No More Lonely Nights (37 page)

Dominique saw the outrage in her mother’s face and burst forth with a torrent of words before Solange had a chance to interrupt. Her head shot forward, the veins in her neck throbbing. “It’s true! All my life you’ve told me how much better Danielle was, how much prettier. You’ve never supported anything I wanted to do!” Dominique wanted nothing more than to hear her mother deny the accusations. She wanted to be told that she had misunderstood everything. That Solange loved her as much as she loved Danielle. That she really did think Dominique as pretty and smart as her sister.

Solange leapt to her feet, letting the photo album crash to the ground. Her lips were drawn back from her teeth in an expression of unadulterated rage. She pointed an index finger at her daughter and shook it with each syllable that she spoke. “I always treated you equally! I never gave her anything I didn’t give you. You had
everything
when you were growing up!”

“I’m not talking about
things”
Dominique said, as though Solange were unspeakably stupid. She turned her face away from her mother. She had something more to say, but the words stuck in her gut. They were the crux of the matter. Yet to accuse her mother was to admit her own shame. Without even realizing it, Dominique dropped the volume of her voice. Her mouth quivered uncontrollably as she spoke. “You never loved me as much as Danielle.” There. She had finally said it. Finally brought the taboo subject to light. It had been festering since earliest childhood. The knowledge that she was not as well loved as her sister, that she wasn’t as good.

Solange glared silently at her daughter. The only emotion visible in her face was anger. Dominique had hoped to see more. Love, penitence, understanding. Something to show that she had reached Solange. But she saw only anger.

“It’s true, isn’t it?” Dominique asked, her voice bitter.

Solange turned her back to her daughter. She folded her arms around herself; her back hunched forward. It was a curiously vulnerable pose, one very unlike Solange. For a moment Dominique thought her mother might cry. But then Solange turned her head so that her profile was visible to Dominique. Her eyes were dry, her voice harsh as she said, “It’s terrible that you would say such things to me.”

“What about me!” Dominique hated the sound of her voice, of the words. Hated the pleading motion she made with her hands. It was all so childish, so ignoble! But she couldn’t stop herself. “What about how you’ve hurt me?”

Solange whirled about to face Dominique. “What have I done that was so terrible? Name one thing!” Her tone was challenging.

Dominique saw with despair that Solange wasn’t even trying to see her point of view. Instead, she was trying to defend herself. Dominique let out a long, shaky sigh. She put one hand on the mantel and rested her forehead against it. She was too drained for anger. She had said all she could, but she still hadn’t gotten through to Solange.

Then she remembered an incident from her childhood. Slowly she raised her head and released the mantel. She stepped toward Solange, her expression imploring her to understand. “Do you remember when the three of us were in France on the train from Nice to Paris? It was right after the war, the year before Danielle was married.”

Solange nodded uneasily, as though she knew she would dislike what she was about to hear.

“The lady sitting near us said how pretty I was. I was only twelve, but it was the year you let me grow my hair long and she said she liked the color. Do you remember what you said to her?” Dominique’s voice was shaking.

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about!” Solange snapped.

But Dominique could tell Solange was lying. She continued as though she hadn’t heard her. “You said, ‘Dominique? Pretty? No, her nose is too long! Danielle is the beauty of the family.’” Dominique perfectly mimicked Solange’s breezy manner as she relived the memory. When she finished, she leaned forward from the waist, her hands at shoulder level punctuating each phrase. “How could you say that, Mother? How could you humiliate me that way? Didn’t you ever stop to think how it made me feel?” Dominique shook her head in incredulous outrage. “The woman knew. She looked at you like you were a monster—”

Solange stamped her foot. “She did no such thing! You’re just overly sensitive and you twist everything—”

“Mother!” Dominique yelled, startling Solange into silence. She took a step toward the older woman. Something in the intensity of her gaze caused Solange to step backward. Dominique stepped forward again, forcing Solange to look directly into her eyes. “Don’t you see? You made that woman pity me! She felt so sorry for me that she said to you…” Dominique forced herself to exhale slowly. The lump in her throat subsided a little and she continued. “The lady said, ‘I think you’re wrong. Your younger daughter’s features are more unusual, it’s true, but also more expressive. I think
she
will be the beauty.’ Mother, why couldn’t you just let one person think I was better than Danielle? Why did you have to contradict her?”

