“I’ll be glad to give you the number. Now, Mother, I think Aunt Jo is being very sensitive to your feelings on the matter, but not only does she deserve a chance to be with Megan, both Hope and Krista will be at the lake this summer and those are her daughters.”
“Hope?”
“Yes, and her daughters, though I don’t think Frank is coming. Hope wrote to Meg something about business in Europe. He’s a big shot, you know.”
“Hmph. What else would Hope deign to have?”
“You don’t like Hope?”
“She’s a snotty social climber. I don’t have much use for that.”
Charley was again given pause. She was confused. “When did you last see Hope?” she asked Louise.
“Does it matter?”
“Well... Yeah, it matters. If you haven’t seen Hope for over twenty-five years and still have this impression of her... I mean, you don’t know anything about her. Anymore at least.”
“I’m sure she hasn’t changed,” Louise said decidedly.
“She probably hasn’t,” Charley muttered, noting her mother’s expression of satisfaction. “Not that you’d know anything about it. Now, back to Aunt Jo. Please, tell her you don’t mind if she goes to the lake. It’s her family, too.”
“But I do mind,” Louise said. The expression on her face looked as though she might cry, but her eyes didn’t so much as cloud. “I mind everyone going. I mind my daughter, who is sick, going to that god-awful place. Doesn’t anyone care what it will do to me if two of my daughters die there?”
What it will do to me? Doesn’t anyone care about me? Do to me, to me, me, me...
Charley took a sip of her coffee to keep her mouth from sagging open forever. Then she put her cup down on the table and looked at her mother, shaking her head. “The rest of us were thinking of someone else, Mother.” She took a deep breath. “Will you please do this for Megan? She’s too sick to argue with you about it.”
“I saw her just a week ago. She seemed quite feisty to me.”
“A note,” Charley said, ignoring her. “Just jot out a little note to Aunt Jo. I’m going over there to pick up Krista. I’ll pass it to her. Just say, ‘Jo, you’re welcome to go to the lake anytime you like. Lou.’ That should do the trick. And believe me—we’d all appreciate it very much. You’ll just never know.” And hurry, Charley thought. If I don’t get out of here quick, I might have to kill you.
But Louise didn’t move. She sat there staring at Charley. Charley heard the ticking of at least three clocks. It seemed to last forever.
Finally, Louise rose from the table, went to the cupboard from which she withdrew a blank recipe card from a box and a pen. She scrawled the requested note and angrily thrust it at Charley. “Do you have everything you need?” she asked meanly.
Charley took it slowly. Then she stood. They were both tall women; they looked eye to eye at about five foot ten. “Mother, you should see someone. You don’t have to be this miserable.”
Louise forced a smile that looked positively psychopathic. “Who says I’m miserable? I have a good Christian life. I have the Lord at least, which is more than I can say for some people in my family. You have your permissions, Charley, you don’t have to stay here with your mother a minute longer than necessary. But there’s one thing you should know—I’ll be damned to hell before I’ll go to that house again.”
A little spittle caught on Louise’s lower lip when she spat the last sentence and Charley was reminded of some of her mother’s insane rages when they were small. Most of them were at her, of course. Charley slowly turned, picked up her purse and left the house. When she closed the front door behind her, she whispered, “Thank you, God. I owe you one.”
Louise never asked how she was, how Krista had fared after twenty-three years in prison, how her grandchildren were. She never asked about Charley’s job, though she probably knew her show had been canceled. No, there was nothing about anyone else. Louise thought only of herself. How lonely she must be.
Charley looked at the note.
Josephine—Go to the lake house if you must, though it will probably kill me! Louise
In spite of herself she began to laugh.
* * *
“Hi, Ma.”
Josephine heard it clearly but she was afraid to look up from the flora she was arranging in a basket. She was afraid it might not be real. She slowly turned, lifting her eyes hopefully but fearfully. Her head began shake in wonder and tears came immediately to her eyes. “Oh, baby, oh, Krista, oh, baby,” she cried. She walked shakily toward Krista, her hands reaching out for her daughter’s face.
Krista stood still, smiling, giving her mother some time to reach her and touch her. Jo’s hands were roughly textured, marked by hard work and long cold winters.
Jo pressed Krista’s face between the flat palms of her open hands. “Krista,” she said breathily. “Oh, my God, my baby, my darling, my Krista!”
“I got out a little early,” she said.
Jo let her hands flow down Krista’s shoulders, arms, back, waist. “You’re so little. Have you always been so little?”
“I’m right about your size.”
