Circle in the Sand (6 page)

Was this separation anxiety normal? Did every mother experience this? Part of the
reason is obvious. But I also consider it is because I’m a twin; I spent much of my
life growing up with someone nearby to love and support me, even when Ned was the
fourth wheel in our group.

At some point during my silent trance, I hear Eric again. “I can hear you thinkin’,”
he says in his over exaggerated Hispanic accent. He always pulls out his Ricky Ricardo
imitation when he thinks he’s in trouble or is trying to be convincing. “Is not goot
when jou do too much thinkin’.”

“There’s nothing to think about,” Jax says. “It’s perfect! We’ve got a great house
on the bay side.”

“What about a car?” I ask, trying to sound practical. Eric’s car was in the shop,
and he’s been driving his border agent truck. “You’ll need the van.”

“It’s covered,” Jax jumps in. “You can take your time packing, getting ready, and
obsessing, and Ned will bring you over later. Sage and I have a little errand to run.”

“Ned’s coming?” Sage says as if that was the only thing she’d heard.

I’m so overwhelmed I can’t come up with another thing to say. I go mute, retreat into
myself as I so often do. Eric tells me he loves me, says he’ll be home early, and
hangs up. He’s been a border patrol agent for almost ten years, and I could probably
count on one hand the amount of days he’s missed. So for him to take time off is probably
not an issue. But the thought of him being with the kids twenty-four seven brings
me nightmarish visions of noses going unwiped, pots corroding, and animals dead at
the bottom of their cages. I can’t let my mind go there, not now, not in front of
them. I make a date with myself to process this when I’m alone.

Jax stares at me, pride tinging her eyes. When I concede I’ve been outnumbered and
outvoted, I try to find the bright side. This could be more enjoyable than getting
my teeth cleaned. I could find it in me to relax and spend quality time with the friends
that I’ve missed so much. I take a deep breath and ready myself for what’s to come.
I clasp my hands together before I realize they are shaking. My first inclination:
lists. Oh, there will be so many lists. First, I need to get these ladies out and
tend to my children. But when I turn toward my youngest, my eyes catch Sage and I’m
startled. She has a desperate hold on Ben in her lap, her lips pressed against his
soft hair. And, there are tears in her eyes.

There is nothing that makes me more uncomfortable than old people, especially when
one of them is my grandmother.

When I was ten-years-old, my grandmother moved from Chicago to California, staying
with us for several days while she waited for her things to arrive at her new house.
Mother would remind me that I should “speak only when spoken to” around Rose. I had
no problem with this rule, but even when she did speak to me, I always said the wrong
thing. One afternoon I had Jax and Emily over to play. We were in the backyard in
my playhouse trying to figure out which of us would be the mommy, the daddy, and the
baby. Grandmother was sitting in the sun reading a book and smoking a cigarette.

“Girls, come here,” she said, mashing the butt out in the tray. We wandered over cautiously.
“It’s not necessary to argue over this. You can all be mommies.” Then she paused,
scanned across all three of our faces. “Better yet, why don’t you pretend you’re three
career women living in a big mansion together? After all, you don’t have to be mommies
if you don’t want to.”

None of us said anything at first. I knew they were waiting for me to respond since
it was my grandmother, but I didn’t know what to say. At last, Jax spoke up with her
arms folded across her chest. “Emily wants to be a mommy. And I’m not gonna to live
in some dumb mansion ever. I’m going to live in a cozy, little beach house.” She turned
to head back to the playhouse, Emily and I following in her wake, holding our breath.
Once inside, my grandmother said, “You live in your beach house. But you’d better
have a damn good job because ocean-front property might as well be a mansion.” I thought
she was mad at Jax’s outburst, but when I peeked out the play window, she was grinning. 

Jax and I step into the lobby of Oak Grove, and it’s like visiting hours in Heaven.
I try to place my finger on what sets me on edge. Is it the odd smell of over-used
fabric softener? The myriad of assisted movement devices being hovered over by hunched
backs? Maybe I’m imagining the looks they give me, as though I’ve somehow stolen their
youth and inhaled it into my body during some sort of soul sucking binge.

A gorgeous decorative fountain stands in the lobby slightly ahead of a check-in desk
for visitors. Elevators on the right lead to the occupants’ private rooms, and in
the back is the dining area as well as several activity rooms. Oak Grove is beautiful,
but not the sort of place someone with our family’s money would end up in. But Grandmother
Rose never did enjoy being alone, and she refused the home nursing set-up my father
had suggested. This way, she can be surrounded by people, be near the ocean, and still
have her every need met.

