The Yellow Braid (11 page)

Nina took Caro’s hand, and shook her
head.

“
Four years. It’s a long time, right? Four
years. And how long before that did they really start their
affair?” Caro swallowed a fresh attack of tears. “I mean, you just
don’t
get a tattoo right
away. A year…two years…”

Livia put her hand on Caro’s shoulder. “I’m
sorry.”

“I can’t know what you’re feeling,” Nina
said, “but I do know it won’t do any good to torment yourself like
this. Do a few months more or less really matter?”

“I need to go home,” Caro said quietly.

***

Caro telephoned Abby, not stopping to
consider the time difference.

“I know how much you loved your father,”
Caro blurted out. “Adored him, but you’re the only person I can
talk to.”

“Mom, what are you talking about? It’s after
midnight.”

“I don’t know how to start. Your father and
Marcie…”

Silence.

“Abby, help me. Are you there?”

“I’m trying to think of an answer,” Abby
said. “I’m sorry.”

And then Caro knew. “How is that possible?
I’m having a hard time understanding. Believing. You knew and
didn’t tell me!” Her sentences came out in uneven fragments.

“
I didn’t know what to say, Mom. Try to
understand my position. You’re right, I adored Dad and then to find
out that he was a…cheater. The whole thing made me
sick.”

“All the more reason you needed to tell me,
for both of us,” Caro said.

“I thought I was saving you from a lot of
heartache. You loved Marcie, and I didn’t want to take that away
from you. And then Dad died, and I saw no justification in telling
you.”

“Bullshit! Bullshit! Bullshit! You didn’t
tell me because you didn’t want to deal with me.”

“That’s not true,” Abby said.

“Do me a favor, Abby. I just found out that
my husband and my best friend were fucking each other behind my
back. So cut me some slack.”

“How did you find out? Why now?” Abby
asked.

Caro laughed, a sour sound. “Marcie’s
tattoo. It was your father’s name, and parading around in front of
me the whole time. Did you know about the tattoo?”

“No.”

“
Well…a
t least that’s something you didn’t have to keep
secret—”

“Wahoo, how great for me. The truth is, you
didn’t want to know about any one of us.”

“How can you insinuate I didn’t want to be a
part of your life?”

“
Easy. You shut your eyes and covered your
ears. They were never discreet, cozying up to each other in front
of the
TV, and calling
each other, hon…Christ! Didn’t it ever bother you that Marcie wore
lace to bed at night instead of cotton?”

Abby’s observations stilled Caro. True, they
were an assault to whatever self-esteem Caro had left about having
been an emotionally present participant in her family. More odious
was Abby’s meanness in telling her.

Caro said, “Whatever I chose to see or not
see doesn’t give you the right to judge or chastise me. I’m your
mother. No matter what, I deserve your respect.”

“
No, you don’t. Respect, like love, is
earned. And I have every right to be angry because you didn’t do
any better by me than you did them. You were as absent a mother and
wife emotionally as they come. Your words, Mom—they were fucking
each other behind your back. ”

“That’s enough, Abby! It’s easy to beat me
up time and time again instead of owning up to your own actions.
Because let me tell you, it’s getting old.”

“I never wronged you,” Abby challenged.

“Ran away for one. Living in the same town
was too close. You had to move across the ocean. Would you be
living in London if your father was still alive?”

“Time to get off, Mother. Maybe you’ll get
an idea for a poem out of this.”

“You’re running again,” Caro said.

Abby hung up.

***

In spite of her anger, Caro understood her
daughter’s propensity for running away from her and Zach. She’d
learned from the best. Caro was an expert at blindly moving forward
through family preoccupations and obstacles, and she would have
relied on those same psychological tools again to ease through this
conflict with Abby.

The discovery of Zach’s affair with Marcie,
still surreal even several days later, showed her that keeping her
distance with Abby didn’t accomplish anything in their relationship
and hurt just as much.

She’d already left a voice-mail for her
daughter suggesting another call. In addition, she purchased her
airline tickets for Abby’s birthday, compromising with herself by
staying away only five days instead of the original plan of two
weeks, so as not to be separated from Livia for too long.

Caro looked upon her affection for Livia,
and the girl’s reciprocity, as a blessed gift amid the grief of
loss and betrayal over the last months. She seemed to touch
something in Caro that was like soothing salve over a bruise. That
morning, Caro came across a letter the poet Rilke wrote to his
student, which she intended to share with Livia.

In it, Rilke counseled the young man about
the great gift of sadness being a collection of solitary moments
when everything within withdraws, and out of which arises something
new, a new sense of direction, a new self. And no matter how much
you want to believe nothing has changed, he wrote, disbelief is an
impossibility. A great deal inside has been transformed.

The message of transformation motivated Caro
to telephone Nina to go shopping for Phyllis’s party. And then
there was her appointment with Tommy. On Saturday night she would
appear a newly fashioned woman.

Some day you will be old enough
to start reading fairy tales again
. ~C.S. Lewis

Tommy held up a color chart to Caro’s head
and sorted through the hair swatches for an attractive match. “I
don’t think we should go as light as your natural color. What do
you think of adding an auburn tint? Add luminance to your pale eyes
and complexion while giving you some definition around the
face.”

“You’re not talking red. I’ve had that
before and hated it,” Caro said.

“Heavens no. Red would be dreadful. Like I
said, the auburn will act only as a highlight. As for the style …”
He combed through her hair with his fingers from the nape up,
“…there’s not much to work with. I’d say since it’s so chopped
already, the best thing is to take it super short in a style that
makes a statement.”

