“Well,” Aunt Helene said, her arm tightly around Beth’s shoulder, “you weren’t really abused, darling. Mrs. Morgan had two other children, and she was very busy. I’m sure she meant well, but—”
“She put me in a room and shut the door.”
"I know, darling, I know.” Her mother smoothed her hair and kissed her cheek. “You weren’t happy there, and we—Daddy and I—we wanted you so much.” She looked at Ginger. “We couldn’t have any children, and we were hoping to adopt one. So when Beth was brought to the hospital—I had her in my ward for several weeks—I guess I just loved her from the start. We weren’t even sure she was going to make it, and she was such a wonderful, enchanting child, I used to tell my husband about her, and he started coming in to read to her.”
“Such silly books.” Beth was suddenly laughing and crying at the same time. “He tried to read me
Moby Dick
and
A Tale of Two Cities.
”
Her mother was laughing too. “Well, he didn’t know anything about children, but he learned, didn’t he, darling? Anyway, we didn’t know at first that Beth—that we could adopt Beth, but I just had to see her again after she left the hospital. And I found out where she was and visited her, and—"
“And you saw that she didn’t want me.”
“Karen!” Uncle Walter stood up. “I think you need to make it very plain to Beth and to everybody else that she is under some kind of misunderstanding. She was in a convalescent home, as I remember, and once she recovered we were ready and eager to have her come home. Weren’t we?”
My mother shook her head and sat down.
“Karen!” my father insisted. “Beth has made a very unpleasant accusation against us, and—"
“Not you, Uncle Walter,” Beth said. “I don’t remember anything bad about you. Only her. She was the one.”
“I’m sure you’re mistaken. I know how I always felt, and I’m sure we—”
“We,” repeated my mother, looking at him. “We.”
“Of course,” said my father. “We would have taken Beth, just as we did Molly.”
“There was no
we
then,” said my mother angrily. “Then there was only me.”
“Yes,” Beth cried. “There was only you.”
“Yes,” my mother agreed, standing up again. “There was only me. And I had two young boys to look after and
...
and an alcoholic husband.”
My father sat down and looked at his plate.
“I’m sorry, Walter,” my mother said, very, very slowly. “It was a long time ago, and you worked it out finally. You’re a good man now, and you’re a good father now, but then I was all alone, and I couldn’t ... I couldn’t take any more. I couldn’t save the whole world.”
“It wasn’t the whole world,” Beth cried. “It was only me. And I loved you. And I thought you loved me. I thought
...
”
My mother sat down and started to cry. She put her face in her hands, and her shoulders shook.
“I didn’t mean anything,” Ginger said. “I’m sorry. I never should have asked.”
“It’s better you did,” Beth said. “I needed to tell her, to have it out with her. She can’t deny she sent me away. She can’t deny it.”
My mother wasn’t denying anything. She kept on crying, and the rest of us just sat there, listening. My mind was flashing with sounds of screams and crying, and I felt so frightened, I couldn’t move.
Finally Lisa said, “You have to stop being angry, Beth. It seems to me like you’ve got wonderful parents who love you.”
“Yes,” Beth said, “I do. And I love them.”
“So it worked out okay then. My mother-in-law is a very good woman. She’s had to put up with a lot in her life, and it hasn’t been easy for her. Everybody makes mistakes, but as my Uncle Stuart used to say, ‘You have to forgive and forget.’’
“I can forgive,” Beth said, “but I can’t forget.”
“Better to forget.” Jeff was talking now. “Lots of things you have to forget to stay normal.”
“Like what do you have to forget?” Alex asked. “Your problem seems to be you can never remember.”
But Jeff was looking at my father, and Alex followed his eyes and suddenly grew silent. My father continued to sit still, looking down at his empty plate. An alcoholic? My father? No, I couldn’t remember him drinking anything more than Diet Coke or coffee. But my father sat there, stooped over his plate, saying nothing, and my mother’s face was still buried in her hands.
The scared feeling inside me moved up to the top of my head and down into my toes. There wasn’t any part of me that wasn’t scared. I looked at Beth’s red, angry face, and I hated her so much, I thought I would burst.
