3. The two black Moleskine notebooks Kitty started writing in the year she was diagnosed with cancer.
4. Two fading, frayed-edged photographs, both of the same Black woman holding two different White children. Names were written on the backs of both: Mary, age 4, Shirley Claire, age 2.
5. A pair of gold ball earrings.
It made sense then why Kitty, a recluse, wanted her home established as a historic landmark, her things auctioned, and her papers and photos digitized. She knew her worth would escalate after the news and wanted her family to benefit. Perhaps she wanted the truth to be easy to spread.
Twenty-four hours ago, the truth, in short letter form, was enough to reckon with. To learn that Kitty purposely lied made Elise feel as if she’d been talking to a stranger all along, and she decided everything in the box, including the memoir Kitty wrote between the two Moleskines, could remain unread for a little while longer. Elise had tossed everything back into the box and locked it in her Rover.
The confession clarified their family dynamics—Kitty’s hovering over their lives, her sisterlike relationship with Nellie, and their mother’s consistent emotional distance from Kitty—but exposed layers of pain that further complicated the present.
After years of speculation and resentment, there was an explanation for Sarah’s emotional limitations, but Elise didn’t understand. She had had both Kitty and Nellie in her life. Why had she chosen to conceal it?
Her mother’s appearance in the labyrinth hours later had solidified her decision not to tell anyone about Kitty for now, understanding and seeing that her mother’s world was crashing down too. Somehow, she knew then that Kitty’s secret wasn’t hers to keep, and she stayed awake meandering through a million emotions.
Dawn had brought anxiety about the studio meeting, her sisters’ arrival, and not a single wink of sleep.
Jasper’s appearance that night in such a private setting forced her to put the pieces together.
She finished reading Kitty’s Moleskines as the snow-white light of the fall morning came through her bumblebee stained-glass window, shell-shocked to learn how Whiteness had altered the lives of two generations of her family. Learning those origins were from the bloodline of a rape sickened her. Rape of African slaves and their descendants, she knew, was a common practice, a constant threat by which Whites established dominance, indulged fetishes, and bred more slaves to increase their wealth. It was routine, a part of the system—something that had happened long ago, to people that she didn’t know, as in a movie. Now, meeting Hazel through Kitty’s words, she could see her great-grandmother’s angular-shaped face in her own, her eyes in her own. She could feel her energy and Kitty’s. It hit her, then, that what her mother feared was the story of her own creation.
Elise heard her mother in the kitchen—already prepping for her party, no doubt—and went down to help, deciding, still, to keep Kitty’s secret until it could no longer be contained. Jasper would be the measure of that.
But it was her father who turned from the counter. “Hey, good-looking.”
“Morning. Where’s Mom?”
“Asleep.” He turned on the coffee grinder and pushed up his robe sleeves. “Want breakfast? Julia put some lox in there for today.”
“Sure.”
He hummed to the refrigerator, shuffling his feet to the beat in his head.
“Good work night?” Elise asked.
He raised a brow. “Not that type of work.”
“Dad! Gross.”
He chuckled, handing her a cutting board and two bagels. “How’s your guy?”
Elise pulled a knife from the magnetic board next to the stove. “Fine.”
He unsealed the lox pack and forked it onto a platter. “And there are the other two. Want breakfast?”
Giovanni, dressed in sweats, an old Care Bears T-shirt, and tennis shoes, stopped short. She, too, had clearly expected a hectic prep morning. “Where’s Mom?”
“Asleep still,” their father said. Both of her sisters looked relieved. Noele was still in her pajamas and moved robotically to the dishes cabinet, as if she was sleepwalking.
“First time she’s slept through the night in weeks.”
Elise wondered how he knew that. He was always in his studio at that hour, which was why Elise had felt the need to watch her, to make sure she always came back inside. Last night was the only time that week she’d forgotten to check.
When Sarah had yet to stir at the noon hour, Elise slipped out of the kitchen while her father and sisters loaded the dishwasher.
Understanding all her mother had been holding, Elise felt guilty for her eulogy. When her mother answered her knock with a weak voice, she felt even worse. “Mom…” She opened one side of the double door.
Sarah, peeking over her fluffy duvet to see it was her, told her to shut the door. “Elise, I don’t have the energy to fight.”
“I wasn’t—I’m sorry for what I said.”
Sarah turned on her side.
“Mom, we should talk.”
“I need to rest before tonight.”
Hurt, Elise retracted her overture. “God forbid the party doesn’t go on.” Elise closed the door harder than necessary, to elicit a reaction, but there was nothing.
CHAPTER 32
Kitty
Summer 1964
Nellie Shore arrived to the Tates’ home without a smile or much to say. Her mouth and jaw turned downward in a frown, but there was kindness behind her almost-black eyes. Nellie’s skin matched the depth of her eyes and was a stark contrast against the bright patterned dresses she favored, which covered her extremities down to her ankles and wrists. She was a young woman but dressed like Bertha, who was twice her age.
“You’re five, maybe six months along,” Nellie said, examining her. They were indeed growth pains and there was, she reported, “nothing to do but wait.”
The baby would take after Nathan. He was six feet tall and had eight inches on his wife. “The baby’s uncomfortable too. You’ll both get adjusted again soon,” Nellie reassured her.
Kitty appreciated Nellie’s care but resented her presence. She needed space and privacy to plan should the baby’s birth give her away. All day and night, Nellie sat in the corner of Kitty’s room, reading, save for trips to the kitchen for her meals. Kitty couldn’t be rude; Nellie helped her to the bathroom and ran her baths at the perfect temperature, with herbs and oils. It was the only thing that soothed her physical discomfort and mental anguish.
The middle of the night was always the hardest. About three weeks after Nellie arrived, Kitty had a nightmare. She started panicking and crying about how she had never wanted to be pregnant in the first place. Nellie hushed her.
“You’re going to wake your husband.” Nellie ushered her into the bathroom and shut the door; the moon provided their only light. “This baby is coming whether you like it or not.” She stripped her from her sweaty nightgown. “You best make peace with that. Children know when they aren’t wanted, and you’ll have hell to pay in its upbringing.”
Kitty whined. “This pain is only the beginning of my punishment.”
Nellie ran water for a bath. The additives smelled minty. “What do you have against this baby?”
“I’m not supposed to be a mother.”
“You don’t mean that.”
Kitty challenged her. “How do you know?”
Nellie pulled a pipe from a pocket in her dress and put it on the sink. “I’ve seen it all. Don’t worry. I’ll get you through this and deliver the baby when it’s time, Mrs. Tate.”
“Please,” Kitty groaned, “call me Kitty. Aren’t we peers?”
Nellie gave her a blank look.
“I’ll be twenty-eight in September,” Kitty said. “How old are you?”
“Thirty-three,” Nellie said, crumbling between her fingers a marijuana bud, which she packed into the pipe. She lit the pipe before handing it to Kitty. “Inhale.”