Family Trust

by Amanda Brown

  Green Field also continued to stand. Her eyes blazed like a predator’s. She pointed an accusing finger at his face.

  “Edward Kirkland,” Green Field spat out the name, her face disfigured by a ferocious scowl. “I expected you to look different.” Her eyes were from the grave.

  “Younger than you thought?” Edward returned. He smiled, but the interviewer clenched her teeth. Only Becca gave a polite laugh. With a sigh, Edward slunk into his seat. He had the feeling he got sometimes in his father’s office, that it would be best just to sit and wait it out.

  Closing her eyes, Green Field offered a silent sacrifice to the gods of rain and soil, of wind and earth. She stroked her necklace of antelope teeth in a self-soothing ritual.

  “Your statistics were never promising,” said Green Field, brandishing a paper. “But then we thought of you as a courageous exception.”

  “Well, I’ve never been called courageous or exceptional,” Edward admitted from his slump. “So there must be some mistake.” His voice was controlled.

  “Don’t be so tough on yourself, Eddie,” whispered Becca.

  She turned to the interviewer. “I think you have a piece of paper you’re not sharing, Miss Field.” She stuck her hand out for a copy. “How about a little ‘open choice’?”

  Green Field ignored her. She was still locked like a snake on Edward.

  “Oppressive colonialist background, elitist recreational habits, membership in a Christian organization not known for accepting alternative lifestyles. Welcome in the private men’s clubs, I’ll guess?”

  “The Union Club. The Racquet Club,” he responded, casually. “Why? What difference does it make to Emily?”

  “Patriarchal slime!” she shrieked, racing for his desk.

  Becca stood between them. “Take it easy, there, chief,” she laughed, putting out her hand to stop the woman’s hostile advance. She turned quickly back to Edward with a whisper.

  “Do you think she’ll communicate with me?” she asked him.

  He shrugged. “It’s worth a try,” he said, but his tone was doubtful.

  The Indian skidded to a stop, bowing to Becca. She took her hand solemnly.

  “You, we respect,” she announced, raising Becca’s fingers to the sky in victory. “Religious Minority, Breaker of Gender Barriers, Shirker of Marriage Conventions, Cohabiting Legal Guardian of a Love-Child.” In a lowered voice, she added: “We had some trouble with your capitalist ethic, but we adapted our mission statement to allow that doing well can be channeled to useful ideological interests.”

  Becca stared with the eyes of a fighter fish. “Is this a joke?”

  The Great Spirit had calmed Green Field, but her eyes still burned with a slow fire when she turned again toward Edward.

  “You lied to us,” she said, glaring at him. “You lied on your addendum to the application.”

  His voice was calm, but Becca could hear his annoyance. “It was Emily’s application,” he corrected her. “And I was perfectly candid with you—there must be some mistake.”

  Though any addition of an addendum was news to her, Becca instinctively rose to his defense. “Eddie would never do that,” she chimed in. “Straight as an arrow.”

  Watching the moccasined native woman stroke her necklace of antelope teeth, Edward cringed at Becca’s choice of words, but appreciated her trust in him.

  “Emily was intended to add to our diversity in a very particular way.” Green Field said sadly. Her eyes sought the solid wooden beams that supported the ceiling and she soaked in the strength of their sacrificed trees.

  Becca turned a confused look on Edward. Diversity was supposed to be their selling point. Unmarried and Unorthodox. Too baffled to deliver their stump speech, they sat in silence.

  Green Field approached Edward with a hostile glare.

  He watched her without speaking. She reminded him more and more of his father.

  “You identified your mother as African-American in our schematic, Edward,” she spat at him.

  “In fact you claimed the reason you were sending the letter was to call attention to all of Emily’s ‘unique blending of sociological and ethnic strands.’” The chief had pulled a letter from a pouch that looked a little like the Hermès saddlebag.

  “That’s true,” he replied simply.

  “You are not black!” Green Field shouted, her clenched fists shaking.

  “I’m not,” he agreed. He sat back in his seat and folded his arms.

