Thirty-Six—Ivy
I
didn’t know what time it was when I woke up; I just knew my headache was gone. And as I lay there reveling in that little miracle, thoughts of Bo gently descended on me, and I relived—this time pain-free—what had happened between us. The way he’d held me and let me bawl against his surely disinfected shirt, his raw concern, the kindest words I’d ever heard. I almost couldn’t believe it. Bo Sutton.
I ate most of the lunch he’d left me, even though the cheese was a little room-temperature-slimy, then splashed some cold water on my face and spritzed and scrunched my new hair. It helped a little. Then I took the plate Bo had left me back over to the kitchen.
Mia was at the counter shuffling photographs that had apparently migrated from the living room floor. “Hey,” she said, then proceeded to scrutinize me. “You look like you could use some chocolate.”
“I do?”
“Absolutely,” she said, pushing a Symphony bar in my direction.
“No, thanks,” I said. “I just ate warm cheese. I don’t want to tempt fate. What are you doing?”
Mia eyed me, then sighed. “Another round of elimination, and it’s not going well. My portfolio has to be no more than twenty images, and I’ve got close to six hundred—weeded down to these ninety-two.” She shook her head in frustration and put down the photo she’d been staring at. “How are you, Ivy? Honestly.”
“My headache’s gone. So that’s happy. And Bo helped.”
“Really? ”
I nodded, not sharing the details, and Mia didn’t ask. But I stared at her, again recalling my conversation with him. That man was a mystery wrapped in a really good but oddball guy who’d seen me at my worst. And I’d let him—that was the mystery. And he hadn’t died at the sight of me falling apart, and I hadn’t died trying to pretend I wasn’t falling apart. It was all a little unexpected, and it made me wonder if the Universe had maybe sent me Bo instead of Mia, because surely she couldn’t have sent me both. I should maybe discuss it with Geneva.
“What?” Mia said.
“Nothing…You’ve just been really good friends to me, and I’m not sure that was the plan when I came here.”
“Let’s just call it a bonus,” Mia smiled. “I really am sorry about Tim and…and your mom…and your dad...”
I shrugged but refused to cry. “I did hit the jackpot there, didn’t I?”
“Are you sure about the chocolate?” she said. “There’s really nothing better than chocolate and freshly shaved legs to pull your mood out of the toilet. It’s my no-fail recipe.”
I tried to laugh. “Good to know. Rain check.”
“Okay,” Mia said. “How about for now you save me and pick out the most interesting faces?” She handed me a stack of photos. “Keep in mind that imperfection is my platform.”
“I’ll try,” I said. For the next few minutes, I studied the images Mia had captured, and I was blown away by her gift. There was a shot of a soot-blackened fire-fighter, his expression frozen in a desperate shout you could almost hear; the note on the back said Pinnacles National Monument—the day we almost died . There was a shot of a woman, slumped and end-of-the-day rumpled. She was a professional of some sort, but it had taken its toll. She’d been crying, and her blouse was missing a button. Another was of a very dirty woman, old, deeply-lined, and toothless. She was smiling and holding a rusty soup can with a daisy in it. Each photo told its own story and depicted a slice of humanity so visceral that it was its own definition of lovely. The last one in the stack was of a big woman eating ice cream. There was some on her chin, and she was laughing so hard that her eyes had almost disappeared behind her ample cheeks. She was beautiful. The caption on the back said, Lullaby—wedding #5.
“This is your aunt?” I said.
Mia looked over at the photo. “Yep. That’s Lully.” She took it from me. “I like this picture.” She sighed dramatically. “I like them all. I just don’t love them. What am I going to do?”
“I don’t know, but you have to use this one,” I said, taking the photo back. “She’s so… alive. Why have I not seen her? Why are there no pictures of her anywhere?”
“Lully prefers rare art,” Mia said absently. “Except in her office.” She looked up at me then. “Those walls are covered with her life.”
“Can I see them?” I asked.
She bit off a chunk of chocolate, which I’m sure was not Bo-approved. Then with her mouth full, said, “Of course. Come with me.”
I followed Mia through the living room now cleared of her photographs, down the hall past Bo’s room, to a set of double doors. Her aunt’s ‘office’ was enormous, and the only part that was even remotely office- like was the massive antique desk. There was a wall of bookshelves, a fireplace and double French doors that lead out to a private garden. Two overstuffed red sofas took center stage and flanked a huge round ottoman rimmed with colorful tassels. And there were pictures everywhere—on the walls, on the mantle, on the desk and side tables. It was an amazing room, and I couldn’t remember ever being in a space that felt so lived in . Lullaby Sutton was a large woman, and if the pictures were any indication, she was a happy woman who had about a million friends—many of them men.
