Restoration: A Novel (Contemporary / Women's Fiction) (19 page)

“He’s feeling his losses right now.  Your reward for
raising your children right is you get to send them off into the world as
well-adjusted, independent adults.  It’s what every parent works toward, but
when it happens it’s a bittersweet victory.  As much as parents joke about
having their lives to themselves, it’s a difficult transition.”

“How would you know?”  Tess asked flippantly.

Hillary stopped scraping and looked at her.  “Because I
love your father, and I hurt for him when he’s hurting.  And I know this hurts
him.”

Tess set the remaining dishes on the counter and closed
her eyes.  “I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean it to sound that way.”

“That’s all right.  I know you’re hurting, too.”

“Thank you for making excuses for me, Hillary, but I don’t
deserve them.”  She turned and walked away from her stepmother, her hands on
her hips, shaking her head.  “You’ve been much too nice to me all these years,
and all I’ve been is a thorn in your side.”

“Don’t be silly.”

“Hillary, please!  Let me punish myself even if you
won’t.”

“You haven’t had an easy life, Tess.  I understand that.”

“Who does?  We all have our crosses to carry.  I guess I’m
just bent on crucifying others on mine.  You don’t deserve that.  You married
my father, not his children.  You shouldn’t have to put up with the crap we
dole out.”

“Marrying your father was not a singular selfish act.  I
married into a family.  You’re a part of that family.”

“You’re gracious,” she said over her shoulder to Hillary. 
“I’ve acted like anything but family to you.”

“You’ve kept your distance from me, I know that, and I’ve
respected that distance.  It hurt me at times, and it hurt your father, too,
but I’ve always asked him to leave it be and not say anything to you.  Maybe
that was the wrong approach, but I couldn’t see driving you farther away.  I
wasn’t going anywhere.  I would always be his wife, and you would always be his
daughter.  I held out hope that someday you’d let me be something to you
besides an uninvited guest.”

She didn’t hear Hillary’s stealth footsteps and flinched
when her stepmother rested a hand on her shoulder.

Hillary rubbed Tess’s shoulder.  “I’ll talk with your
father about Florence.  He’ll be fine.”

Tess was too embarrassed to turn around and face her
stepmother.  Instead, she reached across her chest to her shoulder and grasped
Hillary’s hand.  “Thank you, Hillary.”

***

As the family reconvened around the dining room table for
pecan and pumpkin pie, Tess offered her chair to Hillary.  No one said anything
as Hillary sat in the chair relinquished by her stepdaughter, but Tess caught
their questioning eyes, which they promptly shifted to gawk at the desserts
when she glanced around the table.

After overindulging in a gooey piece of pecan pie, she
slipped away from her family and traipsed up the stairs and into the attic. 
Boxes sat neatly stacked along the perimeter where the pitch of the roof
intersected with the attic floor.  She hunched down and pulled one of the boxes
to the middle of the room where the pitch of the roof offered a seven-foot
clearance.

She sat down, flipped open the cardboard flaps and
rummaged through the box.  It hid a pair of disintegrating pom-poms and a green
patch once sewn on Cassie’s high school jacket that depicted a cheerleading
megaphone.  Tess folded the cardboard flaps closed and slid the box back. 
Beads of sweat sprouted along her hairline as she surveyed the attic.

“There you are.”  Cassie’s head popped through the opening
in the floor.  “You disappeared on us.  When this next football game is over,
we’re going to play a game.  Men against the women.”

“How are we going to make fools out of ourselves this
year?”

“You didn’t like last year’s game of charades?”

“Everything Brice tried imitating looked like a dog
humping someone’s leg.”

“He’s not on our team this year.”

Tess rolled her eyes.  “Thank God.”

“You abdicated your chair next to Dad in favor of
Hillary.”

“She’s his wife.”

“Finally recognizing that?”

“Can you just leave it alone?”

“I’m sorry.  It was thoughtful of you, and I wanted you to
know that.”  Cassie took the last few steps up and stood next to Tess.  “What
are you doing up here?”

“Seeing where Dad stashed some of my old paintings.”

Cassie scanned the attic.  “I remember the walls in your
room used to be covered with your drawings.  You were going to be the next
Picasso.”

“Dali.”

