The Truth About Delilah Blue (9 page)

Lila could wait no longer. She leaned down close to the child. “What’s your name?”

Scorching red splotches flared up on the girl’s cheeks. With careful annunciation, in a voice more suitable to a fifty-nine-year-old smoker, she replied, “Kieran Scarlett Lovett-Moore. Scarlett is spelled with two T’s and Moore is my father’s last name, but he never sees me because Mummy says he ‘has a hard time appreciating the magic that is a child.’” She dabbed her mouth with the corner of her napkin before setting it back on her lap, then resumed studying Lila as if the older girl were made of rutted dinosaur bones held together with a series of supports and wires
and Kieran was determined to make it worth the price of admission.

“How old are you?” asked Lila.

“Seven and two-thirds. As of yesterday.”

“Seven and two-thirds. Well. I guess it doesn’t get much closer than that to eight.”

Kieran stared at her with a solemn face. Lila noticed dark circles beneath the child’s eyes. “Actually, it does.”

Lila didn’t have a casual comeback for this. She turned to Elisabeth. “Are you watching her for a friend?”

“I guess it’s as good a time as any to tell you. You have a baby sister. Half sister, I suppose.”

Lila tried not to appear shocked. How had she missed this possibility? Probability. It had been so many years; it made perfect sense for Elisabeth to have wanted another child. She’d always been a young mother. Only twenty-three when she’d had Lila. Forty-three now.

It didn’t mean Lila had been replaced.

It didn’t.

“Kieran was born close to your birthday, Lila. November twenty-ninth. I tell you, it makes me feel young again to have one so small.”

Some sort of answer was required. Fast. “Wow. That’s fantastic. A sister.” She stared at Kieran’s folded sweater and did her best to appear thrilled. “This is good. Really good news.”

“I sleep in your old bed,” said Kieran. “Only I have new sheets because yours made me sweat.” She pushed her hair out of her face again and offered up a partial apology. “The daisies were pretty, but I need to sleep in cotton because it breathes.”

It was ridiculous how much this irritated Lila. She couldn’t fathom which was worse—the child taking over her bed or insulting her sheets or having rules about breathability. Stupid to be upset. What was the girl to do—sleep on a straw mat? The bed was sitting there, empty. And if the fibers didn’t breathe, they didn’t freaking breathe. But somehow, having those daisies back took on enormous importance. Lila turned to her mother. “Did you keep my sheets? I’d love to have them again.”

“I kept everything. Don’t you worry.”

Lila shot Kieran a look that meant, but hopefully didn’t convey, that she’d won. She cleared her throat. “So Kieran, do you go to school?”

“We call it grade three back home, but if I say that here, no one plays with me at recess. Now I call it third grade.”

“And now they play with you?”

“When the teacher makes them.” The girl turned her attention to her blouse and smoothed away nonexistent wrinkles. She added under her breath, “Which doesn’t even count.”

“It’s your own doing, Kieran,” said Elisabeth. “The teacher shouldn’t have to get involved. There are twenty-one kids in your class. If one child doesn’t want to play, you go play with someone else.”

“That’s what I tried to do on Friday, but they were playing on the big rock and that’s out of bounds.”

“For God’s sake, Kiki, be a child. Children need to imagine and dream. They need to wonder. Try things and fail. Even if it means stepping over the property line now and then.”

Kieran didn’t reply, as busy as she was with controlling her hair in the wind, which had circled back again. She
reached into a small purse, pulled out a plastic headband and slid it onto her head. “I don’t want to get a detention.”

Lila chuckled. “I had so many detentions that any day I went home at three-fifteen felt like a half day.”

Kieran tried to hide her disapproval. She stared at her big sister a moment before croaking to her mother, “She doesn’t look
anything
like her pictures.”

Elisabeth explained. “Kieran was expecting blond hair.”

“I’ve been dying it for years.”

“I like it. Makes us look more like mother and daughter.”

Lila nodded.

“Your little sister has grown up surrounded by photos of you. The mystery of Delilah Blue. Always wanted to know your favorite foods. Your favorite color. Your favorite television shows.”

Lila looked at the child. “I definitely watched
Barney—
that big purple dinosaur. Is that still on?”

“I’m too old for
Barney
.”

