Willow
There were flashes I did not recognize. Swirls of memory, the feeling of loss and want and anger—it all swam around me, filled my head so that when I dreamed, there was no rest.
My bedroom was silent and cold. It felt like a tomb, a dread that even a touch of light and the slip of laughter could not splinter. It was my cave away from the possibility of what I’d seen, what I’d always believed and how, with one conversation, Nash had dismantled that belief.
“Maybe you should take a vacation.” Effie’s voice was clam, soothing over the phone, but even with the cool she covered herself with, I caught the hint of worry in her inflection. “Head out somewhere peaceful…the coast, or…oh, I know. Virginia.”
Virginia reminded me of the places Riley recalled with such clarity. I couldn’t go there. I couldn’t go anywhere and not remember the life she’d led and the man she’d loved. She was everywhere.
Riley had loved Isaac. I knew that. She’d loved him like Dempsey had loved Sookie. Those dreams were fainter, the memory not as strong, but running like a current through all those lives was the pulse of something strong. Something that wouldn’t be denied. Something, I knew without knowing how or why, that demanded to be felt.
“Or…”
“I think I’ll just hide in my bedroom,” I told Effie, settling my cell phone on the pillow next to me. The earbud wires got lost somewhere in the tangle of my hair and the pillowcase. “I just want to…I don’t know…rest a little bit. Hide from the world.” I exhaled, not liking how quiet Effie had become; like she geared up for an argument and needed to decide how to begin it. “You ever feel that way, Effie? You ever just want to forget the world for a little while?”
“Of course I have, sweetie. Everyone has, but you know…”
“Then that’s what I’ll do.” I’d already decided to hang up before she finished speaking. “I’ll call you tomorrow. For now, though, I just need to sleep.”
* * *
Washington D.C.
Senator Mansfield had given a great speech before the formal dinner. There was talk of honor, justice and liberty. The room was crowded with the elite of D.C. insiders—men and women who’d worked with the late President Kennedy championing Civil Rights. Others came in later, when Lyndon Johnson promised to finish that work, and now it was time for toasting the people who had chipped away at another chain of injustice, my parents among them.
“That man, he would make a good president,” my mother said, leaning close to my father.
“Maybe so, my love.” Dad shot a wink across the table, and then turned to his two law clerks. “Work isn’t done, not by a long shot, though.” he added. The clerks were a pair of young, idealistic Harvard grads eager to take on D.C. single handedly. But first, Dad promised, they’d need to learn the difference between pleadings and briefs.
Ryan sat next to me, smiling like he wanted desperately to ask me how my weekend at the cottage with Isaac had been, but I kicked him under the table when he started to drop cryptic hints, earning a wince as Dad watched over the rim of his glass.
“What’s happening with the two of you?” He leaned close, elbow nearly toppling over his half empty water glass. The room was noisy with people moving around and socializing, and I could barely make out his question.
“What do you mean?” Ryan asked innocently, clearly not disadvantaged by the crowd and the rolling noise of clinking dinnerware and emptying glasses.
“The pair of you, all night, you’ve been snickering and talking behind your hands. You want to share your secrets?”
“Nothing worth sharing, Dad,” I quickly cut in. He didn’t buy it, that much I gathered by the way his eyes met mine and held them for a beat longer than strictly necessary. My father was a busy man and he took his work seriously but that didn’t mean he’d ever give up being a parent, regardless of how old his kids had grown.
“Come now, Eric, leave them.” my mom said teasingly, leaning in so he could hear her over the dinner buzz. “They are both here, yes? Both under one roof. You will scare them away with your meddling.” My mother’s Polish accent had grown slightly more pronounced due to her being on her second glass of chardonnay, but it only made her sound more charming.
Our parents were like two kids, still besotted and smitten after some twenty-five years. Dad kissed her forehead and she momentarily laid her cheek on his shoulder.
It was true that I had been conspicuously absent from the family home over the past few months, taking the odd call from each of them or dashing off a quick note after my mother had dropped off another box of cookies or homemade pierogi at my dorm room, but that was about it. My mother was not one to pry, but my dad was understandable suspicious—after all, I was his only daughter. And, as much as I hated to admit it, I had been drawn into the D.C. social scene that, like it or not, impacted the way things got done.
