The Truth About Delilah Blue (21 page)

Ransom Park. In the history of parks, it was quite possibly the worst name ever conjured up. Called to mind untraceable phone calls, bundles of unmarked bills, and—the irony was not lost on Lila—kidnappers.

A metal fence, knee high to an adult, chest high to a toddler, had the same white sign dangling every six feet or so, on both the inside and the outside of the fence:
NO ADULTS UNLESS ACCOMPANIED BY CHILDREN
. When Kieran caught sight of it, she’d announced that no one need worry. She’d keep an eye out for unattended adults.

Lila and Elisabeth sat side by side on a swell of grass in the sun while Kieran, dressed like a sixty-four-year-old spinster in thick tights and wool skirt, put her hands on her hips and stared across the grass at the wading pool, where a few children with rolled-up jeans were racing through the
water. Another two girls were perched at the water’s edge trying to float a paper boat. “Why didn’t you tell me there was a pool? I don’t have the right clothes.”

“I didn’t
know
, Kiki,” said Elisabeth. “Just peel off your tights and dip your toes in like the other kids. It doesn’t matter if you get splashed a little.”

Kieran shook her head solemnly and sighed. It was clear that part of her was desperate to be a kid, but she didn’t know how. “It’s not even warm enough for wading pools. Those kids don’t know anything.”

Elisabeth leaned forward and fussed with Kieran’s bangs. “You know I don’t like it when you wear that hair band. It’s too severe for your face.” She sat back and assessed the child.

“Look, Kieran,” said Lila, pointing toward the pool. “There’s a boy wearing his sneakers in the water even.”

“I hope he has another pair, because those are
not
going to be dry for school tomorrow.”

“Then you should hang here with us.” Lila shrugged and leaned back on her elbows. “We’re going to talk about world politics and the depletion of the ozone.”

Kieran huffed in annoyance. “Does this mean you’re going to smoke?”

Elisabeth looked at Lila and laughed. “It’s like living with a prison guard.” She patted Kieran’s leg. “Hardly at all. Now run off and play like the other kids. Try to make a friend.”

Kieran scowled, then stomped down the little hill toward the pool with her arms folded across her chest. Once at the water’s edge, two girls ran past and splashed her, causing Kieran to jump back, indignant, and kick at the water as payback.

When Elisabeth had suggested an afternoon at the park with Kieran, Lila hadn’t been interested. But it turned out to be the perfect place to have her mother all to herself. Her little sister was now too busy policing the other kids to steal away any of Elisabeth’s attention.

“Mum, I’m worried about Kieran.”

“She’s fine. Just a bit uptight.”

“This fascination with lost children. It’s not healthy.”

“Kids have bizarre interests. I find it best to allow it and let them tire of it on their own. If I forbid the milk cartons flat-out, it’ll only feed her obsession. You were obsessed with the foil wrappers from cigarette packages when you were young. Used to go through the garbage trying to find empty packages. I didn’t stop that.”

“I was peeling it to make a silver ball. That’s different.”

“You know what I think? I think now that you’re in Kieran’s life, she’ll start to focus on what is here. Not what is missing.”

“Maybe. But what about that Finn guy who babysits her?”

“What? Finn is a wonderful human being. He’s gifted, you know. Once he comes out of his slump, he’ll be a very famous artist.”

“His place is littered with hash and rolling papers and empty bottles. That’s no place for a child.”

“The creative process is different for everyone. Honestly, Delilah. Your father raised you to make terrible judgments about people. Finn is just lovely. He’s been very good to me.”

Lila debated asking if they were dating. She wasn’t sure she could handle the answer.

Elisabeth lit a cigarette, then stretched back on her
elbows in the grass. She was underdressed in a T-shirt and orange batik wrap skirt that exposed far too much tanned thigh as she crossed one leg over the other, twirling her foot. “I just got these shoes.”

“Nice.”

“Really? You don’t think they’re flashy? All that beading?”

“No. They’re bold.”

“Are you sure? The saleswoman was pushy. But they make my ankles look slim, don’t you think?”

Lila nodded.

“It was such fun, picking you up from school again,” Elisabeth said, rolling onto her side, closer to Lila. “Must have felt a bit like kindergarten to you, though.”

