Chapter 4
“I’m not surprised you left, princess. I knew it would happen someday. You know you can come and live with me and Monica in San Diego anytime you want. We’d love to have you.”
Annie sighed. “I know, Daddy, but I can’t do that. You know how Mom would see it.” Her mother would cast all the blame for rebellion on her second husband, Annie’s father, Dean Gardner. He’d been a convenient scapegoat over the years for a variety of things.
“What is that noise in the background, Annie?” her dad said. “Are you having a party?” He sounded as though he approved.
“No, Dad. It’s a parrot. Susan’s bird-sitting. He can get a little loud at times.”
“Sounds like he carries on a conversation.”
“He spouts things from television. His owner leaves it on for him while he’s at work. So he’ll have company.”
“Back to your mom, honey. She sees things exactly the way she wants to see them.” There was a distinct and familiar edge in his voice. “You have to start living your own life and stop living it for her.”
“I understand that, Daddy, but I don’t want to burn bridges. I love her. I want to be able to see her and talk to her without—”
Annie sighed. She rubbed her forehead. She knew there were bitter feelings between her mother and father. It was exhausting sometimes, feeling like the base of a teeter-totter of resentments and grudges nurtured on vitriol. Back and forth, up and down. Would it never end? Why couldn’t they understand that she loved them both? They each had their own agenda in winning her confidence. She knew that. She understood it. And it hurt because, whether they realized it or not, her mother and father each used her as a weapon against the other.
Maybe calling him hadn’t been such a good idea. Maybe she should have waited until her own feelings were clearer.
“I’m sorry, honey. Look. Give me the address of where you’re staying and I’ll send you some money to get you started.”
“I have money, Daddy. I’m living with Susan Carter. You remember her, don’t you?” She gave him the address.
“San Francisco? Are you sure you want to live in the city?”
She could hear the apprehension in his tone. “There’s a security system where we live. We have to buzz people in. It’s a nice little apartment with a Murphy bed. I’m using a futon.”
“A Murphy bed? When was this place built?”
She laughed. “Quit worrying, Daddy. I’m a big girl, remember?”
“Are you sure you don’t want to come down to San Diego? I’m sure you could get into UC without any problems, considering your grades and SAT scores. You got the okay for Berkeley, didn’t you? Even if you had to wait until next semester—”
“I’m not going to college, Daddy.”
“Not at all?”
“I’m going to school, but it’s not anything like Wellesley or Cal. I’m registered for two classes at the Institute of Fine Arts.” When he didn’t say anything, she knew she had surprised him. Did his silence denote displeasure as well? It was one thing to tell your daughter to do whatever her heart told her to do and another to hear she had tossed aside sizable scholarships to prestigious universities and colleges in favor of taking a couple of art classes. “Try not to worry, Daddy. I feel led to do this. I don’t know why yet, but I have to go where I sense God is directing me.”
“Honey . . .”
She had tried to speak openly with her father, but it was difficult. What she said simply did not compute for him because he wasn’t a believer. Telling him God was leading her always made him nervous. Yet she couldn’t lie about it. It was hard to make him see that she needed to be where God wanted her to be. And she felt His unmistakable presence in her artwork. When she was drawing or painting, she felt a rightness about it, a closeness to the Creator who was opening her eyes and ears and heart to the world around her.
A world that included family members ripped apart by divorce and dysfunction.
And perhaps a grandmother who held some key to understanding her mother and herself.
“The whole point is for me to be on my own, Daddy. Isn’t that what you said? I won’t be living in the lap of luxury, but Susan’s flat is nice and spacious. We’re close enough that I can jog to the zoo or the beach. There was an opening where Susan works, so I’ve already lined up a job.”
“What sort of job?”
“Waiting tables. It’s a top-rated restaurant. I’ll earn enough to pay my share of the rent and expenses.”
“What’s it called?”
“The Smelly Clove.”
“Who would want to eat in a place called the Smelly Clove?”
She laughed. “Anyone who likes garlic. This restaurant is very well known, Daddy. Garlic is the in thing. It’s very good for you.”
“I’ll send you the checks I’ve been sending your mother.”
Her father had his own ways of voicing his disapproval. “I didn’t call to ask for money, Daddy. I’m eighteen. I’m an adult now. Remember? Keep your money.”