“Does this low talking have anything to do with why Trent is sitting over there with his parents and not at our table, Riley?”
“Dad…”
“I know you two had a fight, but I think everyone expected you to have patched things up by now…”
I smiled at him even as something shifted in my chest. His tone was mildly teasing, and had we been somewhere else, I might have taken the opportunity to admit to him right there and then what had gone on between Trent and myself. But now certainly wasn't the time or the place, not with our table full of colleagues my parents had worked so hard with over the past year. I wasn't going to let his bringing up my love life ruin the evening.
“Daddy, please.” I downed what remained of my red, dissatisfied when it did little to boost my resolve, and decided deflection was my best course of action. “You know that a girl doesn't kiss and tell.”
He shrugged, patting my mother’s hand when she whispered in his ear. “Whatever it is, Trent seems to have no problem with broadcasting it. It’s pretty obvious he’s fixated on you. He’s either been mooning over you all night, or shooting daggers in your direction. Damn, Riley, what on earth did you do to him?”
“Me?” I said in mock shock, but next to me Ryan straightened in his chair, holding my hand still when I balled my linen napkin in my fist. But try as I might, I couldn’t keep up the façade. “It wasn’t…” Thank heavens Ryan was there, giving me a wide, teasing smile but whispered, “Now’s not the time, Riley” under his breath.
“Well, it looks as if we're going to find out, anyway.” Dad said, standing and smiling at someone behind me.
I turned, and saw Trent and his father heading towards our table. I shot Ryan a panicked glance as Dad moved forward to shake hands with Mr. Dexter, and then motion at two empty chairs that sat at our table. Ryan, however, looked just as stricken as I did.
Mr. Dexter had been working the room, typical for the consummate social climber he was, always worming his way into the good graces of whatever cabinet member or high-ranking staff member could push his personal agenda. While I was not exactly enamored with his behavior, it was not uncommon nor even remotely surprising in this city. Everyone in D.C. wanted power, except maybe my parents, and that came hand in hand with double dealing and promise breaking. Trent’s despicable behavior hadn’t been learned in a vacuum—men like Trent and his father were used to getting whatever caught their eye, be it women or influence or power. Once they got them, they moved on to something else. My rejection of him was a challenge that Trent just couldn't let pass.
“You look beautiful, Riley,” Trent said, leaning toward me with that watery-eye glint that I supposed he thought made him look charming, flashing me his million dollar smile. It was all I could do to keep from snapping at him to leave me alone, but I opted instead to ignore him.
My father spoke to Mr. Dexter in animated tones, high spirited, but every so often he would glance at me, mildly curious as to why I dutifully ignored Trent even as he continued to speak to me.
“You can’t be civil?” Ryan asked sotto voce and I cut him a cool look, silently telling him to mind his own business. My brother leaned back, pretending to look to his left while scooting closer to me so as not to be overheard by Trent, still hovering at my shoulder, wine glass in hand, but waving to someone across the room. “You being with Isaac is one thing. But you know if you ignore Trent, questions are going to be asked. Is that a conversation you’re ready to have? Is that something you want to share with these nosy people?”
I closed my eyes, wishing for once that I could escape my life, shoot far away from my family and the lives we lived in Washington D.C. In that moment I only wanted to be on some imaginary island with Isaac, forgetting the world and everything in it but the two of us. No one mattered, no one existed in that place but me and the man I loved.
“Riley, are you all set for classes this upcoming semester?” I started, hitting my elbow on the table as Mr. Dexter’s booming question cut through my private reverie and struggled to gain my composure as I noticed everyone around the table looking at me, politely waiting for my answer.
I crossed my leg, keeping my ankle out of reach of my brother’s nudging foot. “Yes,” I answered Mr. Dexter, falling back on my most practiced, sugary sweet expression. “I’ve enrolled in a course on the fall of Constantinople, one on statistical methodology, and Dr. Matthis is doing a seminar on the Protestant Reformation. Should be a good semester.”