The blood drained from Solange’s face. She looked so shaken that Dominique was suddenly afraid for her. “I’m…” Solange bowed her head. “I’m sorry, Dominique. I never meant to hurt you.… I just didn’t think.” She raised her eyes to her daughter’s and took a step toward her. “The two of you were so different. Danielle was obedient and affectionate. She adored me. But you…” Solange turned her head so that Dominique was again looking at her profile. “It was almost as though you were Nanny’s child, not mine,” she said quietly. Her eyes came back to her daughter. They were soft, full of emotion. “It’s not that I didn’t love you. You argued constantly with me. You did as you wished and didn’t seem to care if it made me angry.” Solange paused. Her gaze shifted to a point behind Dominique. “Do you remember when you were little and you broke the lock on the sideboard where I had hidden the cookies for my canasta group?”

Dominique was surprised to find herself smiling tearfully at the memory. “I remember.”

Solange shook her head slowly from side to side. “You used a nail file to get it open, and you left those gouges in the wood.”

Dominique met her mother’s eyes. She used the back of her hand to wipe her tears and her nose.

“Stop that!” Solange commanded. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a clean handkerchief. “Here, use this.”

Dominique took the little square of cloth. “Thank you,” she said softly. She blew her nose.

“That was a very valuable antique, you know,” Solange said. Her voice grew more animated. “I was furious!”

“I remember,” Dominique said ruefully. “You spanked me and sent me to bed without supper.” She gave a tremulous laugh at the memory.

“But you didn’t seem to care. That’s what was so maddening!” Solange wore a scolding expression, but the younger woman knew she meant it in humor.

Dominique grinned. “I didn’t care because I was sick from the cookies.”

Solange returned her smile. “That was the sort of thing that only you would do. Danielle would have never—” She stopped short and looked cautiously at her daughter.

“It’s all right.” Dominique gave her mother a reassuring nod. “I know what you mean.”

“It’s not that I didn’t love you.” Solange’s voice was insistent. “But Danielle was easier for me to understand.” She tapped her index finger against her chin. “We’re more alike.”

Dominique nodded slowly. “I know.”

Solange gave her daughter an uncharacteristically sheepish look. “I’ll try not to nag you so much. I know it annoys you, and I always vow to keep silent, but when I see you doing something that isn’t best for you, I can’t help saying something.”

Dominique sighed and reached for her mother’s hands. “And I’ll try to be more tolerant,” she said warmly. “I know you mean well.”

“Well,” Solange said in a heartier tone of voice, “I’m glad we’ve resolved this.”

Dominique squeezed her mother’s hands. It was as though a huge burden had been lifted. It was a relief to give voice to the anger, envy, and frustration she had carried with her her entire life. And she understood a little—though not entirely—why Solange felt closer to Danielle. It still hurt to know that it was the case, but it was better than thinking that her mother simply didn’t love her. Dominique wondered if she and Solange would ever truly feel comfortable with each other—ever truly be friends. Even now it didn’t quite seem possible. But at least they had talked. Dominique knew that there remained more to be said. She would have liked to talk for hours, days, about all their misunderstandings. Yet Solange wasn’t ready to say more. She was anxious to gloss over the hard feelings, to call the problem solved and move on.

Dominique knew Clay wanted to make Solange’s last night with them special when he suggested dinner at the Pontchartrain Hotel’s Caribbean Room. It was not the spot for a casual, drop-in sort of dinner, and Clay had taken Dominique there only twice before: on their first anniversary and on the day they had moved into their grand new home on St. Charles Avenue.

Throughout Solange’s two-week visit, Clay’s manner toward her had continued to be as solicitous as on the first day. Now, as they were led to their table, he gave her his arm, leaving Dominique to follow a few steps behind. He held out Solange’s chair as the waiter held Dominique’s.

