Chapter Twenty-Six Lillian
Chapter Twenty-Six
Lillian
Surprised?
More like stunned at my mother and Rosalynn’s arrival.
Steadying myself, I grabbed a post on the black metal fence outside the White House for so long I feared my feet would take root clean through the concrete.
I still could barely process what my eyes were seeing.
Rosalynn and my mother waited an arm’s reach away.
Here. In front of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.
My daughter wore a tie-dyed shirt with Access 4 All written in permanent marker. Her green eyes glimmered with excitement, an echo of the exhilaration of the gathering crowd.
Della sported a smile full of chagrin along with a homemade sign with a flag. The stars were shaped like a wheelchair. “I’m glad to see you remembered my megaphone.”
In her signature passive-aggressive approach to life, she’d left me no choice but to swallow my anger.
“Rosalynn?” I looked from one to the other. “Mom? What are you two doing here?”
I stepped closer to make way for a pair of power wheelchairs, followed by a woman echoing the protest cries in American Sign Language and a veteran in camo with a vested German shepherd.
Rosalynn propelled her chair forward, her hair in a French braid with a patriotic bow. “This is the adventure I was telling you about on the phone. We’re here to join in the demonstration.”
That pay-phone conversation at the rest stop yesterday seemed a lifetime ago. “I was thinking more along the lines of you baking a welcome home cake.”
“Boring,” Rosalynn said with a thumbs-down. “You two don’t get to have all the fun. I almost slipped up and told you, which would have spoiled the whole effect. Nana Della caught me just in time.”
Of course she had. Because if I’d known, I never would have allowed it. My mother would have realized that. Mama’s eyes met mine dead-on, as if daring me to pitch a hissy fit here in the middle of the street.
In front of my daughter, who looked happier than I’d seen her in a year.
Sighing, I backed down. For now. For Rosalynn, I would table the conversation with my mother until my daughter was out of earshot.
And there would definitely be a conversation.
Because I was madder than a wet hen that my mother had planned all this behind my back when I’d explicitly wanted the emotional security of knowing my daughter was safe at home during the event.
The whole reason we were marching was because people like Rosalynn didn’t always have clear paths and safe access to public facilities. Today, the limited access would be all the more stressful for the hundreds crowded into the street who needed adaptive devices for safe navigation.
Rosalynn’s gaze tracked the shepherd service dog with longing, before continuing, “Aren’t you happy to see us?”
Happy? Not the word I would have chosen. “I’m always happy to see you.”
I wrapped her in a hug, so thankful she’d made the trip unscathed. My mind scrolled with dozens of ways the journey could have gone dangerously wrong. My worry for my child went so deep, I couldn’t imagine a time it wouldn’t motivate my every decision.
Grady knelt beside her chair. “Hello there, Princess. You’re a sight for sore eyes. I’ve missed you.”
They’d always been close. She was a daddy’s girl.
I often wondered if my father had been as sweet with me.
I had so few memories of him, since he’d died when I was three—only a vague recollection of him pushing me on a swing at the park.
Or was that something I’d created from other people’s stories about him?
My heart ached for my daughter and how she would handle news of the divorce.
Sure, Grady was often gone for overnight shifts at the firehouse—more since the accident when we needed the money.
But they’d grown even closer since he’d stopped drinking, and she’d even started asking to take cookies to him at the fire station sometimes or plan special family meals for when he came home.
Having him move out altogether would be painful for her.
For all of us.
“Dad, the airplane ride was awesome. The flight attendant gave me extra snacks and told me about the time the singer Debbie Gibson was on her flight.”
“Sounds like you charmed them,” he said.
Rosalynn blushed. “I explained we were coming to participate in the protest. They thought I was young, but Nana Della said you’re never too young to learn about what’s going on in our government.”
“Your nana has a point,” he agreed, a far-from-subtle dig at our arguments about me sheltering her. “See those two girls over there, the ones about your age with the curly hair? They were at our campground. Would you like to talk with them?”
“Can I, Dad?” She turned toward me. “Mom?”
Her eyes were so hopeful—so hungry—I realized how little time she’d spent with kids her own age in the past year when friends were especially important at this age.
All her friendships before the accident had been formed through dance classes and ballet productions.
Those children and their parents had visited the hospital often at first, then faded away in the weeks that passed.
They’d moved on with their lives and lessons, while our path diverted to surgeries and rehabs.
Standing, Grady touched my arm lightly. “We’ll stay within eyesight. I promise.”
I remembered his worries for me to be careful and stay safe. Maybe he understood my concerns for Rosalynn better than I’d realized. Reluctantly, I nodded.
Rosalynn grabbed my hand and squeezed hard. “Thanks, Mom.” She glanced up at Grady. “Ready when you are.”
He grasped the handles on her wheelchair and steered her past a police officer on his walkie-talkie.
Someone near us turned up a boom box. The sounds of Bob Dylan’s “The Times They Are a-Changin’” earned cheers from a few bystanders.
