“Marilyn, hi,” I said, trying to focus.
The woman was wearing a black-and-purple peasant dress as a tunic over blue jeans. The dress had Arabesque stitching that reminded me of the designs on some of my magic tricks. She was tall and slender, her hair still a lush reddish brown: today it was in a long braid that fell to the base of her spine. She would have been beautiful if her eyes weren’t quite so close set. She was standing behind her cart as if it were a podium.
“I keep meaning to stop by the house and check in on all of you,” Marilyn said, and she shook her head and smiled in a way that at least hinted at self-loathing. Disappointment in herself. I hadn’t seen Marilyn since the very first days after my mother had disappeared. Marilyn, like most everyone else, had moved on.
“We’re okay,” I said.
“I’m sure you are, but only because you don’t have any choice but to be okay. When do you go back to school?”
“I’m not.”
“What?”
“I mean, I’m not this semester. I probably will in January.”
“God.”
“It’s fine.”
“Tell me more: How is your father? And Paige?”
“Like I said, we’re okay. Maybe a little shell-shocked. I mean, it sucks, but what are we supposed to do? Dad is teaching and Paige is going to school and swimming and I’m”—and I motioned at the cart overflowing with (among other things) paper towels and cat sand and coffee, cereal and cookies and beer—“I’m shopping.”
“So, you’re the glue.”
“No. I’m just…here.” I glanced briefly into Marilyn’s cart but suddenly felt this was invasive. Carts were public, and yet it felt intrusive to peer in. I looked away.
“Are there any new leads?” Marilyn asked.
“No.”
“How can a person just evaporate into thin air?”
“A person can’t.”
“Do you all need anything?”
I took a breath and thought about it. “Not really,” I answered finally.
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.” Then, almost impulsively, I said, “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything, Lianna. Anything.”
“Did you and my mom ever, you know, get high?” I had come across an article online that suggested marijuana might diminish a sleepwalker’s tendency to get up in the night. Most physicians saw no reason to believe this, but I knew Marilyn liked to smoke and I pondered the lengths to which my mother might have gone to dial down her sleepwalking. Also? I was curious. I wanted to learn what I could about my mother.
“No. Okay, yes.”
“You did.”
“Once in a while. Maybe twice. One time right after she left that architectural firm up in Burlington and needed to chill. Another time when your grandmother was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s.”
“That’s it?”
She looked around conspiratorially. It was as if she wanted to be sure we were all alone in the aisle. “I guess we did more than twice, in that case. Maybe three or four times. We also shared a bowl before you went away to school for the first time, and then again when Paul got into college last spring.”
“You would light up before and after the life-changers,” I said, and I smiled ever so slightly at the idea. “Those really big moments. The really big good ones and the really big bad ones.”
“When your child is growing up and leaves home, it’s good and bad. It’s both. But mostly good. It’s only bad because we’re all a little selfish as parents, and we hate to see our babies move away. But, of course, we’re also crazy proud. I mean, I’m living that empty nest right now with Paul off at school.”
“Did my dad ever join you when you’d smoke? Or your husband?”
“So, is this what happens when our kids grow up? We talk to them about our dope?”
“Oh, come on,” I said playfully. “I know you and Paul sometimes light up together.”
“Well, there is that…”
“So, did my dad sometimes come over with my mom?”
“For a smoke? No. She wouldn’t have wanted you and your father to know.”
“Really? Not even my dad?”
“No way. Your father? He would so not have approved,” she said, and she laughed once, an exuberant and unexpectedly big chuckle.
A thought came to me, and I wasn’t sure whether to pursue it. But I also knew that I couldn’t resist. “I guess not,” I agreed. “Did my mom have any other secrets from my dad? You know, things she would tell you but not him?”
Instantly Marilyn stood up very tall, her whole body stiffening. She reached behind her head for her braid, as if she wanted to make sure it was still there. “What sorts of things?”
“I don’t know. Girl things,” I suggested, hoping to defuse the tension with a silly expression.
“Give me a for instance.”
“Her sleepwalking.”
“That is so not a girl thing. There was nothing playful about her sleepwalking.”
“I know.”
“But, yes, it might have come up.”
I waited.
“It scared her,” Marilyn said finally. “That’s why she went to the sleep clinic. I mean, when you pulled her off the bridge—”