“That’s right.  The freaky guy with the big eyes and
mustache.  You always said he didn’t take drugs, but his paintings sure looked
like they were painted during some serious mind trips.”

“He didn’t need drugs.  He had creative vision.”

“So, whatever happened to all that?”

“To what?”

“Being the next Dali.”

“The same thing that happened to your horseback riding
career.”

“Oh yeah, I was going to be an Olympic equestrian.  All
those lessons I took.  The things we dream we’ll be when we’re young.”  Cassie
smiled, remembering.

“Now you’re going to be a mother.”

“Yeah.”  Her smile faded as she gazed uneasily at Tess. 
“That’s one of the reasons I came looking for you.  You didn’t seem excited for
us when we announced it at dinner.  Is there something wrong?”

“Aren’t you nervous?”

“No,” she shook her head.  “Why should I be?”

“Because you’re Alish Olsen’s daughter.”

“Is my womb corrupted by that?”

Tess turned her gaze toward the boxes in the attic.  “You
have to be worried about what’s in our gene pool.” 

“I don’t know what happened with our mother, but that
doesn’t make me afraid to be one.  My heart will guide me in this.  I’ll do the
right things.”

“I wouldn’t trust my instincts.”

“What are you saying?  You have good instincts.”

“Survival instincts.  I’m afraid those kind aren’t good
for nurturing and caring for another.”  She thought of Ben.  “Have you told our
mother?”

“No, I wanted to tell Dad first.  Brad and I thought
announcing it on Thanksgiving would be a nice way to share the news for the
first time.  We haven’t told his family yet.  We’re calling them in a little
while.  The next time I speak with Mom, I’ll tell her.”

“Don’t take any parenting tips from her.”

“Brad and I will be fine.”  Cassie reached out and ran her
fingers down her sister’s arm.  “Don’t worry about us.”

She turned her head and looked at Cassie’s hand on her
arm, acknowledging the comfort her older sister expressed with her touch.

 “You’re brave, Cassie.  I can’t even fathom raising a
kitten, let alone bringing a human life into this world.”

“You have to have a man first.”  Her tone changed from
serious to playful.  She hooked her finger around Tess’s necklace, capturing
her gold charm.  “I’m thankful for Francesca.  What’s that all about?”

Tess plucked Cassie’s finger off her necklace.  “Not what
you’re thinking.”

“Is that from her?”

“Yes.”  Tess drifted toward three boxes stacked in the
middle of the attic.  Strands of tinsel hung from the sides of the top box. 

“Giving someone jewelry is an intimate gesture.  So,
what’s going on?  You hinted at it over dinner.  You can tell me.”

“There’s nothing going on.”

“You never mention any men in your life, you show up at
Thanksgiving alone, again,” Cassie said, emphasizing the last two words.  “You
give thanks for some mysterious woman named Francesca, which happens to sound
like an Italian name, and then you casually mention you’re moving to Italy.”

Tess opened the top of a box and pulled out a red and
green Christmas stocking with a reindeer appliqué on it. 

“Cassie, I appreciate you playing the open-minded big
sister, but I hate to disappoint you.  I’m not a lesbian.”

“What about the necklace?”  Cassie asked as if it proved
her suspicions.  “You know it doesn’t make a difference to me.”

“I get gifts from men, too.  Do you want to see?”  She
pulled something out of her pocket and tossed it to Cassie, who stumbled back
to catch the jingling object.  She looked down at the key she’d caught and then
at Tess. 

“This is a key.  Are you living with someone?”

“No.”

Cassie pursed her lips and scrutinized her sister,
puzzling over the set of clues.

“A woman gives you a necklace.  A man gives you a key. 
You live in New York City.  Okay, okay, I get it.  You’re involved in some
bisexual ménage a` trios.”

“Keep New York out of this.  California is the land of the
unconventional.”

“So what’s going on?”

“I’ll tell you once I’ve figured it out.”

“No, you won’t.”  Cassie rubbed her thumb along the teeth
of the key, staring at Tess.  “Just like every other thing about your life you
never share with me, you’ll keep it locked away.”

“I guess I just never like the lectures that follow.”

“I only sound like I’m lecturing because I’m usually the
only one saying anything.”  Cassie held up the key.  “It’s too bad you won’t
give me one of these to open you up.”