I trail closely behind Jax, portraying a scared toddler, watching as the lurking eyes
I see gleam her way accompanied with mostly toothy smiles. It’s obvious she spends
a good deal of time here, and I’m already feeling guilty that she sees Rose more than
I do. I will keep that emotion in my pocket, handy for when Grandmother starts in
on me. I hope that will keep me from getting defensive. I don’t want another scene
playing out like the last one when I came here with Dad. Sick or not, that woman knows
where all the buttons are and exactly how to press them.

I don’t recall the last compliment she gave me, but I’d be willing to bet it was veiled.
Things were different when I was a little girl. Grandmother would come back from a
business trip, bringing me something from each country she visited. She’d tell me
all about its significance and why she picked it. She always seemed much happier after
one of her trips. At the end of our conversation, she would hand me the gift and say,
“Get a good job. Don’t wait for a man to take you around the world.”

I can see Rose up ahead, seated next to the piano. I’m sure this means she expects
Jax to play. A walker she didn’t need last time stands next to her chair, like a faithful
servant. Her face lights up when she sees us, which strikes me as odd. She has never
reacted to my presence that way. Not that she doesn’t love me, but I’ve never seen
her get excited about anything, especially anything that had to do with me. Sadness
hits me when I realize her joy must be in seeing Jax. They’ve grown so close lately.

When we reach my grandmother, Jax slows her pace and lets me pass. The smile is still
on Rose’s face. I go right over to her and lean down for a hug. “Hello, Grandmother,”
I say quietly in her ear. “It’s good to see you.”

This is where she usually tells me it’s about time I came for a visit, but when I
pull back she stays silent. She and Jax exchange conspiratory glances that leave me
curious and a little bit jealous. Has she convinced my grandmother to make nice with
me?

“Hey, Rose,” Jax says taking a seat at the piano. “Don’t you look pretty today?”

“Cut the crap, Jax,” she says flatly. “I look hideous. My clothes are swimming on
me and my face looks like a deflated balloon.”

“Agree to disagree?” Jax winks at Rose.

“That’s a lovely scarf,” I say. I smile and shoot my doe eyes to the hunter.

Rose pauses, draws a shaky breath. “Thank you. It covers what would be a lovely shirt,
if I had the boobs I used to.”

I take a seat in the chair next to her. I know it’s the right thing to say, but still
I cringe when I let out, “How are you grandmother?”

“Oh, I’m just dandy. Living it up here at the Plaza.”

Jax startles us both when she belts out a few low notes on the piano. That foreshadowing
music you hear in movies when something bad is about to happen:
Dun, dun, dun duuun
. Grandmother fires her a dirty stare, and I try not to laugh.

She conveniently leaves out her health and says, “I’m fine, Sage. Your father visits
me once or twice a week, and I see Jax here about as much. Maybe more.”

I gaze down in my lap, already guilt-ridden. A moment of silence passes between us
until I feel her hand on mine. “I know you’re busy, and that’s a tough drive,” she
says.

I hear the words, but they don’t register. This is not my grandmother. I should be
happy, vindicated. But the regret and confusion linger and I look up. “I’m sorry it’s
been so long.”

“Well, Jax tells me that boss of yours has you hopping around like a trained seal.”

Okay, now this woman I recognize. I don’t bother to glance over my shoulder at Jax.
She knows. “Grandmother, I’m just working hard, trying to do a good job.”

“Did you get that promotion yet?” she asks, leaning back in her chair.

She knows Christine has been hanging this promotion over my head for more than a year.
It’s exactly the type of job grandmother would have wanted for me, working with clients
that have ultra-high net worth, traveling, enjoying greater financial success. “Not
yet, but I got a new client in San Diego which will have me here more.” Now why did
I go and say that?

“I see.” She pauses, pulls the scarf from around her neck. I glimpse the gorgeous
sapphire pendant hanging from the chain she’s had since I was a little girl. “Is it
hot in here?” she asks fanning herself with the scarf.

I shrug and turn to Jax who copies me. When I look back at Rose she is staring at
me as if she’s aware that whatever she says next will make or break this visit. I
pull my lips tight and will myself to wait it out. I will not speak first. Let her
be the one to cause the disaster. I don’t know how many seconds or minutes go by.
I can hear my stomach grumble, my heart beating. I begin to examine every feature
on her face. She has the same blue eyes I do. Her sagging skin is dotted with coffee-colored
spots and her hair still in that same sixties tight curl with the sides pulled up—the
only difference being that it’s all gray. “So, are you seeing anyone?” she finally
says.

