The View from Mount Joy (32 page)

“Your own mother’s wedding’s a pretty big thing.”

“My mother was not a mother to me when I needed her most,” she said as coolly.

“Hmmm, I’d think someone who preaches about forgiveness would learn how to practice it.”

She exhaled a perfect round smoke ring and watched its quivery ascent toward the ceiling. After a moment, I realized that was her answer.

“Well, what about Kirk? He’s a great guy. My best friend, in fact.”

She shrugged. “Sometimes I think it’s just chemistry. Something between—or not between—people that makes them unable to get along.”

“And that lets you off the hook for not even trying to be a sister, an aunt?”

She shrugged again and took a deep inhale of her cigarette. “Is this the kind of interview it’s going to be, Joe? You just criticizing me for not being the perfect daughter, the perfect sister?”

“Okay,” I said, “how come you lie about the Mount Joy thing? I was with you that night, Kristi. I coined the phrase, as I recall. And—”

Kristi laughed. “What, do you want royalties for thinking of the words ‘Mount Joy’?”

“No, I just don’t know why you had to lie about the whole thing. You make it sound like God came to you one night when you were camping and saw the northern lights, but remember:
I was with you.
We were bummed about being out of dope, but then we had a great time watching the sky, and that was it.”

“Joe, a lot of things have to be shaped for dramatic effect. People don’t want to listen to big long sagas these days, they want to listen to short, snappy stories. Stories with punch. I might fabricate the details, but the essence is there.”

“That’s bullshit,” I said, watching as she stubbed out her cigarette. “God didn’t come to you that night. My question is, has He ever really come to you at all?”

“I resent your tone of voice.”

“You can’t answer the question, can you?”

Kristi cocked her eyebrow. “I never expect people who haven’t experienced grace to understand what happened to me.”

“I experience grace every day.”

We stared at each other, holding a duel with our eyes. Her hair—blonder now than it had been the last time I saw her—was piled on top of her head, and suddenly I became aware of something else about her that had changed.

“Oh my God,” I said, breaking the stare to look at her chest. “You got breast implants, didn’t you?”

Kristi gasped a little and then, because she was a fan of impertinence, she laughed.

“Took you long enough to notice.”

“When did you…Why?”

She ran her hands over her silk-covered breasts and then, cupping them, gave them a little boost.

“Do you want to see them?”

“No!”

She laughed again. “They’re real pretty. Not that they weren’t before—they’re just a little prettier and a little bigger now.”

“But why?”

“People today want women to look womanly.”

“Size doesn’t determine femininity, just like size doesn’t determine masculinity.”

Kristi’s smile was as sly as that of a cat burglar coming across an open back door.

“As I recall, Joe, you don’t have to worry about your masculinity.”

I fought hard to ignore the childish pleasure I felt at the compliment.

“What about your abortion?” I said, switching gears. “How come you’ve lied about that?”

“What do you mean?” she asked, tapping her fingers on the arm of the chair.

I rolled my eyes. “You’re a big campaigner for Tuck Drake, Mr. ‘I don’t believe in contraceptives or in premarital or homosexual sex, and I definitely do not believe in abortions under any circumstances.’”

“You do a good impersonation of him,” said Kristi, laughing. “But I’m not campaigning for him; he’s just been a guest on my show is all.”

“A guest—ha. It’s like he’s your new co-host.” I shook my head; I wasn’t going to let her sidetrack me. “You’ve had lots of opportunities to tell woman who are scared and in trouble of your experience.”

“That’s my business, Joe.”

I shook my head. “Everybody’s business is your business, but your own business is no one else’s?”

“Something like that. Joe, these people need guidance. They need someone to tell them what to do because they can’t figure it out for themselves.”

“Man, you’re cold.”

“And how do you even know I ever had an abortion?”

My mouth opened and pushed out a little sound of surprise, a little “uh.”

“Because you told me you did! You called me up and said I might be the father—of course, you couldn’t tell for sure because you were having a high time sleeping around!”

