Chapter xii
xii
THE SUNDAY MORNING AFTER DROPPING MY KIDS off at Darren’s always feels empty. And the first Sunday morning after I moved into my house, it felt even emptier—me, all alone in that huge space. It was a few days after the anniversary of your death, which always hits me hard. And without the need to hold myself together for anyone, I’d let my emotions take over; I rode the waves of grief and sorrow like a tiny boat in a stormtossed sea. In the midst of my sobbing, Eva knocked on my door. I’m not sure why I opened it.
“Hello,” I said, my voice thick with tears.
“I came to see if you needed anything from the grocery store,” she started. Then her eyes widened at my appearance. “But perhaps instead you might prefer a walk and a pastry?”
I appreciated the offer but couldn’t imagine leaving my house. “I don’t think I’m ready for public consumption right now,” I told her, sniffling.
She smiled kindly and said, “I don’t think you’re ready to be home alone either. Do you have a big pair of sunglasses?”
I realized she was right, so I grabbed my purse, put on my sunglasses, and followed her out into the July heat. We talked a lot that day and solidified our friendship. Now we have a standing date, every other Sunday morning. We’ve learned so much about each other over the years, and I treasure my relationship with her. Kate jokes sometimes that she’s been usurped by an octogenarian.
The Sunday after I dropped the kids off at Darren’s for their trip to Key West, Eva rang my doorbell at ten A.M., as usual. When I bought the house from her, we created a separate entrance for her to go to her apartment, so we’re neighbors instead of roommates.
It was a warm day for February, but still chilly, and she looked old-school elegant in her long, robin’s-egg-blue coat, gray faux-fur hat, gray leather gloves, and a blue, gray, and white scarf she’d knitted herself. I’ve always tried to dress up slightly for our Sundays together— it feels respectful, somehow. So that day I’d put on my black wool coat, red leather gloves, and a knit hat and scarf that Julia had gotten me for Christmas. I’d brushed my hair out so it hung down to the middle of my back. I didn’t hold a candle to her, but at least I wasn’t in a puffer jacket and a ponytail.
I offered Eva my arm and she held me on one side and the railing on the other to walk down our steps.
“How’s your tapestry coming?” I asked her as we walked toward Montague.
Eva was an extraordinarily talented painter who had illustrated children’s books for decades and found moderate success as a fine artist. But these days painting was difficult due to a slight tremor in her hands, so she’d taken up knitting and weaving. She said it was just for fun, but if the small tapestry she was weaving was any indication, she’d be able to sell these, too.
“Much faster now that I can see better,” she said, tapping her new glasses.
I smiled. “Good, I’m glad.”
On that first walk together I’d told her our story— about you and me, and even about Sammy. She was one of three people I’d told the truth to—Darren, Kate, and Eva. I hadn’t meant to say anything about Sam, but without that piece of information, our story wasn’t our story. And it seemed important, once I’d starting telling her about us, that she know the truth, know what you truly meant to me—what you and I truly meant to each other. “How has your week been, darling?” she asked me as we waited to cross the street.
I smiled. Eva feels like a surrogate grandmother, though she’d hate to hear it.
“It’s been surprising,” I told her. “Emotional.”
“Oh?” she asked, turning her face toward mine as we walked. “A new gentleman?”
I laughed. She knew there hadn’t been any new gentlemen worth speaking about in all the time I’d known her. She kept asking, though.
“I found an address mixed in with Gabriel’s things. It’s an apartment in Rome. And I can’t stop thinking about it. I actually … bought a plane ticket. I think … I think I’m going to Italy for a few days.”
“Well!” she said. “That’s one way to get to the bottom of things.”
I told her about the retrospective, about the reissuing of your book with new photos. About how I kept wondering if you had another family in Italy.
“A brother or sister for your Sammy?” Eva asked softly.
I nodded. She has an incredible way of knowing what’s in my heart.
“Do you think it’s possible?” I asked her, almost not wanting to hear her answer.
“Possible? Yes,” she said. “Probable? No.”
“But possible,” I echoed.
“Almost anything’s possible,” she said.
“Almost anything?” I asked.
She smiled sadly. “Well, my parents aren’t coming back from the dead. My sister either. I can’t change the past. I can’t breathe underwater. I can’t grow a striped banana.”
She had moved into quoting from a children’s book she’d written, I realized. That last sentence, I can’t grow a striped banana , was from a story that Sammy and Liam both loved about everything the narrator can’t do: I can’t grow a striped banana, I can’t stretch like a giraffe. I can’t hear an earthworm’s whisper or make a spider laugh. But then the last line of the book is: But, my darling, here is something that always will be true: No matter what, I’ll find a way to show my love for you .
“Is that where you got the idea for Striped Banana ?” I said. “I can’t believe I never asked before.”
“I don’t know if I could have survived without turning my pain into art,” she answered me, her hand tight on my arm.
Eva was the only one of her immediate family to survive the Holocaust. After the German occupation of Hungary in 1944, when she was nine years old, her parents sent her to a convent that was hiding Jewish children. When the war ended a year later, she found out her parents and younger sister had been murdered on the banks of the Danube that October. One of her cousins, a woman I’d once met named Zsuzsanna, had seen it happen and had managed to escape. She was ten at the time and ended up being raised by her teacher. She later converted to Christianity and then became a teacher herself, married and raised a family, but was haunted forever by what she’d witnessed.
“So you think I should go?” I asked Eva. “That it’s the right choice?”
She nodded. “If you need answers, you should look for them,” Eva said. “And maybe that will help.”
“Help with what?” I asked.
“One day,” she said, “when I ask you about a new gentleman, I hope your heart will be free enough to say yes.”
I nodded, realizing she and Kate were trying to give me the same advice, but in different ways. I liked Eva’s way better.
Honestly, I’m not entirely sure if I would have followed through with it all if she hadn’t encouraged me. And then where would I be now?