Twilight Child (38 page)

 “You're
right, mother. Probably nothing.”

 “I'm sure of
it.”

 She hung up,
wondering if the idea of her panic would linger in her mother's mind during the
bridge game. She doubted it. Nevertheless, the call to her mother had helped
take the edge off her worry. Now she had only anger to contend with.

 In protest,
she took Peggy's steak out of the broiler. The best way to handle this kind of
teenage protest, she assured herself, was to ignore it. She went to her desk,
opened her briefcase, and tried to concentrate on her papers. The words swam in
front of her, incomprehensible. Yet she remained dogged and determined, forcing
herself to try to comprehend, but without any good results. Indeed, the case
had begun to take on an air of fantasy. Like a soap opera. Who needs this, she
told herself? I've got my own troubles.

 Too late, she
discovered that the steak and french fries were burning. Smoke filled the
apartment, and she had to open the windows to get it out. By then, anger had
turned to fury, and she decided that, as far as Peggy was concerned, she had
done her best. She was blameless, she assured herself. People were, in the end,
responsible for themselves. Weren't they?

 The
telephone's ring stabbed into her agitated thoughts. She rushed to pick it up.
The voice was vaguely familiar. It was Harold's mother.

 “That you,
Annie?” Mrs. Stokes asked.

 “Yes.”

 It had been a
long time since Annie had called the woman “Mother.” Her voice was
high-pitched, as if it were still distrustful of long distance.

 “Peggy's
here.”

 “In
Philadelphia?”

 “Would you
like to speak to her?”

 “Of course.”

 She would
decipher her reactions later, she decided. The relief, unfortunately, had not
quite dispelled her anger.

 “Mommy?” The
reversion startled her.

 “I was
worried.”

 “I'm sorry.
But”—her voice dropped octaves lower—“it was Daddy's birthday and all.”

 Harold's
birthday? She recalled the date. Yes, she had forgotten. But it hadn't been
relevant for years. Not for years. And Peggy had been barely a month old when
he had died.

 “Are you all
right? That's what counts.”

 “Yes, I am. I
took the train.” A sob bubbled in her throat. “Do you forgive me?”

 “It's never a
question of that between us, baby. Of course I forgive you. I love you. I can't
stand to see you unhappy.”

 “I was just
thinking of Daddy. And, even though I can't even remember what he looked like,
I missed him. I just missed him. Can you understand that?”

 “Of course I
do.” She wasn't sure. The human heart's a puzzle, she thought.

 “I'll be home
tomorrow.”

 “You can stay
with Grandma and Grandpa Stokes if you want, Peggy.”

 “No. I'll be
home.”

 “Is
everything okay with them?”

 “Fine. I
bought a birthday cake.”

 “You did?
I'll bet everybody had a good cry.”

 “It was
nice.”

 “I'm sorry I
forgot.”

 “I just
needed to think about him today, Mommy.”

 “I understand.”

 “So I'll be
home tomorrow. I'll go straight to school. I promise.”

 “Have you
enough for the fare?”

 “I'm sure
Grandma will lend it to me.”

 “Well, most
of all, I'm glad you're safe.”

 “And you
forgive me?”

 “Of course I
do.”

 “And
Mommy . . . I do miss you. And I'll try much harder—”

 “And I'll
try, too.”

 “Would you
like to speak to Grandma?”

 “Yes.”

 Mrs. Stokes
came on again.

 “She's fine,
Annie.”

 “I really
appreciate this—Mother.” She grew suddenly hoarse and cleared her throat. “I'll
send you a check for anything you've laid out.” It seemed hard-edged, and she
regretted it.

 “No, please.
We're happy to have her. At least she remembered.” Annie heard the sigh of
despair.

 “Is she
really all right?” Annie asked.

 “She's fine.”

 “At least she
had someone to come to . . .” Annie began, but she could not
continue.

