Pacific Avenue (24 page)

“Okay. Why don’t
you
stay with her, though, like you did before?”

“I have an idea she’d like some company. You know, another
woman, that sort of thing.”

“I see.”
He’s right. I have to take care of
Francine. She loved Jamie, and she must be terribly upset. Someone should stay
with her, hug her and give her some comfort. Good thing Dad thought of it. . . .
I’ll get a few things together, go right over and help her.
I looked around my place. “It’s sort of messy here,
though. I meant to clean up, but I didn’t have time. There’s food in the
refrigerator.”

I got some pajamas out of the drawer, and my toothbrush,
things like that. Dad walked me over to Francine’s. He didn’t say any more
about Richard. Maybe he didn’t know what he
could
say. Like me.

When Francine let us in, I hugged her. I didn’t want
her to be too sad.

“You take a rest now,
cher,
” she said. “
Fais dodo
for Francine.” That was a good idea. She led me to
her guest room, and I fell into the bed and went right to sleep.

The next morning, I woke up just long enough to take
the packed suitcase Francine handed me, put it into Dad’s car, and get in. I
waved good-bye to her and scrunched against the car door. I slept all the way
to Baton Rouge. When we got there, I headed straight for my old room and sat on
the bed.

I lay down, remembering to kick off my shoes so I
wouldn’t mess up the bedspread. The house was completely quiet—no sound of
voices, no footsteps in the hallway.

Willis went to the kitchenette and looked in the refrigerator.
I heaved our suitcase onto the bed and unpacked. Sorted our clothes and put his
into the empty top drawer of the dresser. I opened the second to put in mine,
but it was full of men’s things, more or less crammed in. I opened the one
beneath it.

“Lacey, for God’s sake,” Willis protested, looking up
from opening a soda can. “You gonna ransack the place, now?”

“I’m not hurting anything, Willis.” This third drawer
was half-full of women’s clothes. I held up a shirt. Just about Kathy’s size, I
thought. I closed that drawer and opened the bottom one.

It was full of little overalls, shirts, socks. Diapers.
Baby things. I caught my breath and pulled out a little pink sweater to show
Willis.

He wasn’t paying attention—he was opening a kitchen
cabinet to get a glass. But he got a surprise of his own. The shelves were
filled with baby food—cereal, fruit in jars, even a nursing bottle. He stared
as a rubber nipple rolled out and bounced on the counter. He blinked a couple
of times. The nipple didn’t go away.

I set my folded clothes on top of the dresser, making
room by pushing aside a piggy bank. On an impulse, I grabbed the piggy and gave
it a good shake.

“Lacey, what in hell are you doing?” Willis yelped.

I ignored him. Something was rustling in the piggy. The
big rubber stopper in its stomach came out with a pop. I fished out a roll of
dingy hundred-dollar bills. Ten of them.

“Lacey, don’t!” He set his soda on the table and headed
in my direction. I stuffed the money back in the piggy, then went to the closet
and jerked the door open.

“Lacey!”

“Willis, there’s a folded-up
baby crib
in here!” Behind it, I discovered a lovely dress,
about a size two. Dusty and squashed, but almost unworn. White eyelet with limp
pink ribbons. The tags swung from its pink padded hanger.

I pulled an album from the closet shelf. Willis,
forgetting his scruples, craned his neck behind me as I opened it. Photographs.
Professional photographs. One of a young child, a black child, wearing the
beautiful little dress. Another of an older white man holding the child. Kathy
holding the child. Kathy and a sullen-looking young black man. The child was
nestled up to Kathy. Four pages of the album used, then nothing.

Willis sat heavily on the bed. “Oh, my God,” was all he
said.

I couldn’t think of a word to add. If the house was the
way Kathy left it, something had happened there. I wasn’t sure I even wanted to
know what. Richard was black. Kathy and Richard had a child. A child that
didn’t need her clothes anymore, didn’t need her brand-new party dress. A child
that didn’t need her mother anymore. And Richard was in prison.

“Didn’t need her mother. . . .” I’d been
mouthing that one for a while, hadn’t I? Running a little pity party for myself.
Now I felt like the biggest fool in the world. I’d thought I had problems, when
I was as well off as a woman could get—my daughter so smart and strong and
healthy, my daughter who didn’t need me because everything had gone the way it
was supposed to.

