Day, and then, sitting at this very table, he’d given it to their mother and recited some silly rhyming poem he’d written himself on the 1-train on the way home from work the night before. Mara didn’t remember actually witnessing that part, but she’d been told over the years. A favorite Valentine’s Day memory.
Their mother looked at Mara, her gaze accusing, and then got up.
“Mom?” Vic said.
“Be right back,” their mother said, her voice sounding labored. They heard the bedroom door close. Vic looked at Mara.
“She won’t be right back,” Mara said quietly.
“How long will she stay in there?” Vic asked.
Mara shrugged, feeling loyalty toward her mother surge up from somewhere unexpected. She wondered how much she should reveal. “A long time,” she said noncommittally, hoping Vic could read between those words.
“Well, I guess it’s better than screaming,” Vic said. “With Jonas’s parents, there was screaming.”
Mara would have preferred screaming to the apartment’s eerie, constant silence, but she didn’t say that. “How is Jonas?” Mara asked. It was an adult-sounding question, a question their mother or father might have asked at a different time.
Vic smiled. “Fine.” She ruffled Mara’s hair. Then she picked up a strawberry from the colander and rotated it between her fingers. “I’m going to make you a sandwich,” she said. “Do we have cheese?” She put down the strawberry, opened the refrigerator, and began moving food around, scrounging.
“Vic, I’m sorry,” Mara said after a minute.
“For what?” Vic pulled some Dijon mustard from the refrigerator door.
“You know. Saying that about the heart stone.” Her carelessness made her feel so guilty that her stomach actually hurt, and she rubbed it gently.
“Oh, angel.” Vic paused to give her a hug. “Mom’s got to stop being so damn sensitive. Maybe she needs to take antidepressants.”
“She won’t do that. You remember that book she edited about overmedicated America.”
Vic sliced some cheese, placed it on the bread, and added lettuce. She set the sandwich before Mara. “Eat,” she said.
Mara took a big bite. The cheese was a little dry and the bread a bit stale, but she didn’t mind much. Vic brought her a big glass of orange juice, and she drank some of that, too. “You know, Vic,” she said after a minute, “I have an idea about what we can do.”
“What do you mean?”
“How we’re going to make Dad come back.”
Vic sat down, her slender form suddenly seeming heavy. “Sweetie,” she began, but Mara decided to ignore her.
“If Dad knew how sad Mom really was—” Mara began.
“I think he knows, sweetie.”
Mara shook her head. “Every time he calls, you should hear her—she sounds really happy, like she’s just gotten home from a party or something. And then they start fighting. So he probably thinks she’s doing fine until he calls. But, Vic, she’s like some zombie.” That was the most explicit Mara had ever permitted herself to be to anyone about her mother over this past month.
Vic stood up, moved behind Mara, and began massaging her shoulders. “They’re so tight,” she said, but Mara shrugged her off. She didn’t want to be pacified, not now.
“You know how softhearted Dad is,” Mara said. “Whenever we got hurt, remember? Mom told us to buck up, but Dad came running with the bandages and the worried expression. He wouldn’t want Mom to feel this way. So we’ll take him the stones, get him remembering, and then we’ll tell him how bad it is, how much she misses him.”
Vic sighed. “Look, sweetie—”
“He loves these stones. He used to say they held magic, remember?”
“But you heard Mom. Memories do change.”
“We can’t take them all on the subway, but we don’t need all. Just this one,” Mara lifted a black-and-white speckled rock, “and this,” choosing the one that looked like the partly eaten peach, “and this,” picking up the lopsided heart, cradling it in the palm of her hand.
“Baby, I think it’s more complicated than that.”
Mara knew it was complicated; of course she knew that. She thought about mentioning their mother’s reference to a Caribbean author to prove it. “There’s always a way to simplify,” Mara said. “Like the answer to a math problem. Right down to the prime numbers.”
Vic smiled. She took Mara’s hand, and this time Mara let her. “I’m sorry. I know this is hard for you, still being at home.” Vic shook her head and added, almost as an aside, “Why couldn’t he wait, damnit?”
“Mom can’t go on like this,” Mara said. She wanted to add, “I can’t,” but she didn’t.
Vic rose and released a deep, sighing breath. “So talk to Dad if you want. Just don’t blame yourself if it doesn’t work, okay?”
“But I thought—” Mara stopped. What she’d thought was that Vic would help her; she’d counted on it, assumed it didn’t even need to be said. She wouldn’t act like a baby about it, though. Lots of things she used to depend on were changing, and maybe that was what it meant to grow up.
“You okay, angel?” Vic said
“Hmm.” Mara nodded.
Vic lifted one foot, grabbed her ankle behind her back, and stretched out her leg. “Already getting stiff,” she said, laughing softly. “It was one long rehearsal. I’m going home to take a shower and a rest. I’ll call, okay?”
So, fine. Mara would do it alone. She could go tomorrow morning. She’d take the subway to Brooklyn early so she could be there before her dad went to work. If all went well, maybe he would drive her home and they could go into the apartment together. Her mom wouldn’t be happy that Mara had cut school, but she’d understand once it was all explained.
“Hey, you in the fog. Plotting away, are you? Give me a hug good-bye, okay?” Vic pulled her close and bent so their heads were touching. “It’ll be all right,” she murmured.
“I know.” Mara straightened, feeling the responsibility that came with seeing what had to be done. Vic was like their mom, wanting everyone to buck up, so Mara would have to be like their dad, bearing the Band-Aids. “I know.”
Vic pulled away and ruffled her hair again. Mara hated the gesture for its implied meaning. But they would know, soon enough, that she was not a kid. She followed her sister into the living room and watched as Vic, with one last wave, closed the door firmly behind her, leaving Mara and her mother inside.
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