Chapter 19

Erissa used every spare minute that week to get the new apartment ready. Maybe she really had told Darold she needed more time to clean. She bought plants for the garden, and Emm gave her money for paint and kitchen supplies. Tired as Erissa was, she looked years younger. She refused to let Emm see the place until everything was ready. Finally, Darold and James helped them move.

As Erissa had promised, the two-bedroom apartment was much nicer than her old upstairs unit, both bigger and in better repair. There was a small eating nook, less rust on the fixtures, and the former resident had left behind a comfortable couch. For Emm’s safety, Erissa had asked the handyman to install handrails in the bath and shower and to make sure the carpet was tacked down at the thresholds. Best of all was the small walk-out garden. Erissa bought a patio chair with sturdy arms so Emm could lower and raise himself between the walker and the seat. Not only could Emm forget the fear of being trapped inside a burning building, he could step outside for fresh air whenever he wished. “Thank you, Missa Erissa. Living here will be a blissa.”

Again, his daughter blushed with pleasure at the rhyme he’d made using her name and because she’d pleased him. “I’m happy you like it, Papa.” Emm wanted to sit in the patio chair; just watching the move had tired him out. But Erissa insisted on showing him what she’d planted. “Shasta daisies because they stand for the sun. That’s anthurium, for hospitality. Not just because I’m welcoming you but because I feel like the apartment is opening its doors and windows and closets and drawers to welcome us. This is freesia. I’m not sure what it means, but it smells nice, like oranges and lemons. It’s too late for tulips, but I’ll plant bulbs in the fall so they’ll come up next spring.” She went on to name some ornamental grasses and pointed out the colorful octagonal paving stones she’d placed around the perimeter of the beds.

Emm peeked over the low brick wall at the gardens on either side, one bare dirt, the other with a few wilted blooms. Compared to those, their place looked like it belonged in a landscaping magazine with a feature on how to live big in a small outdoor space. He leaned on his walker with one hand and swept his free arm in a circle. “You have a real knack for this.”

Erissa touched her hair, which she’d done up in a multi-colored scarf. “Oh, there’s nothing to it. You think about what colors look nice together, and make sure to get a variety of heights and textures in the stalks and leaves. Also, what needs sun and what can take a little shade. And you check the time of year they bloom so there’s something growing all the way from spring right through fall.” Erissa ducked her head, suddenly shy. “Here, did I show you the chrysanthemums?”

“I mean it, Erissa. You’re good at designing gardens. You should get a job at a nursery or a flower shop. Heck, get a degree at one of those two-year colleges the government is opening. They’re practically free, and I’ll pay your fees. Meanwhile, we can manage on my pension.”

Erissa was uncharacteristically silent. At last, she hemmed and hawed, “That’s awfully kind and it might suit me, but the thing is, I don’t want to leave Terry in the lurch. He says I’m the best counter girl he ever had, and he wouldn’t trust anyone but me to run the store for him all day.” Erissa looked at the ground again, unable to meet Emm’s eyes. “Why don’t you sit out here and enjoy the garden while I go inside and start dinner.”

At last, Emm eased himself into the chair and shoved the walker aside. For months it had provided a handy device that let him avoid people and places. Now he hated being dependent on it and couldn’t wait to leave it behind in Dr. Sawyer’s office. It was past time for Erissa to become independent too. Times had changed since he and Izora were married. These days, women could be on their own. As angry as Bruna made him, Emm admired her self-sufficiency. Erissa couldn’t keep counting on being taken care of by a man. Not a husband, not a boyfriend, not a boss. Emm wouldn’t be around forever either. And when he was gone, unlike Mr. Millar, he wasn’t going to leave behind a fortune.

***

Erissa had overstated her skills as a cook, at least compared with her older sister, but her flair for decoration was still evident. The food was artfully arranged on the flowered plates she’d bought, and there was bubbly gold liquid in the new faceted glasses. Before proposing a toast, she held out the bottle so Emm could read the label: Non-alcoholic sparkling wine, product of California.