“There were always people dropping by to chat about you,” Elisabeth continued. “At night we said prayers for you. I think you’re rather like a celebrity to her.” Elisabeth reached out and pulled Kieran’s short bangs out from beneath the plastic band. “Fix your bangs, sweetie.” Elisabeth smiled apologetically. “She has her father’s forehead.”

“Don’t
.” Scowling, Kieran reached up and fingered her bangs.

“That’s it,” said Elisabeth. “Much prettier that way.”

Lila looked away.

A girl without a mother spends a lifetime watching other girls being mothered. On TV and at school, in the neighborhood and at the mall. She sees them being kissed.
She sees them being grounded. Criticized. She sees the girls complain about curfews, become embarrassed when mothers trail into the school with forgotten lunch bags or homework binders. The girl without a mother of her own will always look away. That way the lie she will tell herself—that hers is a life that is freer—is easier to believe. That she is the lucky one.

Lila grinned. “Do you remember that time you got me safety scissors for school?”

“How could I forget? I woke up the next morning to find you’d cut off the top of my hair. I looked like a balding actuary.”

Laughing, Lila sipped from her water. “I felt so terrible, I cut off my own.”

“Yes, but yours wound up being cute with that teensy short fringe. It was edgy and Queen Street cool. Once I evened it off.”

Ryan returned with the drinks order, rested the tray on the table. “Here we go,” he said, setting the hot chocolate a safe distance from Kieran’s fingers, and the orange juice in front of Lila. As he set both mimosas down in front of Elisabeth, he added, “And two glasses of champagne for you. The juice is freshly squeezed.” He smiled at Kieran. “And don’t you go sneaking a sip, Missy. Then I really will get fired.”

The warning was totally unnecessary, Lila thought. Kieran getting into champagne would never happen before it was legal—if it happened at all. As Lila willed the waiter to leave, Elisabeth held out a camera and asked Ryan, “Would you mind taking our picture? I’d like to remember this day.”

“Sure.” He waited as they squatted beside Kieran’s chair
and fumbled to put their arms around one another. Steadying the camera, Ryan asked, “So what’s the special occasion?”

A flash of light.

Elisabeth nodded toward Lila. “This is my eldest. I haven’t seen her since she was eight years old.”

“Well,” said Ryan. “This
is
a special day.”

“Most special day in my life,” said Elisabeth. When Ryan left, Elisabeth reached forward to pat Lila’s hand. “Did you see the way he looked at you just then? I think he has a crush on you.”

“On me? Try you.”

Elisabeth smiled to herself, sat back in her chair, and held this information close to her chest. “Don’t be ridiculous. He was definitely interested in you. He’s a real sweetheart, don’t you think?”

“No. Yeah, but I don’t really date much.”

“Seriously? Delilah, love is one of life’s great pleasures. It isn’t something you want to miss out on. Especially at your age.”

“I’m not good with guys.”

“What about girls? Surely you have some friends.”

“I was friendly with the girls at school. But that was kind of it. I don’t know. I guess I’m a bit of a loner.”

Elisabeth frowned. “So how do you spend your time?”

“I paint, draw, that kind of thing.”

“What sort of subjects?”

“People mostly.”

“So you study them rather than mix with them.”

Lila laughed. “I guess.”

“Well, I am relieved to hear you’re doing something with all that talent.”

A woman walked by with a
Vanity Fair
magazine in her arms and Lila smiled to herself. It hadn’t taken a double-page spread to bring back Elisabeth after all. “I am. It’s been kind of tight, moneywise, so I’m working as a model at L.A. Arts, where you found me, and absorbing, rather than earning, a fine arts degree. I have nothing better to do while standing in front of the class, so I take mental notes of everything the prof says while I’m there, then come home and get to work.”

“Brilliant. What a smart daughter I have. All you really want is the instruction. In all these years, no one has ever asked to see my degree. I graduated with honors too. I suppose all that work was a bit of a waste.”

“It’s not a waste. I remember your work being wonderful,” said Lila.

Elisabeth broke into a wide smile and ran her hand down her neck. “I don’t know. Sometimes I think my style is too…infantile. It isn’t expressive enough.”

“It is,” said Kieran. “You always say that but it’s not true.”

Elisabeth pressed thin lips together and studied the child. “See now, I can’t tell if you’re being sincere.”

“I am.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

“Then I thank you.”