  “I did some research,” Green Field shot back. “With all my senses. My eyes tell me you are whiter than snow, and my reading told me that your father is Horace Kirkland, who produces more chemical pollutants than Three Mile Island, and your mother is Catherine Whitney, of the exclusive bourgeois art museum.”

  Becca, surprised by all that she heard, turned from Green Field to Edward as if she were watching a tennis match.

  “If you had dug deeper, Miss Field,” he responded with gentle certainty, “you would have learned that my mother is a DeBeers on her mother’s side. She was born in Johannesburg while her parents were consolidating the family’s holdings. That’s in South Africa, which, last I checked, makes my mother an African.”

  The interviewer shook with fury. To control the spirit of anger, she began to dance, chanting Ki-oh-wa-ji-nay maniacally as her feet pounded in place.

  Edward, stunned, was making a heroic effort not to laugh.

  “Emily’s background has changed a great deal sine she became my—our—child. I thought that was important,” he defended himself.

  The interviewer looked for a way to challenge him. Emily Stearns was not so unique. They had national and ethnic categories for Bengalis, Inuits, Kazakis, Acadians. They had cultural slots for children adopted by homosexuals or conceived by surrogate. Green Field was determined to prove that this new-formed family was not unique enough to qualify for an automatic acceptance under the “proves school’s stellar ethics” rule.

  But Becca had already stood to leave. This place was absurd.

  “I think we’ve said all we have to say, today, Green,” she announced.

  Edward stood and pushed in his chair. He gave the interviewer a last confounded look, and Becca’s heart went out to him. She was moved to pity by his perplexed blue eyes. Poor Eddie, she thought, watching him. He didn’t do anything wrong.

  “Miss Field, I was honest with you,” he said, stepping over to Becca’s abandoned chair and pushing it back into place. “Maybe you should just make it clear that WASPs should not apply here. That way you could have dropped me right into the rejection pile.” He heard Becca laughing next to him, and he smiled.

  Green Field scowled. “We’ll have no stereotyping in this class!”

  “That would be a miracle,” said Becca. She walked close to Edward, standing beside him. “It’s all I’ve heard so far.”

  Smiling cordially at Green Field, then warmly at Becca, Edward turned to leave.

  “Shall we?” he said, offering his arm to Becca. “It’s a family tradition.”

  She linked her arm with his, and together they departed.

  When they were alone in the hall, Becca became suddenly conscious that they were touching. She dropped her hand to her side hastily, then reached into her bag for her phone. She forgot that Emily had taken it. She rooted around in her bag a little, digging for something or other. She glanced at Edward, leaning against a wall displaying art of the four seasons. Two raindrops cut from recycled tinfoil on the picture behind him looked like earrings dangling from Edward’s ears. Becca noticed the fall leaves were colored in oil pastels. She tugged him away from the wall by the sleeve.

  “You’ll get smudged,” she told him.

  He nodded thanks. Becca waited, watching Edward. He stood in place for a minute, his hands finding his pockets, his eyes finding hers.

  “I wonder where Emily is.”

  “The open choice room, I think,” she said. “Or whatever they call it. Come on, Eddie. Let’s go get her
.”

  He stopped her with a hand on her arm. “I’m sorry, Becca,” he said. “I should have consulted you before I sent the letter.”

  “Forget about it, Eddie.” She flashed him a bright smile and he felt the warmth of her acceptance.

  His smile returned slightly. She was standing close to him. She rubbed his arm, and together they began to walk.

  “I wasn’t so crazy about the group hugs, anyway,” he said with a grin.

  “Listen, Ed,” Becca said. “Emily won’t go to a school where they scatter kids around like lamps to lend color to a room. She’ll be better off with us.”

  They reached the classroom, and Edward held the door. At the sight of her fairy godmother, Emily Stearns dropped her maracas with a crash. Edward watched her make a running leap from Ethical’s open choice into Becca’s open arms.

  He looked at Becca, feeling he should offer to carry her bag while she carried Emily. He reached over to tousle Emily’s curls. Poor kid. With bumbling guardians like them, she’d never get into school anywhere.

