Page 14 of And Still Her Voice
***
They were a nice, smart, and beautiful couple who would give me so much to think about. On this short road trip, I’d learn more about everything from family, peace, the pill, and the state of affairs than I would from my parents or the television world news. Even though they spoke of war, their tone toward each other calmed me. It sounded as if she were the melody and he the harmony. And even though they were strangers whom I’d only traveled with for a couple of hours, they made me feel safe. Now I could get a different perspective on the world, and even a different take on how to have a civil discussion—meaning just continue to let others do most of the talking—without any bloodshed.
But maybe I should go back and try harder at this peace thing, starting at home, I thought as I balled up my sweater making a pillow to lean my head on.
“Yes, good idea. Let’s,” Grandma said.
Back home, Grandma always talked about how making peace with the past would make us all better, and yet she continued to drop bombs on me by bringing up her bygone days, like when Dad was put in the Navy hospital after an attempted suicide. “Oh, darling, he was never meant to go to war.”
And what Betsy had said about the poor also made me wonder about how I’d grown up poor, Mom having to take a housecleaning job behind Dad’s back. And yet we were surrounded by so many fancy things and—Grandma bubbled up now inside my head interrupting my thoughts for the millionth time. “Yes, darling, and don’t forget your grandfather and I worked hard for everything you inherited.” She meant my murdered grandfather, not Dad’s stepfather George. “We created a better world filled with opportunities for the family. You should be thankful and feel privileged.”
What I felt was anger and also the shame of not being appreciative for being so much better off than those poor people I saw on the television every night. At least I had a roof over my head, never mind it was a head where Grandma also dwelled. But Mom and Dad worked hard, too. Mom’s family worked very hard.
“Oh yes, of course, they worked for us; such humble people. Antonia was the best cook and there was nothing Pedro couldn’t grow or fix.” Grandma was talking about my other set of Mexican grandparents.
I wondered if Grandma was upset because my Mexican mother was now the queen of what used to be Grandma’s castle. Besides love, one of the perks of marrying Dad, Mom told me, was that she became queen of a castle built on land once owned by her people, the Verdugos.
“Don’t be silly, Anna. I loved your mother.”
“Before or after you stole their land and had their family kicked out?”
“Darling, I’ve told you, I had nothing to do with that,” Grandma said, her internal tone pulsing an exasperated magenta.
“But when you found out what George had done, what did you do to fix things?”
Betsy, eyebrows knitted together, turned a sidelong look. “Fix what things? Who’s George?” I fake coughed again, turning my head toward the window, and tried to silence Grandma.
“I divorced him. He went to prison. I had a son to raise. It wasn’t easy.”
“Oh, like it was easy being his daughter?”
“I know it’s not enough, but it’s my goal to make living amends.”
“Except that you’re sort of dead.” And unfortunately, that’s where I’d come into the story sixteen years ago. Just a little collateral damage, I’d say.
“I promise. You’ll see once we go home.”
But going home was not a possibility if the police were after me.
***
After some time, I woke to the sound of the car door slamming. The engine was off. I heard the wind whistling. Through the window, I saw Betsy fighting the gust as she set food out on a picnic table at the edge of a cliff. In the center of the table, wildflowers sprouted from an empty soda bottle that served to anchor down part of a tablecloth. They were making a family holiday out of their trip to protest a war.
Feeling like an uninvited ant at a picnic, I hesitated to join them until my hunger finally won out. “There’s plenty,” Betsy said, handing me a bologna sandwich. I thanked her, taking a seat across from Ben as she ate standing with the baby at her hip.
Ben then relieved Betsy of her motherly duties. “Having a baby, sure changes things,” he said, bouncing Poppy.
I smiled, appreciating the fact that he talked to me like a grown-up.
“My draft number was twenty-three, but I have another year until my deferment takes effect. I’ll get to be here for her first birthday.”
Betsy finished chewing. “I missed my birth control pill one day and voila, she’s what happened.” She gazed at her daughter. “It was my decision to go forward with the pregnancy. Not everyone gets a choice.”
“We did discuss it,” Ben added with a smile. “But in the end, it’s still your body.”
“My parents are so upset, but mostly because we put the cart before the horse.”
I peered at her, tilting my head. “We aren’t married,” she said, holding out her left hand. “Mother always dreamed of a big wedding at the country club.”
