by Karen Quinn
When the twinkling dawn skyline of the city appeared over Shea Stadium, Christy realized how nervous she was. She didn’t know if her arrival home signaled the beginning of the end or some kind of new beginning.
Christy paid the cabdriver, then rolled her suitcase into the lobby. The doorman was nowhere to be found. She asked the concierge to hold her bag while she ran to the deli on Lexington to pick up a quart of milk. A few minutes later, she was prowling the aisles, loading up on cookies, candy, doughnuts—no form of sugar was too low for this attack. After paying for it, she looked at the pile and thought, I have got to get something healthy, so she threw down a quarter for an apple. Running outside, she ripped open bags and started shoving the goodies down her throat. Then she stopped. I cannot do this, she thought. I promised myself I wouldn’t. She ditched what was left in the trash, then bit into the apple, and told herself it was delicious. Christy shook her head sadly. I have a long way to go before enlightenment, she thought.
The apartment was dark and quiet when Christy made her way into the living room. Renata must still be sleeping, she thought, disappointed. Ali’s backpack was in the middle of the entry hall, and her jacket and fur boots were on the floor. Christy kicked them to the side. On the bridge table, four stacks of mail were waiting to be opened. She sunk into the living room couch and sat in silence. A note was taped to the frame of the Frank Stella that hung over the fireplace. That was the first piece of art Michael and I bought together, Christy remembered. She walked over to it and ripped it off:
Christy, I’m at the Harvard Club if you need me. Michael
That’s it? I’m at the Harvard Club? What does that mean? Have you moved out? Aren’t we going to talk? First you cheat on me. Then you leave it up to me to make the next move, she thought angrily. And what about Ali? Am I supposed to take care of her? When she’d meditated about her marriage at Dharmadhan, it all seemed like a bad dream. Now, in her empty apartment, it was real. Damn him for Galit. What was he thinking?
She went back to the couch and lay down, taking stock of her losses. Let’s see, her marriage, her business, her money, Katherine, Maria. At least she had Renata.
“Christy?”
She sat up. Renata was standing at the foot of the sofa.
Christy smiled. She was happy and relieved to see her. “Hey, come here. I really missed you,” she said.
Renata stared at her.
“What?” Christy asked.
Tears started down her face. The words wouldn’t come.
“What?” she asked again.
“M…M…Mrs. De Mille. She…she d-died.”
“Oh my God, when? Here, come, sit, tell me what happened.”
Renata collapsed onto the couch, sobbing. Christy put her arm around the child and held her as she cried. “You poor thing. First Maria, now Mrs. De Mille.” Renata’s tears were soaking the front of Christy’s shirt.
“It ha-happened two d-days ago. Nectar and I were coming home from school and there was an ambulance. They were taking her out. She had an oxygen mask on her f-face.”
“That must have frightened you,” Christy said.
“No, I wasn’t afraid. But I knew it was her because Nurse Ratched was right behind all those doctors. Mrs. De Mille saw me and waved for me to come over. She looked so scared.” Renata began sobbing again and could hardly catch her breath.
“I’m sure she was scared,” Christy said, remembering when she saw Maria in much the same condition. She hugged Renata until the girl could speak again.
“She pulled her mask down and said ‘Mr. Koodles.’ I told her not to worry. I’d take care of him for the rest of his life.”
“Good for you.”
“But then Nurse Ratched told me I was in the way and to move. Mrs. De Mille told Nurse Ratched, ‘fuck off.’ Then she looked at me and said, ‘Pardon my Fre-french.’” Renata started wailing again.
Christy rocked her like a baby while she cried.
“Those were her last w-words,” Renata managed to say.
“I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I know how much you loved her. Is Mr. Koodles doing okay?” Christy asked.
Renata nodded. Christy handed her a Kleenex. She blew her nose.
“You want breakfast?” Renata suggested weakly.
“I don’t think so. But let me sit with you while you eat some, okay?”
Renata nodded and they trudged into the kitchen together.
A few minutes later, Ali poked her head in. “Hey, why didn’t you invite me?”
“You can join us if you want,” Christy said, hoping her reluctance didn’t show.
Ali grabbed a bowl and pulled up a chair. “What’s the matter with you, Monkey Wart?” she asked Renata, while pouring herself some Cocoa Puffs.
