Twisted Roots (DeBeers 3)

"Where will you go to eat dinner?" Miguel asked. "I don't know yet."

"Why don't you take him to Havana Malena, I'll call my brother and have them set you up, if you like." he offered. "My treat." he added.

I gazed at him with some suspicion. It was nice of him to make the offer, but in the back of my mind. I thought he was doing it just so he and Mommy could find out more about Heyden. On the other hand, the food was wonderful at Miguel's family's

restaurant. and Heyden might not be as embarrassed as he would be if I paid for Our dinner or even shared the cost. This way we were both being treated.

Can I have the car again? He doesn't have a car." I said. "Only a moped."

"I don't like you driving into that

neighborhood," Mommy said.

"It's not that 'bad, is it. Miguel?"

He looked caught in the middle. "Well. as long as you remain in well lit areas and just drive in and drive out. I suppose it's fine," he relented, "I would rather she was in a car and not on his moped anyway. Willow," he added.

She didn't look happy about it, but she reluctantly agreed.

"I'll ask Heyden about going to your family's restaurant and call you

from school tomorrow. if that's all right," I said.

"Sure."

Mommy sighed. "I guess I just have to let you grow up," she said.

"Your father and stepmother let you." I replied.

She raised her eyes. "Oh, my stepmother would have let me out of the house to play in traffic when I was only five, if she could."

Miguel laughed and then she did. too.

"Time turns turmoil into comedy," she said, and he nodded. Then she looked at me. "You can go look at little Claude, if you like."

"I'm sure he's sleeping contentedly," Miguel said. The way he smiled at Mommy told me he was implying he would be sleeping contentedly if he had been little Claude and had just breast-fed. Mammy actually blushed and glanced at me to see if I had been perceptive enough to catch the small but clearly sexual suggestion.

Except for the time Selma 'Warden told us about her walking in on her parents making love when she was only seven, none of us ever referred to our own parents when we talked about love and romance and sex. Miguel and Mommy could be very affectionate toward each other. but I couldn't recall them ever kissing each other passionately in my presence. It seemed to be true for all my friends-- parents kept their sexual relationships well locked behind closed doors. It was somehow different to hold hands as a husband and a wife, different from holding them as lovers.

Even Mommy's getting pregnant seemed to be something that happened immaculately. All of our mothers were Mother Marys, and to some of us, our fathers were like gods, worshiped and idealized. In my house and in my life that wasn't true. of course. My father was this Hollywood-handsome,

sophisticated lawyer whose kisses were birdlike pecks on my cheeks and whose love for me often felt more like something grown out of the soil of vengeance and spite. Nothing underscored that more than his refusal to permit Miguel to adopt me and change my name. However, it didn't appear to come from an overriding love for me as much as it did from an overriding indignation that someone, anyone, would dare even think to cast off the Eaton name.

Miguel was certainly a good-looking man, and no man was or could be sweeter to me than he was, but it was still easier for me to imagine Mommy in a loving, passionate embrace with Daddy than it was to imagine her with Miguel. I suppose I was never convinced of Mommy's distaste and dislike of Daddy because of that. Despite her self-deprecating talk, her continuous expressions of amazement at herself far ever being taken in by someone like Daddy, I had an easier time believing she would fall in love with him than I did believing she would find it one of the most stupid and foolish things she could have ever done.

Of course. I believed that was because I was still too young and still not smart enough to see. I had to accept an faith that she was right-- one should never fall in love with a man like my father. A girl had to be careful, smarter, more aware, and know when her own body was lusting and blinding her.

But how do you ever trust your heart? I wondered. When do you know it's right? When do you know that it's not just lust? If someone as brilliant as my mother could have been fooled, what hope did I have?

Maybe that was why she and Miguel were so concerned about my seeing someone. Suddenly, and maybe far the first time ever, I realized how hard it was to be a parent. It was like holding on to the string of a kite that was caught up in the wind. If you pulled too hard and too fast, it would snap and be gone forever, and if you let out more string and gave it more room, the wind might still have its way with it so that when it returned to earth, it was not what it had been.

I started out to see Claude. and Mommy seized my arm. She smiled.

"Don't blame me for wanting you to be my little girl forever. Hannah. I know it's wrong and it can't be, but don't hate me for it."

"I can't hate you. Mommy," I said.

She let go of my hand.