“She’s really been married five times?” I said taking in the images .
“Yep. But only divorced once,” Mia said. “The other three died. And, of course her new one is very much alive.” She laughed.
“Really?”
Mia nodded. “Her first husband was before I was born—but he was a bad guy. Apparently. She never talks about him, and neither does my dad. So, whatever happened must have been, you know…There’s a picture of him—Anthony. It’s over there,” Mia pointed. “The one with the dart in his forehead.”
I laughed, but sure enough, on the wall just left of the door we’d just walked through hung a headshot of a good-looking man who could have been the dad in Modern Family. And he did indeed have a big ol’ dart sticking right between his eyes. I looked at Mia. “Wow.”
“I know,” she said. “That’s Lully, for you. But I was just thinking…If you’ve got any pictures of Tim, I know where Lully keeps her darts.”
I laughed. “I like your aunt.”
“You would love my aunt.”
“Tell me about the rest of her men,” I said, taking in the big room.
“Well, that’s Roland,” Mia said, pointing to a picture of a bald man laughing with Lullaby—both of them were wearing mirrored shades and were dressed like clowns. “Here’s a good one of just him—he was the editor of a newspaper. I was just a little girl when he died. He got cancer,” she said. “I don’t remember too much about him, except he always gave me quarters.” Mia pointed to another photo. “That’s Toby. He was my favorite. Always told funny knock-knock jokes. He had a seizure while he was driving and crashed into the library. That was awful. Lully was with him, and she broke her wrist and some ribs. He owned The Restaurant Tobias, which Lully now owns. Here’s a picture of their New Year’s Eve party. See, that’s Lully on the bar, singing with the Mayor. ”
I smiled. Lullaby Sutton looked like a big disco ball wearing a laugh that looked like it could take her breath away. She was clearly having fun. And so was everyone around her.
Mia walked over to the end of the bookshelf, and I followed her. “And here’s Alfred,” she said picking up a rustic framed 8x10. “He was the oldest, and oh my gosh, he adored my aunt. He had a heart attack.” Mia pulled a funny face. “In bed. Lully said he went out happy, though. That’s probably TMI.”
I grimaced. “How old was he?”
“He was nineteen years older than her, and he died when she was 56. I remember because it was the day after her birthday—two…no, three years ago.” Mia said all this while walking over to the desk, and I was thinking, my goodness, this woman gets around.
“And this is Matisse,” Mia said. “He’s seven years younger than Lully and seems like a pretty good guy. We don’t know him very well yet. He owns vineyards and a little mansion in Dijon, which is somewhere in France.”
“Where did she meet him?” I said studying the short and portly Frenchman with the crooked smile.
“At a charity wine tasting over in Carmel. She was raising money for refugees, or to get cats neutered. Or it might have been international adoptions—she’s on lots of boards. Anyway, he was there with his wine, and he fell fast and hard for Lullaby.”
“Wow. What’s her secret?” I asked, gazing around at the evidence of her busy life and the many people she knew.
“Oh, it’s probably her… everything .” Mia chuckled. “Lully is just…” She shrugged. “ Lully . She’s generous and funny and kind and a little sarcastic. She’s so nice. Unless she’s mad. Then she just yells you to death.” Mia shook her head. “She just lives her life…very out loud .”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you know when Lullaby Sutton is in the house. She doesn’t hide—she’s like everybody’s mom, or best friend. She talks to you like you’re the only one who matters. She laughs easy, and she’s very huggy—and it doesn’t matter if you’ve known her for years, or you’re meeting her for the first time. She’s just got a knack with people. My dad says Lully could make friends with a cobra. He thinks I got some of that from her.”
“I would agree with that,” I said.
Mia smiled. “And she looks people right in the eye—she says that changes everything. Peter the Great doesn’t like her—no surprise there. He can’t stand to be looked at too closely.”
“Who?”
“Pete—my demon brother-in-law.”
“Oh, right—looking people in the eye is Geneva’s superpower too.”
Mia nodded. “Yep—and we saw how much he loved that?” She sighed. “He’s such an ass. Lully knew there were issues, but Camille…” Mia shook her head. “Camille told my aunt to stay out of it. I don’t know what exactly happened—Camille doesn’t talk about it. And Lully never would—it’s between them—but I can tell you that Peter avoids my aunt like the plague, so he probably knows Lully could crush him—literally and figuratively.”