  Becca stroked Emily’s hair and her hand met Edward’s. It seemed they couldn’t help bumping into each other and, if she were honest, she would admit to herself that she didn’t mind. She turned toward him, their eyes meeting over the gentle curls of Emily Stearns’ soft golden hair. Emily was singing a song, and when Becca told her that the school was not their favorite one, and they thought they’d all stick together and play and learn at home for a while longer, Emily shrugged indifferently, and asked if they could all go for ice cream—a double and with rainbow sprinkles too.

  Edward was in awe of Becca’s confidence. He watched Becca’s lips curve into a smile as she lay her cheek against Emily’s soft head.

  That was his answer. Becca’s eyes and lips spoke what he felt in his own soul. Emily was better off with them.

  Edward took his handkerchief and wiped away the ice-cream stains on Emily’s face. That’s why he didn’t hear Becca’s whispered warning. When he stood, he was looking straight into Bunny’s pinched face. But he hadn’t been brought up in a “colonialist” home for nothing. So he immediately collected himself.

  “Bunny! Great to see you. Have you met Becca Reinhart? Becca, this is Bunny Stirrup. Bunny, this is Becca, my coguardian.”

  “Your what?”

  But Becca held her hand out to shake and Edward kept talking, stealing time. “And this little sugarplum is Emily Stearns—you probably haven’t seen Amy and Arthur’s little girl since she was a baby. Emily, I want you to meet Miss Bunny Stirrup.”

  Unfortunately, Emily had apparently forgotten what she’d learned in manners class.

  “Bunny is a silly name,” she said, and ran behind Becca to hide.

  “Emily!” Edward said. But he was certain the child had been rude because she sensed danger. In the last few weeks he’d learned much more about children than the loose-leaf notebook of information Becca’s staff had gathered. Observing Emily when she wasn’t aware of him proved to be a graduate school course called “Why God Made Kids.” Emily was like a canary when it came to assessing situations or judging people’s sincerity. She was a lightning rod in any tense situation and right now the sky over Bunny had begun to storm.

  Bunny seemed to have regained her equanimity because she dug up a smile made for the stage and said, “I haven’t had a good talk with you in weeks, Edward. I heard about poor Arthur and Amy, of course—”

  “Be careful what you say.” Edward gestured toward Emily.

  “Oh yes, of course. Anyway, your dear mother told me you had been named the child’s ward—”

  “Guardian,” Becca said. “Wards went out with the Austens.”

  Bunny turned all of her considerable talent for putting other women in their place on Becca.

  “You are Ms. Reinhart, of course.”

  “Becca, Bunny.”

  This caught Edward unaware and he laughed. Emily inched her way toward Becca’s knee. Reflexively, Edward put his hand on Emily’s head and she grabbed it and started kissing him, a continual string of pecks all over his hand.

  Becca saw that Bunny couldn’t take her eyes off the display going on between Emily and Edward. In fact, she seemed to have forgotten what she was saying because she put her hand to her perfectly buffed and blushed cheek and said, “I must tell your mother we ran into each other. She’ll want to know all about—” She groped for a moment and then remembered, “Emily.”

  “If she wanted to know all about Emily, she would have asked to meet her,” Becca said. She noted that Bunny was dressed in cashmere Juicy Couture sweats, pink, and on her feet were the Merrell shoes that reminded Becca of Mercury delivering a message.

  Sensing that she had stumbled into messy territory, Bunny agilely turned the conversation to what only she and Edward could discuss. “Bitsy was disqualified in the first round of the trials for the garden.”

  Bunny had managed to both change the conversation into another language and take a swipe at another woman—assuming Bitsy was a woman. She’s good, Becca thought—very clever. Becca, who still knew little about Edward’s personal life, found herself suddenly ravenous for information about this side of him.

  Her attention to the unspoken communication between Edward and Bunny was a mystery to her. Thus far they had never again tiptoed near conversation about their personal lives. Edward left, wearing tuxedos most of the nights he was “off.” She knew that though he still kept his rooms at the Carlyle, he had moved the dogs to the Stearns’ Fifth Avenue apartment and had virtually not spent one night away from the apartment. If he had a woman in his life, relations between them had to be either relegated to daytime trysts, or chaste. So what claim did this woman have on him that made her desperate to catch Edward’s eye?

