A/N: I'm back!
Note #1: Thanks as always go to Rosestream!
Note #2: More thanks go to wonderful reviewers!
Disclaimer: Don't own. Anything. Ever.
Rating: T
Summary:
Two
October
Aunt Lise's children were named Frank, John, and Mary. "Life is hard enough without suffering a foreigner's name," she'd told me. My parents had graced us with French names, but Aunt Lise was an American girl, through-and-through, born under a flag of red, white, and blue, just of a different pattern, a different assembly. Looking at her now, I found it difficult to imagine she had ever been French. Maybe that was the thing: maybe you can grow up your whole life thinking you're one thing, living one life, and visit somewhere else to realize you don't know yourself at all.
There were things I was learning in New York City that I'd never known before, sheltered by the small-town girl cowering inside of me. For one, America might've prided itself on being the great old melting pot, but it sure as hell didn't act that way. Every which way I looked, it seemed people were getting crushed beneath the heel of a work boot like a smoldering cigarette. Everybody hated the Poles, everybody hated the Jews, everybody hated the Puerto Ricans, everybody hated the Irish, everybody hated the Germans; everybody hated everybody. Unless you had generations of American blood, with skin creamy as two-percent milk and guileless eyes, you were despised by somebody walking the streets.
It had never seemed to matter back home. There were really only two sorts back in my small town: black and white. If you were black, you got the short end of the stick. If you were white, you got the long end. That's all there was to it. It wasn't like New York City, where there were a thousand different kinds of white, a thousand different kinds of black, different degrees of ethnicity that set you apart just a fraction of an inch. But as it turned out, that fraction made all the difference.
And then there were the Russians. I'd never paid much attention to the news before, but apparently there was more than one war going on. There was the war in Vietnam, and then there was the Cold War, which didn't involve battlefields or guns, waged not between armies, but between the KGB and the FBI, communists and capitalist democracies, monikers I still couldn't quite piece together. "Somebody gonna nuke somebody one of these days," my uncle told me. "We all got nukes, but all it takes is one to bring a nation to their knees." Then he staggered off to the kitchen to find himself another beer.
There was a whole world out there, much vaster than I'd ever imagined. There was Africa and Asia, Europe and Australia, South America dangling from the tail of Mexico. There were cities far beyond New York and Atlanta, far beyond the towns spattering the grasslands of the Midwest. Aunt Lise had an atlas on her bookshelf, tucked away in enormous, scratched bookshelves. One day, I'd cracked open the spine and dared to take a look.
It wasn't that we didn't read out on the farm; we did. We had bookshelves, too, but they weren't like Aunt Lise's shelves. Hers were filled with what seemed to be thousands of paperbacks, books written hundreds of years ago and books written months ago, books bought at the half-price bookstore and books bought brand-new, smelling of fresh ink and creamy paper. There was science fiction novels and fantasy books, The Lord of the Rings trilogy and Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë. Our bookshelves at home were stuffed with Harlequin romances and farmer's almanacs, sugar-sweet books to be devoured on a lazy afternoon and reference books to till the soil and coax flowers up from the dirt. But Aunt Lise's were different. They held the key to another world, one completely different than the one I'd been traipsing through my whole life. I wanted to live there.
The day that I pulled the atlas down from the shelf, I spent hours sprawled on the couch, leafing through the pages. I found out where the Soviet Union was, the real vastness of it, the neighboring communist countries that burrowed into its shadow like a toddler clinging to a mother's ankle. I traced my finger over Europe, over France and Spain and Portugal and Italy and the other tiny countries, the ones smaller than a dime, Luxembourg and the Netherlands, Holland and Denmark. My eyes went south, to Africa, to St. Johannesburg and Cape Town. Through the pastel-painted countries printed neatly on the map, I went around the world and back again, from Shanghai to Sydney, Cairo to Columbia.
I'd known that all of these places existed before, of course. I'd gone to school, after all, earned a B- in geography. But it was different, somehow, to look over the sheer enormity of the world, the expanse of blue oceans and sun-bleached earth, so much bigger than the farm I'd traipsed over as a child. I wanted to visit those places one day, wanted to set my foot on every hemisphere, every continent, every country, every city.
Maybe I was attracted to the atlas because I knew now that it was impossible, traveling around the world, a fruit of the forbidden tree.
Maybe in a different life. But not in this one.
# # #
One Saturday night in the early days of October, Will and I were sitting at the counter. I was slurping soda up through a straw, leaning back in the chair. I was beginning to show – not too noticeably, still able to be hidden with loose-fitting shirts. It would be another month or so before the truth would be out in the open, protruding from my stomach.
"So," Will said. "You come from Ohio?"
