Call Me Zelda (41 page)

I laughed aloud. “I don’t feel that way.”

“You are,” he said. “You’ve done it. No matter what the state of the diaries, no matter what you find when you go to Zelda, you’ve done something beautiful for her. And even if she’s not of a mind to grasp it right now, one day she will.”

“Thank you for saying that. And for doing so well with the children. It is a great relief to know you all are well. It won’t be much longer.”

“I won’t say we don’t miss you terribly,” he said, “but we’re managing. Take as long as you need with Zelda.”

A
s long as I need.

His words stayed with me as I pulled up to the Inn on Montford Avenue in Asheville, North Carolina. The warm glow from its windows welcomed me, and I felt peace envelop me. The twin peaks at the roof of the house, underlined by the wraparound porch, made the inn look like a large, smiling face, and even reminded me of La Paix. From the outdoor gardens to the lobby to the rooms, one had the sense of continuity, stability, and unity.

I slept well that night.

The next morning, I awoke early to the aroma of eggs, bacon, and coffee drifting up from the dining room. My stomach growled in response, and I hurried through washing and dressing so I had enough time to eat and finish assembling the photo book I’d been working on before my visit to Highland.

A middle-aged woman with a loose bun and the most
arresting blue eyes I’d ever seen greeted me when I entered the dining room.

“I’m Amelia,” she said in a soft Southern drawl. “I hope you’re hungry, because we only have one other boarder this morning, and he left before dawn to do some hiking nearby.”

“I’m starving,” I said. “It’s been a while since I enjoyed a home-cooked breakfast.”

“Have you been traveling long?”

“Only about a week,” I said. “Though it feels like much longer.”

“Are you away from family?”

“Yes,” I said. “My husband and three children. I miss them very much.”

“Well, we’ll take good care of you while you’re here,” said Amelia. “Start with breakfast, and then I can help you make plans for the day if you’ve never been to the area.”

“Actually, I’m here to visit a friend at Highland Hospital. I wonder if you could find out visiting hours for me.”

“Certainly,” she said. “I’ll do that. You help yourself.”

Amelia disappeared around the corner while I fixed myself a plate from the buffet on the dark cherry sideboard. After I piled my plate with fluffy eggs, warm biscuits, and crispy bacon, I took my seat. A young Negro woman in a maid’s uniform entered the room from the kitchen, bearing a tray with a mug, a bowl of sugar, and a small container of cream.

“Would you like coffee or tea, ma’am?” she asked.

“Coffee, please,” I said.

She returned shortly with a small pot of coffee, a trivet, and the morning paper.

“Thank you.”

She disappeared again into the kitchen, leaving me to take in the beautifully carved wood panels, wallpaper with tasteful,
muted floral designs, and thick rugs. Amelia came in with a piece of paper and placed it on the table in front of me.

“The hospital visiting hours are just after lunchtime, from one to four o’clock,” she said. “I wrote down the times for you, and the name of the street where you’ll find it, Zillicoa Street. It’s a short walk from here, or we can have our driver take you over and pick you up.”

“Thank you for the information and the offer,” I said. “I’ll walk, if it’s nearby. I’ve been in a car more this past week than in my entire life.”

“Very good. If you need anything while you’re here, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

“I won’t. Thank you.”

After she left, I ate my breakfast and returned to my room to finish assembling the scrapbook I’d made for Zelda, adding captions and anecdotes I remembered from her stories and my time on the road. It took me several hours, and I was pleased with the book when I finished. I hoped Zelda would enjoy it.

Much to my dismay, it still wasn’t time to visit her. Every minute passed like an hour, and I decided the best thing to do was to begin walking to Highland Hospital and enjoy some of the sights nearby. Amelia gave me a map and told me the best historic homes to see on the way, and also the location of a pretty park in the middle of town where I could eat lunch. She had the cook pack me a sandwich and some fruit, and gave me a large canvas bag to hold the food, my camera, and the diaries. I know she was burning with curiosity, but while I didn’t mind telling her why I was here in theory, the story seemed too long, and I was impatient to see Zelda. Perhaps I would share more with Amelia later that night.

The difference in weather and atmosphere between the North and the Southeast was remarkable. Springtime was in full
bloom here in Asheville, and I admired the weeping cherry blossoms, newly opened tulips, and magnolias. At various points in town I could see all the way to the distant mountains, which were still covered in snow. I inhaled the air deeply and shivered a little, knowing Zelda was also breathing this air nearby. I hoped it made her feel as fresh as it did me.

The bag was beginning to weigh me down, so I switched shoulders and removed the camera so I could begin taking more pictures. These pictures would be for me and for Will, and I hoped I could come back with my family sometime.

I passed rows of gorgeous old homes, some stately and traditional, others like small stone castles. The mingling of Victorian homes with wraparound porches and châteaulike architecture stimulated my imagination, and made me think of those who had lived here long ago. What would they think of us now with our fast cars, telephones, and cameras that made instant pictures? What did Zelda think of it all?

When I arrived at Montford Park, I found a bench under a willow tree and enjoyed the blooms around me while I ate a delicious cold ham-and-cheese sandwich on crusty French bread. The cook had wrapped up a pickle for me, and had even slipped in a chocolate cookie and a bottle of soda. It felt good to fill my belly, and I hoped it would add some color to my thin winter face.

