Water from Stone - a Novel (38 page)

As the plane banks over New York Harbor, Mar looks down into the deep, gray waters. Startled, she realizes it is the first time in years she has left Boulder, has moved in any direction where there is a large body of water. Strangely, it doesn’t terrify her anymore. Rather, it looks like home. She presses her face to the window and watches it, so peaceful from up here. How silly to have been so scared for so long. There, right there, she could jump in and float, just float until even that is too much trouble, then sink, slowly sink below the waves, watch her last bubbles slowly rise to the surface, the surface without Lizzie. But there, just there, Joaquin would be waiting for her, so nice to be loved again, to be held again, to be whole. Looking out the window, Mar mentally apologizes to the other passengers and then begins praying the plane will crash.

The nervous urgency of finding Boosie, coupled with a desperate case of the heebie-jeebies, cause Mar to move quickly, unthinkingly. Her desperate need to get to her daughter, who she knows must be suffering for the lack of her beloved blanket, leaves her with no need more urgent than to get to her, to give her the blanket so that she can sleep. She is out of the cab almost before it comes to a full stop in front of Jack’s building. Shoving four twenties into the change slot, she jumps from the car and heads toward the door.

***

Jack had answered the urgent call from Don Bloom and knows that Mar is on her way. He’d called down earlier and asked Robert to just let her through. He is waiting for her when the elevator arrives at the private landing.

“Mar.”

Mar looks desperately past him, hoping for, dreading, a glimpse of Lizzie. “How is she?” she asks. “How’s she doing?”

“Not so good. She’ll hardly eat and she won’t speak. She can barely sleep.”

“She needs this, she needs Boosie.” Mar holds the blanket out to him. “She’s never slept without it.”

“Thank you.”

They stand there, uncertain what to do, what to say.

“Would you like to see her?” Jack finally offers.

Mar looks up at him, her eyes begging. “May I?” she asks.

Just then, the apartment door is flung open and Caroline lounges in the doorway. “Well, look who’s here. I believe the court order was for no visitation, or did I misunderstand?”

“Caroline, shut up.”

“Oh, yes, of course, don’t upset precious Mar. Fine. Whatever. In any case, Jack, will you come in here, please, and do something about your daughter? She’s throwing a fit and won’t eat the apple I cut up for her.”

“She doesn’t like apples. I wrote it on the list I gave you. Didn’t you read the list?” Mar desperately questions Jack.

“She’ll have to learn. They’re good for her.” Caroline smiles. “Jack?”

“Give her hot dogs. She loves hot dogs. You just cut one up and give it to her with ketchup. No matter what, she’ll always eat hotdogs.”

“Mommy?” Lizzie screams from somewhere inside the apartment.

“Just what we need,” Caroline moves to head her off.

Panicked, Mar hits the elevator call button. It opens right away and she jumps inside. As the doors slide silently shut, Jack can see she is crying again. He raises the soft blanket to his face and breathes in the sweet scent of Mar intermingled with Lizzie.

One-Hundred-Eight

Mar.

Mar has thought of suicide, of course she has. She  won’t allow her thoughts to move too far in that direction, however, as she knows what that would do to her father. She also holds out hope that one day, perhaps when she is a teenager or even an adult, Lizzie will somehow reach out to her and, more than anything, Mar wants to assure Lizzie that she was a very much wanted and greatly loved daughter.

And so she has lived, done the necessary to ensure that she’ll continue to breathe. Her father clearly doesn’t trust her, though, as she awoke one morning to find the knife set gone. She guesses her father had seen her staring at it a little too long. No, she isn’t going to kill herself, though she thinks about it often enough.

Diane has moved the gallery downtown and things are going well there. All the publicity the case had brought has caused a dramatic jump in the price of her paintings. The other artists whose work the gallery sells have also benefited. Mar, however, barely makes it there. She’d lost interest in just about everything when her daughter had been taken from her. Every now and then, she’ll pick up a brush, try halfheartedly to paint something, anything. But she doesn’t have much of an attention span, can’t work up much interest.

Mostly, she sleeps. After her turnaround trip to New York, The Dream hasn’t returned. She is so dry inside, the sharks must have gone on to a more tasty, a more meaty meal. So, she sleeps  the sleep of the dead and wanders through the days trying to get through.

Eventually, she put the house on the market, even though her father urged her not to. He’d urged her to give herself time before making such a big decision. She’d gone ahead and done it anyway. There is too much of Lizzie everywhere she turns, and now that she isn’t using the studio much and the gallery is gone, she can’t see much use in holding onto it.