"Mm-hm," I said, sipping my Coke. "Right in-between Columbus and Cincinnati."
"Jesus," he said. "No wonder you talk like that."
I stilled. "Talk like what?"
Will fidgeted. "You just have a little bit of an accent. That's all."
"An accent? What kind of accent?" I narrowed my eyes at him. "Are you insulting me, William? Because I'll have you know-"
"William?" He looked as if he'd just choked on his own spit. "Christ, Libre. My name is Will. You got that? My mother's the only one that calls me William, and that's only when I'm in trouble. About-to-fetch-a-switch trouble."
I arched an eyebrow. "Your parents beat you with a switch?"
"No. But my mother's told me more than a few times that she's considering getting one." I gurgled a laugh, covering my lips as Coke dribbled down my chin. I reached for a paper napkin and wiped the mess away. Will grinned at me. "You're really a mess, aren't you?"
"I can't help it," I said, swatting his arm. "Anyway, I've told you about my life."
"Sort of," he said. "All you've really told me is about where you grew up. I don't know hardly anything about your family, not really."
"There's not much to know," I said. "You know about Nicoline and my mother." I looked down at the counter.
"And those are the only members of your family?"
I looked up at him. "No." I pushed away my Coke bottle, stomach twisting.
Will was quiet for a minute. "You know, my grandfather died when I was seven."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. He was a nice guy, too. My whole family's Irish – Irish Catholic. We all grew up in Brooklyn." He paused. "You haven't lived in New York for too long, but since it looks like you're going to be taking up permanent residence here, I might as well tell you: there are certain types of people that live in each of the boroughs."
I furrowed my eyebrows. "The boroughs?"
Will nodded. "Think of them as neighborhoods, alright? Way back, a bunch of little cities got mashed together into New York. Those cities became boroughs – Manhattan, Queens, Brooklyn, Staten Island, and the Bronx."
"We live in the Bronx," I said slowly, testing the words on my tongue.
"Right." He traced a shape on the counter. "Well, all the foreigners live in Brooklyn."
"I knew that, too, I think," I said. He looked at me in surprise. "I read a book when I was in grade school," I explained. "Called A Tree Grows in Brooklyn."
"Never heard of it," he said.
"You should really read it," I said. "It's about this poor girl living up in Brooklyn, back in 1900, or something like that. Her family's broke, she's trying to survive." I paused. "It's helped, actually. With where I am now."
He squinted at me. "Maybe I'll give that a shot."
"You should," I said. "But, anyway. You were saying, about your grandfather?"
"Right. So, anyway, I'm a fourth-generation American. My grandfather was the first one in my family to be born here, in America." He hesitated. "He was a great guy, my grandfather. Irish as hell, but then you can be, in Brooklyn. Half the damn place is either Irish Catholic or Jewish. Or Italian. Or Polish."
"Right," I said, lips twitching.
"Anyway, when my grandfather died, my mom fell apart. Really just began to fray at the edges, like one of those old quilts you've got tossed over your couch. Wouldn't get out of her bed for days – kind of like your mom, now that I think about it." Will was quiet for a minute. "One day, I came home from school, and my parents were in the middle of a massive argument. Voices raised to the point of screaming." He chuckled darkly. "The people in the neighboring tenements were pissed.
"Anyway, I hear my dad shouting. 'You still have a family.' That's all he says, over and over again. Because as it turns out, my mom was so consumed by Granddad's death that she couldn't take a minute to look around at the family she had left. She was so absorbed in what she didn't have that she couldn't see what she did have."
We sat there in silence. I sipped my Coke while he grabbed a towel from behind the counter and started wiping the leftover grease from the scratched linoleum.
Then I spoke.
"I have three brothers," I said. "All older than me. My oldest brother – his name is Lovett – he got drafted into the war a few years ago. He's home now, to help my dad with the harvest. Got leave to help out at home."
Will nodded. "That's pretty decent of the army."
"Yeah." I sipped my Coke. "I have two twin brothers – Fitz and Martel. Fitz is moody as hell, and we're not on great terms, but I think we'll get there eventually." I smiled. "And then there's Martel. He's gayer than… Well, I don't exactly know what's super gay. But I know that he's gay, that much is for sure."
Will grinned. "Are you serious?"
"Dead serious," I said, lips tugging upward. "And my dad – well, did I ever tell you about his obsession for gardening tools?"
He smiled. "No, but I'm intrigued, I can tell you that much."
We stayed there for another hour or so, just talking, voices bubbling up and out. I told Will about my family, he told me about his. He grew up in Brooklyn with five younger siblings – unlike me, he was the oldest in the family, the stalwart supporter. His parents had gotten him through high school, which, he said, was an achievement in itself. He was hoping to save up one day to go to college, but for now he was waiting tables.