Trent’s father smiled at me patronizingly. “Indeed, indeed,” he crooned, but I don't think my answer even registered with him as he turned his attention to my father. “It’s good you let her continue on with studying, Eric.” His hand fell on my father's shoulder, in an attempt at a shared camaraderie. “Mind, it’s best not to let young women become too invested in their studies.”
“And why’s that?” My father asked, his good-natured smile never lowering, but I could see the muscles in his jaw suddenly clench. Mom must have sensed something in his demeanor, in the way she sat up straighter, as if preparing to intervene if need be. “A good education is such an important part of any young person's development, women as well as men. Why on earth should my daughter, anyone’s daughter, not be invested in their education?”
Trent’s father didn’t know my dad that well. Their paths crossed, yes, especially with Trent and me dating for a few months, but I don't believe they’d ever spoken about anything personal, certainly not outside of work. From the look of the effort my dad was having to go through to maintain his composure, I guessed that was likely a good thing.
“Ah, so,” Mr. Dexter said, dismissing my father's question and turning to his son. “Trent, you must bring Riley back around next week. Your Uncle Ray will be in town; we’ll have to take the boat out to show him the lake. You'd like that, wouldn't you, Riley?” He smiled at me as if he had just bestowed on me a great honor, nodding once as his own confirmation, fully expecting me to agree. When I only glared back at him, Mr. Dexter cleared his throat, obviously not used to his gestures being met with anything other than delight and gratitude.
“Riley would love…” Trent jumped in, answering for me when I opened my mouth to speak. But his thoughtless assumption of control shattered the resolve I had made to at all costs remain civil at what should have been just another Washington dinner. In one fleeting moment, my father's clenched jaw and red face, and my mother’ look of glittering concern, made me realize that they would stand behind me regardless of the consequences.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Dexter,” I said, standing to face him, my voice solid and clear, "but Trent will not be ‘bringing me around’ next week, nor will I be accompanying you and your family to the lake." I was aware that other conversations around us were quieting, and while I had no intention of making a scene, I also had no intention of letting any kind of charade Trent was maintaining continue at my expense. “In fact, I will never again allow a man who thinks hitting a woman in the face is acceptable behavior to date me, or have anything to do with me, even if his last name is Dexter.”
There was a brief pause as the admission sunk in, and then a number of things happened at once. The buzz in the room started up again, gossip no doubt spreading like wildfire. Mr. Dexter looked at me askance, broadcasting disbelief as his eyes darted surreptitiously around the room as if tallying up 'aye' or 'nay' votes in his head. Both Mom and Ryan had stood up to join Dad, who had drawn himself up with his eyes glaring, but knowing me well enough to wait and see what would play out before stepping in. Mom laid a hand on Dad’s arm, her gesture at once both restraining and supportive. And Ryan stood between them all and me, despite the shock on his face—I’d told him about Isaac but not about Trent hitting me. But he was still my big brother, giving me the chance to pull Trent aside and hiss my now unbridled accusations at him.
“You had Isaac fired because you knew he cared about me.” I said, my voice pitched for Trent's ears alone, even though he looked ready to spontaneously combust. “He’s a good man but you just couldn’t stand it, could you? Him in the company of something you wanted? You saw him walking me home that night after you hit me. You saw him kiss my hand, didn’t you? It must have made you livid, knowing that he was more of a gentleman than you’ll ever be.”
But with that I had pushed him too far. A man who hit a woman may be using bad judgment, but he was still a man, might even get a few sympathy votes from the other mover and shakers in power. But a man who not only loses his woman, especially to someone like Isaac, and then has to listen to her taunt him about it? That could not be borne, and Trent lashed out with all the fury of his trampled privilege and scorned pride, careless of how his words rang out around us.
“You think that makes you special, running off with someone like that? I’m a fucking Yale graduate, Riley. My father is on the President’s staff, and you chase after some colored idiot who mops the floors in a library? You choose him over me when you know I’m the better man?”
You could have heard a pin drop.
