Tatjana Soli - The Forgetting Tree

“She told my mother she was absolutely disappointed to have a daughter and no sons. More disappointed to have only granddaughters and great-granddaughters. Ironic, that we are a whole clan of women.”

“Is she still…?”

Minna closed her eyes for a moment. “She passed in ’79. I hardly knew her. I have one memory as a baby, being dandled on her lap. I was fascinated by her false teeth, how she moved them around in her mouth.” Minna laughed.

“Jean Rhys,” Claire said. “Beautiful Antoinette, on that lush, sensual island. And Rochester, who comes to marry her.”

They all sat in silence, mesmerized for different reasons.

Minna leaned forward, suddenly serious. “She had a large impact on me as a girl. She was a great heroine in Dominica, where we’re from.”

“Do you go home often?”

“When interest in her work revived, the royalties grew. The family bought land around the original farm until we were one of the largest landowners. Then came the anglicizing. My mother decided to send me to England.”

“How about some wine?” Lucy blurted out, and Gwen glared at her as if confirmed that her sister had lost her mind.

“I’d love some,” Minna said, so quickly it was obvious that she was nervous. “Red if you have it.” She sighed, glancing at Gwen. “Maybe not appropriate for a job interview?”

“No, no. It’s fine. We’re liberal here. Go ahead, open a bottle,” Gwen said to Lucy’s disappearing back.

“We grew up on our grandfather’s coffee plantation. Took shopping trips to Martinique. A charmed life.”

“So how did you end up working at a coffee shop?” Gwen asked.

“How rude!” Claire said. “Excuse my daughter.”

“Are you aware,” Mrs. Girbaldi jumped in, “that this is a job of great responsibility?”

Minna looked off into the corner of the ceiling for a long moment, as if making a particularly difficult calculation, and, once decided, looked at Claire.

“Lucy filled me in a bit. My mother had breast cancer.”

Claire hated everyone in the room for their roughness, how they had forced this out of Minna. “Did she survive it?” Claire asked softly, as if she didn’t want to wake something sleeping in the room.

“She died of something else.”

The blood stopped and started inside Claire. She understood now the pull toward the girl, could see in her eyes that they were fellow sufferers.

“So I’ve been through cancer treatment before. I’ve learned to be careful in approaching the subject. Some people want to be direct and head-on about the whole thing. Others prefer a more indirect approach.”

“My daughters think I’m being stubborn, wanting to stay on here alone.”

“You talk about us like we weren’t even here,” Gwen said.

“You are stubborn, Claire. That’s your strength.”

Her using Claire’s name should have alarmed, a premature intimacy, and yet it thrilled Claire and made her feel they shared an understanding already.

Gwen coughed. “Lucy told us you were taking classes.…”

Minna turned toward her, her profile sharp, suddenly businesslike. “I did my undergraduate work at Cambridge. I started my PhD in political science at Berkeley, but decided to take some time off. Too much stress.”

“What are your future plans?” Mrs. Girbaldi asked.

Minna sat back and smiled, showing that she was answering these intrusive questions only for politeness. “I think I’d do well in diplomacy. My father served as a diplomat. There’s always the librarian dream to fall back on.”

“Wow, Cambridge,” Lucy said, coming in from the kitchen, balancing wineglasses, not missing a beat as she shot a look to Gwen.

“England’s a tradition in our family. Three generations. I want the advanced degree, but now I need some time off. The coffee-shop gig was just for some cash.”

Later, Claire remembered being so dazzled that first meeting with Minna that the information offered up came to her piecemeal. So distracted was she by the timbre, the wave and lilt, of Minna’s voice, like especially ravishing music that reached unexpected places. Definitely English, but something of hot sun and tropical waters, too. A slowness born out of heat and languor.

“I don’t know why this would appeal to you,” Claire said. “Taking care of a sick lady. But you won’t have to clean.”

Minna laughed, a deep belly laugh, head thrown back, perfect white teeth exposed. “I’m well acquainted with a mop. My maman made sure all of her girls kept a spotless house.”

“You have sisters!” Lucy said as if that provided a final confirmation of her worthiness.

“Two sisters. Another house of women only, like yours.”

A silence hung in the room. The family had long ago decided on omission rather than Once we had a son, a brother.…

Minna continued without seeming to note the pause. “I was the ugly runt of the litter. My oldest sister was a model in Paris. Now she’s married. She lives in the south of France. In Cannes.” Minna smiled and nodded, sipped her wine.

The conversation made Claire feel countrified, rough, and without style. She imagined the girls, if they had any sense, felt the same. A new silence stretched until it reached discomfort.

Minna sighed and continued as if the situation required it. “My middle sister lives in Florida. She invests in the real estate market. She has the most beautiful, modern house.”

“You must miss them,” Lucy said.

“I do. But when the three of us were children in Dominica, all we could talk of was getting away. It was so isolated and backward on the plantation. Can I tell you the funniest story?”

“Please do,” Mrs. Girbaldi said.

“My oldest sister was an art student in London when she was discovered by a photographer for Vogue. All fine and well. But they wanted her to be more of a story. A sensation. So they invented this story that he had found her in Haiti, living in the slums and starving, breaking coconuts with her bare hands or something equally absurd. Very much like the stories of Iman being a goat herder.”

“Why would they lie?” Gwen asked.

“I guess to make themselves feel progressive and liberal, feel proud of plucking one of a million from a fate of misery. The wild savage redeemed.”

“But you aren’t even from Haiti,” Lucy said, outraged.

“People always mix up Dominica with the Dominican Republic. It’s all the same to them. Close enough.”

“I am so proud of my girls,” Claire said, resolute, ready to close the deal. “They wanted to take care of me, but I don’t want them upsetting their lives.”

“Lucy told me that you are a very special family,” Minna said.

“You’re hired if you want the job,” Claire said.

Minna opened her eyes wide, grinning, while Lucy jumped up and clapped, rushing to kiss Claire. “Good for you, Mom.”

Gwen and Mrs. Girbaldi remained seated and silent.

“That’s very kind of you. But perhaps you should speak with your family in private. It’s a big decision, bringing someone new into your home.”

“Wise girl,” Mrs. Girbaldi said, before Claire could get in a word of protest.

“The job will probably last only six months. After Mom is well, she’s selling the ranch,” Gwen said.

“Sad to leave such a wonderful place,” Minna said.

“Yes.” Claire looked at this girl, her dark Cordelia.

Another too long pause in the room.

“Can you direct me to the loo?”

“Down the hall,” Gwen answered.

Minna left the room, and they sat in a divided silence.

“I guess I’ll start on the dishes,” Lucy said.

“Not just yet,” Gwen snapped.

No one moved, and they listened in silence to the sound of high heels going back and forth on the wood floor in the hallway, doors opening and shutting. Minna popped her head back in the room.