Winter Garden (23 page)

“So how do—”

“You hang on,” her mother said. “Until your hands are bleeding, and still you do not let go.”

“Is that how you and Dad stayed happy for so long?” Nina asked. Mom reached for the chow mein’s serving spoon. “Of course that is what I am speaking of.”

“Your turn,” Nina said to Mom.

Meredith could have kicked her sister. For once they were actually talking and Nina turned it right back to the game.

Mom stared down at her food. “My favorite thing to do is cook. I love the feel of a fire on a cold night. And . . .” She paused.

Meredith found herself leaning forward.

“And . . . I am afraid of many things.” She picked up her fork and began to eat.

Meredith sat back in amazement. It was impossible to imagine her mother afraid of anything, and yet she’d revealed it, so it must be true. She wanted to ask, What frightens you? but she didn’t have the courage.

“It’s time for my surprise,” Nina said, smiling. “We’re going to Alaska.”

Meredith frowned. “We who?”

“You, me, and Mom.” She reached down and produced three tickets. “On a cruise ship.”

Meredith was too stunned to say anything. She knew she should argue, say she had to work, that the dogs couldn’t be left alone—anything—but the truth was that she wanted to go. She wanted to get away from the orchard and the office and the talk she had to have with Jeff. Daisy could run the warehouse.

Mom looked up slowly. Her face was pale; her blue eyes seemed to burn through the pallor. “You are taking me to Alaska? Why?”

“You said it was your dream,” Nina said simply. Meredith could have kissed her. There was such a gentleness in her sister’s voice. “And you said it, too, Mere.”

“But . . . ,” Mom said, shaking her head.

“We need this,” Nina said. “The three of us. We need to be together and I want Mom to see Alaska.”

“In exchange for the rest of the story,” Mom said.

An awkward pause fell over the table.

“Yes. We want to hear the whole . . . fairy tale, Mom, but this is separate. I saw your face when you said you’d always dreamed of going to Alaska. You have dreamed of this trip. Let Meredith and me take you.”

Mom got up and went to the French doors in the dining room. There, she stared out at the winter garden, which was now in full vibrant bloom. “When do we leave?”

The next morning, Nina stood at the fence line, with her camera in her hands, watching workers stream onto the property. Women headed toward the shed, where they would pack apples from cold storage for shipment around the world; in a few months, Nina knew, they’d be busy sorting the harvest by quality. All up and down the rows, workers in faded jeans, most with jet-black hair, climbed up and down ladders beneath the branches, carefully hand-wrapping the fledgling apples to protect them from bugs and the elements.

She was just about to go back into the house when a dirty blue car pulled in front of the garage and parked. The driver’s door opened. All Nina saw was a shock of gray-threaded black hair and she started to run for him.

“Danny!” she cried, throwing herself into his arms so hard he stumbled backward and hit the car, but still he held on to her.

“You’re not an easy woman to track down, Nina Whitson.”

Smiling, she took him by the hand. “You did okay. Here. Let me show you around the place.”

With an unexpected pride, she showed him around the orchard her father had loved. Now and then she shared memories from her past; mostly she told him about the story her mother was telling.

Finally, she said, “Why are you here?”

He smiled down at her. “First things first, love. Where’s your bedroom?”

“On the second floor.”

“Damn,” he said. “You’re goin’ t’ make me work for it.”

“I’ll make it worth your time. Promise,” she said, kissing his ear.

He carried her up the stairs and into her girlhood room.

“A cheerleader, eh?” he said, glancing at the dusty red and white pom-pom lying in the corner. “How come I never knew that?”

She started unbuttoning his shirt. Her hands were frantic as she undressed him. Anticipation of his touch was an exquisite torture, and when they were both naked and in bed, he began caressing her with an ardor that matched her own. She was on fire for him; there was no other way to put it. And when she came, it was so intense it felt as if she were breaking apart.

