Inheriting Edith, page 19
“I feel terrible, leaving you in the lurch like that.”
“Don’t. Really. In the end, it was probably the best thing you could have done, not showing up.”
“Abandoning you for the second time,” added Edith. “I fully intended to come, Arthur, not that that matters much to your side of things. Got myself to the train station and everything; bought the ticket. But then when the train pulled in, I panicked. I couldn’t get on. I was scared.”
“I waited for hours,” confessed Arthur. “Staring out the window of the coffee shop for whom, I didn’t know. Every woman that walked in, I would brace myself.” He laughed unconvincingly. “It was like that children’s book, where the baby bird goes around asking pigs and cows if they’re his mother. Do you know that book?” Edith shook her head. She didn’t. “Doesn’t matter. In the end, it all came out in the wash.” He shrugged his shoulders, a gesture that reminded her exactly of Liza.
“I’m so sorry about Liza,” he said suddenly, reading her mind.
“Liza?” Edith asked, surprised.
“Yes, your daughter. I read about her death in the New York Times.”
“Oh. Yes. Thank you. You were a fan of her work?”
“Well, yes, she was a wonderful writer.” Arthur gave her an apologetic half-grin. “But Liza and I—we were friends.”
“I’m sorry, what?” she asked, sure that she had heard wrong.
“We were friends,” he repeated. “We lost touch sadly, but we were close for a good twenty-year run or so. She was an incredible person.” Edith folded her arms in front of her chest, shielding herself against the shock of his words.
“I debated about whether or not I should tell you today, but I thought it might be nice for you to know.” He paused, taking in Edith’s stature. “Or not.”
“Liza Brennan? My Liza?”
“Yes. Your Liza. I broached the topic of her telling you many times, but she always refused. Said she didn’t want to upset you. Said that if you’d gone to the trouble of keeping me a secret for her entire life, why not just keep up the charade? She was adamant about the fact that my birth was part of your journey, and that since you had always respected hers, she would respect yours.”
“She said that?”
“Word for word.”
“She said that I respected her journey? What does that even mean?” asked Edith, wrinkling her nose at what she considered new age jargon crap.
“Who she was, I guess?” answered Arthur. Edith considered his interpretation.
“I always thought that I was too pushy with Liza, too intrusive with my opinions.”
“It seems you must have let her be on some level,” said Arthur.
Edith unfolded her arms, thinking. It was true that she had never discouraged her daughter from being herself. When she hadn’t wanted to play with dolls, Edith had bought her Lincoln Logs. When Liza had refused to wear a dress, Edith had sewed her pants because there were no suitable ones for little girls in the stores. And of course, there was the typewriter. Even Liza’s trips into the city on the weekends as a teenager Edith had supported, arguing passionately with John on her daughter’s behalf. “She’s an artist, she needs the city,” she had explained, and eventually he had caved.
A great sense of relief washed over Edith, causing her to catch her breath. She had done many things wrong, as a mother, but she had also done a thing or two right. And Liza had been grateful. The proof was here, in Arthur’s living room.
“Are you okay?” asked Arthur. “I’m sorry if I’ve upset you, Edith. My wife told me to keep my mouth shut, asked what the point was, but I felt like you should know.”
“No, I’m okay. Shocked, but okay. Can you tell me more about the two of you? How did you even meet in the first place?”
“After that afternoon—”
“When I stood you up?”
“Yes, that one. After that afternoon, I fought and fought the urge to call you the next day, to give you a piece of my mind, until finally I gave in. I called, and it rang and rang until finally, someone picked up.”
“Liza.”
“Indeed. I almost hung up, but Liza being Liza—she asked me who I was; why I was calling.” Edith had never gotten many phone calls of her own; she could understand Liza’s curiosity.
“I didn’t tell her right away, but something about her voice, I don’t know, she reeled me in.”
“She was like that,” Edith agreed. “Made you feel like the only person in the world, when she was at her best.”