“In the eyes of the law, maybe, you’re an adult,” he said ruefully, “but you’re still my little girl.”
Her eyes filled with quick tears. “I need to stand on my own.”
He was quiet for a moment. “So you didn’t call for money or advice.”
“No.”
“You know I love you, don’t you?” he said tenderly.
“Yes.” She pressed her lips together. Her heart ached.
“What’s up, honey? What did your mother say to you before you left?”
Annie closed her eyes. The hurtful things her mother had said kept coming up and filling her head like so much flotsam. Her father was far too perceptive, but she was not about to regale him with her mother’s hurtful remarks. Why add fuel to the fires of bitterness?
Her mother might have expectations far and above what any human could manage to fulfill, but her father wasn’t perfect either. Monica was the second woman he had lived with in the past four years, and she was less than half his age. Annie’s mother said her father had a Peter Pan complex; her father said one taste of marriage with Nora was enough to cure any man for life.
“Can you tell me about Grandma Leota, Daddy?”
“Leota? What brought her up?”
“I was just curious. She’s my only surviving grandparent, and I don’t even really know her.” He didn’t say anything for a moment, and Annie sensed he was weighing his words carefully.
“She must be in her eighties,” he said. “I only met her a couple of times.”
“What was she like?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Ordinary, I guess. I liked her.”
“Can you be more specific?”
He gave a dry laugh. “I don’t mean to imply I liked her just because your mother holds some deep-seated grudge against her. I mean I liked her. She made me feel welcome the few times we visited her. The last time I saw her, she made German chocolate cake and homemade meat-and-potato sausage and sauerkraut. I was looking forward to enjoying a feast. Of course, we weren’t there long enough to taste any of it. Your mother launched into some diatribe about the past.”
Oh, Daddy, let’s not go down that path again. “Did Grandma say anything?”
“No. She listened. She didn’t say a word that I can remember, not that she had a chance or that anything she could have said would have made a difference. Your mother was in high form that day. I was embarrassed, really embarrassed. Nora gathered you and Michael from the backyard and went out to the car. I didn’t have much choice but to apologize to Leota and leave.”
“Why didn’t Grandma ever come to our house?”
“She wasn’t invited. Any invitations extended always came from her. No, I take that back. Your mother invited her to our wedding.”
“Yes. She came to the reception, too. And she came to your christening.”
“Then she drives a car.”
“I don’t think so. I don’t remember seeing a car when we were at her place. And I doubt it. She worked in an office somewhere near Lake Merritt. I think she had the same job for years, though I couldn’t tell you what she did. Whatever it was, your mother said she loved her work more than her family.”
Annie frowned. Was that what her mother had meant about her being like Leota Reinhardt? Annie wanted to study art, and she had to turn away from her mother’s hopes for her in order to do so?
Why does it have to be a choice between what my mother wants and what I feel led to do?
“Why the sudden interest in your grandmother, Annie?”
“I’ve always wondered about her, Daddy. I was just afraid to talk about her with Mom.”
“And no wonder. She’s not exactly reasonable when it comes to her mother. Why don’t you go see Leota and decide for yourself?”
“I’ve considered it, but . . .”
“Let me guess. Your mother would take it the wrong way. Right?”
“Well . . .” If her mother found out, she would be hurt. She would feel betrayed. But why did it have to be that way? What had happened to cause such animosity on her mother’s part? Was that animosity returned? Her father made it sound otherwise, but he had his own agenda. Still, Annie wondered. Could the estrangement between her mother and grandmother simply be a difference in personalities? Or was there something far deeper going on?
“You’re just like your grandma Leota!”
What did that really mean?
Who was Leota Reinhardt? What had she done that made her so persona non grata?
“Look, honey. If you live the rest of your life trying to please your mother, you’re in for a lot of heartache.”
“Daddy . . .”
He sighed heavily. “Okay. I’ll leave it alone. It’s your decision.” He hesitated. “What do you hear from your brother?” His tone was so dry, Annie winced. He had never gotten along very well with his stepson. Michael was the product of Nora’s first marriage to Bryan Taggart. Taggart had bowed out of his son’s life as soon as the divorce was final. Michael had been three at the time. Annie’s father had once told her that her mother had made several efforts to extract money from Michael’s father for child support. However, the legal expenses and emotional upheaval hadn’t been worth what her mother called “the paltry amount of guilt money.”