“I’m still upset about Mrs. De Mille,” she said, bursting into tears again. Ali frowned, then walked over to Renata and hugged her. “It’s gonna be okay, really, it is.”
After breakfast, Christy, Renata, and Ali all crawled into Christy’s king-size bed, Renata exhausted from emotion, Ali from pigging out. The girls fell asleep in a cuddle that lasted until noon. As brokenhearted as Christy was about Michael, she felt a comfortable happiness in being back home with Renata and even horrid Ali.
Christy Hayes—New and Improved—Take Two
The next day, Christy walked her grieving daughter to school. Taking Mrs. Smart aside, she let her know what a terrible loss the child had suffered. The teacher promised to call Christy if Renata needed her. Damned if Mrs. Smart didn’t squeeze her hand, letting Christy know that she was now finally making the cut as a parent.
Christy’s cell phone rang as she strolled home. She answered quickly, hoping it was Michael. It was Jerome Fudderman. She sat down on the bench in front of a pastry shop to take the call.
“Exciting news, Christy. I have a spokesperson opportunity that will put you back on the map.”
“Really, and what would I be hawking?”
“Hawking? Nothing. I’m talking first class all the way, just like you, kid, heh-heh-heh.”
“Okay, Jerome, what is it?”
“The Olympic Foundation wants to raise a hundred million dollars to be used to sponsor promising athletes. They’ll fund living expenses so our top competitors can train full time for the Games. They want to give you a chair on the foundation’s board.”
“That sounds interesting.”
“Interesting? It’s fucking fantastic! It’s one of those honorary positions, the kind they only give to classy broads like Audrey Hepburn and Angelina Jolie. It’s high status, not too much work. But they also want to talk to you about starting a mentoring program for young athletes. You know, matching past winners with the kids coming up the ranks. That might take more time.”
“That sounds like something I’d like to do. I would have loved to have an experienced athlete to guide me when I was competing.”
“There’s a fee, of course, but I told them you’d probably want to donate the money back to the foundation.”
“I wish…Jerome. I may need it.”
“Really? Well, it’s yours if you want it. You’re back, baby!”
“Thanks to you, Jerome. You’re a genius,” she said weakly.
“I can’t argue with you on that. So, you’ll take the meeting with the foundation president?”
“Of course.” Christy realized this would be a much better use of her time than going to power-girl salons, attending charity luncheons, or taking orders from Brownie. In fact, this possibility made her feel like she might actually have a life again.
Who’s That Knocking at My Door?
When Christy got home, she noticed an old Volkswagen van parked right out front, in the loading zone. It was dirty, orange and beat-up, like Scooby-Doo’s van. You sure don’t see many of those anymore, she thought. Walking inside, she spied a man holding a tiny white goat, a dark-skinned lady who was quite a bit older than Christy, and a twentyish woman holding an Apple PowerBook and the hand of a five-year-
old girl, all standing across from the concierge desk. Wow, Christy thought, what’s happening to our building? Beat-up cars in front, a goat in the lobby? What’s next?
“Thank goodness you’re home, Mrs. Hayes. These people are here to see you,” Tony said.
“But I don’t know them,” she said.
“They’re asking for you.”
“Who are they?” she whispered.
“Renata’s family. From Mexico.”
“What? Renata doesn’t have family.”
“Tell them that.”
Christy walked over to the motley family to introduce herself. “Hola, me llamo Christy Hayes.”
“Hello,” the old man said in a Mexican accent. “I’m Jorge Ruiz, Maria Ruiz’s brother. This is our big sister, Maria, her daughter, Maria, and her daughter’s child, Maria.”
This cannot be good, Christy thought. What she said instead was “I’ve never met one family with so many Marias.”
“It’s a tradition for us. Can we go upstairs, Mrs. Hayes? We need to talk.”
“Of course.”
As they got into the elevator, Tony called out, “Tell them they have to move their van! And no goats in the elevator.”
“Don’t let them ticket the car, Tony. We’ll move it in half an hour.” Hopefully with Renata’s family inside and on their way back to Mexico, she thought. “And since when aren’t goats allowed upstairs?” Christy shouted back to him.
“How did you find me?” Christy asked as the elevator doors closed.
“We saw you on TV,” Jorge answered.
