The Library of Lost and Found(48)

A strange realization began to creep over Martha. Perhaps it was sisterly instinct. “Did you know about any of this?” she asked. “Did you know that Nana might be still alive?”

The question heralded Lilian’s longest silence yet. The cuckoo popped out of the clock and sang twelve times as Martha waited for her response.

“I didn’t know that Zelda was still alive,” Lilian said finally. “But I did know that she didn’t die in 1982.”



* * *



Lilian’s last words made Martha’s stomach turn over. Her hand shook and she tightened her grip on the receiver. She longed to question what her sister knew, but she could tell from her clipped tone their conversation was over. Martha offered to tell her how the dinner party went, and Lilian replied with a muted, “Okay.”

Martha decided to try and blank her sister’s words from her mind. She would find out soon enough, for herself, that evening. She couldn’t imagine how and why Lilian might know something like that and not tell her.

She concentrated on moving and looking inside more of the boxes, picking up speed as she removed them from the stack. She rummaged through the contents quickly, and she soon grew sweaty with her face turning red.

She was going to the dinner party, whether Lilian liked it or not.





19


Balloon Head

In the early afternoon, Martha had just finished drinking a cup of tea when the doorbell rang. She felt a little spaced out because, after her conversation with Lilian, all she had managed to eat for lunch was a slice of toast. Wiping her hands on a pot towel, she opened the door.

Suki stood there, her arms weighed down with shopping bags. Her bump poked through her open coat, and her nose was pink from the wind. “I thought we could take a look at that dragon,” she said, raising her bags by an inch.

Martha instantly reached out and tugged them off her. “You should not be carrying those in your condition. The ligaments in your back can relax during pregnancy, making you more susceptible to injury.”

“It’s not like I’m weight lifting.” Suki shrugged. She stepped inside and slipped off her coat. She circled a hand over her stomach. “This baby is heavier.”

Martha couldn’t prevent herself from flying into organizer mode. “Sit down and I’ll make you a drink,” she said. “The sofa is the most comfortable seat, not the wooden chair. I’ll move some boxes. Do you have enough cushions for your back? I’ll get you a coffee. Is caffeine okay when you’re pregnant?”

Suki held up her hands in surrender. “I’m here to try out papier-maché, not for butler service. I’m not very thirsty.” She held onto her belly as she maneuvered herself down onto the floor. After reaching up and taking the dragon’s head from the crates, she set it down on her lap. “Things are looking tidier in here,” she said. “Have you had a sort out?”

Martha nodded, then narrowed her eyes. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes.”

“Well, okay. I decided that I couldn’t wait any longer for my sister to help me look through the boxes, so I made a start.”

“Good for you. It looks much better.” Suki pulled her bag towards her and took out a large plastic bowl. She sprinkled gray powder into it and poured in water from a bottle. Taking a wooden stick, she gave it a stir. “This is how you make the papier-maché. Stick your hand in. It feels like clay.”

Martha knelt down beside her and rolled up her sleeves. She reached into the bowl. The mixture felt rather pleasing, cool and soothing to her fingertips. A sense of calmness washed over her as she pressed the mixture, feeling it squish and move.

Suki tilted and examined the dragon’s face. “I think I’ll glue a small piece of card over the hole in his cheek, then apply the papier-maché over the top of it.” She took a scoop of the mixture and began to spread it out under the dragon’s eye using her forefinger. “I remember doing this at school.”

“Me, too. We glued strips of newspaper to a balloon, then popped it and turned it into a head.”

“Yes. And stuck wool on for hair.”

They grinned at each other, at finding a common experience.

Suki took a moment to reposition her dress over her bump with the heels of her palms. “Do you have any children, Martha?”

Martha fell quiet. It was a question that made her want to retract her head like a tortoise. She stretched out her neck and gave her throat a brief stroke.

As a younger woman, she’d always imagined her life with children in it. She’d never pictured an alternative.

There’s still time, she used to tell herself when she reached thirty-seven, then thirty-nine and forty-one. But as she got older, so did her parents. As their health got worse, their dependence grew greater.

When she turned forty-two, Martha started to have a recurring dream that temporarily replaced her one about drowning. In it, she daubed on scarlet lipstick, went to a bar and sat on a high stool, sipping a margarita. A man would stroll in, usually looking a lot like Joe, and join her. After a few drinks, they’d slip away to his place for a night of torrid passion.

But then she’d wake up. She’d hear Thomas coughing or Betty flushing the toilet and she’d come back down to earth with a thud.

As she got out of bed to help them, her cheeks would be fiery with shame. However, she’d also feel a kernel of longing, because a huge part of her wanted to try out the dream for size, in real life. She was more likely to have a child through a one-night stand than by meeting and starting a relationship with someone.