He was Will.
# # #
Fitz came to visit in mid-October.
There was no big preamble, no warning at all. One day, he showed up at Aunt Lise's door, arms crossed over his chest. "We need to talk," he said.
I just stared at him. It was morning, smoggy sunlight filtering through the sole window in Aunt Lise's apartment, early enough that the skyline was a black silhouette against a periwinkle sky, a half-finished painting. Frank, John, and Mary were still asleep; their father's snoring could be heard through the walls. Aunt Lise was working the graveyard shift at a factory.
"Fitz?" I croaked, rubbing my eyes.
"Yeah," he said flatly. "It's me." He peered over my shoulder, a funny expression on his face. "Is that where you're sleeping? The couch?"
"Um-hm," I said.
His expression flickered before returning to his trademark blasé mask. "Well. Can you come and get a cup of coffee with me, or what?"
I hesitated, leaning against the door. "Are you going to pay?"
Fitz rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I'll pay. Are you gonna come?"
I looked him up and down. His hair was tousled, his chin covered in a five o'clock shadow. His shirt was wrinkled. He looked as if he hadn't slept in days. "Okay," I said. "Just let me get dressed."
# # #
I took him to the diner. I was working the afternoon shift that day, so I sat at the counter, wrapping my fingers around a cup of tea. It wasn't the same as coffee. Just another sacrifice I'd had to make.
"Alright," I said. "What gives?"
Fitz pursed his lips. "I'm leaving the farm."
I blinked. "Um…" For a moment, I couldn't think of anything to say. "What?"
"I'm leaving the farm," he said, taking a swig of coffee. He looked down at his cup, an oily sheen glistening over the top of the liquid, steam rising in thick, ropy braids. "Things haven't been good since you left, Libre."
"I've been talking to Lovett," I said. "He told me everything's fine."
"Yeah, well." Fitz leaned back in his barstool. "Lovett is a liar."
"How so?" I asked.
Fitz laughed bitterly. "Where do I start?" He stared out the window for a moment, at a woman with smudged makeup and wrinkled clothing, her stilettos dangling from her fingers by the straps. She was doing the walk of shame. It was a Saturday morning – if I stared long and hard enough on the street, I'd see another five exactly like her walk by. "Dad's a fucking train wreck. Martel moved out."
My eyes widened. "Martel moved out?"
Fitz nodded. "Just a few days ago. He's going to Seattle, apparently."
"Seattle?" I echoed.
"In Washington," he said. "He's going to start a new life there, far as I can figure. It's not hard to see why." He stopped. "Dad's not good, Libre. Not good at all." He slid his cup of coffee away from him. "Look, here's the thing. Dad has Lovett to help him out with the harvest this year, but that's the only reason he's making it. Pretty soon, Lovett's gonna have to go back to Vietnam, and I'm not sure that Dad's going to be able to carry on."
"And you're not going to stick around to help," I said, realization sinking into my skin.
"I never intended to stay in Ohio forever, Lili," Fitz said, reverting back to my old name. "Neither did Martel. It wasn't exactly that I wanted to imitate Nicoline, spiriting off to California, but…"
"I get it, Fitz," I said quietly. "I'm not blaming you."
"Lovett was furious," Fitz said ruefully.
I put my head in my hands. "Lovett was the only one of us who always intended to stay on the farm forever," I said. "If things had gone like they should've, he would've been the one to inherit the farm, take care of Dad and Grandmother..." I trailed off. "What's going to happen to Grandmother?"
"She's going off to a nursing home," Fitz said. "By her own request. Although Dad said he was going to try and change her mind."
I sighed. "We're falling apart, aren't we?"
"Maybe," he said. "Maybe not. The bottom line is, I'm eighteen now. So is Fitz. We turned eighteen last summer. Dad asked us to stay on for the summer, and we were going to leave next autumn. Well, fall's here, but it doesn't look like I'll be leaving anytime soon if things carry on like they are."
"I never heard anything about this," I said.
"That's because Maman didn't want it," he said. "Maman wanted to us to stay behind forever. You know how she was." He paused. "But now she's gone, and in a way, I think Dad's gone, too. Lovett knows it. I don't want a life on the farm, Libre."
I stared at the wall. "There are no easy answers." I looked down at my hands. "God, Fitz, I don't know. Maybe a year ago I would've told you to go back."
"But now?" he asked.