“Señor Robert Beck,” Old-Maria said, “on satellite.”
Great, she thought. Not only did my Robert Beck appearance humiliate me for all eternity, it brought the whole Ruiz family to my doorstep. What do they want from me? Money?
“So, how can I help you?” she asked when they stepped inside the apartment.
“We’ve come to take Renata back to Mexico with us,” Jorge said.
“What? No, that’s impossible. Maria, my Maria that is, she asked me to take care of Renata. I promised I’d raise her.”
“Can we have something to eat? Young-Mother-Maria said. “I’m famélico.”
“Of course. Oh, shoot. I let my cook go. There’s not much in the fridge. Do you like Chinese?”
Young-Mother-Maria shrugged. “I like eggrolls.”
“Give me a minute.” Christy called Eve on the intercom and asked her to order from Duck River. “Now, where were we?”
“We’ve come to take Renata back,” Jorge said.
“Yes, right. Of course. But she was entrusted to my care. Maria appointed me her guardian. I’ve already started adoption proceedings. And she’s thriving in school. You wouldn’t want to disrupt her when she’s doing so well,” Christy pleaded.
“Yes, but her mother left instructions in her will that we should raise her if Maria couldn’t. And we’re her flesh and blood. It’s all right here.” Jorge pulled some papers out of a raggedy leather briefcase. “See.” He handed Christy some kind of legal document that appeared to be a Last Will and Testament. She skimmed it. Assuming this was really written by Renata’s mother, her wishes were that Renata go with Jorge and Old-Maria if her grandmother couldn’t raise her. This is certainly going to complicate Renata’s adoption case, Christy thought glumly.
Mr. Koodles wandered into the living room and spotted the baby goat, who was chewing Christy’s dracaena plant. He hissed at the animal. The goat kept eating.
“Has Renata ever met you?” Christy asked.
“Yes. Well, no. Maria’s daughter, Maria, brought her to visit when she was just born, but we live in a tiny town outside of Monterrey. Maria never brought her back.”
“You mean my Maria’s daughter?”
“Yes.”
Christy was having trouble keeping track. She wondered how Renata had been spared the family name. “Ahhh, so you live in a small village. What do you do there?”
“I’m a carpenter,” Jorge said. “Maria”—he gestured to Old-Maria—“has a goat farm, a hundred acres. She exports goat cheese to the finest restaurants and gourmet stores in the world. You can order from her website, YouGoatGirl-dot-net. Maria is the webmaster,” he added, gesturing toward Young-Mother-Maria.
Christy laughed and said to Old-Maria, “Cute name. Not what I’d expect, just having met you. Tell me, are the schools good in your town?”
“The local school ends at eighth grade,” Old-Maria said. “There’s a Catholic school about twenty miles away that goes through high school. But it doesn’t matter. We’ll need Renata to help with the goats.”
“Ah, I see. How many goats are there?”
“Eighty,” Old-Maria said proudly. “Eighty-one counting this baby.”
“That’s impressive,” Christy said. She really meant it. “I didn’t know they let you bring goats across the border.”
“They don’t,” Jorge explained. “We snuck this cabrito in. Our little Maria wouldn’t leave home without him. Do you know where we can get goat’s milk near here?”
“There’s a gourmet market nearby called Eli’s. They’ll probably have it, but it’ll cost you.”
“That’s one of my accounts,” Old-Maria said. “Their cheese and goat’s milk come from our farm.”
Christy smiled. “That’s lucky. Maybe you can negotiate a discount,” she said. “How often does he need to be fed? Should we walk him?”
“We give him a bottle twice a day. The rest of the time, he grazes outside. Can we tie him to a tree in your backyard?” Jorge asked.
“This is Manhattan, Jorge. We don’t have a yard,” she said.
The conversation was interrupted by the interesting sound of goat retching. Before anyone could get the animal to a dry floor, he threw up the dracaena plant on the new Persian rug.
Cynthia, who had been spying from the kitchen, came running to the rescue with a roll of paper towels.
“Let’s put him in the laundry room. He’ll be more comfortable there,” Christy said. She wondered if the goat could be trained to use Mr. Koodles’ litter box.
Christy took Jorge and the goat to the laundry room. The doorbell rang, and Eve shouted that she’d answer it. When they returned from the laundry room, Eve was setting up a Chinese buffet at the table.
