mysteries, historical novels, books on myth by Joseph Campbell.
Halfway down, she found a yellow Kodak envelope. Thank you, God . She’d watched victims of catastrophes on CNN scavenge through mudslides, fallen buildings, even burning embers, for photos, as if those images were the proof of their lives. She felt that way now. Her hands trembled with expectation as she opened the envelope.
“Oh,” she whispered, sorting through pictures of her mom’s thirty-sixth birthday party. In one, Meri Ann grinned from a dance floor. Like everyone at the party, she wore a fifties costume: full felt skirt, white blouse with a turned up collar. A skinnier, trusting, fourteen-year-old Meri Ann whose biggest worry was a math test on Friday and heartthrob Ricky. Would he meet her at the locker? Would Boise beat Borah High? If someone had told her that two weeks later her mom would vanish, she would have laughed in his face. But it had happened. And her life had changed forever.
There were seventeen photos with her mother in them. All appeared to be taken at the same party. Joanna wore a scoop-necked blouse and skin-tight black pants, a dark-haired version of the movie star from Grease . Robin Wheatley dressed as Elvis. Meri Ann didn’t recognize him at first. This was not the up-tight engineer she’d encountered in the airport. He appeared in a half-dozen shots with her mom, his arm around her in all but one. No wonder Meri Ann’s dad felt jealous. The last photo was a close up of the D.J. holding a microphone to her mom’s parted lips. Joanna’s head tilted back flirtatiously.
Her mother’s sensuality leaped out at her, something she hadn’t recalled as a kid. But wasn’t that the way teenagers were? Smug in the knowledge they had invented sex?
She gathered the photos, started to put them away. But another one dropped from the packet, a shot taken out at the eagle sanctuary. Her mother held a golden eagle on her arm, granted her arm was covered with a leather gauntlet. Still the bird was enormous. Its beak gaped open and its yellow eyes looked wild.
Meri Ann tucked the photo back into the packet with the others and closed the flap. She had never shared her mother’s love of predatory birds. Given her druthers, Meri Ann would sooner catch a bobcat than let an eagle grip her arm. She briefly wondered if the lanky outdoorsman still ran the place.
She tucked the photos back into the box. In the process she uncovered a small cedar chest, one her mother had always kept locked with a doll-sized key. The box tipped as she lifted it out. The lid opened, dumping out hospital name beads, baby teeth, and two crayon drawings she’d done in kindergarten. A blue envelope was wedged in the bottom. “Joanna” was written on the outside.
Her fingers fumbled in her hurry to open it.
My darling Joanna, I can’t bear these days of watching you and wanting you and knowing you belong to someone else. I won’t rest until you agree to Seattle . . . .
The letter talked about renting a place on Puget Sound and opening an office. He wanted to leave his wife. Whose wife? Meri Ann jumped to the closing: I love you my darling, Robin .
The very idea of that man with her mother irked her, Robin Wheatley with his slicked back hair and haughty expression. “Wheatley, you bastard,” she said through clenched teeth.
She stuffed the letter back into the envelope. Pauline must have read it too. Had she told Dad about it, adding the suspicion of infidelity to his grief?
Now she understood Pauline’s cutting remarks, but she didn’t fault her mother. Wheatley and Pauline deserved the blame. Pauline earned the honor for believing the worst of Mother, and Wheatley, for his seductive proposal, a sleazy excuse for a man, sneaking around behind his wife’s back no less. It might be old business to him now but not to her. She meant to shove the letter in his face and demand an answer.
She knew where he worked.
Chapter Nine
H e
Halfway down, she found a yellow Kodak envelope. Thank you, God . She’d watched victims of catastrophes on CNN scavenge through mudslides, fallen buildings, even burning embers, for photos, as if those images were the proof of their lives. She felt that way now. Her hands trembled with expectation as she opened the envelope.
“Oh,” she whispered, sorting through pictures of her mom’s thirty-sixth birthday party. In one, Meri Ann grinned from a dance floor. Like everyone at the party, she wore a fifties costume: full felt skirt, white blouse with a turned up collar. A skinnier, trusting, fourteen-year-old Meri Ann whose biggest worry was a math test on Friday and heartthrob Ricky. Would he meet her at the locker? Would Boise beat Borah High? If someone had told her that two weeks later her mom would vanish, she would have laughed in his face. But it had happened. And her life had changed forever.
There were seventeen photos with her mother in them. All appeared to be taken at the same party. Joanna wore a scoop-necked blouse and skin-tight black pants, a dark-haired version of the movie star from Grease . Robin Wheatley dressed as Elvis. Meri Ann didn’t recognize him at first. This was not the up-tight engineer she’d encountered in the airport. He appeared in a half-dozen shots with her mom, his arm around her in all but one. No wonder Meri Ann’s dad felt jealous. The last photo was a close up of the D.J. holding a microphone to her mom’s parted lips. Joanna’s head tilted back flirtatiously.
Her mother’s sensuality leaped out at her, something she hadn’t recalled as a kid. But wasn’t that the way teenagers were? Smug in the knowledge they had invented sex?
She gathered the photos, started to put them away. But another one dropped from the packet, a shot taken out at the eagle sanctuary. Her mother held a golden eagle on her arm, granted her arm was covered with a leather gauntlet. Still the bird was enormous. Its beak gaped open and its yellow eyes looked wild.
Meri Ann tucked the photo back into the packet with the others and closed the flap. She had never shared her mother’s love of predatory birds. Given her druthers, Meri Ann would sooner catch a bobcat than let an eagle grip her arm. She briefly wondered if the lanky outdoorsman still ran the place.
She tucked the photos back into the box. In the process she uncovered a small cedar chest, one her mother had always kept locked with a doll-sized key. The box tipped as she lifted it out. The lid opened, dumping out hospital name beads, baby teeth, and two crayon drawings she’d done in kindergarten. A blue envelope was wedged in the bottom. “Joanna” was written on the outside.
Her fingers fumbled in her hurry to open it.
My darling Joanna, I can’t bear these days of watching you and wanting you and knowing you belong to someone else. I won’t rest until you agree to Seattle . . . .
The letter talked about renting a place on Puget Sound and opening an office. He wanted to leave his wife. Whose wife? Meri Ann jumped to the closing: I love you my darling, Robin .
The very idea of that man with her mother irked her, Robin Wheatley with his slicked back hair and haughty expression. “Wheatley, you bastard,” she said through clenched teeth.
She stuffed the letter back into the envelope. Pauline must have read it too. Had she told Dad about it, adding the suspicion of infidelity to his grief?
Now she understood Pauline’s cutting remarks, but she didn’t fault her mother. Wheatley and Pauline deserved the blame. Pauline earned the honor for believing the worst of Mother, and Wheatley, for his seductive proposal, a sleazy excuse for a man, sneaking around behind his wife’s back no less. It might be old business to him now but not to her. She meant to shove the letter in his face and demand an answer.
She knew where he worked.
Chapter Nine
H e
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