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I couldn’t let him do that. Papa would find out. “I’ll come tomorrow for sure, and we can celebrate then. Thank Billie for this wonderful dress. I just love it. And thank you for the beautiful diary, it’s just what I wanted. Don’t wait at the edge of the woods. Terrible things happen in the woods, especially on this day. I don’t want you there after dark.”
The look he gave me seemed haunted, strange and full of something I didn’t quite understand. “See you later, Audrina. I’m glad you’re nine years old.” Then he was gone and I was left feeling not so lonely and unhappy.
My aunt’s dinner was so tasteless even she ate without much enthusiasm. Still Papa didn’t call. “That’s the kind of awful man he is,” said Vera, “selfish and without regard for anyone’s feelings but his own. I’ll bet you right now he’s in some bar, passing out cigars. And you can bet your bottom dollar, sweet Audrina, you won’t be his favorite once he brings home that baby … girl or boy.”
That night I flitted in and out of nightmares. I saw babies waiting to be born floating around on clouds, all of them crying to be my momma’s child. I saw Papa use a huge baseball bat to knock all the girl babies out into the universe, and then he snatched one huge baby boy and called him “son.” The brother I thought I wanted grew up overnight to be a giant who stepped on me—and Papa didn’t even care.
I woke up to see my room pale and foggy. The sun was only a rosy glow on the horizon. Still tired, I fell again into dreams, and this time Momma came and hugged me, and told me I was the best and most wonderful daughter, and she’d be seeing me some day soon. “Be a good girl, obey Papa,” she whispered as she kissed me. I didn’t hear her words, only felt that’s what she said. I watched her fade away, until she was part of one rose-colored cloud that shimmered like some of her fancy evening gowns.
Strange to wake up and know my parents weren’t in our home. Even stranger to have dreamed about them. I never dreamed about anyone until they’d done something to hurt or disappoint me. I dreamed about Vera a great deal.
All that day was more of the same. My agitation grew so great I called Billie and told her to hold the birthday party, for Papa still hadn’t called, and I had to be here when he did. “I understand, darlin’. Your cake will wait. And if need be, I’ll make you a fresh one.”
Around four my aunt called me into the kitchen. “Audrina,” she began as she pulled out the blender, “your father telephoned while you were upstairs. The baby is born. She’s been named Sylvia.” Not once did she look my way, not once. I hated for people to talk to me without looking at me. Vera was busy for a change, peeling potatoes.
“Now you’re in for it,” she said with a mean grin. “He’ll like her more than he does you, vacant head.”
“Stop that, Vera! I don’t ever want to hear you call Audrina that name again.” It was the first time my aunt had ever defended me and I looked at her gratefully. “Vera, go upstairs and do your homework. Audrina can finish peeling the potatoes.”
My gratitude vanished. Always I was doing Vera’s chores. It was like having a wicked stepsister, and I was Cinderella. I glowered as Vera smirked. “I’m sorry to do that to you,” said my aunt in what was for her a kind tone, “but I wanted to talk to you alone.”
“Is Momma all right?” I asked cautiously.
“Audrina, I have more to tell you,” said my aunt falteringly. Beyond the kitchen, I could see a lock of apricot-colored hair as Vera hid to eavesdrop.
“It’s all right, Ellie,” said Papa, who was just then coming into the kitchen from another doorway. He fell wearily into a chair. “I’ll tell her in my own way.”
He’d come so quickly and quietly out of nowhere that I stared at him as if at a stranger. I’d never seen him with so much beard stubble, never seen his clothes so rumpled. His eyes were red-rimmed and swollen, with dark circles underneath. He met my eyes briefly, then put his elbows on the table and bowed his head into his hands, covering his face as his shoulders trembled. Even more alarmed, I ran to him and tried to embrace him as he so often embraced me. “Papa, you look so tired.” My heart seemed to have dropped into my shoes. Why was he trembling? Why did he hide his face? Was he so disappointed the baby was a girl that he just couldn’t cope with the idea of another like me?
He shuddered before he lifted his head and lowered his hands and clenched them into fists. He struck the table several hard blows, making the vase of flowers topple over. Quickly my aunt was running to stand it upright again. She went for a sponge to mop up the water, as I ran to fill the vase with water again. “Papa, hurry! Tell me about Momma. It seems she’s been gone a whole month.”