Taggart had moved to another state, remarried, and had other children. When Michael was sixteen, he found out where his father was and contacted him. Somehow, his mother had gotten wind of it. She had a sixth sense about such things. That single telephone call had been like a foul stench in her nostrils. Sometimes she was like a bloodhound on matters that she deemed against her authority. That time, she caught the faint scent, followed the trail, and treed poor Michael, baying at him until he confessed. Annie would never forget her verbal evisceration.
“How could you do this to me? After all I’ve sacrificed for you! I’ve loved you and been there for you all your life, and this is the thanks I get!” Not that Taggart had opened the door for Michael. In fact, from what little Annie remembered from that terrible fight between her half brother and her mother, Taggart had made it clear that he wasn’t interested in pursuing a relationship with his son.
Would the same thing happen to her when she talked with her grandmother? Would the door be forever closed to her? And what if her mother found out she had gone to see her grandmother?
“Annie?” Her father’s voice drew her back to the present.
“Oh, Michael’s fine, last I heard.”
“When was that?”
“Christmas. He sent a note.” She hurried on rather than tell him it was addressed to her mother only. While she had idolized Michael, he had never cared much for her. The note had been just that, short and to the point. He had earned a promotion and was making more money, both bits of news to cheer her mother and give her excuses for why he never had the time to come home for a visit. “I called and left a message just to let him know I’ve moved out.”
“Uh-huh.”
“He’s busy, Daddy. You know how hard he works.”
Her father didn’t say anything to that, which was just as well. Nothing he could say would ease the hurt Annie felt. The truth was, her half brother didn’t seem to care about anyone but himself. He certainly had little time to spare for the mother who doted on him and bragged about him at every opportunity. “My son who graduated with honors from Columbia . . . My son who was courted and hired by a Fortune 500 company . . . My son who is so handsome he could have been a model for GQ . . .” Nora Gaines enjoyed the reflected glory of being Michael Taggart’s mother.
“If you do decide to go see your grandmother, tell her hello from me, would you?”
“I haven’t decided whether to go or not, Daddy.”
“I hope you will, honey. Something’s eating at you. And it never pays to let someone else do your thinking for you. Not even your doting father.”
Annie thought about her grandmother over the next few days. She couldn’t seem to get Leota Reinhardt out of her mind. She thought over everything she remembered about her, which was not very much, and everything her mother had ever said about her, none of which was good. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she should go and see her grandmother, no matter what the cost.
And the cost would be high. She could count on that. Still, some little seed of unrest was taking root and growing inside her.
Why, after all these years, should this plague her so? Just because her mother had accused her of being like her grandmother? It hadn’t been the first time that shot had been fired. Why had it hit the target now? Why should it hurt so much to be compared to someone she didn’t even know? Maybe it was the implication that wanting to take a path other than the one planned for her was somehow wrong and bad. What had Leota done? And why?
Annie prayed about the situation and all that was bothering her. She prayed for release, but it didn’t come. If anything, the gentle nudging became a push. Even during her devotional time in the Word, her grandmother would come to mind. “I am the vine; you are the branches. . . .” Annie knew very well that Scripture referred to Jesus, so why did Leota Reinhardt come to mind every time she read it?
Was it because Grandma Leota was the last of the vine from her mother’s side of the family? Her grandfather had died before she was born. She had only heard about Great-Grandma and Great-Grandpa Reinhardt. Everything her mother said about them was in rosy contrast to the dark hues of Grandma Leota. “They were the dearest people I ever knew,” her mother had said once, “and so giving. Why they put up with my mother, I’ll never know. She never had time for anyone but herself.”
“Unless you are born again . . .”
Lord, I don’t know what You’re trying to tell me. Are You saying Leota Reinhardt doesn’t believe in You? I don’t know anything about her other than if I go to see her, it’ll hurt Mom if she finds out.
And what about Leota Reinhardt? What if she didn’t know Jesus Christ as her Savior and Lord? What then?
That concern began to outweigh all the rest. What if no one had ever cared enough to tell Leota Reinhardt the good news about Jesus Christ? What if she was unsaved? Annie was plagued by guilt. Every which way she turned, she faced it. She felt guilty about not going to Wellesley; she felt guilty about disappointing her mother; she felt guilty about calling her father and trying to learn something from him about Leota Reinhardt, because it had merely given him more fuel to fire his hate for her mother; she felt guilty about doing nothing.