When they were seated, Clay ordered a bottle of champagne, then turned to Solange to discuss the menu with her. Clay had learned a smattering of French—hardly enough to string together a sentence—and Solange spoke only broken English, but with Dominique’s help, they made themselves understood to each other.

When the champagne came, Clay raised his glass and proposed a toast. “To family,” he said as he tipped his head in Solange’s direction. She smiled warmly at her son-in-law and the three of them clinked their glasses together and took a sip of champagne.

“Soon I hope we’ll have an even bigger family to celebrate,” he said, looking pointedly at Dominique. For Solange’s benefit, he cradled his arms as though they contained a baby.

Solange’s eyes widened and she looked questioningly at Dominique.

Dominique shot Clay a warning look that said “Don’t start,” then, with some embarrassment, admitted to her mother, “He’s talking about having a baby.”

Solange turned to her daughter with an “I told you so” look. “Why you no want baby?” she asked in English, her tone accusatory. For two weeks she hadn’t revived the subject, but she clearly thought Clay’s comment gave her license to do so now.

Dominique was irritated no end. Given their recent argument, Solange had to know she was treading on sensitive ground. Dominique was tempted to retort that it was none of Solange’s business. But, of course, that would have started a row. Instead, she glared at her mother and allowed a lengthy silence to develop, hoping it would make the same point. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Clay had turned to look at her. His hands were folded in front of him and his eyebrows were raised in an exaggerated pose of expectancy.

Solange didn’t seem in the least bothered by her daughter’s glare. She met Dominique’s gaze and held it, as though she were prepared to wait in silence as long as necessary for an answer.

Dominique thought back to their fight two weeks before. As cathartic as it had seemed at the time, it hadn’t altered Solange’s behavior for more than a day or two. Nor Dominique’s, for that matter. Oh, there had been moments of companionability—more than ever before—but all too often, the women had fallen into their old pattern of interaction: an endless cycle of criticism, irritation, eruption, and finally a return to civility without any resolution of the issue that had caused the discord. Dominique didn’t feel like going through it all again on their last night together. So, to keep the peace, she decided to answer her mother.

“I want children, but later,” she said emphatically.

“Later!” Solange mocked. “You see, it’s just as I told you,” she said in rapid French. “He doesn’t want you to be a career woman. He wants you to be a wife and mother—as you should!” She waved a hand in Clay’s direction as she concluded, leaving no question that she was speaking of him.

To Dominique’s immense annoyance, Clay was nodding, as though he understood every word. Clearly, he understood the gist of what was being said.

Dominique stood up. “I’m going to the powder room,” she said stonily, “and when I return I don’t want to discuss this anymore.” She gave Clay a pointed look, then turned to her mother with the same expression.

Dominique saw a flash in Solange’s eyes, as though she intended to argue further. Then the older woman blinked and let out a puff of exasperation. She sat back in her seat and held her hands in front of her, flipping her wrists dismissively. “Enough!” she said. “I don’t want to ruin this nice evening your husband has planned by arguing about your stubbornness.”

She always has to have the last word! Dominique thought, biting back an angry reply.

But as it turned out, Clay had the last word. Three weeks after dinner at the Pontchartrain, Dominique learned she was pregnant.

DOMINIQUE squinted against the sun to peer anxiously at her daughter and niece. Fourth-grader Lana was fussing over the toddler, pretending to be her mother. She lifted twenty-month-old Gabrielle from the pram, cradled her in her arms, then sank to the dewy lawn of Audubon Park. Her younger sister, Monique, looked on with obvious envy. She, too, longed to play “Mommy,” but was too small to lift Gabrielle.

Dominique wanted to indulge her nieces—they so rarely visited—but she couldn’t help tracking every move with her eyes.

Danielle followed her sister’s gaze and smiled. “Don’t worry. Lana used to be like that with Monique. She’s good with little ones.”

“They’re sweet!” Dominique smiled and shook her head in wonder. Still, she kept her eyes trained on her child. She knew she was overly cautious with Gabrielle, but the birth had been difficult and, after her second miscarriage the month before, Dominique’s doctor had discouraged her from having more children. Though the Parkers wanted at least one more child, the fact that it might not be possible made Gabrielle even more precious to Dominique.