“Exactly. Even as a teenager. Beyond her years. We ended up meeting for coffee in the city, and before I knew it I was spilling my guts to her. Completely inappropriate, I know.”
“Yes, she loved the city. Even as a tiny girl, when we would take day trips in as a family.” Arthur nodded.
“When she was there for college, I was working. We would meet all of the time. I adored her. Eventually, our friendship trumped my need to meet you.” Edith made a face.
“Not in a nasty way, Edith. More in the sense that I had gotten to know this fantastic extension of you—my half-sister, whatever you want to call it—and that was enough.”
“What kind of person did you think Liza was?” Edith asked.
“An eccentric, funny, wonderful one. She had a wisdom about the world that was beyond her years. But there was a certain sadness to her, as well, in the way she saw the world. She was quite lonely, I think. Relationships, hetero ones anyway, seemed to baffle her.”
“Did she tell you she was gay?” Edith asked.
“Not outright.”
“The same with me,” said Edith. “She never told me herself, never talked about it with me. But then, I never asked.”
“I only knew because she brought a date to my wedding. Didn’t call her a date, but I knew.”
“She was at your wedding?”
“She was. And she brought a woman, although of course I can’t remember her name. She seemed so happy with her. Vulnerable in a way I had never seen her before. She presented such a tough façade, you know.”
“Yes, I know,” said Edith, thinking of herself.
“But after that, we lost touch,” Arthur continued. “I had moved here to settle down; she was still in the city, just beginning her writing career. Our lives became too different, I think. But I thought of her often. Thought of calling you when I read about her death—coming full circle—but couldn’t get up the nerve. And then, your email arrived. It was such a nice surprise.”
“Were you alike?”
“Liza and I?” Arthur asked. “In some ways, yes. In other ways, no. In most ways no, actually. Her emotional range—it was something.”
“That’s one way of putting it,” agreed Edith. “She wasn’t well, you know.”
“I know.” He shrugged. “Although, I have to say that I mostly saw her when she was up. That was when she was at her most social.”
“No one could work a room like Liza,” said Edith.
“Did she get that from you?” asked Arthur.
“Me? God no. Socializing has never been my forte. Too shy. And cynical. And judgmental, I suppose. I was better at it when I was young of course, but what wasn’t I better at when I was young?”
“Touché,” agreed Arthur.
“Did you worry about her at all, Arthur?”
“Of course. She was so fragile, underneath that tough exterior. But every time I tried to help, she pushed me away.”
“You know, she killed herself.”
“No. Oh no.” Arthur lowered his gaze to the floor. “That’s terrible, Edith. I’m so sorry.”
“Is that what you mean by fragile?” Edith asked. “Did you think that was something that could happen to her?”
“I suppose. In the back of my mind. Is that a terrible thing to admit? It feels like a terrible thing to admit.”
“I don’t know.” Edith set her drink on a coaster. “I wish she would have told me that she was feeling so desperate.” Edith shook her head. “What an idiot I was.”
“No Edith, you can’t blame yourself.”
“But I do, in a lot of ways. For the mother I was, and wasn’t. Maybe things would have turned out differently for her if I had been another kind of person altogether. Maternal and nurturing instead of—instead of me.” To her great embarrassment, tears began to well in her eyes. “There was too much of a separation between us, and that was my fault. If I had been more vocal and less territorial, maybe she would have felt the freedom to open up, too. About you, about being a lesbian, about feeling so alone that death was the only viable option.” She began to sob. Arthur got up from the couch and crossed to her, kneeling at her side.
“Look at me, blubbering away!” Edith wiped her eyes. “Today was supposed to be about you, for God’s sake. This is ridiculous.” He patted her knee.
“Edith, you did the best you could. Unfortunately, we can’t change who we are just because we’re parents.”
Edith wiped her eyes, trying to compose herself. “I wish I could have seen you and Liza together,” she said.
“I do have one photo,” said Arthur. “From my wedding.”
“You do?”