What made it worse was what it told her about her depth of faith. If she could stay where she was, safe and silent, she might as well cast her faith aside. If she wasn’t willing to risk anything—everything—to bring the word of the Lord to her own grandmother, she might as well close her Bible and go to Wellesley or Cal or wherever the stronger of her two parents deemed she should go.
Lord, I can’t go on like this. I can’t. I’m weak. I’m stumbling. What good is my faith or my witness if my family is in a shambles?
The more she reflected on how little she knew about the old woman, the more she knew she had to go and find out for herself where her grandmother stood before the Lord. And maybe, in the process, she would learn something about what had happened to erect the high, thick walls between her grandmother and her mother.
“I put before you the blessings and cursings . . .”
Which was Leota Reinhardt?
Oh, Mom, what is it in me that makes you see the mother you despise?
Leota sat staring at the television. She had already figured out the words in the saying and was waiting for the statuesque blonde in the green satin dress to turn the next square. “Y,” Leota said aloud. “Y!” How much easier could it be? _N_L_ _ _M WAN_S _ _U. She could read it as plainly as if the rest of the letters were turned already. Uncle Sam wants you. She could even see the poster with the old bearded gentleman in the top hat pointing at her.
“I’d like to buy another vowel,” the contestant said and named an O.
Disgusted, Leota got up and went to the television. Bending down, she turned the knob, clicking through the channels, desperate for something interesting or challenging—anything that might while away the hours without making her want to put her foot through the square of glass.
Dallas reruns. Click. News. Click. A television talk show on mothers who had stolen their daughters’ boyfriends.
Grand.
Click. A movie about a mother who had plotted the murder of a high school cheerleading contestant so that her daughter could win. The advertisement assured her it was a docudrama!
Trash is trash, no matter what fancy name you call it.
Click. Music straight from hades, complete with the demons dancing around. Click. An old movie. Leota had seen it before, back in 1947 or thereabouts. It hadn’t been much good then. She doubted if the years had improved it. Click. Boxing. Fit her mood, but not her sensibilities. Click. Real-life cops in action. Oh, that ought to be about as fun as reruns of the Clinton hearings.
Why would anyone want to watch these shows? People were depressed enough. Did the networks want people to become suicidal? Maybe that was it. It was a government conspiracy. Oliver Stone was probably working on a movie about it. If I’m lucky, I’ll be dead before it’s on television.
Click. Home Shopping Network. What on earth were they selling this evening? Jade jewelry from the Orient. China. Japan. Our new best friends. Amazing how quickly people forgot history when cheap commodities were made available.
“Oh, to blazes with it!” Leota punched the Power button. She straightened in the silence and looked out her murky front window. It was dark outside, except for the faltering streetlight. Her mantel clock chimed eleven. She wasn’t the least bit tired. Why should she be after dozing in her chair throughout the afternoon? She knew she had slept because her neck was stiff. She could look forward to a long, sleepless night.
She looked at the pictures on the mantel. The most recent one she had of Eleanor was five years old. It was a Christmas portrait of the family. Very professional. Very polished. Eleanor was wearing a red satin blouse with a string of pearls. Real ones, of course. Her husband, Fred, looked attractive with his thick, white hair and expensive dark suit jacket. Michael stared at the camera with those dark, arrogant eyes, and little Annie looked so pretty with her long strawberry-blonde hair. Naturally curly, just like her father’s.
What a handsome man Dean Gardner had been. And what a pity that marriage had broken up. She’d liked him. Dean hadn’t been wild like Eleanor’s first husband, Bryan Taggart, nor as focused and successful as Fred Gaines. It just seemed a crying shame the problems hadn’t been ironed out in the beginning. Problems not dealt with had a way of growing like weeds in a garden. If given full freedom, problems became a lifestyle that choked out all the good memories, lessons learned, goals, and clear insights. Eventually they killed love itself.
God, how can a child I loved so dearly hold me in such contempt? Answer me that, Lord. Where did I go wrong?
It grieved Leota just thinking about Eleanor. What was the matter with her girl? Three marriages, two children who excelled at everything they did, a house behind an iron gate, fancy cars, vacations to Europe, and still Eleanor wasn’t happy.