It wasn’t even close to the response I was expecting. Before I can answer, someone
calls Jax’s name. A young man pushing an elderly woman in a wheelchair stops in front
of us.

“Hey, Dante.” Jax rises from the piano and heads over to him.

“Hello, Lydia,” grandmother says to the woman. “Is this your nephew?”

“Yes it is. He’s a troublemaker so watch out for him, ladies.”

“That’s right,” Dante says as he tilts Lydia back a tiny bit. “I’m a bad boy. Ladies
like bad boys, right?”

“Key word being
boy
,” Jax says. “Call us in five years.”

“That’s cold.” Dante shakes his head sending dark braids flying across each side of
his head.

“Yes, he’s my sweetheart.” Lydia reaches up and touches his arm on the chair handle.

Introductions are made all around, and then the two older women talk while Jax and
Dante stand off to the side to speak. I listen as grandmother and Lydia speak about
dinner last night and how dry the chicken was, but at least there were three dessert
choices. I can’t tell if it is an act, but grandmother smiles and laughs through their
whole two-minute conversation.

After Dante rolls his aunt away, Jax plays grandmother’s favorite song on the piano:
Fur Elise. Jax’s father taught her to read music and play the guitar, but most of
the songs she knows on piano she learned on her own. I should be relieved that they
have each other, and I am. But I don’t want to keep being an outsider. Shouldn’t I
be doing all the things that Jax is doing? Maybe I would if only I knew that grandmother
wanted that too.

●●●

“It doesn’t look like you’re in a retirement home to me,” Christine says.

I am at Jax’s house at the desk in her room, live video-chatting with my boss. I do
my best to remain stoic even though all my senses have come alive with memories. She’s
back in her old room. How many times have I slept on this floor, or in that bed? In
this room we talked, laughed, danced, swore, and pledged our undying friendship to
each other over and over.

“I’m at a friend’s house. My grandmother needed to rest and eat dinner, but we’re
going back later.” Jax is actually in the bathroom, packing toiletries for the weekend.
I haven’t decided if I’ll stay both nights at this point, but after seeing Emily,
I’m excited about tonight.

“Did you get Mr. Klein’s priority list?” she says as she swivels in her chair tapping
her pencil. I shouldn’t be surprised that she went back to the office.

“Yes, he emailed me a few minutes ago. I’ll forward it to you.”

“This is the perfect client for you, Sage. You’re getting in with him pretty early
in the game, so you need to stay on top of it.”

“I will,” I say. “I am,” I correct. “I’ve already worked up some preliminaries and
will send them as well.”

“We should be working on this now…together. But I see where your priorities lie.”

“Christine, he said he was going out of town this weekend with his family. He doesn’t
even expect to hear from us until Monday or Tuesday.”

“Which means you need to be ready to run everything by me by Monday morning.”

“And I will…trust me.” I can never understand where this doubt comes from. I have
never let her down. It’s possible she believes it’s because she’s always on my case.
But if she would give me a little freaking breathing room, I’d show her she’s wrong.
In the back of my mind, another thought creeps in. She knows what happened that night.

Christine pauses and picks up her latte from her desk. “Mr. Fitzgerald is having a
party at his home next month. He’s inviting the team and their significant others.
I’ll be bringing David.”

“Oh…how nice of him.” Mr. Fitzgerald is a long-standing client, but also a friend
of Christine’s. We’ve been managing his money for years. A party like that could make
for a potentially explosive situation, knowing that Christine’s husband will be there.
“I’m not sure I have someone to bring.”

“I’m sure you can manage to find a man,” she says.

Her words slice through me, leave me confused. If she found out what happened at the
Christmas party, why has she not confronted me? I won’t be able to get out of this
party, and I don’t want to show up alone. I immediately think of Ned. He’s come to
my rescue before, and I guess I would get over feeling pathetic asking him. “I’ll
work it out. Is there anything else?”

“I guess not.” She reaches forward but stops short. “On second thought, email me tomorrow
morning what you’ve got so far.”

“Okay.”

We both click off and though I’m now obligated to get more work done this weekend,
I can’t help but enjoy the excitement building inside me. A weekend alone with Jax
and Emily—just like old times.