Tess reached into the box and lifted out a poorly formed
stocking made from cardboard with a string looped through.  Tiny scabs of green
glitter were glued to the squat decoration.  “I always hated this ornament.”

“It’s pretty hideous.”

“We should pull up a board and stash it under there.”

“Brice would be crushed.  I think he was in first grade
when he made that.  It’s the only thing he really gets sentimental over.”

“What does sentimental look like on him?  A high five?  He
always insists on hanging it right in the front of the tree where everyone can
see it.  It’s such an eyesore.”

“There’s a tradition for you, quirky as it is.”

Tess smirked at her sister’s remark.

“Coming back for Christmas?”

“If I’m not in Florence.”

“We’re coming back.  I’m hoping by the time the baby is
three or four that Brad and I can convince everyone to come to California and
spend Christmas with us.  We want to create our own traditions.  I hope you’ll
come.  It’ll make it easier for Hillary and Dad to say yes if you and Brice are
there.

 “And bring someone.  Bring Francesca if you like, but
just bring someone.  You have four years to come out of the closet or work
things out with the mystery man who gives you keys instead of jewelry.”

“Francesca is my friend.  Truth be told, I wish I could
trade our mother in and have her for one instead.”  Tess hurried the cardboard
ornament back into the box.  “I don’t know what Ben is or what I want him to
be.”

“So, that’s the mystery man.  Brice, Brad and Ben.  I like
how that sounds.  It kind of rolls off the tongue.  I can just picture it: the
three B’s enjoying the three F’s every Thanksgiving.”

Tess deserted the stacked boxes and meandered through the
attic, ducking where the roofline slanted, and poked at some of the boxes with
her foot, judging their weight.  Finally, she made her way back to Cassie.

“Are we done up here?”  Cassie asked.

She glanced at Cassie’s stomach.  “So, is anything going
on in there yet?”

She chuckled at Tess’s unusual choice of words.  “I’m not
really showing to the rest of the world, but there’s definitely something
there.  Here, feel for yourself.”  She guided her sister’s hand to her belly.

Tess moved her hand around Cassie’s midsection, staring
off beyond Cassie’s shoulder while she concentrated.  “Oh my God, I feel it. 
There goes your bikini line.”

“I couldn’t hold on to it forever.  Age or parenthood, one
way or the other it was destined to leave me.”

Tess drew her hand away and curled her fingers into a
fist, then unfurled them.

 “Look at you: happily married, optimistic and now you’re
going to be a mother.  I can’t believe you’re so calm about guiding the life of
a child even after seeing the wreckage our own mother caused in her children’s
lives.”

“I’ve worked hard at not being our mother.”

“Me, too, but the end result of your life is so much
different than mine.  You’re the survivor, Cassie, not me.  You’re thriving,
and I merely exist.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I think I just did.”

***

After loudly voting down Brice’s suggestion they play his
fraternity’s favorite drinking game, Tess and her family settled into a
competitive game of Pictionary.  The three women challenged the men and did
their best to win and be more obnoxious.  Brad and Brice goaded Glen into
joining their antics, but he made a better doctor than jokester and even drew
taunts from his own team for his poor imitation of an overbearing opponent.

When the final scores were tallied, Hillary led her team
in a victory dance equaling any over-the-top, end zone celebration.

As he did every year, Glen poured everyone a glass of
sherry, dimmed the lights and put on the first Christmas songs of the season. 
He eased himself onto the sofa next to Hillary, put his arm around her and
kissed her on the forehead.  When Bing Crosby’s voice filled the room, Tess
heard her father quietly humming to Hillary, serenading her.

Brad and Cassie snuggled on the loveseat, their fingers
entwined.  Pregnant Cassie passed on sherry this year.  Her water-filled
wineglass sat on the table in front of her next to Brad’s sherry.  Tess watched
her sister gently guide her husband’s hands over her barely swollen belly that
in a few months would announce to everyone else what the couple had shared with
the family today. 

Brice sat on the floor, compulsively sipping his sherry
while controlling his impulse to down it too quickly.  Tess lounged in a chair
with room for only one and wondered if Ben had driven to Connecticut today.  He
spoke so lovingly about his family.  Although she hadn’t spoken glowingly about
her own, here she was with them, and she knew it was the only place she could
be; the only place that felt right on this day.