didn’t know if she should run from the room or lean over and embrace my mother. It was as if she was simply studying my mom, gauging what it was our mother wanted her to do. She waited until she was sure and then took a step forward and wrapped her arms around my mom in a hug that she was so right about. Mom desperately wanted it.
Mom enveloped my half-sister in her own arms. Rosemary was crying. I was crying. Lara and my mother were crying. If Cleo had been there, I’m sure she would have stormed out of the room in disgust to find a box of tissues.
Finally Mom stepped back and looked over every feature of the little girl she had given away. She touched Lara’s hair, her cheek, studied her hands.
“You are as beautiful today as the first
time I laid eyes on you,” Mom said.
Lara smiled.
“Lara, this is your sister, Katie,” Rosemary said, motioning toward me.
Suddenly she was looking at me, and I felt weak and exposed. She stepped toward me and hugged me also.
“My mom has told me so much about you,” she said.
I tried to hug her back. I wanted to. And yet I didn’t. She seemed to sense none of this as she hugged me.
I don’t know what it was—the beginning of jealousy or a wish to turn back the clock or just simply fear of letting her back into my life. I had a hard time absorbing the moment: We were in the same room with Lara. She was no longer relegated to the deepest, darkest corners of our memories where no one was allowed to go. I could speak her name again. She ceased to be the subject of a tragic circumstance that no one ever wanted to talk about.
She was suddenly real to me again.
And I could not reconcile that in my head.
We didn’t stay long after that. It was obvious our visit had been physically draining on Rosemary. Lara told us that a hospice nurse was coming at seven to get Rosemary prepared for the night ahead, and she needed to try and eat something before then. She also asked us to stay and share their evening meal with them, out of tremendous courtesy, I am sure, since Cleo had made it pretty clear there was only enough chicken for two.
We declined, of course, and got ready to leave.
“Will you come back tomorrow?” Rosemary said, her eyes imploring my mother.
“Yes, Rosemary,” Mom said, and I could tell by the way she said it and the way she looked at Rosemary that she was saying, “Yes, we’ll take her.”
Rosemary could tell too.
She rested her head against the back of her wheelchair and smiled in a way that I can only describe as relief.
23
The next morning I awoke to the sound of Olivia crying.
My eyes snapped open as I realized that was impossible: I was in a hotel room three hundred miles away from my daughter.
The room was dark, like it was still night. The cries that awakened me stopped, leading me to believe I had dreamt them. But as I looked over at my mother’s bed, I noticed it was empty, and then I heard the sound again.