“So why come all the way out here now?” asked Lila.

“I just knew art would lead us to you. We came here about five months ago and rented a little apartment. The psychic said to head west, and I thought to myself you’d be college age now and it might be worth combing all the student
galleries for your work. That’s how I came across the nude on Melrose.”

“Melrose? The L.A. Arts student gallery is on Beverly.”

“I know. I’d actually just been there a few days before. It was divine justice, I guess. I’d been checking out so many galleries and it was such a hot day. I almost didn’t go in because the place was so upscale; I figured your work couldn’t possibly be in there. Not yet. Not with you being only twenty.” She stopped. “I’m sorry, dear, if that sounds like an insult. It’s just reality. You’re still so young is what I mean.”

“No, I get it.”

“Good. Anyway, there was the nude. The gallery assistant said it was done by the owner’s niece in her first class at L.A. Arts and they were showing it just to please her. Wasn’t worth displaying if you ask me—the girl has a long way to go in terms of understanding light—but I’m thankful it was there. I saw that birthmark on your hip and knew it had to be you. Took a bit of hunting but eventually I found out the sketch was from that class.”

“But why were you looking for my work in galleries in the first place? Why didn’t you just call?”

Elisabeth didn’t seem to have heard. “Bethany Richards was the student’s name. It’s hanging in my living room back at the apartment. Wildly overpriced, but of course I had to have it. I’ll show it to you when you come over.” She laughed. “I have to say, even with the shock and excitement, part of me was disappointed. I’d imagined my daughter as the artist rather than the model. Because of what they say—those who can, do.”

Lila forced a smile. Their second meeting and she’d already disappointed her mother.

“Turns out that was a good thing, because I’d never have recognized your name. Plus it shows your dedication. It isn’t everyone who is willing to go to such lengths to succeed. I’m quite proud of you, Delilah.”

“Don’t tell Dad, okay?”

“He doesn’t know?”

Lila shook her head. “And he never needs to.”

Elisabeth sipped from her drink and continued, “I’d offer to pay for your education myself, but all the years have left me rather broke. My paintings still sell, but not for a whole lot. Your grandmother left me a tiny inheritance and then there was some money the Web site brought in, but it’s been many years and life in either city isn’t cheap.”

“Grandma died?”

“I’m sorry, sweetie. Five years ago.”

Lila was silent a moment. “I’m confused. You came to L.A. months ago and searched through galleries for my work.”

“I did.”

“Why didn’t you just call me? And why did a psychic have to tell you to head west?”

Elisabeth’s expression changed. She stared at Lila, sad. Quiet. A gust of wind played with the edge of her collar, and she leaned forward and took Lila’s hands. Held them tight. So tight Lila’s knuckles were being crushed. “You don’t know what happened, do you?” asked Elisabeth.

“What do you mean?”

“What did your father tell you?”

“About what?”

“About him taking you out here. About me being gone from your life.”

Terrible to have to say it. Forget anger and blame. Right now Lila wanted to just forget and forgive. Just lose the dozen years of limbo and hurt. “I don’t know.”

“Delilah. You can tell me. It’s okay.”

“Just that you were busy. Needed some space. Didn’t have time and stuff.”

Her mother looked away for a moment, closed her eyes, shook her head. “At least he didn’t say I was dead. That was my biggest fear.”

“Why would he—”

“Such
a monster, your father. I mean, I knew it. It’s what the lawyer said he’d tell you. That I didn’t want you.”

Lila didn’t answer, but felt her muscles weaken. Liquefy. Either that or the patio had buckled beneath her chair and she was sinking lower and lower into the ground. Now that the moment was here, Lila didn’t want any answers. What was she thinking, wanting to know why? Why was a terrible question—one people should never ask. She knew that now, and wanted only to clap her hands over her ears and run.

Elisabeth touched her cheek with one hand. “Baby, your dad lied to you.”

Lila held her breath.

“I never washed my hands of you. I dropped you off for a sleepover expecting to see you the next morning. But then your father decided to take you to Florida. To Disneyworld. Did he ever actually take you there?”

Lila thought back to that Saturday in September. “Not exactly. First he said Florida, but when we lined up at the gates, it said Disneyland. He told me we weren’t in Florida and that I must have misheard him—he’d said California. I figured I was just so excited I got it wrong.”