Lucy by the Sea (Amgash, #4)(55)

And this surprised me again. Chrissy had gone to Brooklyn Law School, and I had never picked up on any competition between them. Chrissy was the older, in some ways she was bossy, and she had—in her youth—sort of bossed Becka around, which Becka—for the most part—had seemed to take easily.

So when I spoke to Chrissy on the phone, I did not mention it, and I noticed that she did not mention it as well. Chrissy sounded distracted enough that I asked if she was all right, and she said, “God, Mom. Please. Of course I am.”

“Well, I will see you soon,” I said, and she only said “See you soon,” and hung up.



* * *



—

I sat for quite a while after that phone call.





Eight


i


And so it was the first week in April that William drove me to South Station in Boston to put me on a train to New Haven. What I noticed as we drove into Boston was that there were places to park on the street. And that the sky was so blue. So blue! “From not having any traffic for a year,” William said. He found a parking place not far from the station and we got out and he wheeled my little suitcase behind him; the city seemed to sparkle in the sunshine and the blue of that sky.



* * *



—

But when we stepped into the train station, I was astonished. There was the sense of a war having occurred. One that was not yet over. The lights were very low. And every single shop in the station was closed except for a doughnut place that was only selling coffee, and the woman who was selling it had her little girl next to her sitting on a wooden crate; the schools were still closed. “William,” I whispered. “I know,” he said.

A policeman stood watch.

To one side were benches, and on these benches were homeless people, many were sleeping, others were just staring, their bags of newspapers and clothes near them. One older woman who—to my eyes—did not look homeless rose from her bench and began walking through the station. She was wearing a kind of pretty dress, and she talked as she walked; I thought she might be on the phone, but as she passed by me I saw that she was not on any phone. “I went inside the place to see if I could get a roll.” This is what I heard her saying.



* * *



—

William walked me onto the train because the conductor let him, and the conductor said to us, “Ninety percent of the people working for this railroad got the virus.” She added, “But I didn’t. I was super, super careful, I have a compromised child at home.” Then she continued down the aisle, and William had to leave. He stood outside my window and waved. I began to feel a sense of nothingness, which is the only way I can explain it.



* * *



—

There were others on the train. Across the aisle from me sat a young woman who was reading a book, and every so often she would glance over and smile at me. And there was a man a few rows ahead of me; every time the conductor went by she said to this man, “Put the mask over your nose,” and he always apologized.

I sat and looked out the window, but I could not feel much.

And then finally the train pulled into New Haven.



* * *





The first thing was this: I got off the train and looked around, and it was not until she walked toward me that I recognized my daughter Chrissy.

She had become skinny again. Not as skinny as when she had been sick, years ago after William and I split up, but she was thin.

“Hi, Mom,” she said, and we hugged, and I said, “Chrissy—”

And she said, “What?” She was wearing jeans that were tight, and her long legs seemed to go on and on.

“You’re skinny again, honey,” I said.

“I’ve been working out a lot.” She held up her arm and showed me her small muscle through her tight shirt.

“But, Chrissy—”

“Mom, don’t,” she said. “Do not talk to me about my weight.”



* * *



—

“Where’s Becka?” I asked, and Chrissy said, “Waiting for you in her apartment.” And so we drove there. Chrissy seemed very much in charge, as though she were a president or a CEO—this went through my head—and when we got to Becka’s little place, not far from Yale, Chrissy pulled over and said, “She’s on the second floor. See you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” I asked. “I thought we’d all be together for dinner tonight.”

“No, you need to see her alone. Bye, Mom.” And she drove away.



* * *



—

Becka came running down the stairs and threw open the door and said, “Mom!” She put her arms around me and said, “We can hug, Mom!” And we hugged. Oh my dear sweet Becka. She went ahead of me up the stairs, dragging my violet-colored little suitcase, and her apartment was small but adorable. She had her bed in an alcove, and she had a piece of cloth on that wall, with all her jewelry hanging on it. Earrings, necklaces. It was very her.

“Mommy, how are you?” She asked this, throwing herself onto the couch and patting the place next to her. “Tell me everything.”

And so we talked, and she was very excited about starting law school in the fall. She was still doing her social work for the city, still doing it from home, and she told me what she hoped to do with her law degree, which was to go into “policy,” as she put it, and I listened, and she looked beautiful to me.