by Amy Meyerson
They never spoke about it, and the tension grew. Dad felt it. During Sunday dinners, he asked Billy so many questions—about the food, landslides, ground motion—his tactic to defuse tense situations. And Billy talked at length. He said sushi wasn’t as fishy as he’d expected. He said, in Quebec, they ate French fries with gravy and cheese curds. In Peru, the specialty was guinea pigs. Guinea pigs, I’d said horrified. I was in second grade, and we had two guinea pigs in my classroom. Billy promised no one would eat them.
Billy was always deferential. When he asked if he could take me up to San Francisco after the Battle of the Bay earthquake, Mom suggested we all go together, and we loaded into her station wagon for the six-hour drive. When he wanted to take me to San Diego for a Padres game, she suggested the Dodgers. Bumper cars in place of go-karting, wake boarding in place of surfing, snorkeling not scuba diving. Billy never fought back, never insinuated that it should be his decision. He just said, You’re right. That’s smarter, and adopted Mom’s suggestions as if they’d been his own.
“So that’s how it was for years. We didn’t talk about our arrangement. We didn’t even talk about Evelyn. Sometimes I’d almost forget he wasn’t your uncle.” She never forgot that I was Evelyn’s daughter. Billy didn’t, either.
* * *
There was also the issue of the vodka. Mom didn’t know when that had become Billy’s liquor of choice. She didn’t remember him drinking it when Evelyn was alive. She didn’t remember him drinking anything beyond the occasional beer. Mom kept a bottle of expensive Russian vodka for Billy’s visits. The more expensive the bottle, the quicker Billy drank it. So she stopped stocking vodka, bracing herself for his response when she told him they were out, but Billy shrugged and reached into the pocket of his sport coat for two airplane bottles.
I don’t like this, Dad said as he threw the tiny empty bottles into the trash.
He’s an adult, David. He’s allowed to drink. Dad never drank. He thought any regular consumption constituted a dependency and any dependency constituted an illness. Just because his father’s consumption had been a disease didn’t mean Billy’s was.
“Dad’s father was an alcoholic?”
Mom nodded sadly at me.
“So the car accident?”
“I thought you knew.”
“I had no idea.” I’d always been told that Dad’s family was driving late at night and his father had swerved to avoid a deer, hitting a tree instead. I’d never asked Dad enough about his family to realize he hid the truth of their deaths.
“Billy usually kept his drinking under control. There were a few episodes.” Mom said the night of my twelfth birthday party wasn’t the first time Billy had shown up overly energized, his breath smelling of vodka. It was, however, the first time he’d knocked on our door in the middle of the night.
“Your birthday was always hard for Billy.” Mom never knew where he went on those days. She knew better than to ask. “For some reason, Billy was intent on coming to your party that year.” He claimed a weakness for skee-ball, a desire to see me hit a round of baseballs, and Mom thought he might be entering a new phase. Billy had even offered to bring the cake. Fortunately, she hadn’t taken him up on it.
“I wasn’t even upset that he missed the party. You were running around with your friends. You didn’t notice he wasn’t there. It was really no big deal, not until he showed up in the middle of the night.”
Mom was always a light sleeper. She heard the car pull into the driveway and rushed downstairs before Billy rang the bell.
Is she still awake? Billy tried to squeeze past Mom. She blocked the doorway. Alcohol emanated from him like he’d bathed in vodka. He stood on his tiptoes trying to peer into the house behind her. Miranda?
Shh. She’s asleep.
Oh, Suze. I don’t know how. I didn’t mean to. It was noon, and I was about to leave my house, then—he looked at his wrist even though he’d never worn a watch—oh, Suze, I didn’t mean to miss her birthday.
Suze. She tried to recall the last time Billy had called her that.
Mom opened the door. Come on, I’ll make up the guest room for you. You can take Miranda out for breakfast in the morning.
Billy reached into his pocket and held a pair of emerald earrings toward Mom. Mom’s chest seized when she recognized them. They were teardrop. Encased in fourteen-karat gold. Entirely inappropriate for a twelve-year-old.