I’ve been praying for her for years, and what good’s it done? I give up, Lord. You deal with her.
She closed her eyes, her heart aching. Just once, I’d like to hear one of my own flesh and blood say they love me just as I am. Just once, I’d like my daughter to come visit me and say thank you for all the sacrifices instead of cataloging all my failures. Just once, I’d like to hear Eleanor or George say, “Thank you, Mama. I appreciate all you did.”
Fat chance.
Oh, God, why can’t I come home to You now? What are You waiting for anyway? I’ve done all I can do on this earth. I’m old. I’m useless. I ache all over, inside and out. I stand here in my living room looking at pictures of my family. They make me want to weep. Each one has his or her own life now, and there’s no room in those lives for an old woman. I’m tired of listening to Eleanor tell me what a lousy mother I was. I’m tired of turning the other cheek. I’m tired of turning on the television set just so I can hear another human voice. I’m tired of sitting in the nook gazing out at my dying garden. I’m tired of living! Oh, God, I want to come home!
“I set you free so that you might live and have life abundant.”
Leota’s heart pounded; anger poured through her. Life abundant? In the next world maybe, but not here. Not now. Why are You doing this to me? What did I ever do to deserve this kind of treatment? I’d like to know.
“Where were you when I laid the foundations of the earth? Have you ever commanded the morning to appear? Can you hold back the movements of the stars? Are you able to restrain the Pleiades or Orion?”
Weeping, Leota sat in her worn chair. I know who You are. I know You can do all things. Haven’t I worshiped You alone for as long as I can remember? Didn’t I meet with You daily in my garden and lean on You through all those years of . . . Oh, God, don’t You understand? I’m tired of being misunderstood. I’m tired of the pain of living. I’m tired of being alone.
“I want to come home. Please let me come home.” She leaned her head back against the rest and let the tears flow unchecked down her cheeks. Why was He waiting?
Quit whining.
An image drifted into her mind . . . a cauldron filled with gold. The gold was boiling, and black impurities rose, wraithlike, to the surface of the golden liquid.
Is it I, Lord?
“Wait upon the Lord and see what I will do.”
As if she had a choice . . .
Corban sat at his desk, jotting down ideas of how to get on Leota Reinhardt’s good side and make his assignment easier. Bring wire cart for carrying groceries. Get her a cane. Clean her windows. He grimaced. The last thing he wanted to do was wash the old woman’s windows, but if it would get her to talk to him, he’d do it. He tapped his pencil. Something easy. Something that wouldn’t take much time or effort. Chocolates, maybe? Flowers? He dismissed both ideas. He’d only known the woman for a couple of hours, but he was sure if he brought candy and flowers, she’d nail his ears to the wall and then throw darts at his head for kissing up to her.
Glancing at his Rolex, he saw if he didn’t start for the campus now he was going to be late for Professor Webster’s class. Tossing his pencil down, he grabbed his backpack. Shouldering it, he went out the door, letting it lock behind him. As he strode toward the university, he tried to think of some way to talk the professor out of requiring him to do a case study. There had to be some way to avoid spending any more time with that old bat.
While in the library checking out books on Monet and van Gogh, Annie checked at the reference desk for an Oakland telephone directory. Leota Reinhardt was listed, along with her street. Maybe if Annie saw the house, she would remember it. On the way home, she stopped at a big chain bookstore and purchased a map of Oakland.
Susan unlocked the door and came in with a bag of groceries. “Call the cops!” squawked the rainbow lory on a stand by the window.
“I live here, Barnaby. Naughty bird. Did you make another mess?”
“I vacuumed a little while ago,” Annie said with a grin.
Susan set the bag of groceries on the counter. “Won’t do a bit of good. He just starts flinging seed again. I think he figures he has to plant a crop so he’ll have seed next year. You’re a dumb bird, Barnaby. Dumb bird!”
Barnaby opened his wings and fluffed them as though he were indignant at such an insult, then smoothed them down again, staring at her with disdain. “Whatcha gonna do?”
Susan and Annie laughed. “You have the most appalling manners, Barnaby. Why a policeman would have a pet at all is beyond me. Of course, Raoul didn’t have to take you out for a walk, did he? All he had to do to keep you happy was turn on the television and leave you plenty of food. Unfortunately, we don’t have a television.”
