Message from Nam (5 page)

And later that week, she sought out one of her favorite teachers and asked him what he thought about UC Berkeley.

“I think it’s one of the best schools in the country. Why?” He looked directly at her and she hesitated, but only for a moment.

“I’m trying to decide if I should go there.”

“The news from Radcliffe wasn’t what you hoped?” He knew how badly she had wanted to go there, how much she had counted on it, and why, and he was prepared to be disappointed for her if she hadn’t been accepted.

“They turned me down. Stanford too. Everyone else accepted.” She told him what the other choices were and without hesitation he advised her to go to Berkeley. He was from the North himself and he strongly believed in diversifying one’s experience. He thought kids from the west should go east, eastern kids should go out west for a year or two, and kids from the South should head north, to see something different.

“I wouldn’t hesitate for a minute, Pax. Grab the chance while you can, and don’t give Radcliffe another thought. You can always go there for graduate school. To hell with it for now, go west.” He smiled at her. “You’re gonna love it.” And as she listened to him, she could feel her whole body fill with excitement. Maybe Queenie had been right after all. Maybe this was the answer.

She didn’t say anything to her mother for several days, and at the end of the week, she sent her acceptance off, and on Friday night when she had dinner with them, she told them.

“I sent my acceptance off today,” she said quietly, waiting for the storm she knew would come.

“Good girl.” Her brother was quick to offer praise. She had done as they had told her to, finally. She wasn’t as difficult as their mother said after all. “Are you proud of yourself, Pax? You should be.” She smiled at the lavish praise, knowing what was coming.

“Yes, I am, as a matter of fact. I thought about it a lot, and I think I made the right decision. I know I did, in fact.”

Her mother looked at her cautiously, afraid to say too much. “I’m glad things worked out this way, Paxton,” she said sparingly.

“So am I,” Paxton answered.

“A lot of nice girls go to Sweet Briar, Paxton. It is a wonderful school,” her brother said happily as Paxton looked quietly at both of them.

“Yes, it is,” she agreed, “but I’m not going there.” For a moment, everything stopped in the dining room. This was not what anyone had expected. “I’m going to the University of California at Berkeley.”

For an instant, they were both stunned into silence and then her brother sat back in his chair and threw his napkin on the table. “Now what made you do a damn fool thing like that?” Queenie left the room with a smile, to replenish the platter of roast beef.

“I spoke to my senior adviser about it, and a couple of my teachers. They think it’s an excellent school and a good choice for me, since I didn’t get into Radcliffe.”

“But California?” her mother said despairingly. “Why in God’s name would anyone go there? Why would you want to go all the way out there?” But they all knew why, whether or not they wanted to admit it. Paxton wanted to get away from them. She had been unhappy at home since her father had died, and they had done very little to change that. Her mother and brother had pursued their own lives, with only occasional attempts to force her to join them, whether she enjoyed what they were doing or not. She was expected to “fit” into their lifestyle, whether it suited her or not. To them, that just wasn’t important. And now she wanted her own life, she wanted to follow her own destiny. And for the moment that path was leading her to California.

“This is something I feel I have to do,” she said quietly, the piercing green eyes looking deep into her mother’s. She wasn’t arguing with her, but she was absolutely definite about what she was doing. And her father had given her that luxury. He had left a small trust in her name, to pay for her education, which meant that her mother couldn’t threaten not to pay for college if she didn’t go where she was told to. She had the freedom of choice, and she had exercised that freedom when she accepted Berkeley.

“Your father would be very disappointed in you,” her mother said coldly, which was a low blow, and Paxton felt it.

“I tried to get into Harvard, Mother,” she said as calmly as she could. “I just didn’t make it. I think maybe he’d understand that.” She remembered his stories of trying to get into Princeton and Yale and being turned down, and having to “settle” for Harvard. So she had “settled” for UC Berkeley.

“I mean I think he’d be disappointed by your leaving home so abruptly, and going so far away from us.”

“I’ll be back,” she said softly, but even as she said the words, she wondered if she really meant them. Would she be back? Would she want to? Would she be dying to come home once she got away, or would she fall in love with California and want to stay forever? In some ways, she was desperately anxious to leave, in others she was sorry to go. She was sad to leave her friends, and in some ways, she was relieved to be leaving home. She had always felt she didn’t quite fit there. She never really did what her mother wanted. But she couldn’t do what they wanted her to do. It was too much to ask. She couldn’t stay in the South, couldn’t stay with them, couldn’t go on pretending to have something in common with them, when she didn’t. She couldn’t pretend to be one of them anymore. And suddenly she was ready to admit how different she was, and to start her own life, in Berkeley.

“And just how often do you think you’ll come home?” her mother asked accusingly as Queenie watched from over her shoulder.

“I’ll come home for Christmas, I guess, and in the summer, of course.” It was all she had to offer them, all she could give, and all she wanted from them was her freedom. “I’ll come home as often as I can.” She smiled tentatively at them, wanting them to be happy for her, but they weren’t. “And you can come visit me, if you like, in California.”

“Your father and I went to Los Angeles once,” her mother said with a look of stern disapproval. “It’s an awful place. I’d never go back there.”

“Berkeley is just outside San Francisco.” But she might as well have said “just outside hell” from the look on her mother’s face, and for the rest of the meal, they ate in silence.

C
HAPTER
3

P
axton stood in the cozy kitchen the morning she left, looking around her as though she were being forced to leave home, with tears bulging in her eyes, and her head resting on Queenie’s soft, comfortable shoulder.

“How am I going to live without seeing you every day?” she whispered, feeling like a child again. Suddenly she had the same feeling of sadness and loss she had had when she’d lost her father. She knew she wouldn’t be seeing her anymore, and although Queenie would still be there, she couldn’t just reach out and touch her.