Do you think she’ll like them?
You’re not serious, Mom said.
I want her to have them.
Bill, they’re not really something you give a kid. Her heart started racing. Her eyes watered. She wiped away the first tear as it trickled from her eye.
They’re Evelyn’s.
I know whose earrings they are. Mom had been with Evelyn when she found them at an antique store in Beverly Hills. They were walking down Robertson. Evelyn stopped when she saw them in the window, turning white as she stared at the earrings through the glass, and told Mom they had belonged to her mother.
Come inside, Billy. Mom motioned him in. We’ll figure this out in the morning.
Don’t do that. You always do that, Billy said.
Do what?
Treat me like a child.
I’m not treating you like a child. I’m treating you like a drunk middle-aged man who wants sympathy for forgetting his niece’s birthday.
They fell silent. Billy’s glassy eyes looked past Mom. She followed his gaze to me at the top of the stairs.
Miranda, go back to bed. When I stalled, she added, Now. I sprinted back to my room.
Nice, Billy said.
Excuse me?
You shouldn’t yell at her like that. He was still holding the earrings in his palm. They were a dark, opaque green. Evelyn had worn those earrings nearly every day. Mom assumed she’d been buried in them.
Please don’t tell me how to raise my daughter, Mom said.
My daughter, he said indignantly.
“I should’ve gone back to bed, but we needed to fight. It’d been sitting under the surface for so long. I wanted the fight as much as he did.”
Billy started yelling and cursing. His words came out fast and jumbled. Liar. Evelyn. Miranda. Secrets. You wanted this. You stole her.
You’ve got some nerve, showing up in the middle of the night and blaming me, Mom said when she could get a word in. Some fucking nerve.
He jabbed his middle finger at Mom. You preyed on me when I was weak.
Is that how you remember it? Mom was trying to control the volume of her voice. She could feel the rage like bile in her throat, and she stepped onto the porch, closing the door behind her. Because in reality, you abandoned her. In reality, we did everything we could to get you to take her.
You knew I was mourning, and you took advantage of me.
I was mourning, too, she screamed. The anger wrapped itself around her. It made her feel alive. It made her feel strong. But I kept my shit together, Billy. I lost my best friend, but I changed her daughter’s diapers. I woke up in the middle of the night to feed Miranda. She is not your daughter. She was never your daughter.
She will always be my daughter. Billy scowled at her. She never forgot that look. Although his eyes were dazed from the vodka, they held hers. He snorted indignantly. His jawbone protruded from the intensity of his clenched teeth. He appeared almost rabid. You took her from me.
You made things this way. Mom lowered her voice again, hoping I wouldn’t wander downstairs, open the front door and ask why they were standing on the porch. You hear me? This was your choice. Don’t you dare blame me.
Her knees started to shake. It wasn’t in her head. They were actually quaking.
Billy clasped his hands around the earrings and put them in his pocket. You should be ashamed of yourself. You were always jealous of her. You were never happy for us. Billy sto
rmed off. Mom knew she should stop him before he got into his car and had a chance to hurt someone else. She was too stunned to react, too stunned to go back inside. She watched the driveway after Billy was gone, realizing it was true; she’d never been happy for them. Her brother had always known this. Evelyn had probably known this, too.
“I remember the next morning I sat by the phone waiting for Billy to call. I should have realized it would come to this point. I knew how much it hurt Billy to see you with us, and I chose to ignore it. At first, I thought it could be a good thing. We needed to talk. I really thought Billy would call and we’d finally have an honest conversation.” Or he would feign ignorance, inebriated amnesia. But Billy didn’t call.
