else I’ve been needing to talk to you about.”
“I’ve had something I want to talk to you about, too,” Leisa said.
“Why don’t you go ahead,” Nan suggested.
Leisa took a sip of wine before saying, “When we were cleaning out Mom’s house, I found –”
She was interrupted by the telephone.
“How different might things have been,” Leisa would wonder much later, “if we hadn’t answered that phone?”
“Your grandmother died this morning,” Nan’s mother said as soon as Nan picked up. No preamble. No greeting. “You’ll need to come home for the funeral.”
Chapter 7
NAN SAT TENSE AND white-knuckled as the plane began its descent toward Portland.
“Are you nervous about landing?” Leisa asked, reaching over for her hand.
Nan gave her a quick smile that was more like a grimace. “Not about landing,” she said darkly.
“I would really like to be there with you,” Leisa had argued to Nan as she made preparations for the trip to Oregon. “You were there for me with both Dad and Mom.”
Nan turned to her. “I know, but my family is not like your family.”
“Your parents were perfectly nice to me when I met them,” Leisa pointed out.
“I know,” said Nan again distractedly as she held up two different pairs of black pants, trying to decide which to pack. “But they were meeting you for the first time, on our turf. They could fool themselves that you’re just a friend. My mother would never violate the law of polite first impressions, at least not to your face. It won’t be like that if they have to figure out what to do with you for what’s supposed to be family time.” She folded both pairs into her suitcase.
“Family time,” Leisa repeated quietly, sitting in the club chair in the corner.
Nan recognized something in her tone and looked over. “Hey,” she said, kneeling next to the chair. “Their definition, not mine.”
Leisa just stared at her questioningly.
“Look,” Nan said, taking Leisa’s hand in both of hers. “We’ve never really talked about this but, I’m… I’m not actually out to my family.” At Leisa’s astounded expression, Nan hastened to explain, “You don’t understand what it was like in my family.”
“Then explain it to me,” Leisa implored. “For as long as I’ve known you, there’s been this wall when it comes to your family.”
Nan pushed to her feet and went back to the bed where she fiddled nervously with a pair of socks. “There are some things you need to understand, things I’ve never talked about… to anyone.”
“I can’t understand if you won’t tell me.”
When she was sixteen, Nan began playing the piano accompaniment for the church choir. Her mother insisted on their going to church each week – not from any sense of piety, but because it was the thing to do – “if you don’t want people talking about you,” though Nan noticed it never stopped her mother talking about others. When Nan was offered the invitation to play for the choir, she jumped at it. If she had to be at church, at least this way she had an excuse for not sitting with her family.
The church had hired a new choir director, Marcus Oakley. He brought new energy, “and new music,” Nan said enthusiastically. One evening, she was in the chapel practicing some of the new music before the choir’s next rehearsal, repeating the phrases until they felt comfortable. She began singing along.
“Wow, you have a beautiful voice,” said Marcus, startling her.
“I thought I was alone,” Nan mumbled, burning a deep red.
“I mean it,” Marcus said with a dazzling smile. He was young, just twenty-three, fresh out of college with his music degree, making the most of his first job. He was tall, handsome and black.
There had been a sudden surge in female choir applicants since he arrived, but Marcus showed no interest in any of them. “He must have a girlfriend back home,” they whispered.
He sat down next to her on the piano bench.
“I’ve had something I want to talk to you about, too,” Leisa said.
“Why don’t you go ahead,” Nan suggested.
Leisa took a sip of wine before saying, “When we were cleaning out Mom’s house, I found –”
She was interrupted by the telephone.
“How different might things have been,” Leisa would wonder much later, “if we hadn’t answered that phone?”
“Your grandmother died this morning,” Nan’s mother said as soon as Nan picked up. No preamble. No greeting. “You’ll need to come home for the funeral.”
Chapter 7
NAN SAT TENSE AND white-knuckled as the plane began its descent toward Portland.
“Are you nervous about landing?” Leisa asked, reaching over for her hand.
Nan gave her a quick smile that was more like a grimace. “Not about landing,” she said darkly.
“I would really like to be there with you,” Leisa had argued to Nan as she made preparations for the trip to Oregon. “You were there for me with both Dad and Mom.”
Nan turned to her. “I know, but my family is not like your family.”
“Your parents were perfectly nice to me when I met them,” Leisa pointed out.
“I know,” said Nan again distractedly as she held up two different pairs of black pants, trying to decide which to pack. “But they were meeting you for the first time, on our turf. They could fool themselves that you’re just a friend. My mother would never violate the law of polite first impressions, at least not to your face. It won’t be like that if they have to figure out what to do with you for what’s supposed to be family time.” She folded both pairs into her suitcase.
“Family time,” Leisa repeated quietly, sitting in the club chair in the corner.
Nan recognized something in her tone and looked over. “Hey,” she said, kneeling next to the chair. “Their definition, not mine.”
Leisa just stared at her questioningly.
“Look,” Nan said, taking Leisa’s hand in both of hers. “We’ve never really talked about this but, I’m… I’m not actually out to my family.” At Leisa’s astounded expression, Nan hastened to explain, “You don’t understand what it was like in my family.”
“Then explain it to me,” Leisa implored. “For as long as I’ve known you, there’s been this wall when it comes to your family.”
Nan pushed to her feet and went back to the bed where she fiddled nervously with a pair of socks. “There are some things you need to understand, things I’ve never talked about… to anyone.”
“I can’t understand if you won’t tell me.”
When she was sixteen, Nan began playing the piano accompaniment for the church choir. Her mother insisted on their going to church each week – not from any sense of piety, but because it was the thing to do – “if you don’t want people talking about you,” though Nan noticed it never stopped her mother talking about others. When Nan was offered the invitation to play for the choir, she jumped at it. If she had to be at church, at least this way she had an excuse for not sitting with her family.
The church had hired a new choir director, Marcus Oakley. He brought new energy, “and new music,” Nan said enthusiastically. One evening, she was in the chapel practicing some of the new music before the choir’s next rehearsal, repeating the phrases until they felt comfortable. She began singing along.
“Wow, you have a beautiful voice,” said Marcus, startling her.
“I thought I was alone,” Nan mumbled, burning a deep red.
“I mean it,” Marcus said with a dazzling smile. He was young, just twenty-three, fresh out of college with his music degree, making the most of his first job. He was tall, handsome and black.
There had been a sudden surge in female choir applicants since he arrived, but Marcus showed no interest in any of them. “He must have a girlfriend back home,” they whispered.
He sat down next to her on the piano bench.
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