Part 21 (1/2)
Lena fingers the disposable camera. An inexpensive gift given with richness of heart that money cannot buy. It is full of Nice and Paris. Lena intended to turn the photos into a sc.r.a.pbook; Lulu's eyes to the world. Wanted her to see what she had never seen: the Mediterranean's dappled surface, the Eiffel Tower, the boats on the Seine, Notre Dame, her daughter in Paris doing fine. A sprig of lavender is tied around the camera so that Lulu could smell France, too.
”Don't beat yourself up.” Bobbie sniffs. ”You were a good daughter, a responsible daughter. Lulu was proud of you. Proud that you could walk away from Randall's money and try to make it on your own. She knew you were doing what you needed to do.”
Lena knows all of this. It is the sound of Lulu's voice that she wants to hear saying it.
Chapter 36.
Madame Harrison, I am so sorry that you must leave under such sad circ.u.mstances.” Jeanne escorts Lena to the awaiting car. ”Please accept my condolences on the death of your mother.”
”I appreciate your help, Jeanne.” Lena hands her an envelope. Inside are the tickets to Tina's concert. ”Enjoy.”
The driver moves the car in and out of traffic, the static of French over the two-way radio relays to the driver, Lena a.s.sumes, instructions for his next pickup. He mumbles then slams the speaker into its cradle.
In the pa.s.senger window beside her a spider twirls and scurries from left to right, seeking connecting points on the gla.s.s to weave its silken web.
”Oh my G.o.d, a spider!”
The cab driver frantically swerves through the traffic to get to the curb. ”Zut alors, madame. Pardon. The last person in zuh cab carry a tree. Let me kill it for you.” madame. Pardon. The last person in zuh cab carry a tree. Let me kill it for you.”
”No, merci.” Lena lowers the window. The spider scampers to the top of the gla.s.s and crawls over to the other side so that its sticky underside is close to Lena's face. She rolls up the window and lets the French Riviera whiz past: Hotel Negresco, the red double-decker Nice tour bus, the sandy beach where she and Cheryl took their tops off to soak in the sun while Harmon and Bruce tried to act like the French, not gawking Americans, countless white apartment buildings, cars, and more cars.
Harmon suggested she make her connection to San Francisco in Chicago when she called him. He would join her so that she would not travel to her mother's funeral alone, but she insisted his presence would complicate things. His love is on her mind. Randall is on her mind as well; but, Tina stayed away from Ike. Sometimes the dream is better than the reality. He will be at the funeral, but not beside her. Even in his sadness, she supposes, he will not comfort Lena in the way he might have if they were together. She will watch him console Camille and Kendrick, and Lena is okay with that. Randall will be as upset as she is. He loved Lulu, too.
She unfolds two sheets of Hotel de la Mer's heavy stationery. The pages are full of her list of things to do. Lena and Bobbie have spent hours on conference calls with the funeral home and their aunts making the arrangements. Their aunts have phoned family friends; Lulu's answering machine will fill quickly with sympathetic messages. If this were a cheerful moment, Lena would call it Bobbie's just deserts, since Lena made all of the arrangements for their father. Lena's job is to compose the eulogy on the plane ride home, to compress eighty-one years into a short speech.
Kendrick cried when she told him of his grandmother's death. She waited fifteen minutes while they talked of his cla.s.ses and his readjustment to the regimen of school before she spoke the words, ”Lulu is gone, Kendrick,” in order to soften the shock. He called Camille so they could have a three-way conversation. Camille cried, too, at the loss of the only grandmother she'd ever known. Both kids have called her twice in the day it has taken to change her travel arrangements. Funny, she thinks, how kids can become so responsible in a crisis.
His dad, Kendrick said, will make sure their son has something decent to wear-no sagging pants. Lulu used to tease Kendrick about his pants, threatened to pull them down if he didn't pull them up. Camille chased him around her house because Lulu's old legs couldn't move fast enough. Kendrick never pulled his pants up; his grandmother never pulled them down. Camille and Kendrick will miss Lulu as much as Lena will; losing two people you love within a year and a half is hard. Three. Lena adds Randall to her tally: Randall, Lulu, John Henry-losing three people is hard.
