Things Remembered (11 page)

She hadn't. “Which ones?”

“Finnish for his father, German for his mother, and English for himself. He taught Marie a little German before she started school, but I suspect she lost most of it by the time she was a teenager.

“Frank was the kind of man who got up in the morning convinced the day ahead was full of possibilities. He passed his thinking on to your mother, teaching her how to laugh and take pleasure from the simple things in life. She got the good things from him, the ordinary from me.”

In a matter of minutes the sky had changed from a soft pink to marigold orange and then to dark blue. The intense heat of the day settled into the bearable warmth of evening in what passed for autumn in the Central Valley.

“That's not true . . .” Karla said. “When Mama talked about home, she always talked about you. She saved stories about Grandpa for special times when we had company. Or when I wanted something we couldn't afford. Then she'd tell me how Grandpa had told her that the best things in life were created with a little bit of stuff and a whole lot of imagination and I'd appreciate something more if I made it myself.”

Anna laughed. “If he told her that once, he told her a hundred times. She used to get so mad at him she'd march off to her room and wouldn't come out for hours.”

“There was another one—when Heather or I would complain that we should be allowed to do something because we'd never done it before, Mama would say she wouldn't dream of breaking such a perfect record.” Karla smiled wistfully. “I would get furious with her and she would tell me I had my grandfather to thank for that bit of wisdom.”

Abruptly, Anna came forward in her chair. “I think I smell the broccoli.”

“Damn.” Karla jumped up and ran into the house. “It's okay,” she called through the window.

Slowly, Anna eased back in the rocker, knowing she had a few minutes before Karla would have dinner on the table. If she'd thought about what she was doing, she would have let the broccoli burn. Moments like the one they'd been sharing were like cattails that had burst and scattered their seeds in the wind.

If she were keeping score, she would count this first day a success. They still had a long way to go to break down the barrier that had kept them apart for nineteen years, but they'd loosened a brick or two. Not bad, considering that up until then nearly every contact had resulted in a new row added to the wall.

Karla came to the door. “It's ready.”

With an effort she worked to keep hidden from her granddaughter, Anna stood. “I'll be there as soon as I wash up.”

Karla held the door for her. “I forgot to tell you I ran into Susan at the store today. She invited me over to see her day care, so I stopped by on my way home.”

Even if the “home” had been unconscious, a throwaway term, it gave Anna hope. “I haven't been there in weeks. Is the new playroom finished? I've been meaning to ask, but keep forgetting.”

“It looked finished to me. The whole house looked great. She and Allen have worked miracles with the place.”

Anna moved down the hallway toward the bathroom, concentrating on each step, resisting the urge to put her hand on the wall for support. By the time she joined Karla at the table, she was short of breath, but recovered faster than usual. Which was something that wasn't supposed to happen. Congestive heart failure didn't get better.

“Did Susan tell you she finally got her degree? Not from Stanford, of course, but a degree just the same,” Anna said as she sat down at the table. “I don't know what her mother would have done without her during the trial. That's how she met Allen, you know. They had a fire alarm go off in the courtroom one day and he showed up with his fire truck. She tripped going down the stairs, he helped her up, they started dating, and the next year they were married. Heather was her maid of honor and Bill was a groomsman.”

“I remember,” Karla said. “I was invited to the wedding, but it was on a Friday evening and I couldn't get off work in time to get here.”

“And all these years I thought you didn't come because you knew I would be there.”

“I don't know that it even occurred to me.” Karla mashed her potato with her fork and added a pat of butter. “Makes you wonder, doesn't it? How often do you suppose we look for slights that aren't there?”

“Is that a general question?”

Karla laughed. “Dangerous territory?”

“A battle with no winners.” Anna had no appetite for old arguments or for the roast on her plate. Still, to please Karla, she took a bite and was surprised how good it tasted.

“Is the little Taylor girl still with Susan?” Anna asked, steering the conversation in a safer direction. “I can't remember whether she was supposed to start school this fall or had another year to go.”

Karla poured herself and Anna a glass of water. “Which one is she?”

“Long black hair . . . blue eyes . . . sharp as a tack.”

“You mean Cindy?”

Anna nodded. “Isn't she something?”

“More than I'd want to handle on a daily basis. Speaking of kids, what do you want to do about Halloween this year?”

“The same thing I've always done. I sit out on the porch and hand out the candy as the kids come up. That way I don't have to answer the door a hundred times and I get a better chance to see all the costumes.” Anna loved Halloween. She believed it was a holiday more filled with magic for children than any other, even Christmas. She hated that adult parties had become the trend, leaving more and more houses dark to the brightly costumed trick-or-treaters.

“Remember the year Grace insisted she had to have that princess costume and then came home mad after she discovered half the girls in the neighborhood had exactly the same outfit?”

It was a night Anna would never forget. “She's always had a need to feel special.”

“Still does,” Karla said reaching for a second helping of potatoes. “And she can be just as big a pain about it now as she was then.”

Anna was surprised at Karla's seeming criticism. It was the first time she'd ever heard her do anything but defend Grace. If it was a peace offering, she wanted to give something in return. “About Andrew Clark . . . I may not like him, but the bank obviously does. Since you've already made the arrangements, I suppose we should go ahead with them.”

“You're too late,” Karla said. “I already changed the appointment.”