Well, not completely. The gallery is not completely gone. The day after she’d returned from New York, a package had arrived. Not surprisingly, it had been from Jack.
Mother & Child
is back in its place on the gallery wall, one small pin light focused on it.

Diane had been outraged when Jack sent it back. She thought it was a screw-you to Mar and had wondered if it hadn’t really been Caroline who had sent it. Mar doesn’t think so. She’d looked into Jack’s eyes as the doors to the elevator slid closed and all she could see was regret. She takes the return of the painting as an ‘I’m sorry.’

Mar now sits before the painting in the glider she’d brought down from Lizzie’s old room. She likes to sit there, in the empty gallery, and look at it. It is amazing how it had foretold the sorrow she would come to know. How the mother looks so desperately afraid she’ll lose her child. How the child is too damn trusting.

On this afternoon, Don Bloom is upstairs, watching TV probably. Diane is off in the kitchen, probably cooking a meal she hopes Mar will eat. Loyal Picasso is at her feet, sleeping, snoring peacefully. While she glides, Mar worries about the latest news from Amanda, who calls faithfully and brings Don up-to-date on Lizzie’s activities. Amanda knows Don will give the news to Mar, but she feels too guilty about her own ability to see Lizzie to speak with Mar herself. Mar doesn’t mind. She really doesn’t feel like talking to anyone anyway.

Apparently, Lizzie is still acting out. She spends a lot of time with DeJon, who is the only one who can make her smile. He and Jack are getting along, which Mar supposes is a good thing.

The doorbell rings. Picasso wakes up and looks at Mar, almost asking out loud if she’ll have to get up to see who is there. “Yes, fatso, it’s the door,” Mar tells her.

Affronted, Picasso huffs and struggles to her feet. She shakes off her sleep and pads lazily to the door where she barks once and turns to Mar.
There, are you happy?
Mar rolls her eyes and gets to her feet. Damn dog is useless.

Without looking through the peephole, Mar flings the door open. And her heart falls to her feet. “MOMMY!” Lizzie lunges from Jack’s arms to hers. “MOMMY!” she repeats.

“Baby?” Mar whispers. “Lizzie?”

“Surprise!” the little girl happily tells her and wraps her arms and legs more firmly around her mother. Picasso begins to bark crazily, jumping up to get to Lizzie.

“Jack?” It grates past the lump in her throat.

“Hello, Mar.”

“What? What are you doing here? Down, Picasso. Be quiet!”

He shrugs. He, too, has lost weight, she notices, and looks like he’s lost a lot of sleep as well. There is more gray in his hair than there’d been four months ago. He shakes his head. “She needed you. She needs you.”

“But, the judge…”

“Was wrong,” he finishes. “It was all wrong. As much as everyone tried to make it right, it was wrong. Lizzie needs to be with you.”

“You’re leaving her?”

He shakes his head. “No, we’re staying.”

“Here? You’re staying here?” It isn’t making any sense.

“No, not here. We’re staying in Boulder.” He indicates the rental car, where DeJon is hanging out a window and waving at her madly.

“But, your job?”

“I quit.”

“You quit? What are you going to do?”

“Right now? Right now, my only priority is to learn to be a good father. I’ve made a lot of mistakes and that’s the one thing I need to get right.”

“What about Caroline?”

“She’s mean, Mommy,” Lizzie whispers loudly into her mother’s neck.

“I know, honey.”

“She said she wants to be my mommy.”

“I’m your mommy, Lizzie.”

“She doesn’t even paint,” Lizzie says, her voice tinged with disgust.

“I know, baby.” Mar is still looking at Jack.

“As you can see, they got along great.”

“But what about her? Where is she? I thought you two were an item? Picasso, down!”

“She’s home. Back in New York. That wasn’t going to work out.”

“Because of Lizzie?”

Jack looks off into the distance. “No. Because of me.” He sighs heavily. “I’ll tell you about it sometime.”

“And now you’re here. Just like it’s OK, and you think you’re moving to Boulder?”

“Yes.”

“So what’s your great plan for Lizzie?”

“I thought, if it’s alright with you, she can live with you.”

Mar’s heart is beating so fast, she can’t keep up with what he is saying. “You thought what?”

“That she should live with you.”

“With me?”