She lit another cigarette and extinguished the match by striking the air with it.

“So now I’m a slut, huh?” Her cheekbones became more prominent as she sucked the cigarette. “The thing of it, Joe,” she said, smoke cloaking her words, “is that whatever I told you doesn’t mean anything. Maybe I was pregnant. Maybe I just said I was, to stir up things a little.”

“Stir up things a little?”

“But you’ll never know, will you, Joe? Because it’s my body and ultimately what happens to it is my business.”

My laugh was riddled with disgust. “Despite telling callers abortion is a sin, you’ve just made quite an argument for the other side.”

She said nothing, staring at me as she smoked.

“So do you really believe in God, Kristi?” I asked as I stood to go. “I guess that’s what I’d like to know the most. Do you really believe?”

“With all my heart and soul.”

“That doesn’t really tell me anything,” I said, “because I doubt that you have either one.”

As I walked across the suite she began to clap. “Is that your ‘Frankly, Scarlett’ line?”

I opened the door, but before I was able to slam shut, she shouted, “Too bad Rhett Butler said it better!”

Twenty-four

“Papa
mon
Joe,” said Flora, laughing, “don’t cry. I’ll be fine!”

“I don’t doubt that,” I said, knuckling away a tear. “It’s the rest of us I’m worried about.”

Jenny smiled, hugging her daughter one last time. Leaving her dorm room had been harder than we thought; Flora seemed perfectly capable of cutting the apron strings that we kept trying to reel her back in with.

“Okay, Joe, I think we should go,” said Jenny. “Flora’s roommate is going to think we’re strange.”

“Oh, my parents were the same way,” offered the young woman who sat on her bed, going through papers.

I held out my arms. “One for the road,” I said as Flora walked into them. “Although for all we know, we might be on the Ventura Freeway and decide we have to come back for more.”

“The Ventura turns into the Hollywood Freeway way before the airport,” said Flora’s roommate. “So I’d catch the 405 in the Valley.”

“Thanks,” I said, and then to Flora, I whispered, “
Tu est la meilleure fille dans le monde.
”

“And you’re the best dad,” she whispered back.
“Merci pour tout.”

I had to pull myself away then or risk dissolving in a puddle at Flora’s feet, which I was certain wouldn’t win her any points with her know-it-all roommate.

“Call me as soon as you get home!” yelled Flora as we left the building. “And tell Ben and Conor I love them!”

Chicken pox had prevented her brothers from going with us to settle Flora in at UC Santa Barbara; they were staying with my mother and Len, their misery over their sister’s leaving compounded by their blistered, itchy skin.

“Can you drive all right,” asked Jenny as we got into the rental car, “or should I?”

I put the keys in the ignition but didn’t switch it on.

“Maybe you’d better,” I said, opening the driver’s door.

“Let’s go by the store,” said Jenny as we left the campus. “That’ll make us feel better.”

“And then maybe we can come back and say good-bye to Flora again,” I said.

Jenny laughed. “And then we’ll go back to the store.”

“And then go back and see Flora.”

She reached across the console and took my hand.

“Did you think it would be this hard?”

“Yes. Did you?”

Jenny shook her head and pressed her lips together, blinking hard.

“Don’t cry,” I said softly, squeezing her hand. “We can’t afford to get into a fiery crash—this is a rental.”

Smiling, she nodded and put both hands on the wheel. She exhaled a puff of air, and after assuring me that she was okay, she said, “Darva would be so pleased.”

I looked out the window, thinking how many times Flora had inspired us to say that.

“That was the
wrong
thing to say,” I said, feeling myself tear up all over again. Trying to steer the emotion in a different direction, I laughed, but if laughter was medicine, there was no way the FDA would approve this weak dosage.

Jenny had been right: walking through Haugland Foods, Santa Barbara, was a tonic.

“You’re back!” said Stella, the woman we’d hired as the store’s general manager. “Just when I thought we could start goofing off.”

