On Home Page 29

  “There’s something I want to give you.” Paloma opened her top dresser drawer and rummaged for a moment, moving fuzzy wool socks and lace underwear aside while Cassidy waited, still a little dizzy from dashing up the stairs. Finally Paloma retrieved a folded piece of notebook paper and held it to her chest as she breathed deeply. She looked into Cassidy’s eyes, her own damp with tears.

  “I loved your father when he was looking at you,” she said at last, still clutching the paper, not quite ready to release it. Whatever this paper was, whatever it contained, was the part of Cassidy’s father that Paloma wanted to hold on to, the part of him that had brought her to West Virginia and kept her here long enough to get attached. It was the part of him that she was mourning. Paloma’s lip quivered as she held the paper out for Cassidy like an offering, her palm up and her head slightly bowed. Cassidy took the paper and her own breathing slowed. She didn’t want to open it yet. She wanted to savor the feeling of there being something unread.

  Paloma watched Cassidy eagerly, and so Cassidy unfolded the paper, opened its creases one at a time like a philologist unearthing an ancient text.

  In the center, in Ken’s scrawling handwriting, still messy, but more intentional than the pieces Cassidy had found in his journal, were a few lines—a poem. The room narrowed as Cassidy squinted at them.

  I have fallen in the flooding river

  all the things crowding my life

  the teacups and trousers

  the hammers and books

  the cooking pots and garden rakes

  are scattered on the surface.

  There is so much to do to make this life perfect.

  I gather all I can in my arms

  and go under

  regain the surface and try again.

  Full of anger the water spews from my mouth.

  And suddenly I see the frightened face of my daughter.

  Comforting her, she carries me

  to the shore.

  Cassidy read the words once, twice, a third time. She couldn’t bear to look at Paloma, so she stared at the notebook paper, imagining her dad writing the words. Paloma watched for a few moments and then quietly retreated from the room, sniffling, leaving Cassidy standing alone . . . and with her father.

  How could she hold this herself? How could she not share this with Noeli?

  Jane

  Jane stared at the mashed potatoes on her tray and thought of Spudnuts. It had been Ding who’d insisted on the Spudnuts, Ding who’d ended up saving her after all.

  Ding and Cal had arrived on the farm within a week of little Harry’s passing, Ding collapsing into Jane’s arms the moment they saw each other. The embrace was familiar, though Jane could sense numerous subtle changes in her cousin since she had last seen her. There was a roundness to her cheeks and hips, and an impatient edge to her sad voice. Her scent had changed too, Jane noticed. What once had been light and flowery had gained a deep, musty note.

  Cal ordered a prefabricated Lustron home and when it was assembled, Jane stood with Ding and Cal in front of the surf-blue, square-sided, space-age steel structure. Cal put an arm around Ding and kissed the top of her head. “A fresh start,” he whispered. It was the first time Jane had heard him speak.

  Cal got a job at Sago Mine, and Ding joined the obstetric ward at St. Joe’s. She and Jane got lunch together most days at a new joint called Kollege Kitchen. They were old ladies there—most of the patrons were students—but the food was good, the music was better, and the service was unparalleled. They could go on like this, Jane thought, forever, and they did, as another five years passed, spinning by as on a turntable. Then one day, over a decade after they’d boarded the West Virginian for Washington, Ding dropped the news.

  Standing behind Jane as she finished her last bit of work before lunch, Ding put a hand on her shoulder. “Thank God Kollege Kitchen is serving those Spudnuts now. I’ve got a terrible craving for something sweet and fried. I have lots of cravings these days.”

  Jane let her magnifying glass rest on its chain against her chest and looked up from the patient file she’d been encoding. “You have, have you?” She raised an eyebrow.

  “Oh, let’s not beat around the bush. I’m pregnant!”

  Jane’s face flushed, and she hid it in Ding’s ponytail as they hugged. So she would be alone after all, doomed to sad aunthood. Another pair of little feet for her to run after on the weekends wouldn’t make a difference, she supposed, but losing Ding again would be her end. She thought of her eight nieces and nephews lined up from tallest to shortest. At least someone needed her.