 “Anyway,
she'll be home tomorrow. I just thought you'd be worried.” She was about to say
good-bye, but she apparently interrupted herself. “And Annie—”

 “Yes?”

 The woman's
hesitation was tangible.

 “Some people
aren't as strong as others—some need a little more loving care.” She seemed to
want to say more but didn't and hung up with a polite good-bye.

 After she
hung up, Annie felt relieved but somehow more troubled than ever. Her stomach
churned, and she lost her appetite. Besides, she resented the implied lecture
on loving care. Hadn't she lavished loving care on Harold? On Peggy? If you
weren't judgmental, all human relationships were easy. Mindless, but easy.

 She took a
hot bath, and it calmed her somewhat, but by the time she slipped into bed,
taking her papers with her, she found herself dealing with a new kind of
resentment. Why had Peggy gone to them? What did they have that she could not
provide? She could not concentrate on the case materials. Finally, she tossed
the papers on the floor and shut off the light. Curling under the sheets, she
began to thrash around restlessly. Her feet were icy.

 She must have
dozed. She wasn't sure. The sheets were twisted and, in places, moist from her
perspiration. If she had dreamed, her dreams were too terrible to remember.
Sitting up, she saw the papers on the floor, leaned over, picked them up, and
tried reading. After a few minutes of incomprehension, she closed the file.
Everybody is guilty. Everybody is innocent.

 Knowing that
only increased the agony of her indecision.

 Before she
left the apartment, she wrote a note to Peggy.

 “I do
understand,” she began, wondering if it was the truth. “Let's make today a
birthday celebration for us—Daddy, too. We'll look at each other with new eyes.
Maybe we need to find our way back to each other. This I do know—when you hurt,
I hurt. I love you. Mommy.”

 She tried not
to think of the case again until she entered her chambers and saw the smug and
knowing face of her law clerk. Muttering a greeting, she put on her robe and
patched up her puffy face.

 “I wrote down
some suggestions on what to ask the boy,” he said, handing her yet another
file. She took the file, turned and looked at him, so cocksure and knowing,
bloated with the arrogance of youth.

 “Have you
ever had a child?” she asked.

 “Me?” He
looked at her, squinting, as if he was trying to focus on her motive for saying
this. Without giving him time to respond, she flung the file in her wastebasket
and strode through the door of the courtroom.

 In her
chambers, she asked the boy to sit down on the leather couch, patting the space
beside her. Moving over, he put his hands on his knees and looked around the
office. Light from the large windows deepened the cobalt blue of his eyes. He
was a beautiful child.

 “I'm just as
nervous as you are, Tray,” she said, offering a tight smile. He looked at her
with some confusion. “Do you know why you're here?” she asked gently.

 “No.”

 “I thought
not.” Annie shrugged. “That makes two of us.”

 “What do
judges do?” Tray asked. She put her arm around him.

 “They judge,”
she said, her smile broadening. She berated herself for giving him such an
inadequate answer. “They help people make decisions that are sometimes too hard
for them to make themselves.” He seemed to think about that for a long time,
then nodded his understanding.

 “Am I going
away somewhere?”

 “Now,
whatever gave you that idea?” She shook her head. “Of course not.”

 They sense
more than we think, she told herself.

 “Do you know
why your last name is Waters?” she asked.

 “It's my
other daddy's name.”

 “Your other
daddy?”

 “My dead
daddy.”

 “Do you
remember him?”

 “A little
bit.”

 “Did you love
your other daddy?”

 “Yes.” He
seemed tentative.

 “And this
daddy? The one with your mommy now.”

 “I love him,
too.”

 “And your
mommy?”

 “Yes.”

 “And your
gramma and grampa?”

 “Which ones?
Grampa and Gramma Graham or Grampa and Gramma Waters?”

 “Both,” she
said cautiously.

 He grew
thoughtful and looked around the room, then shrugged his little shoulders.

 “Yes.”

 “Have you
seen much of Grampa and Gramma Waters lately?”

 “No.” He
started to say something.