“Here, let me see if I can find it in our album.” He stood up. “Of course, I have no idea where it is, but my wife will. Sheila?” he called. She popped her highlighted head around the corner, looking very much like one of the sunflowers in the vase on the table in front of her, Edith thought. Her face was perfectly round.
“Yes?” she answered.
“Do you by any chance know where our wedding album is? I wanted to show Edith a photo.”
“Not of—?” Sheila asked, the rest of her body snaking out from around the other side of the wall as she joined them.
“Yes, of Liza,” Arthur answered. “I told her.”
“Good lord, Arthur.” Edith examined the rug. She didn’t want to get involved.
“Sheila, honestly. She’s okay. She wanted to know.”
“Arthur, really.” Sheila sighed heavily. “Fine, I’ll go get it.”
Arthur sat back down on the couch with a forced smile.
“You are okay with this, right, Edith? It hasn’t been too much today, meeting me and then this news?”
“I may be old, but I’m not dead yet. Bombshells are good for me. Keeps the blood flowing,” said Edith, not sure if that was entirely true.
She felt a little dizzy. She wanted to believe it so badly, on this, a good day. A day where she knew who she and Arthur were; a day when she could look at a photo of her daughter and know who she was, too. The urgency not to take a day like this for granted weighed on her heavily, even as she was grateful for it.
“Do you mind me asking what my father was like?” asked Arthur, no doubt feeling the urgency, as well, Edith realized.
“His name was Anthony Clark,” she volunteered. “Handsome, mysterious, confident. He was from Cincinnati, only visiting for the summer.”
“A stud?” asked Arthur, a smile playing across his lips.
“Yes,” said Edith. “A stud. We dated for a month or two and then, well—”
“Me,” finished Arthur.
“Yes, but by the time I knew you existed, he was long gone.”
“He never knew?” asked Arthur.
“No. There was no point. We barely knew one another.” She paused. “And it’s a good thing, too, because he was Catholic. Only reason I know is because he wore a silver cross around his neck. God forbid, his parents may have made us get married.”
“He was Catholic?” Arthur gestured towards the mantel, towards a photo of his family in which he and his son were wearing yarmulkes. “I’m Jewish.”
“Me, too,” said Edith. “Technically, anyway.”
“L’chaim,” offered Arthur.
Edith smiled, feeling a little better now; less like her head was a balloon floating away from her body.
“Here we are,” announced Sheila, returning with a very large white square tucked under her arm. She slid it onto the table.
“Edith, I just want to thank you for coming here today,” she said. “It means so much to Arthur.”
“Oh, you’re welcome,” replied Edith. “It means a great deal to me, too.” Sheila left the room. Edith and Arthur stared at the album as though they expected it to open itself.
“Ah okay, here we go. I’ll just find it for us.” Arthur picked it up. His hands were long and slim, his fingers tapered.
Just like mine, Edith thought, feeling woozy again.
“Here we are,” he said, sliding the open book across the table to Edith. She lost her grasp as she picked it up with her right hand, forgetting that it was weak. The album fell to the floor with a thud.
“Oh God, I’m such a klutz!” she cried out. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s no problem, Edith. This album has been around for thirty-eight years and withstood the grubby paws of two kids. It can certainly handle a little tumble.” He knelt to retrieve it and placed it, open to the photo he had spoken of, directly in Edith’s lap.
The balloon feeling was back. She took a deep breath and looked down, right into Liza’s smiling eyes. Her heart, it swelled in her chest like it was being inflated by a bike pump. She missed her so much.
She was so young here, in this picture. Totally unaware of what would be. Her daughter. She was beautiful, Edith thought. Beautiful in her complexity. The introvert and the extrovert fighting each other always, mired in the darkness that lurked at her core. Edith brought the album closer to her face, to get a better look. Freckles spread across the bridge of Liza’s nose like stardust.
Next to her, to Edith’s disbelief even as she sat in his living room having just learned of their friendship, was Arthur. Her son. Her daughter and her son. Together without her ever having been the wiser.
