Winter Garden

“I don’t think alcohol is her best bet these days, do you? I mean, she doesn’t know where the hell she is half the time. ”

“But does she know who she is. That’s what I want to know. If I could just get her to tell us the fairy tales—”

“Screw the fairy tales,” Meredith said, more sharply than she should have. At Nina’s surprised look, she realized she might even have yelled it. “I’m going to start packing her things for the move next month. I think she’ll be more comfortable there if she has her stuff around her. ”

“She won’t be comfortable,” Nina said, and now she looked angry. “It doesn’t matter how neat and tidy and organized you are. You’re still putting her away. ”

“You going to stay, Nina? Forever? Because if you are, I’ll cancel the reservation. ”

“You know I can’t do that. ”

“Yeah. Right. You can criticize but you can’t solve. ”

“I’m here now. ”

Meredith glanced at the sinkful of soapy water and the now-clean dishes in the strainer. “And what a help you’ve been to me. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get some boxes from the garage. I’ll start in the kitchen. You’re more than welcome to help. ”

“I’m not going to pack her life into boxes, Mere. I want to open her up, not close her away. Don’t you get it? Don’t you care?”

“No,” Meredith said, pushing past her. She left the house and walked over to the garage. While she waited for the automatic door to open, she had trouble breathing. It swelled up in her, whatever the feeling was, until her chest ached and her arm tingled and she thought, I’m having a heart attack.

She doubled over and sucked in air. In and out, in and out, until she was okay. She started into the darkness of the garage, glad that she’d controlled herself and that she hadn’t lost it in front of Nina, but when she turned on the light, there was Dad’s Cadillac. The 1956 convertible that had been his pride and joy.

Frankie’s his name, after Sinatra. I stole my first kiss in Frankie’s front seat. . . .

They’d gone on a dozen family road trips in old Frankie. They’d gone north to British Columbia, east to Idaho, and south to Oregon, always in search of adventure. On those long, dusty drives, with Dad and Nina singing along to John Denver, Meredith had felt all but invisible. She didn’t like exploring roads or making wrong turns or running out of gas. It had always seemed to end up that way, too, with Dad and Nina laughing like pirates at every escapade.

Who needs directions? Dad would say.

Not us, Nina would reply, bouncing in her seat and laughing.

Meredith could have joined in, could have pretended, but she hadn’t. She’d sat in the back, reading her books and trying not to care when a hubcap flipped off or the engine overheated. And whenever they stopped for the night and camp was set up, Dad would always come for her; while he smoked his pipe, he’d say, I thought my best girl would like to take a walk. . . .

Those ten-minute walks were worth a thousand miles of bad road.

She touched the shiny cherry-red hood, felt its smoothness. No one had driven this car in years. “Your best girl would like to take a walk,” she whispered.

He was the one person she would have told about what happened last night. . . .

With a sigh, she went to his workbench and looked around until she found three big cardboard boxes. She carried them back into the kitchen, set them down on the hardwood floor, and opened the cupboard closest to her. She knew it was too early to start packing, but anything was better than being alone in her empty house.

“I heard you and Nina fighting. ”

Meredith slowly closed the cupboard and turned around.

Her mother stood in the doorway, dressed in her white nightgown with a black woolen blanket draped like a cape around her shoulders. Light from the entryway shone through the cotton fabric, outlining her thin legs.

“I’m sorry,” Meredith said.

“You and your sister are not close. ”

It was a statement rather than a question, as it certainly should be, but Meredith heard something sharp in her mother’s voice, a judgment, perhaps. Her mother wasn’t looking past Meredith for once, or beside her; she was staring right at her, as if seeing her for the first time.

“No, Mom. We’re not close. We hardly ever see each other. ”

“You will regret this. ”

Thank you, Yoda. “It’s fine, Mom. Can I make you some tea?”