  “It makes me miss Harry even more.” Ding began to cry. “I remember the excitement like this with him and I’m . . . I’m terrified.”

  “Oh, darling.” Jane pulled away, holding Ding’s shoulders. “Let’s get you some Spudnuts.” They walked out of the hospital with arms around each other’s waists.

  The bell tinkled as they entered Kollege Kitchen, and students swiveled on their stools, then turned back to the counter and continued eating their hot dogs. On the jukebox, Frank Weir proclaimed himself a happy wanderer.

  Ma Curtis, at least, was pleased to see them. “Hello, girls!” she chimed. “Spudnuts are here! We’ve really got ’em!”

  “That’s what we came for!” Ding grinned. They sat at two stools facing the ice cream bar.

  “What is a Spudnut, anyway?” Jane whispered to Ding.

  “A doughnut. Made with spuds.”

  “Now, they’re five cents apiece,” Mrs. Curtis said. “Six cents for cream-filled, or a dozen for fifty-five cents, and believe me, you’ll want a dozen to bring back once you taste them.”

  “Just one for now, please,” Jane said, not overly tempted by the thought of cream-filled potatoes. “And a hot dog with special sauce and onions.”

  “I’ll take a dozen,” Ding said, never one to pass up a deal, and Ma turned to fix up their orders. The bell tinkled again, and Jane turned toward the door, along with the rest of the patrons. A man close to her own age entered and tipped his tan fedora to Mrs. Curtis.

  “John!” Ma beamed.

  “I came to try the famous Spudnuts.” The man grinned back. “Had to see if the rumors were true.”

  Ding and Jane gaped at each other. It was John Hinkle, Ding’s crush from Thompson’s Pharmacy, all grown-up. Though his voice had deepened, gaining a sense of competence and sophistication, it was unmistakably his. He had grown six inches in height, and much more than that in muscle, and his baby face was covered with stubble.

  “And what rumors were those?” Ma asked him.

  “That they’re the best, freshest treat in Upshur County,” John said, removing his hat and hanging it up along with his long tan coat. He sat on the stool beside Jane without glancing at her.

  Ding elbowed her in the ribs. Jane coughed. “John?” she asked. “John Hinkle?”

  He tipped his head slightly, trying to place her, and Jane found it suddenly hard to breathe. How had the gangly teenager behind the drugstore counter turned into this magnificent man?

  “Yes?” John looked from her to Ding, and a smile of recognition spread across his face. “Hey, you two used to come into the shop a lot!”

  Ding smirked. “Yes. I’m sorry about that. Married now. No need to run.” She held up her ring finger and John laughed.

  “How have you been?” Jane asked.

  “That’s certainly a big question for a decade.”

  “How about the highlights?” Janes said as Ma Curtis returned with their Spudnuts and Frank Sinatra began “Young at Heart.” “It looks just like a doughnut!” she cried.

  “What did you expect?” Ding asked. “A potato rolled in powdered sugar?”

  John took a bite of his, and Jane took a deep breath before following suit, Ding close behind.

  “Mmm!” all three said
at once.

  “The highlights I can do,” John said. He had a speck of cream on his chin and Jane was surprised to find herself reaching out to wipe it for him.

  “Thank you, miss,” he said, unembarrassed. “The highlights are—I graduated, finally, and escaped the birds of prey.” He looked at Ding and the three laughed. “Air Cadets at Wesleyan, met a girl at a dance, married, went to war, came back, got divorced. Any questions?”

  “So I suppose you’re a pariah now?” Jane asked.

  John tipped an imaginary hat.

  “Jane’s a pariah too. A widow,” Ding said, sticking her head around Jane and inserting it between them.

  “I’m very sorry to hear that,” John said.

  “Actually,” Jane said, making sure Ma Curtis was nowhere nearby. It was the first time she had said the truth aloud. “We weren’t married.”

  “Well, I’m sorry to hear that, too. Sadder for the poor fellow.”

  “He didn’t die.” Jane took a bite of her Spudnut so she didn’t have to look at John.

  “Even sadder,” John said. “Now he has to live without you.”