Anna took another bite of broccoli. She couldn't remember the last time food had tasted this good or she'd enjoyed a meal more. “Maybe we should try burning something tomorrow night. I haven't had broccoli that tasted this good since . . . since . . . come to think of it, I don't remember broccoli ever tasting this good.”

Chapter

8

T
he next day, on impulse, Karla stopped by the Target in Roseville on her way back from getting her hair cut. With the television weatherman's promise of a dry Halloween, she'd picked up orange and black streamers, paper ghosts to hang from the liquidambar trees by the driveway, a monster for the front door, and ten bags of candy, five of which she personally didn't like and promised herself she would tell Anna to hand out last.

She'd hoped to have the decorating finished before Anna got up from her nap, but had barely cut the top off the pumpkin when she heard her coming down the hallway.

“What's this?” Anna asked. She looked pleased at what she'd found.

“I've never actually carved a pumpkin myself and thought it was about time I learned. Dad always did the honors when we were kids, then Heather took over when we moved in with you, then it was Jim.” In reality, she'd never had any desire to get involved before now.

“Goodness, what a terrible thing to have to admit.” Anna headed for the cupboard that held her medicine, filled her hand with an assortment of multicolored pills and swallowed them with a glass of water. “If you let me help, I promise I won't tell anyone it's your first time.”

“The way it's going, you won't have to tell them. They'll be able to see for themselves.” Karla frowned at the lopsided circle she'd cut. “This is a lot harder than it looks.”

“You need a plan,” Anna announced. “Take one of the pens out of the drawer by the sink and draw your pattern before you start cutting the face. And use that skinny knife in the block, the one with the black handle. First, though, we've got to get the inside cleaned out. There's a spoon with a long handle in the second drawer down. I use it for—

Karla held her hands up in surrender. “I almost forgot how much you like to give orders.”

Anna grinned sheepishly. “I guess I do at that. It's been so long since I've had anyone here that I could boss around it appears I may be trying to make up for lost time.”

“You said the second drawer down?”

“Next to the grater.” Anna peered inside the pumpkin. “I thought we were going to spend the afternoon going over those papers I gave you last night.”

“I looked at them before I went to bed and decided they could wait a couple of days.” Karla found the spoon and started on the pumpkin, scooping the insides into a bowl.

“Do you want me to separate the seeds?”

“What for?”

“To eat. Once they're cleaned and baked, you eat them like sunflower seeds, only I think they're better. I used to make them for you and your sisters every Halloween. I'm surprised you don't remember.”

“Are you sure you're not mixing us up with Mom?”

“Positive. Your mother hated them. Which is probably why she never made them for you.”

Karla went back to scooping while Anna got another bowl for the seeds. The ripe, earthy odor reminded her of another kitchen and conversation about pumpkins when she was ten and lived in Nebraska. “I remember one year Mom cooked a pumpkin she'd saved from Halloween and used it to make pies for Thanksgiving.”

“I remember that, too,” Anna said, her voice animated. “She called me for the recipe. I told her it was far too much work and that canned pumpkin was every bit as good—maybe even better. But she wanted to do something special that year. I don't recall if she said why.”

“Grandma and Grandpa Becker were coming, and she wanted to give them an old-fashioned holiday. Grandma Becker used to tell Dad—” Karla glanced at Anna. She looked away, but not before Karla saw a quick flash of pain pass through her eyes.

After several seconds, Karla said, “I don't know how to tell you about Mom without hurting you. My father's family was a big part of our lives. We spent every Christmas and Thanksgiving with them and almost every Mother's Day and Father's Day. Sometimes they showed up for no reason at all, not even letting us know they were coming. Mom wasn't too thrilled when that happened, but Dad was always excited to see them.”

“I was such a fool,” Anna said. “I like to think I would have realized eventually that caring wasn't the same as interfering, but I don't know that for sure any more than I know if Heather's going to have a boy or girl.”

“She's having a girl,” Karla said. “And she's going to name her Anna Marie.” Heather would be furious when she found out Karla had stolen her surprise. But Heather hadn't talked to Anna's doctor. She still believed there was time to plan ahead for christenings and birthdays and family get-togethers, that the pleasure of anticipation for Anna could outweigh the pleasure of knowing a child was coming that would bear both her and her beloved daughter's names.

Karla would call Heather in a couple of days and explain her reasoning and eventually Heather would forgive her for the breach of confidence, because she would agree that it had been the right thing to do.

“Why are you telling me this now?” Anna asked, her voice bristling with annoyance.

It was not the reaction Karla had expected. “I thought you would like to know.”

“But shouldn't Heather and Bill have been the ones to tell me?” The annoyance had become accusation.

Karla dropped the spoon on the table and reached for the towel to wipe her hands. What had been a pleasant, even a happy moment between them had abruptly turned into an argument. “There's no pleasing you. There never has been. There never will be.”

“Let's not pretend this is anything but what it is. You told me because you feel sorry for me. I don't need that from you. I may be dying, but that doesn't make me special. It's something that happens to everyone sooner or later. Actually, I've been luckier than most. I've beaten the odds by a dozen years and I'm not through yet. As much as I want you to stop hating me before I die, Karla, I'm not willing to exchange it for your pity. And I can't think of any other reason you would tell me something that should have come from Heather.”

“I don't pity you. And I don't hate you. I just don't like you very much. And nothing that's happened between us these past two days has made me change my mind.”