I wiped my eyes hastily. "I'm never going to get a chance to travel the world, Fitz. Not for a very long time. Probably not ever." My lower lip wobbled. "A few months ago, I would've told you to go back to help Dad. Now I say go and live." A tear spilled down my cheek. "I'm never going to get the chance. It's my fault. I fucked up." I held my arms close to my body. "Go around the world, Fitz. Go to Amsterdam and Moscow and London and Paris and everywhere that I won't. Just send me a postcard every once in a while, okay?"
Fitz looked at me for a long time. "Have you ever tried to contact him?"
"Who?" I said, scrubbing my face.
"Him. The guy that did this to you."
My hands stilled. "No."
"Could you? If you wanted to, I mean?"
I exhaled shakily. "Yes."
"Does he know?"
Wordlessly, I shook my head.
Fitz paused. "Do you think it would do any good?"
"No."
He sighed, wrapping his arm around my shoulders. I leaned in. "I'm sorry," he said. "For acting like such a dickhead at the beginning of the summer, I mean."
I shrugged. "I deserved it."
"No, you didn't." He raked a hand through his hair. "You'll be living with your punishment for the rest of your life. I didn't need to tack on another." He paused. "Are you happy here? In New York, I mean?"
"I don't know." I closed my eyes. "I think… I think it's better than it would be if I'd stayed at home. But that doesn't mean it's home yet."
Fitz nodded. "Give it time." He tipped his coffee cup back, swallowing the last few dregs. "Thanks."
"For what?"
"For understanding." Fitz's mouth set. "I know what I'm doing is wrong. I know I should stay home. I'm not asking for people to cheer me on." He looked down at his hands. "I just want them to understand." He stopped. "Libre, if you ever need anything, I'm there, alright?"
I looked up. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. I can't say I'll be able to be much help. But I'm there, anyway."
I smiled, leaning my head against his shoulder and taking a sip of my own coffee. "Thank you, Fitz."
"Seems like we've got a lot to be thankful for this morning."
I glanced outside at the women doing their walk of shame, the sun rising over the skyline. "I think that's the thing about losing everything," I said quietly. "It puts things into perspective. Makes life more precious. Makes you thankful for the little things."
We sat there for a long time watching the sun, drinking coffee and leaning into each other, sharing the weight of all that we had lost, propped up by the little things.
# # #
"What are you doing for Halloween?" Will asked.
"Me?" I brushed a strand of hair out of my eyes. "I don't know. Probably heaving into the toilet. Why?"
Will's face twisted. "Morning sickness bad?"
I laughed dryly. "That's a way of putting it."
"I was just wondering if you wanted to dress up," he said. "You know, get in costume. Maybe hit a Halloween party – one of those gigs where everybody roofies your drinks. Let loose for just one night. I know you hardly do anything fun."
"I have to save up," I said. "I don't have any other choice." I thought worriedly of my little tin box. There still wasn't near enough to carry me very far. I had a feeling my maternity leave was going to be short-lived and stressful.
"Well, penny-scrounger," Will said. "What do you say about the party?"
"As enticing as it sounds," I said, "I'm going to have to pass."
His face fell. "Really?"
"Really," I said. "I just…" I dragged a hand through my hair. "My life isn't like that anymore, okay?"
"Like what?"
"Carefree. I don't have the luxury of going out and getting wasted."
"Nobody said-"
"I know what you meant," I told him. "And it's a totally sweet offer. But I'm going to have to pass."
He looked at me. "How do you do it? Go through life like that?"
I leaned on the table. "I guess I think of it as a sort of penance."
"Explain," he said, arms folded.
"I messed up, alright?" My cheeks flushed. "I made an irreversible mistake. I got myself into this mess, and now I have to pay the price. My childhood is cut short. Responsibility's come knocking at my door." I hunched up my shoulders. "It's a punishment."
"A self-imposed one," Will said. He took a deep breath. "When are you going to stop, Libre?"
"When am I going to stop what?"
"Punishing yourself?"
I chewed my lower lip. "When I know I've done right by them."
"Who's 'them'?"
"Them," I said, putting my hand on my stomach. "My kid. I'll stop punishing myself when I know I've done right by them."
Will stopped, frowning slightly. "That could be a very long time."
"You're right. It could." I looked down at my shoes. "It will be."
I saw his mouth open, as if he were going to start arguing with me, but then he just looked at me, really looked. He saw me from my long, dark hair, from my exhausted eyes to my rounding middle, from my gnawed fingernails to my dirty, secondhand gym shoes. He saw me for what I was, what I would be.
"Okay," he said very quietly. "Okay."
# # #
Halloween came and passed. Frank, John, and Mary tossed sheets over their heads and went as ghosts, but I snuggled into the couch, closing my eyes. Before I knew it, the date was November first, and Halloween had come and passed.
I hadn't even noticed.
A/N: Hope you all enjoyed! Please review!