“Somewhere everybody knows your name,” the bird sang out.
“We won’t be stuck with you forever, you know.” Susan started putting things away.
“I think you may have him longer than you planned,” Annie said.
“Raoul said he’d be back from Los Angeles in a week or so.” Susan peered at the bird. “Hear that, Barnaby? In a week, you’re outta here, buddy.”
Annie grinned. “There’s a message for you. From Raoul.”
Susan rolled her eyes. “Oh, no. Bad news?”
“Depends on how you look at it.” Her grin widened. “He’s been hired. He’s already put a deposit on a furnished apartment. Problem is the management won’t allow pets.”
“That is not a pet.” Susan pointed at the bird. “What about his stuff? He has to come back. . . .”
“He boxed it up before he left.”
“He knew. Why didn’t he just sell the bird?”
“Here, kitty kitty!” the parrot squawked at her.
Annie grinned. “Raoul said he knows you’ll take good care of Barnaby. He couldn’t trust him to anyone but someone who was a bird person.”
“Birdbrain, you mean!” She eyed the parrot. “Great. Just great.”
“911!” Barnaby said in a perfect imitation of William Shatner, then made the sound of a siren. “911!”
“Another word out of you and you’ll be plucked, packaged, and frozen like this chicken!” She tossed the package of poultry into the small freezer.
Annie laughed. “She doesn’t mean it, Barnaby.”
“You don’t think so? The only reason I agreed to bird-sit is because I missed my canary. He was so cute. That is a feathered piranha!” She looked at Annie’s map spread out on the floor. “Planning a trip?”
“A short one.” Annie smoothed it a little and finished tracing the route with the yellow highlighter.
“Who’s in Oakland?”
“My grandmother.” Annie smiled self-consciously. “I’m not even sure what I’m going to say to her.”
“You’ll think of something.” Susan flopped down on the old sofa she’d purchased at a garage sale. Her father and two brothers had hauled it over the Bay Bridge in their pickup truck and lugged it into the building. When it wouldn’t fit into the ancient Otis elevator, they muscled it up four flights of stairs to the small flat, where Susan had sandwiches, freshly baked cookies, and sodas waiting. “When do you think you’ll go?” Susan popped the top of her soda.
“Tomorrow. I’m not scheduled to work until four, and I haven’t got a class.”
“How long has it been since you’ve seen her?”
Annie blushed. “Four years, I think. I can’t remember for sure.”
“Four years?” Susan drank some of her soda and then shook her head. “I’ve never gone longer than a couple of weeks without seeing some relative or another. We’ve got family coming out of our ears.”
Annie had met at least three of Susan’s uncles and a dozen cousins during her visits at Susan’s house. She always felt a little overwhelmed when standing in the Carters’ small house, packed from stem to stern with relatives. Everyone talked at once and they were loud. The men gathered around the television to watch whatever sport was in season, while the women gathered in the kitchen to cook and talk and laugh. “Have any of them ever gotten mad at each other?”
“Oh, sure! Someone’s always ticked off about something. Hottest fights are around the dinner table when Uncle Bob and Uncle Chet get going on politics or when Maggie starts in on equal rights. Daddy’ll jump right in on anything.”
Annie had met Susan’s older sister only a few times and found her quick-witted and very likable. “Is Maggie a women’s activist?”
“Only when the situation calls for it, which is every time she comes over for a visit with the folks.” Susan grinned. “Daddy says the only reason married women with children are working is because people are so greedy they want too much. Of course, Mom is working, but that doesn’t count because she has a calling. You never know who will throw the bait first. Maggie’ll come right back at him and say some people would like to have a nice house and live in a decent neighborhood that’s safe for their children, and the only way to afford it is to have two people working. Then Daddy’ll come back and say the neighborhoods would be a lot nicer if the mothers were all home taking care of their children like they’re supposed to. They go round and round about it.” She laughed. “They can get pretty steamed up sometimes.”
“Do they stay mad at each other?”
“Not for more than an hour. Funny thing is Maggie told me she and Andy have already decided that when they get pregnant, she’ll stay home. Listening to her talk, you’d think she was for zero population control and government-run day care centers. Truth is she takes after Daddy. They both like nothing better than a good, rousing debate. Daddy loves to play devil’s advocate at the dinner table. Whatever side you’re on, he’ll take the opposite. He says it’s a good way to learn to think. Mental fencing, he calls it.” Susan took a long swig of her soda. “No one gets hurt.”