The energy in the crowd was multiplying, but I was still stuck in my head, angry with my mama.
Once Rosalynn and Grady safely reached the twins, I pivoted to face her. “Mother—”
Della cut me off short. “You and Grady look closer, with those old sparks flying.”
“That’s the last thing on my mind right now,” I snapped, not entirely truthfully. “What are you doing here?”
“Rosalynn wanted to participate.” My mother shrugged, pushing a wayward cluster of gray curls from her face. “It’s a grandmother’s job to indulge. I just couldn’t tell her no.”
After I specifically had told my daughter no.
Did Della not understand the risks she’d taken with this “surprise” of hers?
Grinding my teeth, I steered her away from a couple passing out rolled-up copies of the Declaration of Independence.
Finding a private corner was tough with the growing crowd of protestors, press, and police officers, not to mention service dogs, who reminded me of another subject where my mother had interfered without asking first.
I stepped closer and kept my voice low.
“This isn’t like attending a local baseball game or grabbing an extra ice cream sandwich. This . . .” Words failed me when it came to the magnitude of my mother’s betrayal. I opted for a simpler question to give myself time to rein in my anger. “How did you even pay for the trip?”
She rested her sign against the iron fence and patted her fanny pack.
“Some folks at weekly bingo overheard me talking about wishing Rosalynn could come along. Apparently, I helped someone’s grandchild at the laundromat when he was in college.
They reached out to others and took up a collection.
It was enough to finance both our tickets—first class, no less—and two nights in a hotel suite for all four of us. ”
“That must have been some very successful college grad to chip in so much,” I said dryly, a little enviously too. I’d wanted to finish college, but the cost . . . Graduation was out of reach. Night school to become a paralegal had made more sense.
“Dozens of people contributed. They wanted to be a part of the march in their own way. This is an important moment.”
Her words reminded me of the couple at the campground, choosing to participate because it “mattered.” My anger at my mom faded a hint even though I could not agree with her method and choices. Not when it affected my child’s well-being.
I forced a smile. “Mom, we’ll talk more later, all right?”
Sighing, she grasped my arm to stop me. “I understand you’re upset with me for bringing Rosalynn, and I have to say I don’t really care. Well, I care, but I’m not sorry.”
My anger ignited again, and I struggled hard not to lose my temper right then and there. The last thing I needed was to start a fight that would get us all arrested before today’s protests even began.
“You’re not sorry?” My body vibrated with frustration. “Don’t you understand this is a serious breach of trust? You took my medically fragile child on a plane trip, away from her doctors and support, when I specifically set everything up for her to be safe at home while I’m away.”
My mother’s lips went tight for a moment, like she was taking a draw off one of those menthol cigarettes she’d given up last year. “If you recall, I was the one who accompanied her to her last appointment. And when you and Grady left yesterday, you gave me medical power of attorney—”
“That can certainly be changed.” Anger and fear battled inside me.
“Think of all the things that could have gone wrong. What if the flight had been delayed? Or if the airport didn’t supply transportation?
What if she had a crisis mid-flight?” So many more scenarios played out in my mind now, as they had every night as I lay in bed unable to sleep.
“I cleared the trip with her doctor. Lillian, she wanted to come,” Mama said. “I don’t think you understand how desperate she is to participate.”
“Whoa, hold on a minute.” I held up a hand as I began to realize my mother wasn’t planning some sidelines viewing with a sign. “You can do whatever you want. But if you think, for even an instant, that I’m going to allow Rosalynn to be in the middle of that march—”
“A peaceful protest—”
“That could turn volatile at any moment,” I snapped. Even Grady had to realize his concerns for me were minor in comparison to my need to be cautious with Rosalynn. “She’s a child. My child. Not yours.”
“She’s thirteen years old and she’s had a year that would age anyone.
” My mother went toe-to-toe with me right there at the fencing in front of the White House, her voice low, but terse enough to draw a few looks from a nearby couple consulting a map.
“She has been at the mercy of so many things beyond her control. Even her own body. Is it any wonder she wants to take charge? Rosalynn needs this every bit as much as you do.”
I hated to admit it, but my mother had a point. Even from where I stood on the sidewalk, I could see Rosalynn engaged in animated conversation with the other teens, her body language relaxed and happy.
So yes, I understood that maybe this could be a positive experience for her.
I just would have appreciated the opportunity to approach the discussion in a different manner, one that added layers of protection for my daughter.
I would have studied the schedule of events and chosen the quietest day, making sure she hadn’t come over fresh off an exhausting plane ride to participate in a march from the White House to the Capitol.
All moot points now since this had spiraled beyond my control. With Della, Grady, and Rosalynn on the same side against me, I was outnumbered. There was nothing left but to surrender with grace and stick close to my daughter.
“Fine, Mama. Here’s your megaphone,” I said tightly, thrusting the bright red bullhorn into her free hand. “Let’s go make some noise.”