Not quite the same as Kathy, was it? Kathy, with her
four-page family album. I felt ashamed that I’d snooped through her private
things, and I couldn’t think of one thing I could do to help her.

As we showered and changed for the dinner, we fussed
over details to use up the time. I put on makeup and removed all of it. Willis
took the laces out of his shoes and threaded them back in. Six o’clock finally
came.

Neither of us was in the mood to meet Kathy’s friends.
I dreaded having to make conversation.

We trailed silently across the patio to Francine’s. I
didn’t have one idea what we could say when we got there. I was kicking myself
for another reason—we were stuck. The only places in New Orleans where we could
possibly get a room now would be hot-sheet motels.

Francine opened the door and led us into a room full of
people. They all introduced themselves, and I was careful to keep them sorted
out. Sharon and a redheaded man who turned out to be her husband, Sam. Eddie,
of course. An Oriental woman whose name sounded like
Too.
Her husband, Martin, good-looking man with an Australian
accent. He was in a wheelchair. They had a couple of little boys. Ten people,
counting the kids. One good thing—I had maneuvered Willis into doing the
talking.

When I couldn’t make myself sleep anymore, the sky was
indigo and late summer stars were starting to show. I got up, a little shaky,
and decided to see if I could find some orange juice in the kitchen. As I
started down the hall, barefoot on the shag carpet, I heard Mom’s voice from
the dining room.

“Alan, I don’t know why you wanted to bury her at
Greenoaks. I refuse to spend eternity next to a colored child.”

“She was our granddaughter, Virginia.” Dad sounded
shocked.

“
And
have the
funeral at All Saints, for heaven’s sake. At least it’s closed-casket.”

I stopped where I was.
I can’t exactly go in and say
hi after that.

“Let’s talk about something else.” Sharon’s voice.

So, they’d come home from Hawaii.
I wish I could see
Sharon, but not if I have to go in there.

“Well, maybe it’s for the best after all,” Mom went on,
ignoring Sharon’s protest. “Kathy can go back to school. No one has to know.
She’ll meet someone else.”

I sucked in my breath hard before I remembered I didn’t
want them to hear me. To make sure it didn’t happen again, I clapped my hand
over my mouth.

“What about Richard?” asked Sam. He sounded gruff.

“He’s been arrested, you know.” Mom again.

“No, I didn’t. Alan and I didn’t have a chance to talk
when he called. Why was he arrested?”

“I guess they think he did it. He
is
a little disturbed. Last time Alan went down there,
Richard nearly hit him.”

“Ginny, that’s not so!” Dad said. “I felt nervous, but
he didn’t do anything.”

A chair scraped. Something was set down with a sharp
clink. “Why do they think he did it?” Sam asked.

“Alan says she was bruised and there was blood on the
sheets. And she was all huddled into the corner of the crib.”
Mom’s voice
sounds smug, almost happy.

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Sam answered sharply.
“Those are common features of infant deaths, including natural ones. What did
the autopsy find?”

“There wasn’t one,” Dad said.

“There
wasn’t an autopsy
? Didn’t the parish do it? Didn’t they
require
it?” Sam’s voice was incredulous.

“No,” Dad told him. “Orleans Parish requires them, but
Jefferson doesn’t. Kathy could have asked for one if she’d wanted it.”

“You didn’t
talk
to her about it?” Sam’s tone was beyond incredulous, almost accusing.

“No, I didn’t want to mention it. I mean, you being a
doctor and all, it probably seems normal to you to slice someone up. I don’t
think Kathy could have stood the idea. She’s not in good shape at all, Sam. She
was crazy about Jamie.”

“She loves Richard, too, and he’s charged with a
serious crime. He could go to prison for life. I can’t believe you’re burying
the only evidence that could have cleared him.” I’d never heard Sam so angry
before.

“Maybe it wouldn’t have cleared him,” Mom suggested
softly.

“Of course it would, honey.” Dad sounded wobbly and
old. “There was no need at all for an autopsy, Sam. I’m sure he didn’t do it.
He’ll be all right.”

I couldn’t believe what I’d done. I’d thrown away Richard’s
only chance. I backed down the hallway to my room and closed the door without a
sound.

I hid in there until the next morning, when I had to
come out for the funeral. It was at Mom and Dad’s church. Episcopal. No one
knew Jamie had been baptized Catholic, and I didn’t say. I figured that if
there was a God, he couldn’t care one way or the other.

