Page 91 of This Is How It Started
There are a million questions I want to ask, like does this mean Hannah and Josie are serious? Does this mean Hannah is leaving Stephen for good (fingers crossed)? And what does it say about my sister’s relationship with my brother-in-law? Was she also having an affair?
It also explains the matinee movie and why she and Josie have been spending so much time together. Without me. It’s twenty kinds of selfish, but I feel like I’ve been cast into the odd-girl-out role in this new equation, a little like my best friend is being taken from me. Or my big sister has deserted me for my best friend. It’s stupid, I know. And later, I’ll be elated for them because I really am.
But as I stand here in the shadow of the glow from their happiness, these are the shitty things running through my head. And for no reason—or for all those reasons—I start crying.
“Is there even room for me?” I say, barely coherent, my nose running like the Trevi fountain.
Josie has come out of the kitchen, and she and Hannah rush toward me. I shield my face with my hands, trying to hide my tears.
“Rach?” Hannah reaches for me and pulls me into her arms. “Of course there’s room for you. You’re my sister.”
“And you’re my sister from another mister.” Josie joins us, and we’re locked in a group hug. All three of us crying like idiots. “You really think we’d leave you out? You’ve been my best friend since grade school.”
“I know,” I say, but it comes out like a hiccup. “I’m being a moron. I’m probably premenstrual.”
“You’re not a moron.” My usually stoic sister hugs me tighter. “You’ve been through hell and back this year. I love you, Rach. I love you forever.”
“I love you too, Hannah.”
“What about me?” Josie says.
“You too, Jo.” I start to clean my nose on my sleeve, but Josie gives me hers. “Uh-uh, it’s too nice.” I think it’s angora.
And Josie does the one thing that lets me know for better or for worse that I’m in her life forever. She wipes my snotty nose on her fancy sweater.
* * * *
On my way home, I cruise by Campbell’s house. His truck isn’t parked in the driveway. Still, I don’t dare get out of my car in case he’s home. We haven’t spoken since that day he told me he’s going to Scotland. I guess we both figured there was nothing left to say.
There’s a Windham for-sale sign on his lawn with Niki’s name on it. I sit in my car, staring at his little Craftsman. The sunlight glints off the stained glass in the new front door. The house has been freshly washed in a coat of pale green and white trim. It’s much more cheerful than it was before. The tiny front yard is blooming with flowers, and bright blue lobelia trails from tan-colored pots on both sides of the door. Two Arts and Crafts rockers, presumably handmade by Campbell, keep each other company on the front porch.
Realtors love to throw around the phrase “good bones.” But this home has more than good bones. I can feel Campbell’s soul here, even from a distance. He may be letting the house go, but he spoiled it with love.
I think about the Queen Anne on Vallejo and how my parents poured their hearts into it. How they took a decrepit old building and made it the essence of our family. The love is still there—you can feel it emanating from the halls, from the ceiling, and from the floors—but their love for each other is gone. I think about Brooke and how she’s become the next steward of the legacy, a legacy that started with my mother. And I think about how I found a new beginning within that legacy’s walls.
I think about Raj and Vivian and Doris and Sylvia and all the others in the grief group and their new beginnings. About Hannah and Josie. About Adam selling his business. About the end of one story and the start of a new one. I may not know what mine is yet, but I’m moving toward it. I’m moving toward it in my own sweet time.
Chapter 33
Anything Is Possible
I’m at San Francisco International Airport about to catch a flight to Chicago when I get the call. Mom has fallen down the stairs of her townhouse and is in the ER. Brooke, the duty nurse, was there when the paramedics brought her in.
I half drag, half carry my suitcase, zigzagging through the Delta gate, jostling between the crowds. It appears everyone is traveling today. SFO is crawling with people, families on vacation, business commuters. An entire group of teenagers and their harried chaperones are spread out, taking up all the seats and even much of the floor space. I maneuver around them like an obstacle course.
It’s so loud I almost don’t hear my phone ring. Adam’s name pops up on my display. I deliberate whether to answer or push forward. I can call Adam once I’m in a cab, speeding toward San Francisco General. On second thought, I take it, cradling the phone between my ear and shoulder as I race through the terminal for the exit.
“I’m on my way,” I shout to hear my own voice over the hubbub of the airport.
“Don’t come. Hannah and I have you covered. Go to the yahrtzeit.”
“What about Mom? Are you there? Is it bad? Brooke seemed to think it was bad.”
“I’m looking for parking. But I talked to Mom on the phone. She’s bitching and moaning, which means she’s fine. We’ll handle her. Go to Chicago.”
I stand there for a minute deliberating on what to do. The Ackermanns will be disappointed if I don’t come. But I don’t want to stick my siblings with all the responsibility. Mommie Dearest can be a handful. Not to mention she’s probably keeping score on which one of us is the better child.
“I’ll get my flight changed and go later in the week,” I tell him, even though I’ll miss the yahrtzeit. If Josh were alive, I know he’d tell me to go be with my mother and forget the yahrtzeit.Light a candle for me anytime you want, babe.