  Emily was standing between Becca and Edward in what had become the threesome’s standard, with the child holding a hand of each, the majority of these times claiming much of their attention.

  “You go away now, Bunny,” Emily said.

  “Emily, apologize to Ms. Stirrup,” Edward said.

  Becca studied Bunny’s reaction. For a moment she saw hatred flash through her pale blue eyes. Hatred toward Emily, Becca realized. That’s it—they were out of here!

  But before she said a word, Edward began to move the three of them past Bunny toward home.

  “I think we should get Emily home, Bunny. So if you’ll excuse us—it was nice running into you.”

  “Yes.” She turned her body in their direction, trying to detain him for as long as possible. “I’ll tell your mother I ran into you and Ms. Reinhart,” she repeated again.

  Becca was certain she heard a sneer in this. “Becca, Bunny,” she said again, knowing it would crack Emily up.

  “Becca, Bunny,” Emily repeated. Not once, not twice, but like a mantra—if four-year-olds had mantras, Becca thought. As though by prior agreement, Becca and Edward avoided each other’s eyes—knowing if they glanced at each other there would be muscle-aching laughter.

  “Seriously, Bunny, it was nice to meet you.” Becca put her hand out once more and Bunny once more gave her a wet-fish handshake.

  “I’ll see you at the Glaucoma Evening?” Bunny asked Edward, who by now was past her so she was talking to Edward’s back. And what Becca saw was a tigress letting today’s prey get away because she wasn’t really hungry and she knew there would be a next time.

  CHAPTER 18

  Bunny Takes Tea

  Bunny Stirrup crossed one modestly covered leg over another as she pressed a lemon against the side of her porcelain teacup. She was visiting Catherine Kirkland in her city residence, a stately mansion furnished with the family’s elegant collection of eighteenth-century tapestries, mahogany letter-desks, walnut end tables, and gilded footstools. She arrived at 4:30, in time for afternoon tea. Bunny straightened her spine so as not to touch the Beauvais tapestry that covered the antique armchair in which she sat.

  She was visiting Edward’s mother to talk about their plans f
or the wedding. Their union as mother and daughter-in-law had to be accomplished without further delay. The short but significant chance meeting with Edward, his ward, and that woman, had informed Bunny—there was no more time. The three of them were quickly growing into a family and before this afternoon visit was ended she would have landed Edward Kirkland, albeit through a less glamorous way than she had hoped for. And while the delightful young lady made nice, sipping her steaming cup of Earl Grey and agreeing with Catherine’s archaic views on everything from the proper scent of sheets to the necessity of chaperones, she was scrutinizing her elder with an unyielding stare, waiting for her moment to pounce.

  Bunny felt as confident as a queen. As soon as she and Catherine sent the wedding announcement to The New York Times, she had selected everything white from her summer closet, and wore the dazzling color everywhere, glad to stand out against the dark wools that crept out like moss after Labor Day. She was the awe of everyone she knew. That she could be so bold as to wear white after Labor Day was a manifestation of her triumph: Soon she would reign over the Social Register as a bona fide Kirkland. Whatever she did would be glamorous, and her friends knew it. They were finally treating her with the respect and attention she deserved. The only detail left undone was to bring Edward in on the plans.

  Of course, to her meeting with Catherine Kirkland, she wore an acceptable winter white. Even in the face of her confidence, Bunny’s caution had risen to the magnitude of what she had to lose. She had neither seen nor spoken to Edward since The New York Times went to press with their wedding announcement; quite intentionally, she had avoided him. She simply wanted to hear him say “I do.” After that, she thought, smiling triumphantly, he could say anything to her that he liked. It wouldn’t matter. And she’d decide what to do about the child afterward. As for Ms. Reinhart, Becca, she thought with a malicious mental swipe, she’d amputate Ms. Becca from Edward’s life immediately. If not sooner.

  She had played this just right. She had gone to the source.