Afterward, he rolled over onto one elbow and looked down at her. His face was deeply tanned and lined, the creases at his eyes like tiny white knife marks. His hair had taken flight during their lovemaking, turned into dozens of curly black wings. He was smiling, but there was something pinched in it, and the look in his eyes was almost sad. “You asked why I was here.”

“Give a girl a chance to breathe, won’t you?”

“You’re breathing,” he said quietly. With those two words, and the look in his eyes, she knew it all.

“Okay,” she said, and this time she had to force herself to look at him. “Why are you here?”

“I was in Atlanta. From there, this was nothin’.”

“Atlanta?” she said, but she knew what was in Atlanta. Every journalist did.

“CNN. They’ve offered me my own show. In-depth world stories.” He smiled. “I’m tired, Neens. I’ve been gallivantin’ for decades now, and my bum leg hurts all the time and I’m tired of tryin’ to keep up with the twenty-year-olds. Mostly, though . . . I’m tired of being alone so much. I wouldn’t mind the globe-trottin’ if I had a place to come home to.”

“Congratulations,” she said woodenly.

“Marry me,” he said, and the earnestness in his blue eyes made her want to cry. She thought, absurdly, I should have taken more pictures of him.

“If I said yes,” she said, touching his face, feeling the unfamiliar smoothness of his cheek, “would you forget CNN and stay in Africa with me? Or maybe go to the Middle East, or Malaysia? Could I say on Friday, I need good Thai food, and we’d hop on a plane?”

“We’ve done all that, love.”

“And what would I do in Atlanta? Learn to make the perfect peach pie and welcome you home with a glass of scotch?”

“Come on, Neens. I know who you are.”

“Do you?” Nina felt as if she were falling suddenly. Her stomach ached, her eyes stung. How could she say yes . . . how could she say no? She loved this man. Of that she was sure. But the rest of it? Settling down? A house in the city or a place in the suburbs? A permanent address? How could she handle that? The only life she’d ever wanted was the one she now had. She simply couldn’t plant roots—that was for men like her father and women like her sister, who liked the ground to be level where they stood. And if Danny really loved Nina, he’d know that.

“Just come back to Atlanta with me for the weekend. We’ll talk to people, see what’s available for you. You’re a world-famous photojournalist, for fuck’s sake. They’d be crawlin’ all over themselves to give you a job. Come on, love, give us a chance.”

“I’m going to Alaska with Mom and Meredith.”

“I’ll have you back in time. I swear it.”

“But . . . the fairy tale . . . I have more research to do. I can’t just leave the story. Maybe in two weeks, when we’re done. . . .”

Danny pulled away from her. “There will always be another story to follow, won’t there, Neens?”

“That’s not fair. This is my family history, the promise I made to my dad. You can’t ask me to give that up.”

“Is that what I asked?”

“You know what I mean.”

“ ’Cause I thought I proposed marriage and didn’t get an answer.”

“Give me more time.”

He leaned down and kissed her; this time it was slow and soft and sad. And when he took her in his arms and made love to her again, she learned something new, something she hadn’t known before: sex could mean many things; one of them was good-bye.

Meredith hadn’t been on a vacation without Jeff and the girls in years. As she packed and repacked her suitcase, she found her enthusiasm for the trip growing by leaps and bounds. She had always wanted to go to Alaska.

So why had she never gone?

The question, when it occurred to her, made her pause in her packing. She stared down at the open suitcase on her bed, but instead of seeing the neatly folded white sweater, she saw the blank landscape of her own life.

By and large, she’d been the one who planned family vacations, and she’d always let someone else choose the destination. Jillian had wanted to see the Grand Canyon, so they’d gone camping in the summer; Maddy had always been the Tiki-Girl, and two family vacations in Hawaii had cemented that nickname; and Jeff loved to ski, so they went to Sun Valley every year.

But never had they headed north to Alaska.