I glanced at my watch and saw that it was a quarter to one o’clock. Finally, I’d get to see Zelda after all these years. My stomach was in knots. I vacillated between unbounded excitement and extreme nervousness. What if Zelda was incoherent and frenzied? What if she resented me for moving on with my life? What if she was catatonic and didn’t respond at all? Worst of all, I had a nagging fear that the diaries would set her off instead of fill a need in her.

Mostly, though, I just wanted to embrace my old friend and
talk to her—just two women on the porch enjoying the spring, taking comfort in each other’s company. Would she let me?

The hospital was a stately old colonial in good condition. My heart pounded as I walked up the porch steps and into the front hallway. It smelled of lemons, and paintings of the mountains and surrounding hills hung on the walls. It was a pretty place.

I saw a sign hanging outside the door on my left that read O
FFICE
, and when I walked in, a nurse with blond hair and small brown eyes gave me a warm smile.

“Welcome to Highland,” she said. “Are you a visitor?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, and placed the heavy bag on the ground. “I’m here to see Zelda Fitzgerald.”

The woman’s eyes lit and her smile stretched across her face. “Anna?”

That she knew who I was calmed me, and I nodded.

“Here, honey,” she said. “Sign in and I’ll take you right to her. She’s painting in the garden.”

Painting in the garden. Of course she was.

As I signed my name with trembling fingers, the nurse placed her hand over mine. “She’s going to be overjoyed to see you.”

“Me, too,” I said.
You have no idea
.

She led me down the quaint hallway, through a recreational room, and out to the back veranda that overlooked a garden full of creeping ivy, mature budding trees, and pockets of spring bulbs newly pushed up through the soil.

“Follow the path,” she said. “You’ll find her just around the corner.”

I walked down the stairs and onto the crushed gravel, and felt as if I’d stepped into another world. The trees folded softly over me, and I was reminded of the paths at my parents’ home in Maryland. The ripple of a nearby fountain gave a pleasant
texture to the air, and I knew all would be well in spite of my trepidation.

When I rounded the bend in the path, I saw her. She stood at the end of the lawn, next to a stone wall with her easel, facing the mountains. Her back was to me, and I stopped and watched her for a moment without her knowing I was there. I wanted to take a picture of her here, at peace in a garden, creating, but as soon as I’d lifted the camera, I placed it back in the bag. I didn’t want to use her.

She turned her head to the side.

“‘Had I on earth but wishes three, the first should be my Anna,’” she said.

She put down her brushes and I my bag and we ran to meet each other in the garden.

N
ow that I had her, I didn’t want to let her go.

We stood at the easel, arms wrapped around each other, joined at our sides. She looked at me and I at her, and her bold smile lit up her face.

“Look at us,” she said, and ran her hand down the line between our bodies. “A line of symmetry. Two halves of a whole. Two peas in a pod. A pair of queens. Though your card, I must observe, has aged better than mine, which has been played too often.”

I laughed. How I’d missed her.

“You flatter me, Zelda,” I said. “I’ve never seen anything lovelier than you at your easel, painting the mountains. It is the first time, I think, that I’ve ever seen a complete portrait of you, the woman, Zelda.”

“I’ll argue with you until I run out of air about my physical state. I’m plump as a Heffalump. I will agree with you, however, about my emotional state. I’ve never felt better.”

“But your letter,” I said. “It was frantic. I feared the worst.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I am at my worst in the night, and it’s when I think of you most and need you, and fired off that plaintive missive. But in the day, I can cope. They’ve started sedating me at night, and it’s one pill I don’t protest.”

“Nights are hard for anyone who has lived long enough,” I said.

“A truer observation was never made,” she said. “When I go home, they’ll send me with sleeping pills. I’ll be fine in the days. Mother needs me, anyway. She’s been sending me the same kind of letters I sent you.”

“When will you return to Montgomery?”

“I could’ve gone last week,” she said. “I just wanted to make sure, though. I check in and check out of here when I need it, but I find I need it less and less. I think I’ve realized that the worst for me has passed.”

I was somewhat shocked to learn that she could check herself in and out, and had been for years. Why had it taken so long for her to write to me? She must have seen my confusion, and took my hands in hers.

“I’m still not right, Anna, and I don’t think I ever will be. I’m just righter some days than others. I’m sorry it took me so long to reach out to you, but I was convinced I’d poison your life when it was going so well. I do that, you know.”

My heart sank and I shook my head. “You could never poison me, Zelda. Is that really why you didn’t write?” My God, all the wasted time, and she had thought she was protecting me.

“At first it was like I said in the letter: I was too raw. But over the years, reading your letters, I could feel how well your life garden had blossomed, and I didn’t want to come stomping my weeds through it. You deserve better.”

I shook my head again and squeezed her hands tighter. “Please promise me that from now on you’ll never keep yourself from me again. Promise.”

“I promise,” she said.

We let the moment pass, and then Zelda’s face lit with a smile.

“Scottie just had her second baby,” she said. “She’s coming down next month to visit, with the children, and I can’t wait. Grandbabies are life’s great gift. If only Scott could have known them. I tell him about them, of course, but it’s not the same as holding them.”

I felt a shiver and tried to dismiss her mention of communicating with Scott. She said it with such nonchalance—like it was an everyday occurrence—that I worried for her. Hearing voices was never a good thing.