  Jane smiled close-lipped, her mouth full of cream, and swallowed. Ding gawked.

  “Since we’re both unattached, would you like to get dinner with me sometime?” John asked.

  Jane took another bite, chewed, and swallowed. “I’d like that very much.”

  “You don’t want your taters?” The woman across the table poked the gravy-covered mound with her fork, returning Jane to the present.

  “You can have them,” Jane said. Oh, John. She tried to bring the feeling of him back to her body. John had been so good to her.

  Cassidy

  Margaret lived in a large ranch-style out on Brushy Fork. Beyond the manicured grassy hill where it sat was the forest, with more hills and valleys covered in pines.

  As Paloma, Jane, and Cassidy walked up the front steps, a round graying woman appeared in the doorway and grinned. “My new roommate,” she bellowed, and moved out to the recently built porch, which still donned lumber stamps on its wooden planks. Paloma beamed.

  “I brought my home inspectors,” she said, motioning toward Cassidy and Jane. She balanced the glass hummingbird carefully in one hand, the creature’s wings lifted as if it might take flight.

  “Come on in, ladies,” Margaret said.

  This was Paloma’s house now. Cassidy took in the Buddha statue resting in the window and smiled as she entered, noticing bookshelves lining several of the walls. On the coffee table sat a blue-green vase of bloodroot and buttercups. Cassidy peeked through the living room into the kitchen and saw cabinets topped with Mason jars, old vases, and Blenko pitchers. Her mom would be happy here. She’d feel like Cassidy had at Noeli’s.

  Jane settled into a lumpy armchair and Cassidy sat near her on the floor, leaned close to the flowers, inhaled their breezy scent, and promptly sneezed. A muscle by her hip tightened with a spasm, a joy of late pregnancy. Abuela would love these flowers, Cassidy thought, remembering her day in the Fontana garden. Noeli had been so happy they were bonding.

  “You two relax,” Margaret said. “I wanted to get your mom’s opinion on furniture placement.” Paloma followed her friend down a hallway and out of sight.

  Grandma Jane reached out and squeezed Cassidy’s hand, her cool skin reassuring. “Your dad is here,” Grandma Jane whispered suddenly, and panic tightened Cassidy’s shoulders. Was she confused? “I can feel him. He’s here with us.” Cassidy sighed with relief and understanding.

  Grandma Jane leaned toward Cassidy’s ear conspiratorially. “I never met the love of my life. The romantic kind, I mean. Your grandpa, Grandpa John, he was wonderful, but he was never my soul mate.”

  Cassidy considered Jane’s earnest face, her eyes crinkling at the sides as she smiled. Grandma Jane wasn’t sad, just reminiscing.

  “He was meant to be the father of my child, and I loved him, I did, but my family is the love of my life.”

  “You’re the love of my life too,” Cassidy said, running her fingers along the edge of the coffee table.

  “Cassidy Christine,” Jane chided, then chuckled as her eyes got a far-off look. “Ding hated her name. My daddy was the only one she let call her by it. Why your father insisted on giving you . . .” She paused, reeling herself back in, and looked at Cassidy. “You don’t owe me a thing, darling, except your fearless, unapologetic happiness.”

  Cassidy swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded. From down the hall, music began to play, and Cassidy recognized it as Plastic People of the Universe, the Czech band.

  “I’m glad your mother found happiness,” Jane went on. “I want you to find that too, wherever you are. Here or California. It doesn’t matter.”

  “Grandma Jane, I . . .” Cassidy swallowed. “I already found the love of my life, I think. Noeli?”

  “Good,” Grandma Jane said. “Don’t you dare let fear or shame get in the way. You go after that love, darling.”

  Cassidy nodded, unable to speak.

  “I told you your dad was here.” Jane pointed to the middle of her coral sweatshirt. “Twice before he was here.” She threw her hands in the air to indicate the world around them. “He waited for the right time, like you did. You had your own timeline for meeting us too. You were finicky—there were a few false starts. You’ve always had some trouble with decisiveness, haven’t you?” Jane laughed and rubbed Cassidy’s belly. “Your dad will be back again,” she said knowingly.