So many secrets that weren’t mine. So many terrible memories that I was shut out of—that I couldn’t remember, memories that were cruel and that hurt people I loved. I was helpless against all those memories.
It all happened so quickly. I was scared and helpless, and in my head, the screaming began again and went on and on. I put up my hands to my head to make it stop, and inside of it, inside the screaming, I remembered.
“You had a doll,” I cried, pointing my finger at Beth, “a baby doll with a pink dress and a bonnet, and she said it was your doll, not mine.”
“What?
...
What did you say?” Beth turned to look at me, astonished.
My mother lifted her face out of her hands.
“Mommy said it was your doll, and I should play with my own, and I cried because I wanted yours so bad.”
“Now, Molly, you stop that!” Alex said sharply. “You don’t always have to be the center of attention.”
“No.” Beth wrinkled up her face. “No, I never had a doll with a pink dress. I had a Barbie doll that
she
(looking at my mom) gave me once, but I never—"
“Yes, yes, you did.” Now I was crying the way I had then, when I remembered how I had wanted that doll. “And Mommy was mad at me, and I kept crying—it was in the car. Before it happened. And then ... then you let me have it. You said I should stop crying, and you’d let me play with it. You ... you”—I was crying very hard now—”You were nice to me then.”
“I don’t remember,” Beth said. “I don’t remember a baby doll with a pink dress. Are you sure?”
Now I was the one who had to gulp the air in order to continue. “She had such a beautiful face, that doll. But then it happened—and she wasn’t beautiful anymore. Her head broke in pieces in my hands, and I screamed and screamed—
“I don’t remember,” Beth said. “I just don’t remember.”
It was very quiet in the room, and then Jeff began laughing. My father straightened up and looked at him.
“What a wild day!” Jeff said. “This is turning into a real encounter session. Maybe there’s somebody else who wants to unload some fascinating memory that nobody else remembers. No time like the present.”
“Jeff!” my father rumbled.
“Sorry, Dad, but, hey, if nobody else wants to come up with an interesting memory, I’ve got a few I wouldn’t mind sharing with the rest of you.”
My mother was directing one of her concentrated looks at him, and he turned toward her, smiling. “Just kidding, Mom. You know I was just kidding.”
Alex laughed, and Lisa drank some water, and Beth sat down. Aunt Helene hesitated and then returned to her own seat. But nobody wanted any more lasagna, not even me.
Chapter 12
“You’re not really like what I’d thought you’d be,” Beth told me.
We were in the kitchen, and she was getting ready to leave. The grown-ups were out in the hall, talking. I braced myself.
“I mean I thought you were going to be very pretty, and—I don’t mean to insult you, Molly, but you do look a lot like me, I guess, and I’m not exactly a raving beauty.”
I thought I was prettier than she, except for her hair, maybe, but I kept it to myself.
“And I thought you’d be more of a spoiled brat.”
Look who’s talking, I thought, but I kept that to myself too.
“But you’re not really mean or selfish, I guess, even if you are undeveloped. Of course you’re still young.”
She put up her hand to smooth her hair, and the charms on her bracelet danced.
“That is such a beautiful bracelet,” I told her. “Did you get it for a birthday present?”
“What? This?” She looked down at it. “No, it used to be my mom’s. She liked charm bracelets when she was a girl. Actually, I have three others. Do you want it?”
“What?”
She took it off and held it out to me. “Here. It will be something to remember me by.”
“Oh, Beth, I don’t know. It looks so expensive.”
“Go ahead, take it, Molly. I’ve got three others.”
So I took it and slipped it on my wrist. It was so beautiful, I wanted to throw my arms around somebody and kiss her.
But not Beth. I still felt shy and awkward with her. “Thank you, Beth,” I said. “But now you have to take something from me. What have I got that you’d like?”
She was looking at the kitchen window again, and I knew what it was she wanted.
“My earrings,” I said. “I got them for my birthday, and I want you to have them. They’re beautiful, and I want to give you something special.”
She took them and said thank you. But I knew I couldn’t give her, nobody could, what she really wanted.
* * * *
I sat on my mother’s lap after everybody had gone home. We were in the living room—both my parents and I. My dad was smoking a cigarette and sitting in the chair in front of the fan. My mother and I were on the couch. I could hear both of the fans whirring and the sounds of car horns rising up from the street.