Why was that? Why had Meredith been so ready to bypass her own happiness? She’d thought there would be time to unwind those choices, that if she put her children first for nineteen years, she could then shift course and be the one who mattered. As easy as changing lanes while driving. But it hadn’t been like that, not for her anyway. She’d lost too much of herself in parenthood to simply go back to who she’d been before.

As she looked around her room, there were mementos everywhere, bits and pieces of the life she’d lived—photographs of the family, art projects the girls had made over the years, souvenirs she and Jeff had bought together. There, right by the bed, was a photograph she’d looked at every day of her life and yet not really seen in years. In it, she and Jeff were young—kids, really—a pair of newlyweds with a bald, bright-eyed little girl cradled between them. Jeff’s hair was long and wheat-blond, blown by the wind across his sunburned cheeks. And the smile on his face was breathtaking in its honesty.

She’s us, he’d said to Meredith on that day, all those years ago, when they’d held their daughter, Jillian, between them. The best of us.

And suddenly the thought of losing him was more than she could bear. She grabbed her car keys and drove to his office, but once there, when she looked up at him, she realized she was equally afraid of losing herself.

“I wanted to remind you that we’re leaving tomorrow,” she said after what had to be the longest silence in the world.

“I know that.”

“You’re staying at the house, right? The girls are going to be calling you every day, I think. They’re sure you can’t live without me.”

“You think they’re wrong?”

He was close, so close she could have touched him with only the slightest eff ort. She longed suddenly to do it, but she held back. “Are they?”

“When you come home, we’ll talk.”

“What if—” slipped out of her mouth before she realized even that she was going to speak.

“What if what?”

“What if I still don’t know what to say?” she finally said.

“After twenty years?”

“It went by fast.”

“It’s one question, Mere. Are you in love with me?”

One question.

How could the whole of an adult life funnel down to that?

As the silence expanded, he reached for a framed picture on his desk.

“This is for you,” he said.

She looked down at it, feeling the start of tears. It was their wedding picture. He’d kept it on his desk all these years. “You don’t want it on your desk anymore?”

“That’s not why I’m giving it to you.”

He touched her cheek with a gentleness that somehow communicated more than twenty years of being together, of knowing each other, of passion and love and the disappointments that came with both, and she knew he’d given her the picture so that she’d remember them.

She looked up at him. “I never told you I wanted to go to Alaska. I think there were a lot of things I didn’t say.” She could tell by the way he was looking at her that he understood, and all at once she was reminded of how well he knew her. He’d been at her side through graduation and childbirth and her father’s death. He’d been the primary witness to most of her life. When had she stopped talking to him about her dreams? And why?

“I wish you had told me.”

“Yeah. Me, too.”

“Words matter, I guess,” he said finally. “Maybe your dad knew that all along.”

Meredith nodded. How was it that her whole life could be distilled down to that simple truth? Words mattered. Her life had been defined by things said and unsaid, and now her marriage was being undermined by silence. “She’s not who we thought she was, Jeff. My mom, I mean. Sometimes, when she’s telling us the story, it’s like . . . I don’t know. She melts into this other woman. I’m almost afraid of finding out the truth, but I can’t stop. I need to know who she is. Maybe then I’ll know who I am.”

He nodded and came closer. Leaning down, he kissed her cheek. “Safe travels, Mere. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

It was one of those rare crystal-blue days in downtown Seattle when Mount Rainier dominated the city skyline. The waterfront was empty this early in the season; soon, though, the souvenir shops and seafood restaurants along this street would be wall-to-wall tourists. But now the city belonged to locals.

Meredith stared up at the giant cruise ship docked at Pier 66. Dozens of passengers milled around the terminal and lined up for departure.

“You guys ready?” Nina asked, flinging her backpack over one shoulder.

“I don’t know how you can travel so light,” Meredith said, lugging her suitcase behind her as they made their way to the bellmen waiting by the exit doors. They handed off their luggage and headed for the gangplank. As they reached it, Mom stopped suddenly.