Annie couldn’t even imagine what it would be like to debate with her mother just for the fun of it. The combatants would have to wear emotional body armor because any verbal fencing around her house would be done without the safety guards. Two minutes into it, and her mother would turn it into blood sport. “Sticks and stones will break my bones, but words will never hurt me.” Whoever came up with that little cliché didn’t know her mother. Nora Gaines could dismember people with her tongue.
Annie felt almost sick with guilt. What sort of a daughter was she?
Susan got up. “I’d better put the rest of the stuff away.” She opened the refrigerator, took out a container, and opened it. “Gross! I should take this home for my little brother and let him turn it in as a science project.”
Distracted, Annie wasn’t listening.
It was a relatively short distance between Blackhawk on the east side of the hills and Oakland on the San Francisco Bay. There was a tunnel right through the hills at one point. Easy driving, easy distance. Thirty minutes max? Yet Grandmother Leota might as well have lived in New York State for all the time the family had spent together.
Susan’s voice came from behind the door of the fridge. “What did you do today?”
“I called my mother.” Annie was embarrassed the minute she said it. She made it sound like it was the biggest chore of the year.
Susan paused in her hunt for food. “And?”
And her mother had had a fit. “Have you come to your senses yet, Anne? Do you have any idea how much you’ve hurt and disappointed me?”
Annie didn’t look up at Susan. “I told her I have a job. I started to tell her about my art classes, but she hung up.”
“Oh, Annie . . .” A glint of anger stirred in her friend’s dark eyes. “Anytime you want to be adopted, just let me know. My parents love you.”
Annie blinked back tears and looked down at the map. She adored Susan’s parents, but no one could replace her mother. She wished things were different. She wished her mother could love her as unconditionally as the Carters loved their children. None of them were perfect. Two had been in and out of trouble through their teen years. Susan’s older brother, Sam, had even spent a couple of months in juvenile hall. Tough love and patience had turned him around. Susan had been talking about him yesterday.
“He’s graduating this June. Can you believe it? He was such a reprobate! We’d all given up on him, but Mom and Dad said he’d come around in God’s own time. And he sure did. Not that he doesn’t still like to rock the boat. . . .” Sam. The wild one. “James Dean’s reincarnation,” Susan had once said. “The raging bull of the family, and full of it, too. . . .”
Annie looked at the map again, going over the route she had traced with her highlighter. “My mother’s all right, Suzie. She just wants what she thinks is best for me.” But did her mother love her? Annie realized part of her own drive to do well had been the hope that she would please her mother. What if she hadn’t gotten a 4.0 GPA? What if she hadn’t played piano for the Ladies’ Guild as her mother had promised she would?
And yet every time she did well at something, there was always another task set before her, something a little higher, a little harder. High school honors classes. Peer counseling. Summers of community service. SAT tests. The first scores hadn’t been high enough, so her mother had her tutored before retaking them. Finally scholarship and college applications. And then the pot at the end of the rainbow her mother had been chasing for her: Wellesley. “All those rich girls from all those important families. Think of what your future could be, Annie!”
Annie knew she had panicked. Just the thought of what lay ahead had scared her enough to make her run. She felt she couldn’t breathe anymore. The pressure of her mother’s expectations had been crushing her. Each time she pleased her mother, the situation had grown worse, not better. Her mother would view the success with pride and see “the possibilities,” leading to further demands and expectations.
“Think how much more you could’ve done, Annie, if only you’d tried a little harder. If I’d had your opportunities . . .”
Annie knew no matter what she did, it would never be enough.
Or was she just trying to excuse herself for running out?
Dropping her highlighter, she rested her head on her crossed arms. Lord, am I a quitter like my mother said? Am I a coward? Am I afraid I wouldn’t be able to make it at a real college?
“You’re just like your grandma Leota!”
She could still see the look in her mother’s eyes when she had said it.
“Annie?” Susan said softly. “You okay?”
“I’m okay.” She rubbed her forehead. “I’m just trying to put all the pieces together.”
“Maybe you should just walk away. Give her time.”