Lila had been mortified. This time Elisabeth hadn’t waited in the parking lot, but came right up to the class. A braless woman in a pale T-shirt knocking at the door and wandering inside the studio to lean against the sinks as if there were a sign out on the street—hand drawn by Lichty, with no hard edges—that announced the need for a studio audience. When Lichty asked if he could help Elisabeth, she’d pointed at Lila and announced she was just picking up her daughter. Lichty’s face had turned toward Lila’s and crumpled into a delighted smile, before he announced, “Miss Mack. Your mommy is here.”

The last five minutes of class had been torture. Not only were the students distracted by the maternal presence, but standing nude in front of her mother made Lila feel vulgar and ashamed. The damaged slut of a daughter, in spite of the obvious pride on Elisabeth’s face.

“No. It was fine that you came.” Lila shifted her mother’s
cloth purse from beside her knees and put on a fake smile.

“A happy surprise.”

“It’s a nice, bright studio.”

“Yeah. But cold.”

“Does your teacher ever bring in outside experts? You know, professionals?”

“Umm…I don’t know. Not yet, anyway.”

“You should tell him your mother is a painter. Tell him I’m from Canada. I bet he’d be interested to bring in a foreign influence, don’t you? It would be fascinating for those sheltered kids to see what’s going on in other parts of the globe. Let them know Los Angeles isn’t the be all and end all of the art world.”

“I don’t think anyone around here thinks that.”

“Thank heavens.”

“Have you ever taught before?”

“I taught at a private art school for a few months after I finally completed my degree. Just as a substitute. Never what I wanted to teach, which was Nature in Oil. Kathleen Digby seemed to have cornered the market on that class, what with her ridiculous field trips to the Butterfly Conservatory. Poor students had to haul all their supplies to Cambridge on a Greyhound bus in the middle of February and get special permission to set up after hours. Do you know how long it takes for oil paints to dry? If I see another smudged monarch butterfly rendering in the lobby of that building, I’ll pull out my own fingernails.”

“I love painting in oil. Even the smell.”

“You have to ventilate, you know. That smell isn’t healthy.”

Lila felt a little gush of warmth in her chest. This was
what her life had been missing. The grim warnings about obscure things that could kill you from someone invested in keeping you very much alive. Her father’s lack of concern for air flow in the laundry room where she painted was absolute. While he may have been cognizant of many other perils, as far as she knew he’d never given her inhalation of art-related toxins the slightest thought. It was a miracle she’d made it this far.

“Anyway, ask your teacher. I could make time.”

“I’ll ask but I doubt he does that kind of thing.”

“What about the scholarship?”

“No word yet.”

Elisabeth watched Kieran by the water for a moment. “Is this man even any good? You don’t want to waste your time in a class if you aren’t even learning.”

“No, he’s good. He’s a Lichtenstein, you know.”

Elisabeth raised her eyebrows.

“A second or third cousin. He’s teaching us…them…to draw as adults, not as children. Actually quoted some great researcher—I forget who—”

“Whom.”

Lila glanced sideways at Elisabeth. “Whom. Anyway, it was a great quote. When a child was asked how he drew, what went through his head, the boy said, ‘First I think. Then I draw my think.’” Lila laughed, tucking flyaway hairs behind her ears. “I really like that. To me, it says so much about not letting our preconceptions get in the way of our work, of what is actually in front of us. It’s best just to stop thinking. It’ll only get you into trouble, you know?”

Elisabeth pulled a bottle of mineral water from her purse and drank, observing her daughter, tightening her lips and nodding. If Lila had ever believed herself to look
more like her mother with her dyed locks, it ended this moment. Seeing Elisabeth’s spiral curls, winking and sparking with ribbons of gold, silver, cinnamon, and wheat, she knew she was wrong. Her own hair was flat, lifeless in comparison. Elisabeth set one hand on top of Lila’s and said, “You should try not to pepper your language with so many questions, sweetheart. You don’t need to seek the other person’s approval when you speak. If you project confidence, you’ll feel confident.”

A gush of cool wind blew in Lila’s face. She busied herself with collecting her hair into a ponytail using a rubber band she’d had around her wrist, then reached up to tug on her lower lip. She couldn’t argue with this. It was a terrible habit, a needy habit. There was something wrong with her. When she spoke, her voice was thinner. “I think it’s time we talk about Dad.”

“Still no explanation?”