“You’ll be fired if you
don’t
goof off,” I said.

“Well, then I’ll just go ask the vendor waiting in my office if he’d like to run off to Mexico with me. He’s awfully cute.”

“Send us a postcard,” I said.

Jenny and I wandered through the aisles, admiring the displays. The produce section was big and bountiful, with the fruits and vegetables looking like props out of a movie set. The floral department had arrangements of the flashy flowers indigenous to California, and the health and fitness aisle had balms and lotions and elixirs that the rest of the country wouldn’t catch onto for another year or two.

I waved to the bakery manager, who held up a danish he was putting on a tray.

“Shall we?” I asked Jenny.

“Well, it
is
the first day of school,” I said, alluding to our tradition of celebrating the start of the school year with donuts.

After we seated ourselves in the little bakery section, with our complimentary coffee (all Haugland Foods offered free coffee) and chocolate donuts, Stella joined us.

“Oh no,” I said. “The trip to Mexico fell through?”

Stella rolled her eyes. “The jerk. All he wanted was my signature on a couple of orders.”

“Men,” said Jenny, rolling her eyes in solidarity.

“So, you got Flora off with a minimum of tears?” asked the manager, pulling a chair up to our table.

“We got her off,” I said.

Stella laughed. “Well, don’t worry—we’ll take good care of her.”

“Please call us as soon as she’s done,” said Jenny. “We’ll want to hear all about her first day here.”

Flora was going to start working at Haugland Foods, cashiering
and
playing her flute in the small stage in the area they called Banyan Square. It was right next to us in the bakery section, and it made me happy to look at the stage, imagining Flora there, delighting shoppers with her runs and trills.

“I’ll videotape it if you like,” said Stella.

“Sure!” said Jenny, and after looking at each other, she and I burst out laughing.

“And then will you take a camera into each of her classes?” I asked. “And her dorm room?”

“And the cafeteria,” said Jenny. “We want to make sure she’s eating healthy.”

By the time the rental car shuttle dropped us off at the airport terminal, we had convinced ourselves that Flora would be fine and that we’d be fine.

“If I can get through that,” said Jenny as we walked to our gate, “Conor’s first day of kindergarten will be a piece of cake.”

“We probably won’t even bother to take him to school,” I said. “We’ll let Ben do it.”

Jenny turned toward a newsstand. “Let’s get something to read.”

I was at the newsstand, debating whether to buy the
LA Times
or the
Santa Barbara Messenger,
when my cell phone rang. The screen read “Kirk’s cell.”

“My man,” I said into the phone. “How’re our ocean floors looking?”

“Polluted,” said Kirk, and even though his passion was the state of our waters, I could tell from his voice he was worried about something else. “Listen, Joe, something happened.”

I braced myself for news I didn’t want to hear while a large woman wearing a Mighty Ducks jersey reached across me to grab a
National Enquirer.

“Are the girls okay? Nance?”

“They’re fine. It’s my mom. Joe, she had a stroke.”

Jenny had sidled up to me and mouthed, “What is it?”

“Kirk,” I mouthed back. “How is she doing?” I said into the phone.

“Not good,” said Kirk, his voice breaking. I heard two deep breaths over the phone, and then he continued. “She was only scheduled to work half a day today and left at the usual time, telling Clarence to bring home some deli food for dinner, because she wasn’t in the mood to cook. He told her he’d take her out for dinner before they went to the library—Thursday night was their library night—and she said okay. When he got home about four hours later, he found her on the kitchen floor. He called the ambulance and then us. She’s in surgery now but…I don’t think it looks good, Joe.”

I wrapped my arm around Jenny and held her close.

“Listen, Kirk, we’re at LAX—we just took Flora to school—”

“That went okay?”

“Okay enough,” I said with a sad laugh. “Listen, I’ll call you as soon as we get back home.”

“You’ve got my cell number?”

“Yup. You hang in there, Kirk. Give our love to everyone.”

