The new round of chemo hadn’t been terrible, except for losing her hair again. At least during her first treatment all those years ago, her bald head had been cool in the summer. This time, she needed a hat. She finally found one that didn’t itch and wore the red fleece cap all day, enjoying Jake’s lame attempts to compliment her. Since Molly’s visit, Jake hadn’t made one pathetic pun about her hat or anything else. After dinner, Esther joined him on the sofa.
“You’ve been so glum. Want to talk?”
Jake pointed at the television. “They’re interviewing people about invading Iraq and the February 15 demonstration. Comparing it to Vietnam protests.”
The reporter shoved the microphone in the face of the chairperson of the rally committee. “Do you expect crowds of aging hippies?” he taunted.
“No. I expect citizens of this country who hate what our government is doing in our name,” the organizer answered. “Grandmothers and businessmen and teenagers. Black and white and Latino and Asian. Possibly even a few off-duty television reporters.”
The reporter ignored her dig. “But weren’t most Vietnam protesters college-aged counterculture types?”
That really pissed Esther off. The newsboys still couldn’t tell the difference between political activists and hippies. Everyone got lumped together as longhaired, peace sign-flashing, flower children. Esther yelled at the television screen. “You jerks missed the point. We weren’t all the same.” If Rosa were watching, she would have hated it too.
The organizer shook her head emphatically. “Certainly the campuses were crucial in the movement against the Vietnam War. And participating in those protests transformed the lives of many college-aged people in the sixties. But let’s not rewrite history. There was widespread sentiment against that war among the US population. And that’s the case today too. People don’t want this war. On Saturday we expect hundreds of thousands of citizens in Manhattan streets to send a strong message to our government: No war in Iraq.”
When the segment ended, Esther turned off the TV and snuggled closer to Jake. “This is going to be big,” she said. “Maybe we should go, with Molly and her Evan.”
He didn’t look at her. “Right.”
“I’m serious, Jake.”
“Me too. That’s a really smart thing to do with a compromised immune system. Go mingle with a huge crowd of microbes. Brilliant.” He reached for the remote.
Esther grabbed it from him and tucked it into the sofa cushion on her other side. “I feel pretty good. Maybe it’s time to pull our heads out of the sand and do something about this war.”
“What is it with the women in this family? First Molly, now you.”
Esther stroked the back of his hand, clenched in his lap. “Is that it? Why you’ve been so gloomy?”
Jake finally looked at her. “Why does she want to see that old cop? He’ll probably be awful to her. Cruel. Poking at old wounds never helped anyone heal.”
“I don’t know. Maybe she’s onto something. Maybe we should all deal with our ancient demons.”
Jake started to stand up. “This argument isn’t getting us anywhere.”
“It’s a discussion, not an argument. Sit down. I want to talk about Rosa.”
Jake sank back into the cushion and closed his eyes.
“I know you hate this,” Esther said. “You think if we ignore her, she won’t haunt us. But it hasn’t worked.” Her voice thickened. “You’re still terrified of the past. And I can’t stop thinking about my sister.”
“Think what about her?”
“It’s taken me over thirty years to realize that I made a mistake.”
Jake shook his head. “I know you feel bad about it, but you did what you had to. You had responsibilities. A baby.”
“What about my responsibility to my sister?”
“Rosa made her own bad choices, going underground. She would have gone to prison without your testimony,” Jake said. “They framed her, remember?”
“I know, but I was complicit. I wish . . .”
Jake leaned closer. “What do you wish?”
“That I had done the right thing.”
“Refusing to testify? Even if that meant going to prison yourself?”
Esther put her face in her hands. “I’m not sure. But I do know I messed up twice. First by testifying, then by not apologizing. She’s my sister.”
“What about the apples, hurting the cop? The poor innocent horse? Aren’t you going to do a mea culpa about that too, while you’re at it?”
“Nah. That was crazy and it turned out badly and I was scared to death. But I don’t really regret it. In fact, I hope I would find the courage to do it again.” Esther tried to smile. “But not on Saturday, I promise. Listen to me, Jake. I want to see Rosa.”
“I don’t want you hurt again. Look what happened last time.”
“You mean at camp?”
Jake nodded.
“That was a long time ago but I regret how it ended, every day. I regret that we screwed up so badly. I especially regret we didn’t talk about it all with the kids, with Oliver. And you have to take some responsibility for that mess, you and Allen. Anyway, at camp Molly and Emma set it up. Two twelve-year-olds. This time, Rosa and I will make it happen.”
“I can’t believe you’re that naïve. Rosa won’t give an inch.”
Esther wasn’t going to give up either. “I’m sick, Jake. This could be my last chance to make things right with her. To repair the damage and put our family back together. I’m going to do this.”
“Then I’ll help you.”Jake stood up. “Against my better judgement. But right now I need to take a Pepcid and a Valium and make a follow-up phone call on a croupy toddler.” Jake started to turn away, then paused. “Do you feel better, getting that off your chest?”
“Yeah, I do. It’s not just talk, Jake. It’s time.” Esther kissed Jake’s cheek and watched him leave the room. “It’s way overdue,” she called after him.
She wandered into the kitchen and sat at her alcove desk. If only she could call Rosa now. They wouldn’t have to talk about themselves. Maybe they could discuss the news, unless she had forever forfeited her right to discuss politics with her sister. The newscast did get one thing perfectly right: the activism of the sixties defined their generation. It transformed their lives. How did she lose sight of that?
Taking the red fabric box from her desk drawer, she balanced the cover on its side to reveal the photograph with Rosa. She touched the spiraling curls of the two of them, so young, and then touched her own smooth scalp. Through the frost-sparkled windowpane, a lopsided V of Canada geese flew in the moonlight, one arm curved gracefully, the other lopped off after three lonely birds.
Esther tidied the loose papers, positioning the stapler on top to hold them in place. Lined the frayed spine of her address book along the edge of the blotter. Tucked the oncology clinic appointment card into the blotter’s leather frame, showing only the red print reminder to call and cancel if unable to keep an appointment.
Last time, her cancer had behaved pretty well, scheduling itself over the summer so treatment was finished in time for the next school year. But the tumor had returned in autumn with a fierce tingling in her right arm that made writing on the blackboard so awkward she repeatedly dropped the chalk. The tingles progressed to numbness, and slipped down from her armpit to her back, sending tendrils into her ribs, encircling her chest like a persistent suitor. Now that the chemo had shrunk the tumor, hopefully destroyed it, she could write again. If it wasn’t too late for letters, after all these lost years.
Dear Rosa,
I’ve written you these letters for years. I’ve told you about my life, confided my questions and doubts about my kids and Jake, expressed my worries about Mama. I’ve never mailed one of them.
This is my last letter. No more. I have to tell you this stuff in person. Or not at all.
Esther stuffed the letter into the envelope. She closed the Japanese box and turned it over and over in her hands, tumbling all the secrets she had trusted to it. She placed it on top of the envelope. When Molly got home from Detroit, it would be time to share this part of the family history.