“No,” I said, throwing the napkin that had been bunched in my hand all this time down on my plate. “You’re not the better man, Trent. You’re not even a tenth of the man Isaac is. You can’t touch him.” And before anyone could say anything else, before the hum of voices started back up again, before my brother could catch me or my parents catch my eye, I walked out of that room, straight backed, head held high, feeling like my chest was going to explode. And feeling free.
* * *
“Stop fidgeting.”
“I ain’t.”
“You are. Just…oh, my God, he’s broken out the bourbon.”
“Riley tells me you’re working on your entrance essay to Lincoln.” My father handed Isaac the glass, and he took it, standing when my mother entered the room to sit next to Dad on the sofa.
Isaac lowered himself into the chair next to me with his back straight and his grip on the sweating glass vice tight. “Yes, sir. Riley’s helped me sound like I might not be so thick-headed.” He smiled when Dad laughed and I felt something warm heat my chest.
But that calm didn’t last long. It was an awkward mess, this whole meeting. But Isaac had insisted as soon as he’d heard about the confrontation at the Matheson dinner, it just was a question of when and under what circumstances. We had spent weeks arguing over how to handle that first meeting, and my father had been frustrated with constantly asking to meet Isaac. But now, after a single conversation, we had decided that the 'where' and the 'how' were not nearly as important as the 'now'.
So here we were, facing my parents as they sipped on their drinks, with Ryan smirking behind his glass as he watched the whole ridiculous event unfold while I questioned the wisdom in the entire thing and Isaac tried his best not to fidget.
We should have disappeared to New York, sending a “See you” postcard to my folks on the way out of D.C. But Isaac wouldn’t hear of it. Despite how nervous he’d been to meet them, how worried he was that my parents wouldn’t approve, he still was insistent on showing up - on time.
“Well,” Dad said, nodding as he moved the ice around in his glass. “There are programs available at Columbia and Georgetown too, in case you were interested in other universities aside from Lincoln. It’s not the only good school in D.C.”
“Eric, dear, there is time, yes? Don’t force him into a thing he may not wish, not so quickly.” Mom was being a diplomat, smooth and calm as she spoke, but I knew behind her polite words, she was worried. She was a Polish Jew whose family had seen the worst in the war, including how quickly the boys from gentile families had dropped their Jewish girlfriends once the pogroms started D.C. wasn’t Poland and the war was long over, but the tension would never fully leave her. No doubt my mother fretted over what Isaac and I would have to face for staying together.
Dad relented, nodding to Isaac in way of an apology for making assumptions about his plans and I absently pulled my bottom lip between my teeth as yet another when a wave of nerves hit me. They didn’t know. None of them, not even Ryan. Any plans they might think Isaac might aspire to wouldn’t matter to my folks much, not by the end of the evening.
For his part, Isaac could not stay still. He’d already gone through his panicked and pacing phase when I told him. Even then he’d insisted, and insisted yet again despite my protests, that no matter how hard it might be, we needed to face this openly. So here we were, staring at my family, wondering when the tension in the room would break.
It wasn’t that my parents were unfriendly. They were always generous, always kind, but since my admission that Trent had slapped me, I’d noticed their worry for me had grown. I’d kept something monumental from them, and that was hard for them to take. This dinner tonight wouldn't make it any easier.
The conversation lulled, and Isaac looked down at the drink in his hand. In one graceful movement he downed it, then turned to me, and my breath caught with the look I saw in his eyes—his worry, his excitement, his deep and unassailable love. He raised his eyebrows the tiniest bit, and I responded with an infinitesimal nod.
He set down his empty glass, then stood, his fists balled nervously at his side. “Mr. O’Bryant, ma’am?” My parents looked up at him, calm, expectant, while Ryan continued to lean on the windowsill, a willing observer “I’ll ask your pardon for the way all this…” he waved a hand between us, at a loss for more of an explanation. “This…what’s happened, as I say, I’m sorry for it all to come out like it did, surprising you all in front of your people in public like that.”