“You’ll be fine,” Queenie said, bravely fighting back her own tears. She was determined not to let Paxxie see what she was feeling. “You be a good girl in California now. Remember to eat yo’ greens, get lots of sleep, and once a week rinse that pretty hair of yours with lemon.” She had been doing that for her almost since she was a baby, and took full credit for the fact that Paxton was still as blond as she was eighteen years later. “Wear a hat in the sun, don’t get burned …” There were a thousand things she wanted to say, but all she really wanted to tell her was how much she loved her. She pressed Paxton close to her then, and the warmth of heart and her body said it all, as Paxton hugged her back just as fiercely.

“I love you so much, Queenie … take care … promise me you’ll take care of yourself. And if you get a bad cough this winter”—as she did every year—“this time you go to a doctor.”

“Don’t you worry about me, chile. I’m going to be just fine. You behave yourself out there in … California …” She hardly dared to say the word, and yet it was Queenie who had encouraged her to go, who had helped her to take her freedom. They pulled away from each other then, and Queenie’s eyes were damp, but down Paxton’s creamy face, there were two streams of tears, and her eyes looked greener than ever.

“I’m going to miss you so much.”

“So am I.” Queenie dabbed at her eyes with her apron as she smiled, and then patted the pretty young girl’s shoulder. She had loved her as her own as a little child, and she loved her even more now as a young woman. They were bonded to each other for life, and no distance, no time, no place, could pull them apart now, and they both knew it. Paxxie squeezed her hand for a last time, kissed her soft black cheek, and then left the kitchen to go back to the others.

“I’ll call you,” she whispered as she left, and Queenie winked at her, and then after she was gone, she went downstairs to her room and sobbed into her apron. It broke her heart to see Paxton go, but she knew better than anyone that Paxton had to move on now. Her life hadn’t been the same since her father’s death, and she knew that they didn’t mean to be unkind to her, they were just so different. She was full of fire and life and excitement about everything. And there was a warmth and love in her that she was aching to share with the people around her. But the love she had to give frightened her mother, and George had no idea what to do with it. George and his mother were two of a kind, and Paxton was too much like her father. Queenie felt as though she’d been caring for a rare tropical bird for eighteen years, keeping it warm and safe and alive and feeding it from her very soul, and now she’d set it free, to go to a more hospitable climate. Paxton didn’t belong there anymore, she hadn’t for a long time, and young as she was to leave home at eighteen, Queenie knew she’d be better off without them. There was a whole new world waiting for her out there, and in some ways Queenie could hardly wait for her to find it. But deep in her own heart, she felt the pain of losing her, of not being able to stand right next to her anymore, or look into her eyes in the afternoon, or kiss the silky hair on the top of her head when she sat down to breakfast every morning. But it was a sacrifice she was willing to make because she loved her. And she ran to the windows as she heard them leave, just in time to wave at Paxton, hanging, blond mane and all, as far as she could out the car window.

Her mother was looking very solemn as they drove out of town, and George said not a word as they headed toward the airport.

“It’s not too late to change your mind,” her mother said quietly, which may have been her own way of saying she would miss her.

“I don’t think I can,” Paxton said just as quietly, still thinking of Queenie’s face before she left, and the warmth of her shoulders, the safety of her arms when she hugged her.

“I’m sure the dean at Sweet Briar would be happy to arrange it,” her mother said frigidly. She still took it as a personal affront that Paxton was leaving the South. It had been insult enough that she wanted to leave Savannah.

“Maybe if things don’t work out in California,” Paxton said politely, and started to reach out to touch her mother’s hand, and then thought better of it and pulled her hand back. Her mother made no effort to move closer to her, and there was no further conversation on the way to the airport. Paxton knew she was supposed to be consumed with guilt, and she felt sad to leave, but she was also very excited. Lately, she had been hearing a lot of interesting things about UC, and she could hardly wait to see California.

She had sent a trunk and two duffel bags ahead, and her brother took her single valise out of the trunk and handed it to a skycap. He then handed Paxton the baggage check, and ushered the two women inside to find the right gate, and wait for Paxton’s plane to Oakland.

“I suppose the weather will be pleasant there,” her mother said in a strained voice, and Paxton nodded. She looked at her mother then, and tears filled her eyes. It had been a very emotional morning. Even leaving her room at home had brought tears to her eyes, and she had spent a few minutes in her father’s old den at six o’clock that morning. She had sat across from his desk, still seeing him there, and told him what had happened in a low, audible whisper.

“I didn’t get into Harvard, Dad …” It was a confession she somehow imagined he already knew. “… But I’m going to Berkeley.” And she hoped he’d be pleased. She was sad to leave home in a way, sad to leave the people and places that were familiar. But she also knew that, unlike the others, she took her father with her everywhere. He was a part of her now, just as he was a part of the morning sky, and the sunsets she loved to watch when she borrowed the car and drove to the ocean. He was part of everything she did, and was. She would never lose him.

“Mom.” She cleared her throat as they waited for the plane. “I’m sorry … about Sweet Briar, I mean.… I’m sorry if I hurt you.” The directness of her words took her mother aback for a moment and it was obvious that she didn’t know what to answer. She almost stepped back and recoiled from her daughter, but what she was really recoiling from was the sincerity of the emotion, the intimacy that had always threatened her, and which was so much a part of Paxton. “I’m sorry … I just wanted to tell you that before I left.” She had learned something early in life, that you didn’t leave things unsaid with people you cared about, because you never knew if you would ever have another chance to say them. It was a lesson she had learned too early and too dearly.