In the photo, his arm was around Liza, his hand squeezing her shoulder. They looked alike, Edith realized. The eyes. Her eyes. A young Arthur beamed at the camera, seeming to be caught mid-laugh. They both looked so happy. Without her.
She was mad suddenly. Mad at Liza for keeping this from her. Ultimately, it would have brought Edith joy, their friendship, even if she balked at it initially. The journey business was a load of horseshit. Liza had wanted to have one up on Edith; emotional artillery in her arsenal for her next novel, the one she would write when Edith was dead and gone.
“Lovely,” said Edith, closing it with a resounding thwack. It was mean and calculating of Liza, that’s what it was. Her choice to keep Arthur a secret had nothing to do with respect, she was sure of it suddenly.
Outside, Vinnie pulled into the driveway. Edith watched through the window as the back door of the car opened and Lucy tumbled out, her face smeared with ketchup. She skipped across the yard, with Maggie and Esther trailing close behind.
“My ride is here,” said Edith.
“Edith, would you like to have the photo?” Arthur asked.
“Oh no, I couldn’t, it’s part of your wedding album.”
“No, really, have it.” He pulled the plastic back and peeled it from its place. “Here.” Edith took it.
“You’re sure?” she asked.
“Positive.”
“Thank you,” she said, looking down at it again.
“Can we stay in touch?” asked Arthur. “Meet again? I can come out to Sag Harbor next time.”
“Sure,” replied Edith. For all she knew, she’d forget about this morning in a week; forget that she had met him at all; forget the roller coaster of emotions she had just ridden. At the stoop, Maggie lifted Lucy up to ring the doorbell.
“Arthur, there’s a chance, you know, that the next time you contact me I won’t remember who you are. Or that we even met today, for that matter,” said Edith quickly as Sheila answered the door, ushering in the chaos.
“I know, Edith,” said Arthur.
“I want you to know that I think you’re a kind, very decent man,” she continued, truly meaning it. None of this was his fault. “I’m grateful, too, that you let me back in, back here to meet you. You didn’t have to do that.”
“Edith, it was as much for me as it was for you.”
“You have a lovely home and a lovely wife and family. And even though I have no right to be, I’m proud of you.”
“Edif!” yelled Lucy. “I got French fries!”
“Thank you, Edith,” said Arthur. Edith smiled at him before turning to Lucy, a lump in her throat.
“Lucy, you lucky duck!” she replied.
“Are we ready?” asked Maggie. “Everything okay?”
“Yes, fine,” said Edith. “We had a nice time. Thank you, Arthur,” she said. “And Sheila.”
“Our pleasure.” Sheila reached out to pull Edith into an awkward hug.
“What a beautiful home you have,” said Esther appreciatively. “Very clean. Maggie, isn’t it clean?”
“Yes, very.”
Edith slid the photo into her purse and made her way out.
“LOOK AT THIS!” demanded Edith, shoving the photo into Esther’s hand once they were back on the highway and Lucy had fallen asleep.
“Is that Liza?” Esther asked, squinting. “I don’t have my glasses.”
“Maggie!” yelled Edith.
“Yes?” She turned from the window, startled by the shrillness of Edith’s tone.
“Look at this photo.” Edith snatched it from Esther and handed it to her.
“Oh wow, it’s Liza,” said Maggie, staring at it. “Who’s she with?”
“What do you mean, who is she with? That’s Arthur!”
“Edith, please, could you keep your voice down? I don’t want Lucy to wake up,” said Maggie before she could process the news. “Wait, what?”
“That’s Liza at Arthur’s wedding,” explained Edith.
“Edith, what are you talking about, Liza at Arthur’s wedding?” asked Esther, shooting a look of alarm at Maggie.
“Find your damn glasses in that suitcase of a bag and have a look, Esther. See for yourself. They were friends, can you believe it?”
“Who were friends?” Esther pulled her glasses case out of the bag and fumbled to get them on as quickly as she could.
“Liza and Arthur!” said Edith. “Maggie, show her.”