Mom relaxed her face, laying a hand on my father’s leg. “No, dear. Is not necessary…” Dad took her fingers, linking them with his own, stoically watching his melting ice cubes as Isaac continued.
“We wanted to tell you in our own way, in our own time, but sometimes life just doesn't play out like you expect.”
I could see my family out of the corner of my eye, but all my focus was on Isaac, willing him strength and encouragement as he stood up there, making what was surely the hardest speech of his life.
Still my father watched the ice in his glass, my mother smiled, my brother slouched offhandedly. They waited, as Isaac stood with his eyes downcast. As time seemed to stretch on, my mother, always the one in charge with making everyone else feel comfortable, broke the silence.
“Riley?” she said, pulling my attention to her.
“Ma’am, please.” Isaac wanted this. He’d wanted to be held accountable. “Please,” he said again, “I feel it’s…it’s my place.”
He waited for my father’s slow, reluctant nod before he spoke again. “I want you to know that I would never disrespect you all and not Riley. Not ever. But I feel…” when I grabbed Isaac’s hand, he moved his head, a small gesture that told me he knew I was there, at his side. “We feel for each other…deeply, things that are…I believe are real. And it wouldn’t be right, me coming here, saying what I have to say and not asking your pardon first.”
Ryan moved to lean on the back of the sofa, his gaze flashing to me before he cleared his throat. “Tell us.”
“As I say, Riley and me, we care…we love each other. So, I reckon it’s a good thing, just not the best of timing…” He glanced at me, then looked my father straight in the eyes. “Sir, I’ve gotten your daughter pregnant. And I want to marry her. Not because of the baby but…well, because I love her. I love her a lot. She’s…she’s the only family I’ve got.”
That hadn’t been a lie. Isaac had taken me to Charlotte the week before, where his sister, Clara, had been visiting for the weekend, but when we knocked on the door, smiles bright, hands shaking with nerves, she’d refused to let me in. She’d made him choose. Me and the baby, or her.
He hadn’t even taken a breath before he answered her.
“No contest.” And then he led me off the front stoop and back to the Bel Aire.
Now, in my parent's living room, I caught my father’s gaze, something flashing behind them as he watched Isaac. I couldn’t read it, but it seemed to keep him from being able to react to our news.
My mother, however, instantly started to cry. “Is not you,” she told Isaac, wiping her eyes. “She’s my baby.”
“I’ve got some money saved up,” Isaac told her, his words came out in a rush. “I’m not very religious myself, but whatever Riley wants the baby to be is fine with me.”
“Riley…what of your studies?” Mom said, as my father walked over to the window, staring out across the yard and into the street beyond, the muscle along his jaw tight and working.
“She can always finish later, Mom.” Ryan’s smile was wide as he walked toward us, unworried as he shook Isaac’s hand and kissed my forehead. “I think it’s great news. Really. Congrats, sis.”
But my mom was still struggling with the notion. “How will she study with a baby?”
“Mom, this is Riley we’re talking about. She’ll figure it out.”
Ryan held her hand, his grin ridiculous and as she dabbed at her eyes and nodded in agreement, which warmed me to the bottom of my heart. It was then that she seemed to realize how quiet my father had become. Mom looked over her shoulder to where he stood looking out of the window. “You have nothing you want to say to your daughter?”
Dad nodded, his focus still on the view outside that window. The fall weather had turned the cherry trees to green masses and the large oak trees that lined our street had the most beautiful stretch of red and gold leaves. I wondered then what my father thought of; was he disappointed in me? Did he worry what would be become of us? Of his first grandchild?
“Dad?” Still he made no answer. My stomach started to churn, and I was of half a mind to grab Isaac’s hand and high tail it out of there. I stood up and touched his fingers, pulled him into the adjoining dining room, away from my mother’s cries and my father’s stoic reflection.
“Isaac, I’m scared. Do you think we should go?”
I looked up at him, into those odd amber eyes and that beautiful smile. The damned fool that I loved was smiling. Then he reached down to touch my face.