His dark eyes were watery with unshed tears. He shook his head from side to side, with that same motion dogs used to throw off water. There was panic struggling to stay out of his eyes, and when he spoke I heard the heavy slowness of his words with dread. “Audrina, you’re getting to be a big girl now.” I stared at him, hating the way he’d begun. “Remember how you used to tell me about teatimes, and how Aunt Mercy Marie made life and death seem in a constant battle? Well, that’s the way it is. Life and death are as much a part of our human experience as day and night, sleep and wakefulness. One is born, another dies. We lose, we gain. That’s the only way you can look at life and stay sane.”
“Papa,” I sobbed, “don’t you—”
“Oh, enough of this!” cried my aunt. “Damian, why don’t you just come straight out and tell her? You can’t always shield Audrina from the harshness of life. The longer you put it off, the harder it will be when finally she has to face up to the truth. Stop putting this daughter of yours into a world of fantasy.”
He listened to her harsh words and her brusque, abrasive voice and looked at me regretfully. “I suppose you’re right,” he said with a sigh. One of those tears that glittered in his eyes slipped to the corner and trickled down his face. He reached to draw me into his arms, then lifted me onto his lap and cuddled me close against his chest. Then he had to clear his throat. “Sweetheart, this isn’t easy for me to say. I’ve never had to give news like this to anyone, much less to the child of my heart. You may have heard in the past that your mother had a dreadful time delivering you.”
Yes, yes, I had heard that before—but she’d had trouble with the First Audrina, too.
“She had an even worse time with Sylvia.” He held me tighter, almost crushing my bones. “I think I explained to you some time ago how a baby comes through the mother’s birth canal and out into the world.” He hesitated, filling me with even more anxieties. “Poor Sylvia was caught in that canal—perhaps too long.” Again he paused. My heart was beating so loud I could hear the thudding. Vera had stepped into the kitchen and was listening, too. Her dark, dark eyes seemed already knowing.
“Darling, hold fast to me now. I’ve got to say it, and you have to hear it. Your mother is gone, darling. Gone on to Heaven…. She died shortly before Sylvia was delivered.”
I heard him say it, but I didn’t believe him. No, no, it just couldn’t be that way. I needed my mother. I had to have her, and God had already robbed Papa of his best Audrina. Was he so heartless he could hurt Papa again?
“No, Papa. My mother is too young and pretty to die.” I sobbed. I was still a little girl. Who was going to help me grow up? I stared at him to see if he’d grin and wink and that would mean this was all some ugly trick dreamed up by Vera. I glanced at my aunt, who stood with her head bowed and her hands wringing out her apron that was spotlessly clean. Vera wore a peculiar look, as if she was just as stunned as I was. Papa’s head bowed down on my shoulder then, and he was crying. Oh, he wouldn’t cry if it weren’t true!
I went numb inside and the tears in my brain flooded and washed my screams onto my face.
“I loved her, Audrina,” sobbed my father. “Sometimes I wasn’t all I should have been, but I loved her just the same. She gave up so much to marry me. I know that I kept her from the career she wanted, and I told myself daily that she wouldn’t have amounted to anything, but she would have if I hadn’t come into her life. She was turning down one man after another, determined to be a concert pianist, but I wouldn’t let her refuse my proposal. I wanted her, and I got her, and then I told her she was only a mediocre musician, more to console myself than to console her. I wanted to be the center of her world, and she made me that. She gave so much of herself, trying to be all I wanted, even when what I wanted wasn’t what she wanted. She taught herself how to please me, and for that I should have been grateful. I never told her I was grateful …” He broke then and had to dry his eyes
and clear his throat again before he went on. “She gave me you, Audrina. She gave me other things, too, and now that it’s too late, I realize I didn’t appreciate her nearly enough.”
Somewhere in my frozen panic I found visions of him standing above her wielding his belt. I heard her voice again, as she’d spoken on the last night I saw her alive. “He’s never hurt me … physically.” He must have hurt her emotionally. I felt rivers of hot tears flooding my eyes, melting my face. And why didn’t Papa mention how she’d given him the best of all daughters, that dead daughter in the cemetery?
“No,” Papa repeated, quaking all over and trying to drown me with his grief, “I didn’t appreciate her nearly enough.”
