“I think she just wanted to be with the rest of us,” Mary said. “She didn’t want to be all by herself locked in that dumb old room!”
Anna watched her husband and her daughter. Her heart shattered. She hadn’t wanted to be a mother. But she was a mother. A version of a mother. And Bruno was a father. But he wasn’t Polly Jean’s. But he was. Bruno kissed her head. Look how much he loves her. Had she noticed that before? Anna wasn’t sure that she ever thought to notice. Nobody wants to be locked up alone in a room. But Anna did. She’d arranged her life in just that way. A secret serves no purpose but to isolate, Doktor Messerli had said. At the time Anna disagreed. But the Doktor was right.
Alone, alone.
Anna ate more cake and tried to swerve herself back to a center.
But every time the conversation shifted, so did Anna’s equilibrium. And she had run out of cake on her plate when they came back around to the subject Anna had thought they’d dropped an hour earlier.
“You know, I honestly can’t get over how unlike either of you Polly Jean looks. Did you bring the wrong baby home from the hospital?” Mary teased. She intended no ill will.
She smiled when she spoke. Mary almost always smiled when she spoke. She couldn’t be cruel if she tried—she wouldn’t know where to begin. Still, Anna’s gut soured. The more Mary talked, the queasier Anna became. Bruno winced, but only Anna noticed it. “She’s absolutely gorgeous, of course. Made of porcelain—and that raven hair!” Bruno drummed the table with his thumb. “What funny tricks genetics play!” Anna smiled weakly. Bruno didn’t smile at all. But Bruno rarely smiles, Anna reasoned. There was no sense in reading into it now.
When Mary ran out of things to say, the dining room assumed a stiff, stifling pall. Mary took her plate in hand and ate the last bite of her second piece of cake. “So dang delicious!”
Ursula had returned to the table in the middle of Mary’s prattle. She had nothing to add to the conversation but a blank-faced witness. Polly Jean twitched in her sleep like dogs do when they dream. Mary hummed to herself and licked the icing from her fork. Anna could hear the program Victor was watching in the other room. Anna looked to Mary, to Ursula, to Polly Jean and Bruno both, to the ceiling, and then to the floor, and then to her own hands, which she had begun unconsciously to wring. The mistakes I’ve made, I can’t unmake. She’d had a simple evening’s reprieve from tears. But they’d returned. They fell straight and fast from her eyes. Cold, slick round tears that were large enough to bounce on the table. Mary reached to stroke Anna on the shoulder but Anna dodged her touch.
Polly doesn’t look like Bruno. Who cares? It had never been an issue before. Why tonight? Anna couldn’t think while being watched. She squeezed her eyes closed and searched the darkness for the answer. She couldn’t find it.
But then she did.
It was a name she’d never heard before. But Bruno spoke it easily, immediately, plainly. Without hesitation. Rolf. It was a ready reply. As if he’d rehearsed it. As if he’d thought it through.
Jesus Christ, he’s thought it through.
Anna stood quickly enough to dizzy herself. She stepped back from the table and stumbled over her own feet. Mary caught her.
“Oh, Anna. You don’t have to go. It’s okay to cry in front of us.” Mary took her hand. “Do you want me to—”
“No.” Anna cut her off. Whatever it was, she didn’t want it. “I need … alone.” She couldn’t even form a full sentence. Bruno’s stare was unreadable. “I’m sorry.” The apology was compulsive and redundant. Anna backed out of the room, then left the house, then ran all the way back to Rosenweg.
22
ANNA STOOD BY THE STAIRS IN THE ENTRYWAY FOR SEVERAL seconds before she remembered how to remove her coat. When she finally recalled the process of letting her arms slip from their sleeves, she let the coat fall to the floor, not bothering to pick it up or hang it on its hook. Bruno hated that sort of carelessness. It sets a bad example for the boys, he’d say. But he can’t say that anymore, Anna thought. We only have one. She stood in the entry a few seconds longer and then went into the kitchen in the hopes that she hadn’t forgotten how to make tea.
She turned the radiator to its highest setting and then filled the kettle with water, put it on the stove, and then fished around in an open cabinet for a mug. Yes. Anna felt a little better. I remember how to do this. The tears had stopped but her face flushed with embarrassment. It shriveled her, breaking apart like that. Should I go back to the party? She decided against it. Surely they understood that her heart was bruised and tender and it pained when pressed on and was hideous to see. Of course they do. She made a silent wish that Bruno and Polly Jean and Victor would stay at Ursula’s a little while longer. She wanted to be alone with her devastation. Mary would understand, too, why Anna deserted them. I’ll call her tomorrow, Anna thought, though she knew that Mary would likely telephone her first.