“Riley...” he said, and he wasn’t faltering, but searching for the right words. “These are the bones I live in. They take me through this life good or bad. I can’t tell you what that’s like.” He dropped his hand from my face and I held my breath, not sure what he was trying to say. “You can’t know what it's like, neither, just the same as me not knowing what it is to be you. We all have our burdens to carry and I don’t pretend like mine is any heavier than anyone else’s. I only know that from the first day I met you, you asked me to add weight to my burden. You wanted me to pretend that the world won’t do its damnedest to break us. You and me and now this baby. It’s gonna tear us to pieces.”
“Isaac…I don’t care what anyone else in the world thinks.”
He nodded, his fingers soft on my face, his smile still glowing. “That’s just it, Riley. It’s gonna tear us to pieces, but damn if I ain’t eager to catch each one of ‘em while they fall. I love you, Riley, something fierce. God help me, I do.”
Isaac leaned forward then, lifting my chin and kissed me, soft, sweet, just long enough for any noise in the other room to go quiet. We looked into the den, realizing by how my mother’s sniffles had eased, how Ryan’s grin had gone all wide and stupid, that my family had heard everything Isaac said. He pulled me back into the den and I looked over at my father and noticed his nod, his hands now in his pockets. Through the window behind him I could see the cherry blossom buds as they were blown from their branches, to swirl and scatter in the wind.
Finally, Dad cleared his throat, releasing a long exhale through his nose.
“The ACLU assigned Bernie Cohen a case about a mixed-race married couple in Virginia. Whispers are that it’ll end up in the Supreme Court. They’re hoping to make the ban on interracial marriages unconstitutional.” Dad scratched his chin, pressing his lips together as he kept his returned his attention outside of that window. “Cohen has a fine case and I have a feeling they’ll win.” He turned toward us, his expression still solemn. “But that won’t be for a while, well after my grandchild is born.”
“And now?” Isaac asked, his voice low, not sure of what Dad was driving at. To be honest, neither was I.
“Technically they’re called miscegenation laws," Dad said, “aimed at criminalizing marriage between races. A felony offense, pretty serious. They are common all through the South.” Dad turned then, and looked right at us, the ghost of a smile on his face. “But not in D.C.”
* * *
There was a cloud over my vision. My family came to my attention hazy, like they weren’t quite made of anything solid. It felt odd, this sensation of my body being so weak, so wrung out, my limbs like lead and all around me, in this strange place there were voices buzzing all around me that I couldn’t quite make out. Not really. I knew that in the corner, my parents were huddled together, my mother crying, sniffling as the doctor said things I couldn’t understand. Blood loss? Weak constitution? He couldn’t be talking about me. Ryan was there too. His face was drawn and his skin pale, but he was at my side, forcing a smile, as he looked down at me.
“Sis?” His voice was so soft and I thought it was funny somehow, my loud, obnoxious brother sounding small, awed.
Then, there came the smallest squeak of a sound and that cloudy haze drifted, left my breasts aching as that cry grew louder. A baby. My baby. I wanted to reach out for it, but I was too tired, my arms too heavy.
“Shh, hush now.” That deep, rich voice felt like warm water over my cold skin and I leaned toward it, loving the sweet cadence of Isaac’s voice. “Hush now, Winston.”
I remembered that name. It was a like a song in the back of my mind, something that was sweet and gentle, something I wanted to keep inside me, right next to my heart. And just like that, it came back to me like a wave, rushing forward, that I had a husband I loved and a baby, a son that was the most perfect creature I’ve ever seen.
“Riley?” Isaac’s voice was deep, but soft, not a whisper but a brush against my subconscious. “See our son? You see what a beautiful baby we made?”
His voice cracked just then and behind me, in that fog I heard my mother’s cries and the low call of my father soothing her. But my gaze was hungry for the baby, for the perfect shape of his round face and the smooth contours of his skin. Winston. Winston. My son.
“Riley?”
“I see,” I told Isaac, leaning toward his voice and the smell of baby powder and clean, sweet soap. “I see.” Even though I didn’t. Even though I’d never wanted anything more. That fog grew thicker then, so thick I couldn’t breathe. So thick there was nothing I could do but let it swallow me whole.