After dinner, they watched the Olympics. Emm still didn’t care about sports, but the summer games were being held in Montreal and it was hard to avoid. Viewed on Erissa’s black-and-white television, last night’s opening ceremonies had been disappointing, but tonight was gymnastics, and his daughter was eager to see the events, especially the floor exercises.

“It’s like dancing, only they fly through the air and instead of taxiing to a stop, bam, they hit their spot when they come down.” Erissa jumped up from the couch, landed her feet squarely on the rug, and raised her arms over her head.

Emm held up ten fingers. “When you were a little girl, you danced all the time. You loved wearing your mother’s old flapper dresses, so she taught you to do the Black Bottom.”

Erissa slapped her buttocks. “I remember. I danced it for show and tell. My kindergarten teacher was not happy, especially when all the other kids ran around at recess spanking their butts too. Maybe the teacher was afraid parents would see the bruises and think she was paddling us.”

“Your Grandma Bessie didn’t approve of the Black Bottom either.”

“Uh oh. Did Mama stop doing it?”

“No. She thought it was funny and I admit, the rest of us did too. It was one of the few times we went against your grandmother.”

“Ooh, I wish I could remember that part. And more about Mama. There are a few things I haven’t forgotten. She was really gentle when she brushed the snarls out of my curls. And she let me pick my own clothes to wear to school, no matter how outlandish the outfit I chose. It’s too bad I don’t have Mama’s old dresses in my closet now. They’d be fashionable again today.”

This was the moment Emm could have asked if Erissa ever felt bad about not being a real mother to Cheryl, but she seemed so buoyant lately that he didn’t want to burst her bubble. Even if she’d been a more stable person to begin with, a question like that could be upsetting. Would he be rattled if someone asked whether he regretted not being a better father? It’s true he wasn’t the best parent in the world, but on a scale of one to ten, he would rate himself closer to his grandson James than to his daughter Erissa. All the same, that wasn’t saying much.

Throughout the broadcast, Erissa and the CBC announcer kept up running commentaries until Emm’s head pounded. He eyed the door to his new bedroom, but Erissa begged him to stay and watch the uneven bars with her. Suddenly, the broadcaster and the audience grew silent as a tiny Romanian girl named Nadia Comaneci, looking calm and determined, performed her routine. The arena erupted when she scored the first-ever ten. Shortly thereafter, she repeated the feat on the balance beam. The crowd went wild.

Erissa bounced and cheered too, then suddenly slumped back on the couch. “I’ll never be perfect at anything.”

“You just have to work harder. You’ll get where you want to go. That’s what your big brother Arvil did during the Depression. We didn’t have money for the movies, so he got a job as a ticket seller and saw them for free.”

“Oh, he saw them for free alright, but not because he worked as a ticket seller.”

Emm had no idea what Erissa meant. He was surprised to see her grow animated again.

“After I started hanging out with the older boys, they told me that Arvil used to sneak into the theater manager’s office and help himself to rolls of tickets. He’d keep a couple for himself and his pals, then trade the rest to the upperclassmen for cigarettes and booze.”

Satisfied, Erissa turned back to the television, but Emm couldn’t concentrate. He kept trying to make her bombshell fit with his idealized image of his son. He stared at the awards ceremony in silent thought until the Romanian national anthem ended. At last, having figured it out, he smiled and told his daughter. “Like I said, Arvil was very enterprising. That just proves it.”

Erissa snickered. “You always made excuses for him. Not that your playing favorites bothered me all that much. Despite being second best, I still got a good share of your attention. But pardon my French, your treating Arvil like the greatest thing since sliced bread pissed the hell out of the others.” She turned off the television. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m looking forward to sleeping in a real bed again.” The telephone rang; Erissa walked past it to her room.

Emm fantasized that it was Cheryl on the other end, calling to make up with her mother in a sudden change of heart. Or it might be one of his own children, calling to wish him well as he settled into his new home. He took his pills and slowly guided his walker to his freshly painted bedroom. At this late hour, it was probably a wrong number.