Hello Beautiful

“Would anyone like something to eat?” Julia said. “We have pasta. Or eggs?”

“This has been a hard year.” Emeline sounded like she was delivering a speech she hadn’t written and didn’t fully believe in. “But we’ll be fine by ourselves. We’ll take care of one another. I arranged my college classes to be at night, so I can work full-time, and I got a raise at the daycare. Cecelia and I will be able to move into our own place soon.”

“I’m painting murals on the walls at the daycare,” Cecelia said. “And if that works out, I’ll do the same at other daycares and maybe schools.”

“You two”—Emeline gestured at Julia and William—“are doing wonderfully. Sylvie is about to be an official librarian, the best one in the city.”

“We’re still lucky,” Sylvie said tentatively, as if testing out the twins’ hypothesis.

“We’ll make it through this,” Julia said.

William walked into the kitchen to boil water for pasta and to hide the fact that he was moved by how the sisters had just knit themselves back together in front of him. He felt alone, in front of the sink, with a rickety knee and a palpitating heart. He cooked the pasta, added the refrigerated marinara sauce Julia had made earlier in the week, and brought the bowl to the table. Emeline jumped up to get plates and utensils.

“Thank you,” Julia said, and he saw the gratitude in her eyes.

“I’m just going for a walk,” he said. “I’ll be back in a little while.”

The four sisters regarded him, and the baby gave a sudden happy shout, which made the women smile in his direction before turning to Izzy. William left the brightly lit apartment and closed his eyes with relief to find himself alone in the purple twilight. He thought for a moment of his book, but it was behind him, indoors, and he didn’t want to return until everyone but Julia was gone.

He looked at his watch; there would be a pickup game going on at the gym or perhaps a late team practice. He crossed the campus in long strides, gulping the night air. He would take his regular seat in the bleachers and scan the gaits, leaps, and landings of young men, looking for future injuries. Every weakness he was able to spot on the basketball court could be fixed.

Julia

April 1983–July 1983

Julia and Rose didn’t speak on the way to the airport. William hadn’t wanted Julia to drive the borrowed car; she was so pregnant her belly touched the wheel even with the seat pushed back. He’d offered to chauffeur them to O’Hare, but Julia knew it had to be just her and her mother. If Rose was going to communicate something to Julia — some missing information to explain her leaving, or regret for the decision — it wouldn’t happen with William present. But Rose kept her face stony as they parked the car, checked her luggage, and walked to the gate.

Julia said, “I’ll send you a photo of the baby when he’s born.”

Rose nodded. “Don’t be so sure it’s a boy.”

“Everyone says it is, because of how I’m carrying.”

Julia and Rose stopped suddenly. Cecelia was standing by the gate, holding Izzy on her hip. She was wearing her painting clothes: jeans and a splattered long-sleeved shirt. Her hair was held back with a yellow bandanna that used to belong to Charlie. She mirrored her mother’s stony expression.

Cecelia said, “I won’t let you leave without meeting your first grandchild.”

Rose’s eyes darkened. She looked pale and hard. Julia could tell she was thinking about her husband lying on the hospital floor.

“My first grandchild is right here.” Rose pointed at Julia’s belly.

“No,” Cecelia and Julia said, at the same time.

Rose took a step back.

Izzy, who was missing her morning nap, rubbed at her eyes with the backs of her hands and frowned at everyone.

“It’s going to be so hot in Florida,” Julia said, trying to steer the conversation to a place that made sense, that had potential for peace. As the words left her mouth, though, she knew they were meaningless. “You’ve never liked the heat, Mama.”

“You don’t have to be this stubborn,” Cecelia said.

Julia felt a tremor run through her body. She’d known there would be an important conversation with her mother at the airport — she’d felt this in her bones — but she hadn’t known it would include Cecelia. She felt a pinch of jealousy, because her younger sister had stepped in front of her again. Cecelia was almost nineteen and seemed more powerful, more certain, in motherhood than she had been before. She was pretty and wearing clothes that fit her. Julia felt as big as the ocean, and her thoughts swam like fish in her head.

“Are you trying to kill me too?” Rose said to Cecelia. “Right before I get on an airplane to have some relaxation for the first time in my life?”

Oh no, Julia thought.

“You can’t really, truly believe that I had anything to do with Daddy’s death.” Cecelia pointed a look at Rose that said, If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s yours.