Page 76 of And Still Her Voice
Maggie yelled from upstairs. “Anna! It’s getting dark. Come help me find it.”
I wanted to hear more, but scrambled to the top of the stairs. The ceiling had a giant gaping hole, as if a meteor had struck the roof. I didn’t need a telescope to see the first stars already popping in the sky. Buckets and pots lined the hallway to catch the rain that had poured through.
“They say last winter was the rainiest season we had in history,” Maggie said as she stood waiting for me on the catwalk. “It’s a good thing we’d already moved out.”
I hugged myself, rubbing my arms, imagining my father and Igor all alone in this big, cold house. “I guess he would have frozen to death this winter, if he hadn’t shot his brains out first.”
“Anna, quit being so macabre,” Maggie said, switching on a flashlight. She’d come prepared.
“But it’s true,” I said, walking toward the bedroom he shared with Mom for all those years.
“The same bedroom Wesley and I shared,” Grandma thought-whispered.
“The same bedroom I ran out of years ago, and yes, the same place I stabbed him, or rather you stabbed him,” I thought-whispered back. I hesitated, bracing myself before entering the room smelling of bleach and mold, but also still the stench of unfiltered Camels and Pabst Blue Ribbon. And then there in the middle of the room, under another hole in the ceiling, in front of the smoke smudged fireplace surround—had he tried to keep warm? Was this evidence of his final moments on Earth? I looked at the bed he’d shared with my mother, a ghostly impression of him preserved in the stained mattress. It would take more than just new carpet, plaster, and a fresh coat of paint to cover up this tragedy. I burst out crying.
Maggie did a one-arm side hug around me. “Go ahead. I’m done crying,” she said, as if she were yielding over her reserve of tears. I bawled over Bella, too.
My sister pointed the flashlight toward the closet and then after mustering some courage, I followed her in, immediately inhaling the must of mothballs and cedar. Rummaging through the sparse amount of clothing after Mom had cleared out her stuff, Maggie found a suit, the same one in his wedding photo. She held it up to the light before handing it to me and continuedto look for a shirt. I felt the fabric and then slipped my hand into the pocket, afraid what I might come up with. I pulled out a plastic coin like a poker chip. I took the flashlight from Maggie and shined it on a white AA chip. My heart cracked. I swiped a tear leaking from the corner of my eye and then recognized a shirt next to where the suit had hung. I beamed the light onto the guayabera shirt Dad had worn on the last Easter Sunday I’d ever seen him alive. Yellow now, but still holding Mom’s starch, I grabbed it and walked out. He would be buried in this shirt, also. Under his suit, Mom would never know.
***
We pulled into a dead-end road surrounded by apartment buildings. The sight of five or six kids running around startled me, but then the squeals of laughter under the light of the streetlamps made me smile. “I’m going to drop this stuff off at the mortuary. Let Mom know. It’s upstairs, 9B, the one on the end,” Maggie said, and sped off.
Even through the dark, I could smell the oleanders as I passed through a metal fence made up of what looked like seven-foot spears surrounding the building. The aroma of arroz con pollo wafted out of the apartment as I made my way up to the porch decorated with potted geraniums and hanging ferns. My stomach lurched when I saw the silhouette of my mother through the screen door. She swung the door open, making way for me to step through. Her reluctance like a shield, I moved in for a hug, catching the clean, cool smell of Noxzema. Stiffly, she patted my back and then pulled away. “You’re so bony. Hurry, don’t let the flies in.” The door slammed behind me as if to prevent me from running away again.
“Maggie had to drop stuff off over at—” Mom took my suitcase and walked away. “She’ll be back soon.”
Talk about bony, the house dress she wore seemed to swallow her. She’d aged since I’d seen her last, and the vision shocked me. I used to help her cover her roots, but now she’d stopped coloring her hair altogether, her grey hair like a steel-wool Brillo pad.
All this time, and still she couldn’t look me in the eyes. I wanted to cry. I wanted to be comforted. He was my father, too. I wanted to talk. I didn’t know where to start. Maybe I could have said:I’m sorry about Dad.Or, how’ve you been? Or, I like what you’ve done with the place, except I didn’t know what it looked like before. I recognized some things from the Glendale house, wondering what Grandma might say, but other stuff looked new to me.
Beyond a wood-framed, green nubby couch, the distant city lights shown like fireworks through a picture window. “Like a street scene out of Paris. What a view.” I said, before looking around the small space. “Cozy.”
“La-di-da. We got most of it from the Goodwill. Nothing fancy.”
“I like it.”
Mom peered into my eyes searching for Grandma. “Not that I need your approval anymore, Phoebe.”
“My dear, you did your best under the circumstances.”
“Now that Charley’s gone, why are you still hanging around?” Mom asked.
I heard footsteps outside coming up the stairs and turned to see Michael and Josie storm in like excited puppies, all sweaty and out of breath, the screen door slamming behind them.
“Anna,” Michael squealed, wrapping his wiry arms around me, then pulling away. “I’m as tall as you now.”
Josie, seven and a little more reserved, let me hug her.
***
As I hung outside the galley kitchen watching Mom add the finishing touches to the simmering pot, steam rolling out and fogging up the window to make the kitchen smell delicious, it warmed my heart when I noticed the turquoise bracelet I’d sent her from Oklahoma. “Smells wonderful.” She looked over her shoulder; the steam had also fogged up her glasses.
“Siéntate. You must be hungry.”
At the small yellow and gold-speckled Formica-topped dinette, Michael and Josie sat doing homework, Josie counting on her fingers to do her math problems.
“Maggie found this set at a garage sale over in Glendale,” Mom said, stepping out of the narrow kitchen carrying a pot of scrumptiousness. “People over there like to get rid of stuff to make room for the new.”
