ANNASOPHIA
“I don’t want to go to Jenn’s service,” Anastaysa announces over the clatter of loading the supper dishes. “Isoisä’s was depressing.”
The newly washed pan I’m transferring to Benazir slips, but I catch it before it hits the floor. The fragrance of marinara sauce fills my lungs, reminding me of my father always asking for seconds. “We were showing respect for your grandfather.”
“Alexandra hated going too.” Anastaysa bangs the dishwasher door shut.
Not loud enough to qualify as a slam, but loud enough to emphasize her emotions.
My hands choke the long handle on the pan. Gently, Benazir takes it and wipes it dry.
“Taking the boat under the Golden Gate Bridge was cool.” Magnus lays a pile of silverware on the counter.
Two days after Michael’s murder, I’d taken comfort in the simple act of releasing my wonderful father’s ashes in San Francisco Bay and watching them, with my three fatherless children, drift into open water.
“The Medinas plan to place Jenn’s and Rafe’s ashes in their family backyard,” I say.
Anastaysa shudders as if she has touched a snake. “That’s creepy.”
“We dispersed my husband’s ashes on the Ganges River,” Benazir says and smiles. “As is customary with Hindus, we celebrated his life twelve days later.”
“Was Satish there?” I blurt. My face burns. Damn, can’t I shut up?
“Of course. As our only child, he presided over the service.”
Zing. I think this woman and I have a mutual admiration society, but she never fails to remind me of the chasm between the worlds Satish and I inhabit.
I lick my lips before saying, “I’m sure he accorded his father every honor.”
“Indeed. I think it is important to honor those who depart this world. We Hindus don’t fear the dead. The Medinas’ offer to include Jenn in their family is, I think, highly honorable.”
Magnus comes and wraps his arms around my waist. “I want to go with you Mamá.”
“Fine, but I don’t want to go.” Anastaysa juts her chin at me, reminding me of Alexandra and sending a metallic jolt of saliva into my dry mouth.
My impatience morphs into sadness. Since Alexandra knows nothing about Jenn’s murder, she won’t have a choice about attending. Rachel has maintained a neutral position on my decision, but I rationalize Alexandra’s home visit day after tomorrow has enough hurdles without piling on Jenn’s murder and memorial service.
“You won’t make me go, will you, Mamá?” No tears, but Anastaysa’s chin quivers.
Relieved she doesn’t roll her eyes, I shake my head. “Not as long as you call Mrs. Solomon or Ruiz to stay with you.”
“Why?” Her eyes narrow and her jaw hardens. “I babysit at night. I’m old enough to stay by myself during the day.”
Satish enters the kitchen from taking Molly for a walk, overhears her outrage, and telegraphs a reminder I don’t need. A murderer is still loose.
“I don’t want Mrs. Solomon. Mrs. Ruiz corrects my Spanish all the time, but she won’t speak to me in English.”
Poor baby. She has babysat exactly twice—for one hour each time. I bite my tongue. Satish throws off enough negative vibes to short out electricity throughout the house.
“Mrs. Patel?” Anastaysa grabs Benazir’s wrist. “Would you stay with me tomorrow? We could cook dinner or you can teach me more Hindi. Please.”
Her entreaty carries an undernote of hysteria. Understandable, given what I know about my daughter’s obsessions with death and abandonment. Thank you, Michael.
Smiling, Benazir looks at me. Am I okay with Anastaysa’s manipulation?
Exhaustion saps more of my energy. Energy I need for tomorrow. I press my lips together and exhale through my nose. Saying yes would solve so many problems. I look into the dark eyes of my savior. Compassion swallows me. Without shame, I telegraph, Please come.
“I am happy to come, Anastaysa,” Benazir says in the most serene tone I’ve ever heard. “Now, however, your mother should rest.”
She kisses Anastaysa on the forehead, hugs Magnus, brushes my cheek with her fingertips, and glides out of the room before I can thank her.
Satish follows, waving a hand over his head. “We should leave by eleven.”