Leota's Garden (23 page)

“What if it’s not what she wants?”

“It
is
what she wants. It’s what she’s
always
wanted. We’ve been talking about colleges from the time she entered kindergarten.”

Her mother sighed softly, looking weary and old. “Maybe if you would just hold off for a time and allow her to find her own way—”

“You mean the way
you
did. Back away completely.” Nora should have expected as much. “I should be like you?” She saw the flicker of hurt in her mother’s eyes at her sarcasm, but anger took hold of her. “Is that it, Mother? Have nothing to do with making some kind of future for my children?” She saw the sheen of tears in her mother’s eyes and felt ashamed. In the wake of her shame came another wave of anger. How dare her mother try to make her feel guilty? “I should’ve known you wouldn’t help me or even try to understand. You never did.”

“I understand. Only too well.” She sounded so sad, so worn down and hopeless.

Nora’s eyes also filled with tears. She fought them, not even sure why they had come welling up, making her want to cry out. Part of her
wanted desperately to reach out to her mother, to say she was sorry, to cling to her. Another part wanted to lacerate her for all the times Nora had desperately needed her and she hadn’t been there. “I want what’s best for my daughter!”

“I know you do, dear. But your best may not be God’s best.”

Nora stiffened at the gentle words, for they were a firm rebuke. “What would you know of God’s best for my daughter? When was the last time you went to church, Mother? Ten years ago? I go
every
Sunday. Anne-Lynn should honor my plans for her. Instead she’s decided to be stubborn and rebellious. And you’re helping her!”

Her mother closed her eyes as though she couldn’t bear to look at her.

“I should’ve known better than to come and talk to you,” Nora said, voice cracking. “You were never there for me before. I was foolish to hope you’d be here for me now.” She snatched her clutch bag from the sofa and headed for the door.

“I’ve always been there for you,” her mother said in a choked voice. “Every day of my life, only you never understood. You never even tried.”

Nora turned on her furiously. “When were you
ever
there for me? Name once!”

Her mother didn’t respond to her attack. Instead, she spoke in a quiet tone. “You’ve always said I destroyed your dreams. Why would you enlist me to do the same to your own daughter?”

Trembling, Nora stared at her. She drew in a shaky breath. “You always twist everything I say just so you can make me feel guilty.”

“I can’t make you feel anything.”

“Oh, yes, you can.” The resentment and bitterness filled her to overflowing. “I want you to know the
only
reason Anne-Lynn spends any time with you at all is because she knows it hurts me. She’s using you to get back at me. You just don’t understand.”

“I understand you perfectly, Eleanor.”

Trembling violently, Nora yanked the front door open. “That’s how much you care, Mother. You still persist in calling me
that
name when you know I hate it!”

“You’ve always been Eleanor to me, and you always will be.”

“There’s no talking to you! You always have to have your way in everything. Well, enjoy your solitude!” She hurled the door shut. Her heels clicked on the steps. Two black children had drawn a colored-chalk
hopscotch on the sidewalk. No child would be allowed to make a mess like that in Blackhawk. They paused in their play to look at her. Averting her eyes, Nora got into her car and started the engine. Pulling away from the curb, she drove quickly down the street, turned right, and headed for the freeway on-ramp.

She wept all the way home.

Despite Ruth’s apology after her run, Corban remained depressed. He always felt an emotional backlash when he let his emotions get the better of him. For the first time since she’d moved in with him, he refused to take back what he had said. She noticed, of course, but said nothing.

It seemed to him that she made more effort over the next two days. She did her share of household chores and kept her bargain about maintaining quiet during his study hours.

Yet, he knew he was living in the eye of a tornado.

Her attitude would change when she met with her friends again. It always did. The storm clouds were building overhead, and he and Ruth would end up in the twister before she settled down again. If she did.

Having overheard some of the conversations as well as what Ruth had told him, Corban had gleaned that most of these young women with whom she hung out were from broken families, as was she. Two girls had been sexually abused by male relatives. He could understand how they might hate the men who had abused them, but did that group all males in the brutal category? Or give them due cause for becoming lesbians? Three of the ten who met had “come out of the closet.” Two of those were “comfortable” with their alternative lifestyles, their families having come to terms with them; the third was an emotional mess, swinging from frothing hostility to despair.

“Someday she’ll kill herself,” Ruth had said flatly after one particularly distressing evening in which the girl had monopolized the meeting in venting her anger. “And it’ll be her parents’ fault for not allowing her to be herself. They should be forced to see it’s perfectly natural for some people to be homosexual. She was born that way.”

“Hogwash! She’s the one who isn’t accepting things.”

Ruth’s eyes had flashed. “She’s happy as what she is.”

“Happy? You call that happy?”

“Well, if you had people calling you terrible names, maybe you wouldn’t be happy either!”

“The only names I heard this evening were the ones coming out of her mouth.”