Annie looked up, stricken. She knew Susan didn’t care much for her mother. Nora Gaines had never done anything to make Susan feel welcome. Sometimes she wouldn’t even take the message when Susan called. “That girl,” she always said in that certain tone she could take on, as though Susan carried some kind of social disease. “Why don’t you cultivate a friendship with Laura Danvers. She comes from a good family.” Which, of course, meant a family with wealth and social standing . . . someone else who lived inside the gates.
Her mother didn’t understand. Things had probably changed a lot since her days in high school. Maybe then things were the way they appeared. Not anymore. Laura Danvers was pretty and dressed nicely, but she also had a cocaine addiction.
“Her mother says Laura goes to parties all the time and has a wonderful time. Why won’t you go when you’re invited?”
Because Annie knew what went on at the parties. She wasn’t into that scene. She didn’t want to fit in when it meant smoking pot, drinking, or having sex. Sure, Laura was popular. When she was high, she went along with any guy who happened to be with her. Everyone in school knew she had had two abortions before she was seventeen. And just before graduation practice had started, one of the girls in the gym said Laura had tested positive for HIV.
Annie’s mother knew none of that, and Annie didn’t feel it was her place to talk about Laura’s private life. She also didn’t want to get involved with Laura’s crowd. They all thought they were being so cool, but all they were doing was throwing away their lives with both hands.
Besides, even if Annie told her mother everything that went on in the corridors of the high school or at the parties, it wouldn’t matter. Her mother probably wouldn’t believe her. Nora saw only what she wanted to see. She looked at Susan with her long, black-dyed hair and nose ring and saw trouble. She looked at Laura Danvers with her eighty-dollar haircut and Saks Fifth Avenue clothes and saw class. And that was that. Her mind was set.
I’m guilty, too, Lord. I’m not what people see. I’ve worn a mask. I’ve pretended everything was fine because I haven’t wanted to witness to my mother. I’ve just obeyed her, Lord. I’ve tried so hard. And I was afraid, too. I admit it. I’ve been afraid to face my mother’s wrath. And now that I’ve left home, I’m afraid if I go one step further and see my grandmother, my mother will never forgive me.
“Love the Lord your God . . .”
“Annie?”
She felt Susan’s hand on her back. She let out a shaky sigh and sat up. Raking a hand through her hair, she crossed her legs Indian fashion and looked at her dearest friend. “Suzie, I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing.”
Susan sat down on the rug with her. “What can be wrong with seeing your grandmother?”
“You don’t understand. My family isn’t like yours. Everything’s complicated.” So complicated she couldn’t see the beginning, middle, or end of the mess. Just a thread, that’s all she wanted—just a slender thread so she could grasp what had happened to make her mother so bitter. Maybe then she could begin the process of untangling some small part of the jumble of knots.
Oh, Lord, I want to understand my mother. I don’t want to end up hating her the way she hates her mother. “Love one another,” You said. Help me do that. Please help me.
“I’m so nervous.” Annie held out her hands. They were shaking.
Susan reached out and took hold of them. “It’ll be okay.”
“Suzie, I don’t even know where to start. What do you talk about with your grandparents?”
“Everything! They love talking about the past. Granny Addie talks about her father all the time. I never met my great-grandfather, but I feel as though I know him because she’s told me so much about him. He jumped ship in San Francisco in 1905 and was there during the 1906 earthquake. And he was still alive when Neil Armstrong walked on the moon. Isn’t that cool? Grandma and Grandpa both grew up during the Great Depression and lived through World War II. You just ask a couple of questions and they’re off and running with a dozen stories. Some I’ve heard a hundred times, but it’s still fun. Especially when they’re telling us tidbits about the folks when they were little and into things. It’s a kick.”
“My mother says all my grandmother cared about was her job.”
Susan frowned. “What did she do?”
Annie shrugged. “I don’t know. My mother’s never said.”
“Well, that’s a start right there, Annie. Ask your grandmother about her work.”
“There are so many things I want to ask her.” She looked down at the map and the yellow line tracing the route to the neighborhood in Oakland. Leota Reinhardt lived a couple of blocks off the MacArthur Freeway. The house should be easy enough to find.
“Do you want me to go with you? I could call and see if Hank could switch me with one of the other girls.”
“Thanks, Suzie, but I’ll go by myself this time.”
“Call 911,” Barnaby squawked.
Annie and Susan laughed.