“Okay, Joe. Love you, man.”

This time it was my voice that cracked. “Me too.”

“And we’re back from the break, but I’m not going to take any more calls tonight, although you’re still on the air with God. For those of you who saw my PPP program on Sunday, you know that my beloved mother died. I announced it at the end of the show, because I knew I’d break down and I didn’t want to be in front of the TV cameras with the Mascara River running down my face.” There was a pause and sounds of nose blowing.

“My mother would like that—the Mascara River. She was a big reader and liked a surprising turn of phrase. She also liked makeup—she loved all the Perfect Rose products I was able to send her—and swore that they helped her look younger.”

“I can’t believe it,” said Kirk, “she’s plugging her damn skin care crap.”

“My mother, Martha Swenson Casey Selvin—”

“Selwin!” shouted Kirk, Nance, and I.

“—was only sixty-nine years old, but in that all-too short run, she went through a lot. My dad was in an accident and she cared for him until his death. She had her problems—she tried to find consolation in the bottle, although we all know that kind of consolation comes with price tags too high to pay—but she was able to pull herself out of her misery and move into a life of joy and purpose. She met Mr. Selvin—”

“Selwin!”

“—and they settled down to a happy life in Florida, near my brother and his family.”

“Thank God she didn’t say my name,” said Kirk.

“Now, I can’t say my mother’s and my relationship wasn’t fractious—”

“No,” agreed Kirk, “you can’t say that.”

“—but what mother-daughter relationship isn’t?”

Jenny looked at me, and I knew what she was thinking:
Flora’s and mine.

“I was a willful child—you have to be willful to get places—but I know it caused my mother pain, and for this I am sorry. Because I
could
take care of myself at a young age, I figured she just said, ‘Fine, then I won’t have to.’”

“Bitch,” said Kirk, shaking his head.

“It served me from a very early age, knowing that I needed to rely on myself because they’re weren’t always others to rely on, and I consider that self-knowledge a gift, so thanks, Mom.

“Now, my mother’s mother, my grandma, was a very special person to me. It has been said that often a grandchild will resemble its grandparent more than its own parent. Who knows—if I had been blessed to have children, maybe we would have fought like cats and dogs too. Maybe they would have run to my mother for solace, the way I ran to Grandma.” Another pause, more nose blowing.

“What, is she doing coke or something?” asked Kirk.

“One thing I’ve realized in this great, complicated world of ours is that blessings are like seasonings; some are salty, some are sweet, some are bitter, and some are hot.”

“Oh,
brother,
” said Kirk.

“My grandma seasoned my life with sugar and cinnamon and vanilla—and my mother seasoned my life with paprika and curry and pepper. All those blessings—all those seasonings—helped make me the person I am today.”

“Sugar isn’t really a seasoning, is it?” asked Jenny.

“And I know that inside those great gates of Heaven, through which my mother has most recently passed, God has enveloped her in his arms and told her, ‘Your gifts were great, Martha, and your daughter, Kristi, thanks you.’

“I hope all of you listening will pause to think of your own mothers, who not only gave you life but sprinkled it with blessings, and I pray you’ll be grateful for those seasonings—even the bitter ones. Let Jesus’s forgiveness be a model to us and enable us to forgive those extra doses of pepper when we really wanted sugar.

“Remember, God’s just not on the air, He’s all around, He’s everywhere. Good night.”

I switched off the radio and the four of us sat there, mouths slightly open, as if we’d all been in the path of an underground electrical shock.

“If Kristi were here,” said Kirk finally, “I’d kick her in the ass.”

“Oh, Kirk,” Nance scolded. “That wouldn’t be a very nice seasoning.”

“That’d be like horseradish,” I said.

“Or wasabi,” said Kirk.

“Those are condiments,” said Nance. “Can’t anybody tell the difference between a seasoning and a condiment?”

“Well, Kristi can’t,” said Jenny. “She think’s sugar’s a seasoning.”

“When it’s obviously a staple,” said Nance.