“I don’t know that it’s ever coming. Because if he ever changes his mind, it might be too late. He probably won’t remember. His behavior is getting more erratic by the week. He refused a job interview. He came home with a dog and had no idea where he got it. Plus he left when you came over.”

“Taking off was definitely not a case of forgetting. You do know that, don’t you?”

“Maybe. It’s just so weird. And he won’t go to a doctor.”

Elisabeth pulled her close and rested her chin on Lila’s head. “It’s not easy for you. You love him and now you find out he’s someone else.” She smoothed the hair away from Lila’s face. “I wish I could go back and change it all. Forget me. Just for you.”

Tears trickled down Lila’s cheeks.

Elisabeth felt them and pulled Lila upright. “Oh, sweetie, I know it hurts to discuss this.”

“No, it’s not that. It’s just that everything’s so messed up, and I know the whole business with the police is just hovering there, about to happen, and I can’t do anything about it.” She looked at Elisabeth. “And I’m not trying to make you feel guilty. I get why you need to do it. God knows I’d do the same if I were you. But…”

“I should tell you I’ve spoken to the police.”

Lila felt her stomach drop. “You said you’d wait.”

“Don’t panic. I didn’t release your father’s name. I just wanted to find out what would happen once I gave them the go ahead. So I can be prepared as far as you’re concerned. Now that I know the procedure, I don’t want you to witness it.”

“Tell me.”

“Sweetheart, you really don’t want the details…”

“I do. He’s my father. I need to know.”

Elisabeth rolled her tongue around in her mouth as if prolonging the taste of her cigarette. “Okay, but only because I think too much has been kept from you already. After I file the report, a warrant is issued. Then the officers will head up to the house and arrest your father—you might have to help us by telling us when he might be home.”

“They wouldn’t handcuff him, would they?”

“Not unless he resists.”

Pick the wrong moment and Victor was capable of anything: cussing, insulting, fleeing. “Go on.”

“Then they bring him into the station and fingerprint him. Take his mug shot. That sort of thing. Does your father have a lawyer?”

“You can’t do this yet, Mum. You promised you’d wait until I’m ready.”

“I’m waiting, baby, but the fact is you may never be ready.”

“I will. I swear. But with waiting to hear about the scholarship and him bringing me dogs and not having answers, I just can’t take it yet.”

“Okay. But soon.”

“Soon. I promise.”

Her mother kissed her forehead. “Now let’s not talk about it any more today, okay? We’re meant to be enjoying a nice, lazy afternoon.”

Kieran came running up and perched herself on her knees at their feet. Elisabeth reached behind her and ground out her cigarette in the earth like a child fearful of being caught by a parent, but Kieran was too agitated to notice. She pointed across the park to where a few people sat on benches by the play equipment. “That lady looks weird.”

Tall, big-boned, it seemed unlikely this was a lady, in spite of the girlish attire of minidresss, flip-flops, and cardigan. He had a smile the shape of a peanut frozen on his clean-shaven face as he watched over the sandbox area with daisy wicker purse perched on huge hairless knees.

It seemed Ransom had failed here as well. All the effort put into those stern metal signs, the deliberate placement so they could be seen from any place in the park, so easily ignored by potential pedophiles. Lila tried not to stare. “It’s a man.”

Elisabeth looked again. “You think?”

“Look at those feet. They’re size eleven, maybe twelve. And there’s stubble on his face. Maybe we should call the police.”

“What for?” said Elisabeth. “So far the man’s only crime
is his fashion sense. He’s just an old queen, probably hanging out with his grandchild.”

Lila got up on her knees and shielded her eyes from the sun. “Does he even have a child here? If he doesn’t we should definitely call the police.”

Kieran narrowed her eyes. “He wants to kidnap someone, I bet.”

“Don’t you worry about it, Kieran,” said Lila. “We’ll keep an eye on him. Just play on this side of the pond and he won’t be anywhere near you.”

“Isn’t it time to leave yet?” the child whined. “I want to go.”

“Soon,” said Elisabeth.

“I want to go now.”

“Ten minutes. Then we go. I promise,” said Elisabeth. Once Kieran shuffled off, clearly miserable, Elisabeth grinned. “Not often you hear that. A child begging to leave the playground.”

Kieran wandered down toward the stucco shack that housed the changing rooms. She seemed to be studying the walls. Perhaps spying on a caterpillar attempting to climb up the rough plaster. Then again, this was Kieran. She could very well have been inspecting for structural soundness.