Francine hadn’t packed my jeans—they wouldn’t have done
for Jamie’s funeral anyway, but the only dresses I had were my maternity
clothes. Francine had picked the smallest one, but it flopped around my empty
body and made me feel like crying. The Motleys were clothed as dark as nuns,
all except Thu, who wore a white
ao dai.
She looked almost like a bride, and I saw Mom glaring. I wanted to tell Mom
that white is the color of mourning in Vietnam, that she was wrong and
ignorant. Anyway, if Thu wore white, what did Mom care?

My arms felt empty without Jamie.

It was a small service. None of my parents’ friends
were there, not even Aunt Ruth and Uncle Joseph. That’s what Mom wanted—for no
one to know. Mom sat at one end of the pew, and I hid behind the Motleys at the
other. Sharon and Sam joined us, and Dad had the middle part all to himself,
close to no one.

Father Davis kept his head down, as if he was trying
not to notice anything.
Maybe he doesn’t remember me.

I still couldn’t take in what was happening, still felt
numb and padded. But Father Davis’s words pummeled me—when he said, “Though I
walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil,” they
nearly got through. I had to make the padding around me even thicker. I hardly
heard at all when he said, “The sun shall not smite thee by day, nor the moon
by night.”
You’re not supposed to make a fuss at an Episcopal funeral.

I didn’t make a fuss.

At the cemetery, they had us leave before they lowered
the little coffin.
I don’t know why anyone would think that might help.

When the service was over, I took Eddie aside.

“Let’s go home, Eddie. I don’t want to be here
anymore.”

“Your dad asked us all to lunch, doll.”

“Please, Eddie? I want to go home.” In Sharon’s
direction I mouthed, “I’ll call you,” and she nodded.

Eddie went and spoke to Mom for a minute, then came
back and led me to his car. He didn’t ask why I wanted to leave. I looked out
my window, watched the city stutter off to its end as we drove out the Airline
Highway. Finally, only weathered wood barns remained, standing silver-gray in
patchy brown weeds. Undrained ditches lined the road—mosquito hawks and Jesus
bugs darted and swooped along their still greenness. In the wind of the
traffic, the paper peeling from the billboards waved hello, good-bye.

* * *

I stayed at Francine’s again when I got home. Sharon didn’t
wait for me to call her—she was on the phone right after breakfast the next
morning.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Not really,” I said. “How are things there?”

“Mom had a cow about you taking off yesterday,” she
said.

“Mom has so many cows, she could go into the cattle
business.”

“Do you care?”

“About her snit? No. What did Dad say?”

“Nothing. When we got home, he went out in the garden
and started tying tomato vines. Mom kept yelling at him that he was ruining his
suit, but he didn’t come in. He didn’t even answer.”

I imagined Dad getting mud and manure and green tomato-vine
stains on his white shirt.

“Kathy?”

“Yes?”

“Well, nothing. You didn’t say anything, so I wondered
if you were still there.”

“Yes, I am. I am still. Definitely. Still. Here.” It
struck me as funny suddenly, that Sharon would wonder that. I started to giggle
uncontrollably, then stopped with a little sob.

“Kathy, I don’t like the way you sound. I’m taking off
work and going down there. I’ll be there as soon as I can get away.”

“You don’t need to do that.”

“Yes, I do. I’m going. Right now, I need to talk to
Francine, okay?”

“Okay.” I got Francine. Then I went and lay down. I
woke again to Francine shaking one of my shoulders.

“Richard’s on the line,” she said.

I wasn’t sure if it was the same day as when I lay down.
Maybe it was tomorrow. It didn’t matter. I got out of bed and stumbled to the
phone.

“Richard?”

“Hi, Kathy.” He sounded cautious. I wondered if people
listened in on jail phones. Probably they did.

“Hi,” I managed.

“I’ve been calling and calling. Why are you at
Francine’s?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “What time is it?”

“Three in the afternoon, more or less. Why? Did you
just wake up?”

“Sort of. When are you coming home?”

He drew a deep breath. “I don’t know. The way it
sounds, maybe in about ten years.”

“But you didn’t
do
anything!”

“I don’t know,” he repeated. “They say there’s
evidence. I don’t want to talk about it, do you mind?”

Suddenly I was wide awake and burning with anger. “Yes,
I do. I mind a lot. I just got back from Jamie’s funeral, and now you say you
might be getting a ten-year sentence, and you don’t know what you’ve done. I
want to talk about it.”

