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“Anything could be made up.”
“She said that you used to steal things and bury them for the twins.”
“Bury them. For the twins. Umm no.”
“Then why would she say that you did?”
“I have no idea. You know, I wasn’t three years old when they died. I was old enough to understand what was going on.”
“So you never buried presents for them?”
I looked at him, unable to believe he was badgering me about something so trivial and long-forgotten when he was likely to be having an affair.
“You’re giving me the creeps,” I said.
The flight attendant appeared. “Another Bloody Mary?” she asked. I nodded and turned away. Adrian reached into his carry-on for his book and we didn’t speak again until we landed.
Chapter 24
I was totally excited for Valencia and Van to come home for Thanksgiving. We all were. It would be their first visit home since they had gone away in August. My mother was practically hysterical over it. It was like some really famous brother-sister team was coming our way. Michael and Janet. Donny and Marie. She bought them new clothes and cassette tapes, stocked up on all their favorite chips and candy, packed care packages to surprise them with when they got ready to leave us again. She washed their bedding so their rooms would be fresh and got a haircut so they would think she was more attractive than they’d remembered. A few days before they were supposed to arrive, I overheard her on the phone with Sears, trying to schedule an appointment for a family portrait sitting.
“You can’t possibly be booked solid. I’ve already bought our entire family new outfits!”
It was true; I ran to my mother’s closet and checked behind her bagged up burgundy evening gown to the place where she hid new purchases before stealthfully working them into her wardrobe. Nestled there in a giant shopping bag from JC Penney’s were five new navy sweaters. Cardigans for the boys, crew necks for the girls, and an impossibly kooky sailor style sweater for me, the family dog. I went back out to the kitchen where she was pacing and twirling the phone cord on her finger. “Yes I will hold.”
“I don’t want to wear that little sweater with the funny collar,” I whispered.
She shook her head but otherwise ignored me.
“I said I don’t like that sweater. Can I wear a sweater like you and Valencia are going to wear? Let’s return it.”
“Stop looking around in my closet,” she hissed.
“Can we please return it? Pleasssssse?”
“Go bother your dad.”
“He’s still at work.”
“Yes, I’m still here,” she said into the phone, brushing me away with her hand like I was a fly. “Friday’s great! Friday it is. Three o’clock. Will there be a makeup artist on the set? Oh. That is disappointing. Should we get there early? Yes, I can hold again.”
Spread out on the kitchen table in front of her were drawings of stick figures, labeled with our names. “What are these?” I asked, holding one up.
“Those are ideas for how we’re going to pose for our pictures. Do you like any of them?”
“Really?” Nice of you to ask, Mom. I sat down, eager to participate. I selected the one with the boys in the back row and the girls in the front. “This one. Do we just pick one of these or can we do a whole bunch?”
“Oh, they will take all kinds of pictures,” she said, her eyes gleaming.
“I can’t wait,” I heard myself say, and surprisingly, it was true. As long as I didn’t have to wear that sweater.
But her attention had turned back to her conversation with Sears, “Yes, I am still here but let me tell you, I have never been put on hold so much in my life. I am prepared to shell out a lot of money on Friday and you could treat me like the paying customer I am. Now tell me, how many changes of clothes are we allowed?”
I wandered away and found myself in Valencia’s room. I decided I would do something special for her, to welcome her home. I ran back into my own room and climbed up on a chair so I could reach my Barbies off my closet shelf. They looked a little worse than usual, ever since those neighbor girls had played with them. Both of my Barbie wedding gowns had mysteriously gone missing at that same time, but I was getting old enough that such a loss was tolerable. I poured the Barbies out on Valencia’s floor, trying to decide if a better welcome would be to spell something with them or to create a clever scene with them.
Suddenly I had an epiphany: I would create a festive Thanksgiving setting. Somewhere I even had a tiny turkey on a little plastic platter, if I could just find it. I ran downstairs and rummaged through the old wooden toy box in the TV room and miraculously found the turkey. Back up in Valencia’s room I dressed all the Barbies and the one lone imitation Ken in fun fall outfits and arranged them around an upside down Kleenex box. I set the top of the box with tiny dishes and the turkey in the middle, and then I cleaned up the little outfits and shoes strewn about. It looked adorable. Finally I made a little sign that said Welcome Home Valencia. From Barbie. I set the sign on the carpet a few feet in front of the scene, just to make sure she saw it and didn’t step right in the middle of the Barbie Thanksgiving dinner.
Unsure of what to do next, I went back to my own room, flopped down on my bed, and started doing my homework. But I went back in and checked on the scene I had created every time I needed a break. Each time I looked at the happy little dolls in the warm glow of Valencia’s bedside lamp, I felt I had created something really good.