Jack shakes his head. “Look, Mar, I know this is sudden, but she needs you. She likes me, yes, and I hope she even loves me. But, she needs you.”

“Really?” Mar feels the first fluttering of hope coming back to life. It scares her. “How do I know you won’t just wake up some day and decide to take her away again?”

“I won’t.”

“But how do I know?”

“I’ll give you joint custody. Legal joint custody. We’ll stipulate you have physical custody.”

Mar realizes she is shaking. She buries her face in Lizzie’s neck, inhales her fresh, clean, Lizzie scent and begins to cry quietly. This is her baby, her daughter. She is holding her daughter. She looks up at him, tears running down her cheeks. “You better not be bullshitting me,” she whispers.

Tentatively, he reaches out and brushes a tear away, looks down at the dew on his fingertip. “I’m not, Mar, I swear to you, I’m not. She needs you.” He looks away, and then back at her. “I need you,” he admits.

It is surprising how quickly her wonder turns to anger. Her head snaps up, “You…Cover your ears, Lizzie. Good girl. You lying prick! How dare you say that! You used me.”

“I didn’t, Mar. I didn’t use you. I was confused.”

“Confused? Do you know how many lives you hurt because you were confused? Jesus Christ on a broomstick, Jack, you almost killed me with your confusion. And what about Sy? Do you realize how much you hurt Sy? Do you?”

“I know. We talked some. I know he’s here visiting Diane. I’ll go see him later today and apologize in person. I didn’t know about that, though, Mar. I swear.”

“And what about Shirley? Get down, Picasso! Jesus! Stupid dog!”

“She’s not stupid, Mommy.”

“You’re supposed to have your ears covered, Lizzie.”

“I do, but you’re screaming.”

“Oh. Sorry.”  She turns back to Jack, but forgets to lower her voice as her indignation rises. “What about Shirley and Dylan? That weapon of mass destruction you called your lawyer almost cost them their jobs! And don’t forget about my father!”

“Mommy! You’re yelling in my ear!”

“I’m sorry, sugar!” She kisses Lizzie’s ear. “My father,” she continues, almost without pause, “taking Lizzie broke his heart! He didn’t need that shit! And then, my dad’s so freaked about me, he hid all the kitchen knives! Do you know what it’s like to cut a tomato with a plastic knife! Do you?”

“I’m sorry, Mar.”

“Sorry! You’re damn right you’re sorry, Jack Westfield. You’re a sorry sack of shit! I’m sorry, Lizzie. You’re supposed to have you’re ears covered. OK, honey, forget your ears, cover your eyes. No, better, close your eyes and cover your ears. There. Good girl. I’m going to tell you something, buster, and you’d better listen and listen good. This little girl is mine. We can have joint custody, but she’s mine, and you’d better make sure I have the papers to prove it by tomorrow, latest, or I’ll sue your sorry ass. And you’d better live up to your promise. You’d better settle down here, or risk losing seeing her, because from now on, she’s home, get it? She lives here and so, if you want to see her, it’s here. Do you understand?”

Jack bites his lip, a smile playing at their corners.

“Are you laughing at me? Are you? Lizzie, are your eyes still closed? Good girl!” And then, for only the second time in her life, with a forty pound cling-on clutching tightly to her, Mar winds up as best she can and smacks him right across the face. “That’s for everything you’ve put us through!”

And then she bursts into tears. Just like that. A ranting, raving lunatic one second, a crying, hysterical mess the next. She sinks down on the door step, Lizzie buried in her lap. Picasso tries to push herself between Mar and Lizzie, to share Mar’s lap. “Oh, baby, oh Lizzie, sweetheart, you’re home. Baby, it’s so good to see you home,” Mar is crying again.

“Mar?” Diane calls from inside the house. “What is it? What’s going on?”

“Diane! Ohmygod! I have to tell them. Come on, Lizzie. Get up, honey, we have to go tell Dee and Grampo you’re home.”

“Dee?” Lizzie calls.

“Lizzie? Oh, sweet Jesus alive! Is that you?” Diane’s voice comes closer.

Lizzie scrambles to her feet. She pushes the door open and runs to Dee, throws her arms around her. “Dee Dee! I’m home!” she shouts.

“Ohmygod! Don, Don! Get down here! She’s home, Lizzie’s home!”

“Mar?” Jack asks quietly. “Are you OK?”

She looks up at him, her eyes red and puffy. “I hate you,” she says.

He sighs. “I know. It’s OK.”