“Mom,” I began, “if I had been the one who was hurt and away in the hospital. If it had been me—”
“No!” My mother tightened her arms around me.
“But, Mom, you said you couldn’t take any more. You said you couldn’t save the world. You said you were alone
...
”
My father stubbed out his cigarette and lit another one.
“Now, Molly, I want you to understand one thing. Your father is a good man, a wonderful man, and I wasn’t blaming him.”
“It’s all right, Karen, you can blame me. You should blame me. It’s a long time ago—maybe it isn’t such a long time—eight years ago—but Molly, I drank, and your mother—she threw me out then. The boys remember. They don’t like to talk about it, but they remember.”
“He was always good to them, Molly,” my mom said. “I mean he never hurt them but—."
“But I went off on binges, and I spent money, and I kept getting fired from my jobs.”
“So that’s why I wasn’t myself when the accident happened. I was deep in my own troubles. And your father—well, he came out of it soon after, and he’s been a real rock ever since.”
“But, Mom ...” I needed to ask her the one question that still plagued me.
“I think maybe it’s a good thing Beth spoke up,” said my father. “Maybe we all need to be reminded of things that happened. Maybe if we remember, we won’t make the same mistakes again.”
“She was wrong,” my mother said. “I didn’t send her away—not forever. But I couldn’t take care of her then. I just couldn’t.”
“If I’d been on my feet, you could have,” my father insisted. “So don’t go blaming yourself. I’m the one you should blame. I’m the one Beth should blame. You had too much responsibility for one person.”
“I needed time,” my mother said. “I would have taken her, once she recovered but
...
but
...
then the Lattimores got into it, and everything changed. I would have taken her, but then I was half out of my mind. I was close to cracking up myself. And Mrs. Lattimore kept pressuring me. She was dying to take Beth, and by that time, Beth
...
well, Beth wanted to go with them,”
“Mom!” I tried again. “Mom, if it had been me who was hurt, would you have put me into that foster home?”
My mother’s arms rocked me back and forth. She didn’t answer my question, but I knew what the answer was.
We sat comfortably, quietly, for a little while, listening to the sounds of the fans and the cars below. It was still very hot, and I could feel the heat in my mother’s arms spreading into my own body.
“The most terrible thing,” my mother said finally, “is Beth
...
what I’ve done to Beth. She hates me so much. She’ll always hate me. There’s nothing I can do and nothing I can say. But I was in terrible shape then—and I know I would have taken her, once I got back on my feet again. I know I would have. I just needed time, and if Mrs. Lattimore hadn’t pushed and pushed ...”
“I think Beth understands now,” my dad said. “She’s no dope, and I don’t think she ever realized what you were up against. Okay, she got it off her chest, and she heard what you had to say, and I’m sure she feels better now.”
“Do you really think so?” My mother looked anxiously at him. “Do you think she
...
she’s not so angry at me anymore?”
“I’m sure she isn’t.”
I held up my wrist. “Look, Mom, she gave me her charm bracelet, and before she left, she said she was glad she came.”
My mother let out a breath and nodded. I didn’t tell my mother what I think Beth will always know and what I think all of us know. Nobody said it out loud, not even Beth exactly. But Beth knows and I know that my mother, my aunt could choose only one of us then, and she chose me. Why? It wasn’t because I hadn’t been hurt. It was something else, something more important, something wonderful for me and terrible for Beth. How could she ever forgive my mother or forgive me for being the one she picked? I was glad that Beth’s family loved her the way they did, and I knew I would never, ever be jealous of her again.
My father suddenly laughed out loud. Both of us turned toward him, startled. “That Lisa!” he said. “Did you hear what she said?”
“Can you ever
not
hear what she says?” my mother said impatiently.
“No, no, Karen. I think you missed what she said about
you.
You were out of it then, but she stuck up for you when Beth was carrying on.”
“I never heard that,” said my mother.
“Oh, yes,” I chimed in. “She said something like ‘My mother-in-law is a real good woman,’ and that it’s been hard for you, and that Beth had to forgive and forget.”
“She said
that?
Lisa?”