Meredith almost ran into her. “Mom? Are you okay?”

Mom tightened the black, high-collared wool coat around her and stared up at the ship.

“Mom?” Meredith said again.

Nina touched Mom’s shoulder. “You crossed the Atlantic by boat, didn’t you?” she said gently.

“With your father,” Mom said. “I don’t remember much of it except this. Boarding. Leaving.”

“You were sick,” Meredith said.

Mom looked surprised. “Yes.”

“Why?” Nina asked. “What was wrong with you?”

“Not now, Nina.” Mom repositioned her purse strap over her shoulder. “Well. Let us go find our rooms.”

At the top of the gangplank, a uniformed man looked at their documents and led them to their side-by-side cabins. “You have places at the early seating for dinner. Here’s your table number. Your luggage will be brought to the cabin. We’re serving cocktails on the bow as we pull out of port.”

“Cocktails?” Nina said. “We’re in. Let’s go, ladies.”

“I will meet you there,” Mom said. “I need a moment to get organized.”

“Okay,” Nina said, “but don’t wait too long. We need to celebrate.”

Meredith followed Nina through the glittering burgundy and blue interior to the jutting rounded bow of the ship. There were hundreds of people on deck, gathered around the swimming pool and along the railing. Black-and-white-uniformed waiters carried bright, umbrella-clad drinks on sparkling silver trays. Over in an area by a food stand, a mariachi band was playing.

Meredith leaned against the railing and sipped her drink. “Are you ever going to tell me about him?”

“Who?”

“Danny.”

“Oh.”

“He was totally hot, by the way, and he flew all the way out to see you. Why didn’t he stick around?”

Behind them, the ship’s horn honked. People all around them clapped and cheered as the giant ship pulled away from the dock. Mom was nowhere to be seen. Big surprise.

“He wants me to move to Atlanta and settle down.”

“You don’t sound very happy about that.”

“Settle down. Me? I don’t just love my career, I live for it. And really, marriage isn’t my thing. Why can’t we just say we’ll keep loving each other and travel until we need wheelchairs?”

Even a month ago, Meredith would have given Nina platitudes, told her that love was the only thing that mattered in life and that Nina was getting to an age where she should start a family, but she had learned a thing or two in the months since Dad’s death. Every choice changed the road you were on and it was too easy to end up going in the wrong direction. Sometimes, settling down was just plain settling. “I admire that about you, Neens. You have a passion and you follow it. You don’t bend for other people.”

“Is love enough? What if I love him but I can’t settle down? What if I never want the white picket fence and a bunch of children running around?”

“It’s all about choices, Neens. No one can tell you what’s right for you.”

“If you had it to do over again, would you still choose Jeff, even with all that’s happened?”

Meredith had never considered that question, but the answer came eff ortlessly. Somehow it was easier to admit out here, with nothing but strangers and water around them. “I’d marry him again.”

Nina put an arm around her. “Yeah,” she said, “but you still think you don’t know what you want.”

“I hate you,” Meredith said.

Nina squeezed her shoulder. “No, you don’t. You love me.” Meredith smiled. “I guess I do.”

The hostess led them to a table by a massive window. Through the glass was miles of empty ocean, the waves tipped in light from a fading sun. As they took their seats, Mom smiled at the hostess and thanked her.

Meredith was so surprised by the warmth in Mom’s smile that she actually paused. For years she’d taken care of her mother, fitting that chore into all the others on her busy schedule. Because of that, she’d rarely really looked at Mom; she’d moved past and around her on the way to Dad. Even in the past months, when so often it had been just the two of them, there were few moments of honest connection. She’d known her mother as distant and icy, and that was how she’d seen her.

But the woman who’d just smiled was someone else entirely. Secrets within secrets. Was that what they’d discover on this trip? That their mother was like one of her precious Russian nesting dolls, and if that were true, would they ever really see the one hidden deep inside?

Handing them menus, the hostess said, “Enjoy your meal,” and left.