“Come, everyone. Let’s eat,” Christy said.
“I’ll bring water,” Eve offered.
Everyone except Christy helped themselves to the food. She was sick to her stomach. How could she possibly send Renata back with these relatives she didn’t even know, to work on a goat farm no less? What about her education?
“Jorge, Maria, is there any way you would consider leaving Renata here? She’s doing so well. I would make it worth your while.”
Jorge looked offended. “Do you think we’re here for money? What do you take us for? We’re here for the child. This is a family obligation.”
“Right. But I’m happy to take on the obligation. I know Renata, and I love her. Plus, I can offer her so much more than what she’d have in Mexico.”
“Joo Americans think it’s all about money, don’ joo?” Old-Maria said. She emphasized the point by spitting into her moo shu pork. Then she stormed out of the room.
As soon as Old-Maria was out of earshot, Jorge sidled up close to Christy. “If we were to take money for the child, how much are we talking about?”
Christy was about to answer when Old-Maria returned in a snit. “As soon as Renata comes home from school, we leave.”
Christy was desperate. “Please! Don’t take Renata from me. She’s all I have.”
Old-Maria looked around the apartment. “Joo have a lot more than Renata. Joo live in a palace.”
“Tell you what,” Christy said. “This doesn’t have to be resolved today. Why don’t you stay with us for a while? We could use the company. The couches in the living room are comfortable for sleeping. And Renata has a sofa bed in her room. I know she would love to meet you. In fact, she’ll be h
ome from school in a few hours. Let’s just start with that, shall we?”
Jorge and Old-Maria looked at each other. Old-Maria shook her head, but Jorge said, “Okay, we’ll stay.”
“I’m not walking that cabrito in this ciudad grande,” Old-Maria said, wagging her finger in Jorge’s face.
“Fine,” Jorge said. “Renata will walk the goat. She needs to learn how to take care of him, anyway.”
Lord give me strength, Christy prayed.
DEAR DIARY,
MY WHOLE FAMILY AND THEIR GOAT CAME TO NEW YORK TO CLAIM ME. THEY WANT ME TO GO HOME WITH THEM AND BE A GOAT HERDER. WHO DO THESE PEOPLE THINK I AM—HEIDY? ALL THE GIRLS IN THE FAMILY ARE NAMED MARIA AND THAT IS JUST WEIRD. GRANDMA WANTED ME TO GET AN EDUCATION AND NOT TO TAKE CARE OF GOATS. I’M VERY WORRIED THAT CHRISTY WILL SEND ME BACK WITH THEM NOW THAT SHE AND MICHAEL BROKE UP. LAST NIGHT, CHRISTY HAD A MEETING WITH MY MEXICO FAMILY IN THE LIBRARY. I SPIED FROM THE CLOSET AS USUAL. EVERYONE AGREED THAT I CAN FINISH THE SCHOOL YEAR. MY RELATIVES ARE STAYING WITH CHRISTY UNTIL THE TERM ENDS. BUT WHAT HAPPENS AFTER? I NEED TO TALK TO MRS. DE MILLE ABOUT THIS BUT SHE’S DEAD. THE PEOPLE I LOVE ARE DROPPING LIKE LICE.
YOUR CURSED FRIEND,
RENATA HAYES
It only took a few days for Christy to get used to having Renata’s family in the apartment. If she wasn’t so worried about their taking the child, she would have enjoyed the company more. When Old-Maria wasn’t calling on her local goat cheese accounts, she took over kitchen duties. And she was a fabulous cook. Young-Mother-Maria cleaned circles around Cynthia and, on top of that, managed the YouGoatGirl website. Cynthia finally quit out of embarrassment. Nectar took care of Little-Maria, Renata, and Ali, taking the older girls to school, accompanying Little-Maria to the art, gymnastics, and music classes she found for her. Jorge was redoing all the cabinets in the kitchen and building a new dining room table. Christy mastered the family’s European washer-dryer and took responsibility for everyone’s laundry. Renata did the dishes. Ali (reluctantly) watered what was left of the dracaena plant. Between Renata, Ali, Jorge, the three Marias, Mr. Koodles, the baby goat, housework, school, the goat farm, and carpentry projects, Christy had a little less time to miss Michael.