Mom went to him instead. His BMW was in the driveway, as rusted and chipping as ever but otherwise unscathed. She sat in her car and watched the dark living room through the windows. The roses that lined the house had been deadheaded and stood barren beneath the windows. She wondered whether Billy had noticed that the roses had been cut to stubs, if he realized that the front lawn was always freshly shorn, because Mom had employed a gardener for regular upkeep. If he realized that his floors were always mopped, his dishes always put away, because in addition to the gardener, Mom had hired a housekeeper. She’d done so many things to make his life easier, so many things he never noticed, let alone thanked her for. A figure moved from the kitchen and switched on the light in the living room. Mom got out of the car. She reminded herself to remain calm.
The color waned from Billy’s face when he found her on his porch. His lips fell open. Mom thought if she stepped closer, she would smell alcohol on his breath. She kept her distance.
They watched each other, waiting for the other to initiate the conversation. Of course it would be Mom. It was always Mom.
Are you going to let me in? Mom asked.
He opened the door and followed her into the living room. Mom sat on the leather couch. Billy stood at the far end of the room. He held a tumbler, rolling clear liquid against the glass. He didn’t offer her a drink.
Things got out of hand last night, she began.
I meant everything I said.
I know you did. I just wish it hadn’t take you twelve years and a liter of vodka to tell me how you felt. Mom reminded herself to remain calm.
It had nothing to do with the vodka.
So what do you want to do?
There’s nothing we can do.
If you want to tell Miranda, if you want to rearrange our situation, we’ll make it work. We can talk to someone, get some advice on how to do this.
It’s too late. Billy turned away from her, staring out onto the perfectly kempt backyard.
Mom walked over and lifted her hand to comfort him. We can figure this out, Billy.
Please don’t touch me.
Mom’s hand lingered behind his head. Billy still had a thick head of reddish brown hair. Every morning she found another white hair lining her auburn curls. Whether it was from age or the sun she wasn’t sure. Billy’s hair looked as youthful as it did when they were teenagers, when Evelyn had first noticed that his hair shined copper in the sun, when this had all begun with a simple and unlikely crush.
I was jealous, but I always wanted the best, for all of you. When Billy didn’t respond, she said, I’ll let myself out.
* * *
In the weeks of silence that followed, Billy’s words returned to Mom as she washed the dishes, drove me to school, forced herself to smile at the young actress who was decorating her first house. There’s nothing we can do. Did Billy actually believe that? Mom should have pushed him to stay in therapy. He’d quit the group after a few weeks. One-on-one would have been better. Or they could have done couples counseling, and they were a couple, inextricably linked. Mom believed in that inextricability. They were family. You don’t have to like your family, you only have to love them. And she loved Billy. She chose to see him as sensitive instead of selfish, as adventurous instead of unreliable. Billy chose to see himself as the aggrieved widower swindled by his resentful sister. And that’s what hurt Mom most, that Billy chose to see her this way.
There’s nothing we can do. Billy’s words were true. Only, it wasn’t we, it was I. There’s nothing I can do. There was nothing Mom could do in high school when she knew Evelyn would crush Billy. Not in their twenties when she knew their getting back together was a mistake, even if she couldn’t have guessed that the mistake would prove fatal. And there was nothing she could do now to convince Billy that I could handle the truth, that whatever he wanted to do, they would figure it out together.
She knew he wouldn’t call. Still, she grew nervous each time the phone rang. Then when Billy finally called, it was to talk to me.
“Billy always came inside when he picked you up,” Mom continued. “That day, he waited in the driveway. I was certain he was going to tell you, that you would hear his version and hate me.”
Still, Mom let me go. There’s nothing I can do, she told herself. If he wanted to tell me, she wouldn’t stop him. Instead, she chose to trust me, our bond. From her bedroom window, she watched Billy’s car idle. She watched me jump in, the car speed away, and in that moment she felt resigned but free. At least now it would be over.
“I never imagined that he’d... I knew he’d be unfair. I didn’t think he’d be cruel.”
A few hours later, I ran into the house, holding a box. Mom was in the kitchen, still in her robe. If Dad had been home, he would have made her change.