“You’re so close-minded, Cory. It’s pathetic. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were homophobic.”

“
I’m
close-minded? Well, maybe they ought to meet somewhere else since it’s my apartment they’re coming to in order to vent their spleens against all males.”

They had digressed from there. It had been one of their worst arguments ever. After they finally shouted themselves out and spent the night sleeping apart, they had agreed to let the subject drop. For two weeks, Ruth had gone elsewhere to meet with her friends. And then they were back again, his digs apparently being more comfortable than wherever else they’d been.

They made him nervous, these women who sat around talking about intolerant men and patriarchal society and equal rights for women.
Equal
to them meant women should get the first chance at the best jobs. Another case of affirmative action gone awry. More militants who wanted to use discrimination to end discrimination.

“We’re just going to meet for an hour or two on Saturday morning,” Ruth said, serving him the dinner she had prepared, Prego poured over boiled noodles with some parmesan sprinkled on top.

“Any Tabasco?”

She set the bottle down in front of him. “There’s going to be a march in San Francisco in a couple of weeks, and we want to prepare for it.”

“What’s it about this time?”

“Funding for AIDS research. We thought we’d make a banner.”

Sloshing Tabasco over his spaghetti, Corban decided to be elsewhere on Saturday.

The bell rang on Friday afternoon shortly after Annie finished getting ready for work. She pressed the intercom. “Who is it?”

“Sam.”

“Come on up.” She pushed another button, releasing the lock on the front door of the building. “Suz. Your brother’s here.”

“Tonight? He wasn’t supposed to get here until tomorrow.”

“Well, he’s here.” Annie plumped the pillows and tossed them onto the couch, gathered up some of Susan’s clothing, and quickly folded and stuffed the items into a dresser. Hurrying across to the kitchenette, she gathered glasses and plates and put them in the sink, squirting in liquid soap and running water over them. They’d have to soak for now. It was Susan’s turn to do them, and they were both on their way to work.

Susan appeared from the bathroom, dressed in her straight, black skirt and white blouse. The doorbell buzzed as she frantically brushed her hair on the way to answer. “What are you doing here? It’s Friday. You said Saturday.”

“Chill out, Suzie Q. I just came by to let you know I’m checked in . . .”

Annie turned from the sink and felt his gaze fixed on her. Susan laughed, looking from him to her. She winked. “You remember Annie Gardner, don’t you, Sam?”

“This is
Annie
? What happened to the Pippi Longstocking replication?”

Annie blushed. “Nice to see you, too, Sam.” She was embarrassed at the reminder of how she had worn her carrot-red hair in pigtails. The red had faded some, along with the freckles that had once dotted her nose.

His eyes warmed, and a wolfish smile spread across his handsome face. “All grown up . . .”

“But she’s got someplace to go.”

“Bad boys, bad boys,” Barnaby sang out loudly, and they all laughed.

“We’re on our way to work, Sam, but you’re welcome to hang out here if you’d like.”

“No way. I came to the city to have some fun.”

“Whatcha gonna do . . . ? Whatcha gonna do . . . ?” Barnaby sang loudly, bobbing his head.

“Sounds like the bird’d like to go with me.” Sam grinned.

“You want him?” Susan said brightly. “You can have him with my blessings.”

Sam laughed. “No way.”

Annie took her jacket from the back of a chair. “I hate to break up
the family reunion,” she said with a smile, “but we’d better go, Suzie. We’re going to be late.”

“You know, I haven’t eaten yet,” Sam said, following them out. “Why don’t I come to the Smelly Clove?”

“You hate garlic.”

“
Hate
’s a strong word. Besides, it has medicinal value, I hear.”

“It does.”

“Well, I think I might be developing a cold. I need a little preventive medicine. What do you say?”

Susan gave him the address and directions as they went down the stairs and out to Annie’s car.

“See you there.” Sam lifted his hand in a casual wave, then crossed the street to his van.

Susan slid into the bucket seat and snapped on the seat belt. “Well, well. I’ve got the feeling we’re going to see a lot more of my brother.” She looked at Annie and grinned.

Annie figured Sam had changed his mind when he didn’t follow them to the restaurant. She was more relieved than disappointed. Though his obvious flirtation had been heady and a decided boost to her self-confidence, she knew he was dangerous in more ways than one.

At fifteen, she had thought Samuel James Carter, rebellious and delinquent, was some kind of romantic hero. She had fantasized about being like the heroine in a Harlequin novel, whose love and purity would melt the arrogance and cynicism of the hero.

But she had grown up over the last three years. She had learned how devastating and heartbreaking Sam’s rebellion had been to his family. They could joke about it now, but she remembered Suzie’s anger and Mrs. Carter’s tears. He’d had to crash and burn before his life turned around. Sam was deep water, and where the world was concerned, Annie didn’t know how to swim.