When their waiter showed up a few minutes later, none of them had spoken.

“We all need drinks,” Nina said. “Vodka. Russian. Your very best.”

“No way,” Meredith said. “I am not drinking vodka straight shots on my vacation.” She smiled at the waiter. “I’ll have a strawberry daiquiri, please.”

Nina smiled. “Okay. I’ll have a straight shot of vodka and a margarita on the rocks. Lots of salt.”

“The vodka and a glass of wine,” Mom said.

“And the A.A. meeting has come to order,” Meredith said.

Amazingly, Mom smiled.

“To us,” Nina said when the drinks arrived. “To Meredith, Nina, and Anya Whitson. Together for maybe the first time.”

Mom flinched, and Meredith noticed that she didn’t look at them, not even when they touched their glasses together.

Meredith found herself watching Mom closely; she noticed a tiny frown gather at the edges of her mouth when she looked out at the vast blue sea. Only when night fell did she seem to lose that tension in her face. She followed the conversation, added her three new answers to the pot. She drank a second glass of wine but seemed to grow more agitated than relaxed from the alcohol, and when she finished dessert, she stood up almost immediately.

“I am going back to my room,” she said. “Will you join me?”

Nina was on her feet in an instant, but Meredith was slower to respond. “Are you sure, Mom? Maybe you should rest tonight. Tomorrow is okay for the story.”

“Thank you,” her mother said. “But no. Come.” She turned crisply on her heel and walked away.

Meredith and Nina had to rush along behind her through the busy passageways.

They went into their own room and changed into sweats. Meredith had just finished brushing her teeth when Nina came up alongside her, touching her shoulder. “I’m going to show her the picture and ask who the children are.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“That’s because you’re a nice girl who follows the rules and tries to be polite.” She grinned. “I’m the other sister. You can say you knew nothing about it. Will you trust me on this?”

“Sure,” Meredith finally said.

They left their stateroom and went next door.

Mom opened the door and led them into her spacious suite. As expected, the cabin was as neat as a pin; no clothes lay about, no personal items were anywhere. The only unexpected find was a pot of of tea and three cups on the coffee table.

Mom poured herself a cup of tea and then went to a club chair positioned in the corner of the room. She sat down and put a blanket over her lap.

Meredith sat in the love seat opposite her.

“Before you turn out the lights,” Nina said, “I have something to show you, Mom.”

Mom looked up. “Yes?”

Nina moved closer. In what felt to Meredith like slow motion, Nina pulled the photograph out of her pocket and handed it to Mom.

Mom drew in a sharp breath. What little color her face held drained away. “You went through my things?”

“We know the fairy tale takes place in Leningrad and that some of it is real. Who is Vera, Mom?” Nina asked. “And who are these children?”

Mom shook her head. “Do not ask me.”

“We’re your daughters,” Meredith said gently, trying to soften the questions her sister had asked. “We just want to know you.”

“It was what Dad wanted, too,” Nina said.

Mom stared down at the photograph, which vibrated in her shaking hand. The room went so still they could hear the waves hitting the boat far below. “You are right. This is no fairy tale. But if you want to hear the rest of it, you will allow me to tell the story in the only way I can.”

“But who—”

“No questions, Nina. Just listen.” Mom might have looked pale and tired, but her voice was pure steel.

Nina sat down by Meredith, holding her hand. “Okay.”

