Into the Garden (Wildflowers 5)

"That's why we have to go shopping," Misty insisted. "We've got the car?'

"Cat can't drive her car with a cast on her, can she?" Star asked.

"I've got my license," Misty said. "I can drive us."

Star turned to me to see my reaction. Let Misty drive Geraldine's car? I gazed at the grave. If she heard, she would come busting out of the earth for sure, I thought.

"Well?" Star asked. She looked at Jade. "What do you think, President Jade?"

"if she has a license, what's the big deal?" Jade asked. "I have a license too, but I hate driving anything less than a sports car. However, I need some things myself and it's about time Cat had some more stylish outfits, although I'd like to work on her hair and makeup first. I guess I can bring her some makeup from my mother's company, though?'

"Then it's settled?' Misty said. "The OWP's take their first road trip."

"Cat hasn't said okay yet," Star reminded her.

They looked at me. I looked at the freshly dug earth and then I looked up at the increasingly blue sky. I had never gone shopping with friends. New clothes, my own television set? Why not? I thought. Why not really be free, finally, completely.

"All right," I said. "I'll go get the charge card."

Jade stepped back to let me enter the house.

"Want me to get it for you?" she asked.

"No thanks?' I said. "It's all right."

Here we were planning to change so many things about Geraldine's home and I couldn't get myself to permit someone else to go through her personal things, even to fetch her pocketbook. When I got up to her room, I was still hesitant. Her

pocketbook was where she always left it on the dresser. It was a big knitted black pocketbook that had once belonged to our mother. The snap was brass, worn and dull and the knitted strap was frayed. She liked to wear it over her left shoulder with the strap across her breasts so that the purse hung more to her front than her side. She told me there was less chance of someone mugging her or swiping it that way. On her small frame, it looked much too big for her, but style was not her concern. It was a practical

pocketbook, one that could hold all she wanted to take along with her whenever she left the house. _

I approached the dresser slowly. Many times, when I was much younger, I had a little girl's natural curiosity about my mother's things and once I had actually opened the pocketbook when she had left it in the living room. Before I could begin to explore however, Geraldine came flying in as if some unheard alarm had gone off in her head to warn her. She ripped it from my hands and slapped me sharply across the face. My cheek seemed to sting for a week, but I think it was more because of the shock than the actual blow.

"Little girls don't go snooping in their mother's things," she had yelled at me.

I didn't even know what snooping meant.

"Don't ever touch my things without first asking, hear? Curiosity killed the cat."

I sat there, terrified, rubbing my cheek, my tears stuck at the comers of my eyes. She was capable of hitting me again for crying. She had done it before. She hated the sight of tears. "Most tears are crocodile tears," she'd preached. Again, I had no idea what that meant.

When I reached toward her pocketbook now, I still felt my arm and shoulders tighten, my whole body poised to jump back. Of course it was just my imagination, but the brass snap seemed to bum the tips of my fingers and I pulled my hand away. I closed my eyes and told myself to stop being afraid of silly things. How could I explain such behavior to the girls? They'd think I was really crazy and they'd all want to leave.

Holding my breath, I seized the pocketbook roughly and practically ripped it open. I found her wallet quickly and took it out, but now that the purse was open, I looked into it and immediately saw what looked like the stationery on which my real mother's letters to me were written. It was a sheet that was folded tightly. I plucked it out between my thumb and forefinger and then sat on the chair by the dresser and carefully unfolded it. It was a letter from our mother. I could tell that it had been folded and unfolded many times because the creases had produced small rips. The words looked like they were fading, too. It was as if Geraldine's eyes had worn away the ink.

My darling Geraldine, it began.

I know how unusual it is for a mother to be so beholden to a daughter Children are normally far more indebted to t

heir parents. The sacrifices you have made and are making for me only make me feel deeper love and affection for you. I realize it will be difficult for you, and at times, you might even hate me, but whatever you feel for me, I hope you will always feel love for your little sister and never rest her mother's sins on her shoulders.

Geraldine, I am not naive enough to believe that you are doing all this solely out of love for me or even respect for your father and a desire to protect him. I know you also hate me for having an affair and a child with the man you thought you loved and maybe even believed loved you. I know you think this draws you closer to him. I saw what you wrote him. I am sure it was just a young woman's infatuation. Believe me, he wouldn't have been right for you anyway, and I'm not just talking about family matters and the age differences. I know that he looked at you so dearly sometimes and unintentionally encouraged you, but he was a warm man, a thoughtful man.

Men, you will learn however can be such silly fools. The smallest thing can titillate them and turn them into boys. I'm happy you're with Howard. He seems much wiser, and in the end, if you have to choose between a wise man and a doting lover you'll always be better off with the wise man. Doting lovers stop doting; wise men are always wise. I'm better off with your father I realize that now. I learned it too late. I know you will learn this important truth faster than I did and you will be a better woman. So when you kiss my daughter good night every night, think of me kissing you just for being there.

Love, Mother

Kiss me every night? She never kissed me at night. And who was the man she loved, too, the man who was my father? Did she hate me for not really being her child with him9 How could my real mother be so blind and so foolish as to expect Geraldine would love me as a mother should love a child? Geraldine used to say none are so blind as those who don't want to see. Was that the case here?