  Before Cassidy could respond, Paloma shimmied down the hallway to join them. Cassidy couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen her mother’s smile look so carefree. Her weight was on her toes and her arms floated as if in water. “Want to dance?” Paloma asked.

  “Sure.” Cassidy stood and went to Paloma. Paloma wrapped her arms around Cassidy’s waist and their bellies touched, making them both laugh. For a moment Cassidy remembered being little, remembered laughing from pure joy, remembered feeling like her joy was entwined with her mother’s, like they were one entity.

  Paloma moved her hands to Cassidy’s shoulders. “You look beautiful, Mom,” Cassidy said. “And happy.”

  Paloma hugged her. “Margaret asked us to stay for dinner,” she said as the song ended.

  “I’ve got some serious Braxton Hicks going on. You stay though. I can get you when you’re ready.”

  “Thank you, Cassidy. I’m sure Margaret can give me a ride.” Paloma hugged her again and went back down the hallway to join her friend.

  “I’m tired, Grandma Jane. I’m going to head out. Are you ready?”

  “Of course, darling.” Cassidy helped her up from the chair and Jane held on to Cassidy’s elbow as they left the house and descended the steps. The moon was beginning to appear above the pines and the green all around them took on an unnaturally vivid hue in the twilight. Cassidy helped Grandma Jane into her seat and then buckled her own seat belt under her bump.

  As they drove in silence, Cassidy thought about her grandma’s words. Could she give Grandma Jane her happiness? Cows stood sleeping on the hills, their heads down.

  After dropping Jane at the care home, Cassidy returned to the farm, where the absence of her parents’ voices rang in her ears. She stood in front of the half-empty bookshelf where her father’s books remained. Paloma had moved them from the coffee table back onto the shelves, but the side where Paloma’s books had been—macrobiotic guides, Tom Robbins novels, biographies of John Lennon—was as empty as an abandoned shopping complex. It felt like Cassidy’s mind. She was dizzy from the wobble between fullness and emptiness, contentment and searching.

  Cassidy was tired, exhausted, really, her feet so swollen that when she flopped herself down on the couch, kicked off her shoes, and heaved them onto the coffee table, her toes stuck out like plump cocktail sausages. But there was no way she could sleep. Every noise
, every animal’s scrambling claws, every branch blown by the wind, made her jump, her head jerking toward the sound.

  It had been the same, these noises, since she was small. As a girl, when Cassidy heard the tapping of leaves on her window, the knowledge that her parents were there protecting her had been all the assurance she’d needed to sleep soundly. Now she would be the parent, she realized. She would have to be the brave one.

  She pictured herself with Noeli, holding hands and giggling as they tiptoed toward the window to look out together. How had she fucked this up?

  A text lit up her phone screen and she scrambled to read it, visions of apologies spurring her on. It was Simon, though, asking if she wanted to get lunch tomorrow. She was the one who would need to do the apologizing.

  I’m kind of broke right now, she responded. How did you know I was here?

  Small town lol. And no problem. It’s on me. C.J.’s? Noon?

  No way. I’ll make it work. Sounds good.

  This was how she’d begin to smooth things over with Simon. She’d be totally forthright. As she thought about the promise of company and the hope of fixing their friendship, Cassidy’s eyes closed and she began to drift, but when her phone buzzed a minute later, she nearly leapt from the couch, causing another bout of round ligament pain, the sharp pull on her side. When she recovered and looked at the screen, she saw she’d missed a call from a restricted number, almost certainly spam. But when the phone buzzed again, she felt nervous. Could it be the nursing home? Was Simon’s number not registering for some reason? He’d probably changed his mind about seeing her. She would understand if he had. Her plump feet felt every fiber of the braided rug below them. She would wait and talk to him in the morning, she decided, letting her eyes close again.

  When the caller called a third time, Cassidy answered. “Hello?”

  Jane

  It was true, John hadn’t been the love of her life. John had been solid and sweet, and he’d made Jane laugh. She’d told him the truth—all of it, and he’d listened as if she were telling him she had returned a hat she’d found unflattering. Jane thought back to his proposal at the river.