“Okay, then.” Mom leaned back in the seat. Her finger moved over the photo, feeling its slick surface. For once, the lights were on as she started to speak. “Vera fell in love with Sasha on that day in the Summer Garden, and for her, this is a decision that will never change. Even though her mother disagrees, is afraid of Sasha’s love of poetry, Vera is young and passionately in love with her husband, and when their first child is born, it seems like a miracle. Anastasia, they name her, and she is the light of Vera’s life. When Leo is born the next year, Vera cannot imagine that it is possible to be happier, even though it is a bad time in the Soviet Union. The world knows this, they know of Stalin’s evil. People are disappearing and dying. No one knows this better than Vera and Olga, who still cannot safely say their father’s name. But in June of 1941, it is impossible to worry, or so it seems to Vera as she kneels in the

rich black earth and tends her garden. Here, on the outskirts of the city, she and Sasha have a small plat of land where they grow vegetables to carry them through the long white Leningrad winter. Vera still works in the library, while Sasha studies at university, learning only what Stalin allows. They become good Soviets, or at least quiet ones, for the black vans are everywhere these days. Sasha is only a year away from finishing his degree and he hopes to find a teaching position at one of the universities.

“Mama, look!” Leo calls out to her, holding up a tiny orange carrot, more root still than vegetable. Vera knows she should chastise him, but his smile is so infectious that she is lost. At four he has his father’s golden curls and easy laugh. “Put the carrot back, Leo, it still needs time to grow.”

“I told him not to pull it up,” says five-year-old Anya, who is as serious as her brother is joyous.

“And you were right,” Vera says, struggling not to smile. Though she is only twenty-two years old, the children have turned her into an adult; it is only when she and Sasha are alone that they are really still young.

When Vera finishes with her garden, she gathers up her children, takes one in each hand, and begins the long walk back to their apartment.

It is late afternoon by the time they return to Leningrad, and the streets are crowded with people running and shouting. At first Vera thinks it is just the belye nochi that has energized everyone, but as she reaches the Fontanka Bridge, she begins to hear snippets of conversation, the start of a dozen arguments, a buzz of anxiety.

She hears a squawking sound coming through a speaker and the word—Attention —thrown like a knife into wood. Clutching her children’s hands, she wades into the crowd just as the announcement begins. “Citizens of the Soviet Union . . . at four A.M. without declaration of war . . . German troops have attacked our country. . . .”

The announcement goes on and on, telling them to be good Soviets, to enlist in the Red Army, to resist the enemy, but Vera cannot listen to anymore. All she can think is that she must get home.

The children are crying long before Vera gets back to the apartment near the Moika embankment. She hardly hears them. Though she is a mother, holding her own babies’ hands, she is a daughter, too, and a wife, and it is her mother and husband whom she wants to see now. She takes her children up the dirty staircase, down hallways that are frighteningly quiet. In their own apartment, no lights are on, so it takes her eyes a moment to adjust.

Mama and Olga, still dressed in their work clothes, are at one of the windows, taping newsprint over the glass. At Vera’s return, her mother stumbles back from the window she’s been covering, saying, “Thank God,” and takes Vera in her arms.

“We have things to do quickly,” Mama says, and Olga finishes the window and comes over. Vera can see that Olga has been crying, her freckled cheeks are tracked in tears and her strawberry-blond hair is a mess. Olga has a nervous habit of pulling at her own hair when she is afraid.

“Vera,” Mama says briskly. “You take Olga and go to the store. Buy whatever you can that will last. Buckwheat, honey, sugar, lard. Anything. I will run to the bank and get out all our money.” Then she kneels in front of Leo and Anya. “You will stay here alone and wait for us to return.”

Anya immediately whines. “I want to go with you, Baba.”

Mama touches Anya’s cheek. “Things are different now, even for children.” She gets to her feet and grabs her purse from the other room, checking to make sure that her blue passbook is there.

The three of them leave the apartment, closing the door behind them, hearing the lock click into place. From the other side, there is crying almost immediately.

Vera looks at her mother. “I cannot just leave them here, locked in—”

“From now on, you will do many unimaginable things,” her mother says tiredly. “Now let us go before it is too late.”

Outside, the sky is a beautiful cloudless blue and the lilacs that grow beneath the first-floor windows scent the air. It seems impossible that war hangs over Leningrad on a day like this . . . until they turn the corner and come to the bank, where people are jammed together in a crowd at the closed door, waving their passbooks in the air and screaming; women are crying.