 “Yes?” she
prompted.

 “Grampa
Waters came to school and gave me my old wagon.”

 “He did?”

 “He shouldn't
have done that because it was in the middle of class, and I think the teachers
were angry.”

 “Were you
angry?”

 “No. I was
scared. I didn't want Grampa to get in any trouble.”

 “Were you
happy to see him?”

 Tray looked
at her, puzzled.

 “He's my
grampa,” he said, as if her question was ridiculous. He shook his head and
looked at her in a childlike, reproachful way. She decided to change the
subject.

 “Do you get
good marks in school?”

 “I get very good
marks. My daddy helps me.” He giggled.

 “And mommy?”

 “She's busy
with Baby Mark and soon Snowflake will be here.”

 “Who's
Snowflake?”

 “My baby
sister,” he said with a touch of petulance, as if Annie should have known.

 “Do you like
the idea of a baby sister?”

 “A sister
would be okay if she didn't act like a girl.” He looked up at her. “Girls are
dumb.”

 Annie
laughed. “Why do you say that?”

 “They tell
secrets, and they always tease. And they think they know everything.”

 “I'm a girl,”
Annie said.

 “You're a
lady, not a girl. Like Mommy.”

 She looked at
the boy and pressed him close to her. Adults, including herself, had intruded
on his pristine world, had brought their conflicts and frustrations into his
life.

 “Are you
happy, Tray?” she asked. It seemed like the inevitable, quintessential
question, and yet she felt both foolish and humble asking it. He chuckled and
looked at her as if she were crazy. It was as good as an answer. “Well
adjusted?”

 “What's
‘justed?”

 “It
means—well—content.”

 “Not me,” he
said, obviously confused. What seven-year-old wouldn't be? she thought.

 “Are there
any people that you really miss?”

 The boy
thought for a minute.

 “Like who?”

 “Your other
daddy.”

 “I told you.
My other daddy is dead. That means that he went away and is never coming back.
When I die, I'll see him again.”

 “Do you miss
Gramma and Grampa Waters?”

 “I just saw
them outside.”

 “I mean miss
seeing them, miss going to their house to play, miss having them take you out?”

 “I see Gramma
and Grampa Graham.”

 “But do you
need—would you like to see more of Gramma and Grampa Waters?”

 How was the
child to answer? she wondered. She felt suddenly inadequate to the
interrogation.

 “When I grow
up, Grampa Waters will take me hunting and we'll try to get Nasty Jake.”

 “Nasty Jake?”

 “He's the
baddest buck in the whole world.”

 “Is he?”

 “He's going
to get me a sailboat, too.”

 “And Gramma
Waters?”

 “She's a
teacher.”

 Was there a
want, a need, a regret? What more could she ask? She thought of Mr. and Mrs.
Waters, to whom this boy was apparently the only living, tangible symbol of the
life they had lived. Was he aware of their anguish? Did it matter to him?

 “Does your
mommy or daddy ever talk about Gramma and Grampa Waters?”

 The boy became
thoughtful again. He frowned and seemed to be struggling with a response.
Apparently he was having difficulty finding the words.

 “It's all
right,” she said gently.

 All this
trial and angst on the part of the adults around him seemed extraneous to his
life. She did want to probe further, but it didn't seem right somehow, a
violation of this child's peace of mind. In the boy, she could see no hate or
animosity, only the faint and ominous signs of needless confusion. All she
could see now was a little boy, a piece of human clay. Then she thought of what
Peggy had said, surprised at how it had stuck in her mind. “What about what I
want?” What, really, in his heart and soul, did this little boy want?

 The answer
came to her, not as a cliché, not as an empty promise, not merely a word. To
love. To be loved. Her eyes misted.

 “Are you
sad?” Tray asked.

 “Oh no,” she
said quickly.

 “Something
hurt?”

 “Just a
little twinge.”

 She managed a
smile and blinked away a tear.

 “There.
That's better now.”