The Perfect Mother(94)
She walks across the lawn, averting her eyes from the flowering dogwood on her left, under which a dozen or so people are gathered; red, white, and blue balloons bob from strings tied to the legs of a plastic table. She sees herself under that tree—her mother’s tree—a year ago. She hasn’t returned to the park since that night when she made her way here, twenty minutes after leaving the Jolly Llama, walking aimlessly at first through the deserted streets, and then with purpose. The mosquitos circled and the oppressive heat of that July night bore down on her as she sat cross-legged, her back against the knotty trunk, writing her mother a letter.
It’s a practice she kept for years, coming here with the leather-bound notebook she found the night of Audrey’s death, wrapped in silver paper and left on the dining room table when her mom ran out to buy ice cream. The inscription on the front page, written in Audrey’s delicate script, has mostly faded: Today you may turn eighteen, but you will always be my baby. Happy birthday, Winnie.
The notebook is nearly filled, with long letters Winnie has written to her mother any time she had something she needed to share: that she’d quit Bluebird, and she and Daniel had broken up. That she’d used some of the family money to set up a foundation for young dancers. That Archie Andersen was in jail, finally, the same week her father died from a heart attack during a business trip to Spain. It was also under the dogwood that Winnie wrote Audrey two years earlier, letting her know she’d done it: she’d found the right sperm donor. She was going to have a baby.
She hadn’t initially planned to come to her mother’s tree the night Midas was taken, but as soon as Alma arrived, she knew she’d much rather be alone than at a crowded bar. After stealing into Midas’s room and kissing her sleeping son good-bye, she’d taken the notebook from the shelf. Later that night, as the sky sparkled with fireworks from the crowd across the lawn, she cried as she wrote under the light of a nearby park lamp about what an easy baby he was. About the way he smelled and how small he felt in her arms and that his eyes were just like Audrey’s, so much so that when he looked at her sometimes, Winnie thought she was looking at her mother.
A group of people nearby break into “Happy Birthday,” and Winnie sees that Nell is waving from under the willow tree. Winnie picks up her pace, trying to shut out the memory of that night, and it’s only when she approaches their blanket that she realizes she was wrong. She doesn’t know these women.
“Hi,” one says. “Can we help you?”
“Winnie!” Francie is gesturing from the next tree. “Over here.” Behind her, Colette and Nell are spreading gift-wrapped boxes on a blanket. Beatrice, Poppy, and Will dig in the dirt nearby.
“I’m sorry,” Winnie says to the women as Francie walks over, her new daughter Amelia, two weeks old, asleep inside the Moby Wrap at Francie’s chest.
“You’re here,” Francie says. Winnie detects the relief in Francie’s voice. “I’m really glad you came.”
Winnie follows her to the blankets. “We lost our tree,” Colette says, smiling up at her.
“Replaced by younger women,” says Nell. “Good thing none of us have any experience of what that feels like.” She shakes her head at Colette, who is pulling napkins and plates from a bag. “For the fifth time, would you let me do that?”
Colette waves away Nell’s hands. “I can lift napkins,” she says. “In fact, Poppy and I both had our last physical therapy appointments yesterday. She’s exactly where she should be, and”—she places her palm on her side, over the site of the wound—“I’m getting closer to feeling like myself again.”
Francie is watching Winnie. “You doing okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Yeah? You getting out of the house?”
On the paved path beyond the trees, a couple flashes by on Rollerblades. “A little.”
Colette pops open the lid of a large cake container.
“You got a cake with an . . . orange square?” Nell asks her.
“It’s supposed to be a house.” Colette licks icing from her finger. “I made it myself.”
“You’re kidding. I never would have guessed.”
“It’s gorgeous,” Francie says. “That house is pretty much drawn to scale. Lowell keeps telling people it’s a three-bedroom we bought, but unless he thinks someone is sleeping in a closet, he’s exaggerating. It’s so nice of you guys to do this for me.” She pulls a napkin from the stack. “These hormones. I’ve forgotten how emotional everything feels with a newborn.” She blows her nose. “I’m going to miss you guys.”
Nell laughs. “Francie, you were born to move to Long Island. You’ll be the mayor of that town by Christmas. Although at the rate you’re going, you’ll probably be a mother of six by then.”
“Out, Mama.” Midas is looking up at Winnie, squirming under the restraint of the straps and pointing at the other children. Winnie unbuckles him, and he slides to the ground, running to join them in the dirt.
Colette doles out the cake, and they eat in silence for a few moments. “I don’t know if we want to talk about this,” Colette says. “But I’d rather get it out of the way. I watched the show last night.”
“I thought you would,” Nell says. “So did I.” She glances at Winnie. “Are we talking about this?”