“Well, height, maybe,” Jo said, a laugh almost breaking through her tears. Jo was softly, roundly padded. A little stooped from being on her feet all day for years and years. “My baby. Home,” she whispered, kneading her upper arms. “You’re small—but you’re strong. Feel your muscles.”
“I’m very strong, Ma. Runs in the family, huh?” By now Krista could not hold back her own tears, fogging up her vision and tingling her nose. She resented the intrusion of tears. She wanted a clear vision of her mother. It had been a couple of years since she’d seen her. Jo had written faithfully at least every week, sending fifty dollars every month without fail, but she had rarely visited.
Jo’s skin was soft and wrinkled but she was still beautiful. She’d worked hard over the years; anyone who thought the floral industry was a bucket of posies didn’t know anything. Her light brown hair was threaded with gray and was thinner and wispier than it had been. But her smile, her smile was so sweet, even with tears catching in the wrinkles under her eyes. Krista took her into her arms and gave her a hearty hug. “Ohhh, Mom,” she said, holding her close.
“Didn’t they feed you? Are you okay? You’re pale. You’re too thin.”
“I’m fine, Ma.” Krista looked around the little flower shop; there didn’t seem to be anyone around. “Can you sneak away for lunch?”
With precision timing, a woman stood in the doorway leading to the back of the shop. She was much younger than Jo, maybe thirty-five, and stocky. She looked at Krista suspiciously. She probably knew, Krista assumed.
“Sure I can, honey. I’m the manager. I don’t know that I could possibly eat, but we can go for a walk at least. I don’t like to take too much time away—”
“Go on and go, Jo,” the woman said. “I’ll handle the shop.”
“Oh, Margie, I didn’t see you there. Margie, this is my daughter Krista. Krista, this is Margie Ripley. She helps out part-time.” She looked back at Krista. “I haven’t seen Krista in a long time, Margie. She’s been...she’s been...”
“In the Army,” Krista said, reaching around her mother and extending her hand toward the younger woman. “I just got out of the Army. This week, in fact. How do you do?” Margie was very slow to take Krista’s hand. Krista bobbed. She did everything but salute.
“Go on then, Josephine. Take a little bit of time with your daughter. You betcha.”
“Thanks, Margie. I won’t be gone too long.” Jo eased herself past Margie and into the back room to get her purse. Krista could hear the sound of a woman’s voice, that nasal Midwestern twang, asking where she was going, but she couldn’t hear her mother’s reply.
Jo tucked her arm through Krista’s as they left the shop. “You want something to eat, honey? There’s a grill down the street a ways. A sandwich place over there. Or, if you don’t mind a crowd, there’s that pizzeria...”
“I mind the crowd, Ma. I want to talk to you more than anything. Find out how you are. If you’re coming to the lake. You know. We don’t need a big crowd on our first visit. How about that little park over there? That’s where I sat while I was getting my nerve up to come into the flower shop.”
“You needed courage to come to see me? You don’t mean that, Krista. Not really.”
“Not because of you, Ma. Because of me. I’m such a disappointment. It must be hard to be my mother, huh?” she asked, only half-facetiously. “Someone who’s been in the Army for twenty-three years.” Then she laughed with the painful truth of it.
“I’m proud of you, if you want to know. You worked hard in there—counseling, your GED, even some classes with college credits. How did you get here?”
“Charley brought me and dropped me off. She has some errands and will be back in a couple of hours. If it’s not a good idea for me to hang around the shop, I’ll just get a soda and come back later.”
“Will you stay with me? I only have the one bedroom but I’ll take the couch. It’s small but nice and it’s only a block from the bus.”
“Where’s your car?” Krista asked.
“I got rid of it years ago.”
“I thought you’d be getting another one,” Krista said.
“I wasn’t using it too much. I took the bus most of the time to economize. After a while I thought, I don’t need that car at all, not really. It wasn’t just the gas but every time I turned around it needed some mechanical fix. I like not having a car, to tell the truth. But do you want to stay with me?”
“I want to spend as much time with you as possible, but I’m going to try to stay at the lake with Megan and Charley. If I don’t find work nearby I might have to come to the city, but Megan...you know about Megan. I want to spend time with her, too. For right now, I’ll be at the lake,” Krista said. She steered her mother toward the little park just down the street. There were a couple of benches, a sandbox and some swings and a slide. “Maybe for the whole summer, depending. Charley is going to pick me up here, right where she left me off, and we’re going to swing by Megan’s house so I can say hello. You can come with us, too, if you want. Today, if you want to.”