“Yay, her,” I said. “I want to meet her.”
“I hope you get to. She’s so interesting. She almost died a couple of years ago and she got really introspective for a while. Here’s a picture of her in the hospital.”
“She’s still smiling. What happened?”
“It was right after Alfred died—she had her knees replaced. She was doing fine, but then blood clots from her legs somehow made their way to her lungs. It was very scary. She got super serious after that; started looking at caskets, planning her own funeral. Oh, she even had me take her portrait.”
Mia then walked across the room and got down on her knees. She slid her hand under the sofa and pulled out a huge, framed photograph. “I took this last year in studio,” she said, gently peeling the butcher paper from a large canvas. She stood up and held it at arm’s length. “Even though black and white is my trademark, Lully insisted on color, and I have to say, I’m pretty pleased.”
“Oh, my…” was all I could say of the full-length portrait of Mia’s much-ballyhooed aunt. Lullaby Sutton had short dark hair streaked with gleaming silver. She was wearing a long red dress—custom designed, per Mia—with elbow-length black gloves, which had been her mother’s, and a necklace made of huge pearls strung on black ribbon—Bo’s handiwork.
“She’s…she’s beautiful,” I said, mesmerized by Lullaby’s smile, which was wide and genuine, and there was authentic joy in her blue eyes—nothing staged. She was enormous, but either no one had told her, or she simply didn’t give a damn. And that was perhaps the prettiest thing about her. “Just beautiful,” I murmured again.
“Even though she’s like three of you?” Mia elbowed me in the ribs.
I ignored her but shamefully got her point. In fact, my first thought was that the woman’s loveliness had everything to do with how proud she seemed being exactly who she was. I wanted some of that in the worst way. I elbowed Mia back but didn’t look at her. “So…have you always been close with her?”
“Very. Lully couldn’t have children. She had two brothers, but my uncle Giff—I never knew him; he died in Vietnam before I was born—never had kids, and my dad has us. So, Camille, Bo, and I are seriously adored. And don’t even get me started on my nieces.”
“Oh, I can imagine.”
“About six months after she got home from the hospital, she said, ‘Mia—I don’t want to leave anything to chance.’ She showed me the dress and asked me to take her picture. So, I did.” Mia sighed. “She told me about her will that day, too—which was a little weird. Almost everything goes to us—me, Bo, and Cam—but we have to promise to be generous in charitable giving, take care of our parents, and never spend a dime on cosmetic surgery.” Mia grimaced at me. “Lully is a little miffed that I wear hair extensions.”
I laughed. “What’s this? ”
“I don’t know,” Mia said of the folded sheet of paper taped to the back of the portrait. She gently worked the tape loose and unfolded it, and I read over her shoulder. The first line said:
Whoever finds this, please read at my funeral service…
A note to my Beloveds—and if you are in attendance here today on the solemn occasion of my untimely death, you are absolutely my beloved, and you know how I must always have the last words, so here they are:
I have had the good fortune to be loved by outstanding men (not counting that one), I’ve been befriended by outstanding people, taught by outstanding parents, protected by an outstanding brother who shared with me his outstanding children, Camille Dawn, Benjamin Oliver, and my Mia Lullaby. And in a category all her own, Eileen Sutton is my truest sister. I adore you all, and I don’t know what made me worthy of such blessings, or the accidental wisdom that came with those blessings. But I thank you! I thank you with all my heart.
I heard Mia sniff.
Today, as you gather to remember my delicious life, let there be no tears. Life is too short for such nonsense. Obviously!
My very wise new husband, Matisse, said the day he begged me to marry him, “Lullaby, whenever possible choose happiness because the alternative is simply unthinkable.” He was so right!
So, my friends, on this occasion of goodbye, let us raise a glass to choosing happiness and loving with abandon and breathing joy and believing in us. And let us gulp it all down with deepest gratitude, every single day! Because the alternative truly is simply unthinkable!
Always and forever,
Your Lullaby .
“Oh…my goodness. This woman,” I said, resting my chin on the back of Mia’s shoulder.
She sighed. “Oh, Lully. Only you.”
We were quiet for a moment as we each read her words a second time. Then Mia turned to me. “She could have addressed this little note: ‘Dear Ivy…’”
I met her gaze without flinching. “Well, I think your fascinating aunt could have addressed it: ‘Dear Absolutely Anyone With a Beating Heart’…So, there!”