Her body—once it healed from bruises inside and out—was still in good shape, and her therapists insisted she work out, though she had to take it real slow. The episode where she ran a 5k for breast cancer helped raise an extra 100 million dollars in donations. At the end of the series, she was a forty-eight-year-old woman. Still beautiful, there was no denying that, but she looked exactly like she was supposed to look before she had started messing around with what God gave her.
“She kind of looks like my aunt Irinie,” said Valka. “But without the stoop.”
We watched her on the Emmys. Oh, Rio got lots of parts after that, not just for Lifetime but for the pay cable stations, too. She was the gray-haired grandma now in the TV movies, never the mom again. I did not get how forty-eight years of age equaled an old lady, but I do not make the movies, I only watch them. But it was her role as Helen Keller’s teacher, Anne Sullivan, later in life, that won her the Outstanding Supporting Actress award. Valka and Jenny and I cheered her from our living room and threw popcorn in the air. In her speech she thanked her agent, her manager, Jesus, and blind people everywhere, who would never be able to see her movie but would hopefully be able to hear how much love for them she had in her heart.
That same weekend Thomas’s penile implant stopped working and he got an infection and almost died. It had actually broken down a week before, but it took a few days for the infection to kick in. He did not realize he was sick. He passed out on the tractor and his fiancée found him in the field. She ran around looking for him when he was late for dinner, and gave him mouth-to-mouth and saved his life. That was more than I could ever do for him.
His doctor pulled out the implant and told him it was best if he steered clear of putting any other foreign objects up there. He was back to the nub. When I heard all of that, I called him and told him to send me the divorce papers.
She can have him, I thought. Who am I to stand in the way of love?
ME AND VALKA AND JENNY all live a fine life together in Santa Monica. We go to the beach on the weekends. Valka sits under a giant umbrella to protect her skin from the sun. “I’ve had enough cancer for one lifetime,” she said. Jenny and I rush through the ocean like it is the most amazing thing we have ever seen, and it is. It is wild and romantic and angry and free. Baby Laura squeals from the shore until we dip her feet in the water. I like that she is going to grow up near the ocean. Sometimes Paul McCartney comes in from Las Vegas and gives that baby the eye like he is trying to plant one right inside Valka. I wonder what she has told him and what secrets she has kept for herself. She does what she needs to do. I try to be the best friend I can.
Jenny is great in the shop. She deals with all the teenagers in town like a champ. They are her people. It is a relief for Valka, I think. We all keep an eye out that she does not get another bun in the teenage oven anytime soon. Next year she is taking floral design classes at the community college. Valka would be just fine expanding her floral empire with Jenny’s help. I keep the books, stay in the back, away from any of the chitchat. I pray sometimes to keep my head together, because you can use prayer however you want. There are no rules one way or the other. Jenny and I go and talk to a therapist. We both agree it helps us just as much as the sunshine does.
LAST WEEK MY PARENTS came out for a visit. Jenny and I had huddled together and decided it was time for them to see their grandchild. Dad was struck dumb the minute he met little Laura. He sat down on the couch with her and got all quiet, and for a second I thought: that is it. He is really gone forever. But then he was on her with the toys and the cooing noises and he bounced her around and she laughed and adored him right back. Girl needs a grand-daddy like that. There was not a dry eye in the room. Even my mother, she rubbed at her eyes, caught a drip on her fingertip. Jenny steered clear of her, did not even lay a kiss on her cheek. It was fine. They do not need to be friends. They just need to give that baby love.
We played for a few hours, me and Dad and Mom and the baby. Jenny hovered, watching, and took the baby back just for feeding and changing. I think she let herself relax a little bit, especially when Dad was holding her. When the sun was setting we all went onto the back porch. Jenny and Valka stood off to the side, keeping an eye on me and Mom. We were drinking beer. Mom was smoking a cigarette. I took a drag. It was just like the good old days when I was still innocent and she was still an all right mother. Dad had cradled the baby up against him and was slow-dancing against the sunset. Jenny and Valka went inside to start dinner.
I asked for another drag, and Mom tapped out another cigarette from her pack. “Might as well just have your own,” she said. She blew out a huge wave of smoke. “You know I’m no good at sharing.”
Dad gave Laura a little dip.
“California dreaming,” said my mother. She hummed to herself her own secret song. I wondered if she remembered that last conversation we had in my hometown, but if she did she wasn’t showing it. That was fine by me. I never wanted to talk about it again, at least not with her. I had other things on my mind.
“All right, I guess I got a question,” I said.