The dial tone sounded in my ear. It didn’t tell me anything
I didn’t already know. I went back to bed.

Sharon came the next day. I mostly slept for the next
couple of weeks, but she took care of everything. She bought groceries and
cooked, cleaned the house, and woke me up when the Motleys came to visit. At
least one of them did come every day, usually bringing food. Thu took my laundry
home and did it with hers. The last night of Sharon’s visit, they had a potluck
out on the patio table, and Sharon helped me take a shower and wash my hair.
She fished out a pair of my jeans that hadn’t fit since before Jamie. They did
now.

Everyone hugged me. They all brought food, the dishes
covered so bugs wouldn’t get in. I had made a big pitcher of iced tea, and I
started by pouring everyone a tall glass. Francine raided the mint by the back
fence and rinsed it off to stick in the glasses.

We passed the dishes, a true Motley dinner of Creole,
American, and Vietnamese food. Once again we sat around the table. Like a
Motley family reunion, except that Richard was gone.

“How’s Sam?” asked Eddie.

“He’s fine,” said Sharon. “I think we’re going to get
married sooner than we thought. We decided we don’t want a big wedding.”

“To Sam and Sharon—happiness and long life!” Eddie
raised his tea glass, and the others did too.

“And then we really are moving down here. Any suggestions
on neighborhoods?”

They debated Gretna, Algiers, and New Orleans. I was
glad it all felt so normal, because I was tired of people treating me like I
was sick. No one mentioned Richard, but the circle of chairs wasn’t closed—the
space between Martin and Francine was a little bigger than any of the others.
No
one can decide whether he’s one of us anymore.

After dinner, Sharon and I wrapped up the last of the
food and put it away. She tidied the refrigerator, throwing out some withered
shallots and sponging the shelves. It was like all the other times we’d worked
together in one of our kitchens, or in Mom’s.

“Why’d you and Sam decide not to wait?” I asked.

Sharon went on arranging things in the refrigerator.
“Sam and Mom aren’t getting along these days. Dad either, for that matter.”

I was confused. “Sam and Dad, or Mom and Dad?”

“Both. There was a real scene, the night before the funeral.”

“I know.”

“You
know
?” She
looked up sharply.

“I was headed down the hallway when Mom made that crack
about a closed-casket funeral.”

“Oh, no. You
heard
?”
Sharon closed the refrigerator with a thunk and sat beside me at the table.

“Yeah. Then all the stuff Sam said about the autopsy.
It was all my fault we didn’t have one.”

Sharon’s face was sad as she reached and touched my
arm. “No, it wasn’t,” she said. “You didn’t know.”

She shook her head. “Sam thinks Dad should have said
something. How could you have known there should have been an autopsy?”

“I should have known.”

“Sam was really stunned by what Mom said. Did you know
she felt that way?”

“She wasn’t ever that direct before,” I said. “But I
knew all along. Look how she never came to see Jamie. Look at Uncle Joseph. I
guess they were more alike than we realized.”

“Anyway,” said Sharon, “Sam’s too upset with them for
us to go through a big family wedding. And Dad feels guilty as hell about
Richard, and I think he’s trying to feel better by lashing out at Mom about
being a racist. Not that that’s unfair.” She rubbed her eyes with the heels of
her hands. “I’m sorry you heard what she said.”

“It doesn’t matter. She had a million ways of letting
me know.”

“All those headaches,” Sharon agreed. “Whenever she had
to deal with Richard or Jamie, it was headache time again.”

“Why didn’t we pick it up from her?”

“The racism? Dad, probably. He has all those ideals,
and she never dared to say stuff like that in front of him. Not until that
night, anyway.”

I shrugged. “He didn’t live up to the ideals in the
end, though, did he?”
Dad’s trying to protect me, and he’s willing to
sacrifice Richard to do it. Does the color of Richard’s skin make it any easier
for him?

Sharon left the next morning. When I went back to work,
I found that Thu and Martin had hired a couple of students to rehearse for the
coming Christmas production. I was surprised I still had a job, but they
introduced me to the new people as if nothing had changed.

Thu brought the teacups, and we sat down to discuss the
new production. The company was learning a script about two children who go on
a magical journey one Christmas Eve.

“I’d like you to specialize in scenery and effects
now,” Martin said. “And helping Thu make puppets. We’re thinking of expanding
to two troupes—that’s why we’re training apprentices like Dave and Nancy here.”