Mom, I shouted even though she was sitting not twenty feet from me. I was still calling her Mom. That was a good sign. Perhaps things could return to normal, after all. Then I pulled a golden retriever puppy from the box. A golden retriever. Mom remembered Evelyn’s plans for her nauseatingly perfect family. She knew Billy did, too. Can you believe Billy bought me a puppy?
You can’t keep that. She headed toward the stairs to change. We’re taking it back right now.
I followed Mom upstairs. The puppy squirmed in my hands, nibbling at my index finger.
You haven’t even met him yet.
We’ve been over this. How could you bring a dog home? She felt her voice rise, but she reminded herself that I wasn’t the one who had angered her.
I sat on the bed and continued to pet the puppy’s head. I thought once you saw him, you’d change your mind.
Mom sat next to me and let the puppy gnaw at the side of her hand. You know it isn’t about that.
Before Mom left the house, she called Billy. What the hell is wrong with you? she screamed into his machine. Is this supposed to be some sort of fuck-you? Well, I hear you loud and clear. How dare you use her against me. She wasn’t sure if she meant Evelyn or me, which one of us he was using against her.
Mom didn’t make me go to the store with her. When she returned, I was in my room with the door closed. She decided to let me sulk until dinner. She tried Billy again. Surely he was home by now. Don’t ignore me, Billy, she shouted into his machine. How dare you manipulate her. Mom slammed the phone down. She didn’t feel better, so she walked to the beach.
The cool ocean breeze didn’t help. Neither did her ire, so she tried a different tactic. Billy, she said calmly into his machine. I’m sorry I got so angry before. It was a nice gesture, but you can’t buy Miranda a dog without consulting me first. We should talk about what happened. Obviously, this isn’t working anymore. We need to find a way to fix this.
He didn’t return her call, so she tried again, pleading, Please, Bill, don’t shut me out. Let’s talk about this. And when he didn’t call back, she left another message. Bill, we’ve got to work this out. We’re each other’s only family. This isn’t want Evelyn would have wanted. Bill, are you listening? Call me back.
After two weeks of calling to no avail, she was livid. This is it, Billy. I mean it. If you don’t call me back, we’re done. And you can say goodbye
to your relationship with Miranda, too. You hear me? This is your last chance to have us as your family.
“I didn’t really mean it,” Mom said. “I just needed to shake him.” Mom stood and motioned me to get up, too. She held her hand out to me. “Come on. I want to show you something.” I followed her upstairs to her bedroom. She found a shoebox in the back of her closet and handed me an envelope she’d addressed to Billy. It was stamped, but wasn’t postmarked.
The old adhesive had lost its grip and gave way easily.
Bill,
If you’re reading this, I’ll take it as a sign you want to work things out. I’m sorry about the messages. If I could erase them I would. Maybe it’s good, though, that you know how much this is hurting me. I’m only sorry that that hurt was expressed as anger.
Do you really feel like we stole her from you? I hope that’s your hurt talking as anger, too. You’re right to be upset. I can’t imagine how impossible it’s been to watch your daughter being raised by someone else, even if that someone else is family. I know you must look at Miranda and think that she will never know Evelyn. We should have talked about her more. We should have enabled Evelyn to live in Miranda.
I’m sorry for everything I said, and I know you are, too. But it’s not about us. Do you know how much Miranda misses you?
Please don’t shut us out, Billy. Tell me how we can fix this.
Susan
Mom rummaged through the box, locating an earthquake report authored by Billy and two other scientists. The January 30, 1998, Antofagasta Earthquake. The introduction detailed the seismology of the 7.1 earthquake off the coast of Chile, the one life that was lost, the damage to old buildings.
“I wrote that letter after I picked you up at Prospero Books.” In the morning, before she went to the post office, Mom saw a human-interest story on the news about a family that had been separated during the earthquake and were recently reunited. “I don’t know how I missed the earthquake in the paper. It was big enough—there must have been some mention of it. I’d assumed Billy was home, listening to each of my messages and deleting them. All that time he’d been away.”