The driver parks the car at the curb in front of the airport's gla.s.s exterior. Lena doesn't bother to stop the daydreams as she gathers euro coins to pay the driver-tipping him too much to avoid returning home with the heavy loose change-of what it might be like if Randall were waiting when the plane lands in San Francisco. Perhaps he would take her hand, like a friend. At the baggage carousel he would lift her heavy suitcase, carry it like he used to carry Kendrick first, Camille later, in one hand to make their babies laugh, make Lena shake with fear that he would drop the infants, but still have pride that her husband was so strong, her babies and her life so secure.
This would have been possible had she not moved on to her own fate. When she sees Randall at the funeral, when she cries at her mother's grave, he will think all her tears are for her mother, and she will let him; the tears will be for Lulu, but also for her old life. For its death. For what no longer is and will never be again.
Goodbye to Randall. Goodbye to Harmon. Goodbye to the deep blue sea and the smell of baguettes baking in rough ovens. No regrets. She has no regrets.
The airport is straightforward and uncomplicated. Lena wears the only pair of high heels she brought with her and the same s.e.xy dress from that first dinner with Harmon, draped with a pashmina stole in honor of Lulu. On the rare visit to the airport when they were young, Lulu dressed her daughters in pinafores and patent leather mary janes. The sisters believed the airport was a miraculous, mysterious place; its high-glossed floors filled with people coming and going to foreign places they longed to know. The corridors of Nice's airport are s.h.i.+ny and heavily waxed, too. She has never lost her awe for airports.
Pa.s.sengers for the trans-Atlantic flight crowd in front of the airline counter; the lines are long but move swiftly. Behind the soon-to-be-boarded travelers, a swarm of people rush frantically toward the exit door. In the midst of all the commotion, Lena catches sight of a brown-skinned woman: hair controllably uncontrolled, red-lipped smile, high heels, great legs.
The woman walks at her own pace, accustomed to the attention, the adoration. The crowd grows thicker as everyone recognizes her. She calls bonjour and h.e.l.lo in a raspy voice like music, like Lena antic.i.p.ated it would be the first time she heard it up close.
It is a short walk to the gla.s.s sliding doors and the curb where a black limousine waits. The crowd falls back and re-forms a line. Several autograph-seeking stragglers remain. I, Tina I, Tina is secure inside Lena's suitcase. She fumbles for a minute to open her luggage. Lena looks up to see Tina Turner walking through the gla.s.s door to the limo. is secure inside Lena's suitcase. She fumbles for a minute to open her luggage. Lena looks up to see Tina Turner walking through the gla.s.s door to the limo.
”I love you, Tina,” Lena shouts.
Tina twirls around to see the face behind the distinctly American accent. She glances at Lena's sole black face among her adoring fans, and Lena raises both hands and waves.
”Thank you,” Lena shouts louder this time.
Tina looks Lena straight in the eye, breaks into a wide smile, and blows Lena a kiss, just before the car door closes, and the limo eases down the road.
Acknowledgments.
On this wonderful journey of writing my first novel, I have traveled down and around the paths of discovery, surprise, rejection, and acceptance. With all that is in my heart, I thank G.o.d and the Universe for my blessings, for the lesson that family is connected by more than blood, for friends.h.i.+ps. My heart and my head have learned so much. I am pleased and privileged to have such wonderful people supporting and encouraging me every step of the way.
My dear friends, The Finish Party, you have taught me that, sometimes, simple words work best, but a simple ”thank you” doesn't seem to do justice to your wisdom, help, and love. I am filled with grat.i.tude that each of you smart, witty, talented, and truly wise women is in my life: Farai Chideya, Alyss Dixson, ZZ Packer, Deborah Santana, Renee Swindle, Lalita Tademy, Nich.e.l.le Tramble. Wherever you go, wherever you are, I will always value and trust you.