Caro offered him a weak nod. Her commitment
to being a “new woman” was draining quickly now that she was
actually involved in the process. She’d forgotten what it was like
to have stylists and aestheticians pucker their brows when
confronted with her thin hair and washed-out complexion. She
groaned inwardly and stiffened.

Tommy squeezed her shoulders. “You’re going
to be fine. Now off with Lily here for your facial.”

Caro rose obediently and allowed herself
to be taken through the earth-colored doors overhung with
hand-painted vines and the legend
Serenity
in italicized script. Once inside, she was
pleasantly surprised. The heady scent of herbs accompanied by the
liquid strains of nature music made her feel weightless. She
breathed without tension, long slow intakes of the perfumed
air.

At the completion of her treatments, she
regretted having to re-enter the ammonia-scented world of the salon
with its walls of steel and glass and the ring of mirrors in which
Caro saw herself in duplicate and triplicate.

Tommy applied the dye to her hair and
eyebrows and sat her under a heating element that looked vaguely
like the planet Saturn. In the harsh light that emanated from the
encircling bulb Caro was struck by how the dye created a freakish
halo around her face resembling car engine oil. Her eyebrows leaked
at the edges. The mawkish color accentuated the worry lines between
her eyes that had gutted deep in the last few years, a family
legacy on her mother’s side. Every woman in the family had them,
along with an uneven and vague lip line.

Would having gray hair even matter if love
was of the spirit and not of form? At the very least, coloring the
hair eased the pain of having arrived at a certain age. Caro
shifted uncomfortably; either way she pitied herself because the
result, however successful, would be fleeting and illusory—just
like her experiences of love with Zach and Marcie.

***

As Tommy had promised, Caro returned home a
finished product and didn’t have to do anything except redo her
lipstick and get dressed. When she’d gone shopping with Nina they
had rummaged through half a dozen boutique shops until Nina had
come across just the right outfit.

Staring at her reflection in the full-length
mirror, Caro felt at home with herself in the simplicity and
sparkle of a simple black dress with pearls.

Nina and Tommy had offered to escort her to
the party so she wouldn’t have to make a solo entrance. Livia had
called minutes before to say they were leaving as soon as her aunt
made a final check of her makeup. What was Livia going to think of
Caro’s refashioned look?

Caro’s self-consciousness about her
appearance didn’t supersede her vision of how Livia was going to
look. Nina had selected a sea-green dress with spaghetti straps and
a cummerbund-style belt trimmed in pink, which took the eye away
from Livia’s small bosom and accentuated her tiny waist and
straight back. The short length showed off her legs. The outfit was
a blend of youthful sophistication.

When the trio arrived, Livia’s enthusiastic
expression reflected her compliment, “You look beautiful. Uncle
Tommy said you did.”

Caro squeezed Livia. “I’m glad you like
it.”

“The short hair is genius,” Nina said to
Tommy, and then to Caro, “You look fabulous.”

“
Thanks, but let me see
you,
” Caro said and turned Livia around. Nina had
French-braided her hair. The wispy bangs and free-floating tendrils
bounced at the corners of her eyes, star-lit ovals that this
evening appeared to have an ocean of green in them. “I think your
aunt and uncle did excellent by us.”

***

Well into her eighties, Phyllis’s sharp blue
eyes and quiet elegance were still her hallmark qualities that
prompted strangers to take notice, and new acquaintances, to
delight in getting to know her.

Upon meeting Caro, Phyllis had taken her
hand and in a warm embrace and said, “What a delight, Caro. Thanks
so much for coming.”

Caro became an instant fan. She had never
been the guest of honor at such a lavish gathering—sixty of
Phyllis’s
closest
friends—when she didn’t have to get up at some point in the
evening and earn her supper by giving a reading. On this occasion,
she was able to relax into the party atmosphere and enjoy mingling
with the other guests.

She’d chatted with several people, but was
standing alone when Tommy and Nina came up to her in tow with
Livia; a woman and young girl also joined them.

“Caro, this is Deena Michaels and her
daughter, Beatrice,” Tommy said. “Deena and I know each other from
high school. Deserted us when she got married.”

“Nice to meet you,” Caro said to Deena. And
then to Beatrice, “Hello.”

Deena shook Caro’s hand. “And now I’m
divorced, so here I am back again. Except that this time, I’ve got
company,” she said, embracing her daughter.

“This is the first opportunity we’ve had a
chance to introduce Livia and Beatrice to each other,” Nina said to
Caro.

The girls smiled at each other, and looking
at them side by side, Caro was struck by their appearance. They
were a case in contrast: for as pretty and appealing Livia was,
Beatrice was plain. Her smile was her single asset; it seemed to
emanate a warmth that came from her heart.

“What do you like to do, Beatrice?” Caro
asked.

“Anything to do with the water. Surf,
mostly.”

“Beatrice is saving up for a surf board,”
Livia said.

“Very impressive,” Caro said. “I don’t
imagine they’re very cheap.”

“They’re not. That’s why my dad is making me
buy it with my own money,” Beatrice said. “He has a pool business
so he pays me for helping him out.”

“That must keep you busy,” Tommy said.

“Not too bad,” Beatrice said. “I go out with
him three mornings a week. The rest of the time, I’m free.”

“Well, Beatrice, anytime you want to visit,
please do,” Nina said. “You and Livia might turn out to be great
company for each other.”

“Thanks,” Beatrice said. She turned to
Livia. “Want to go out and walk around?”

“Sure,” Livia said.

“Come on,” Beatrice said, grabbing Livia’s
hand and guiding her through the mill of guests.

Caro stared after the girls, already
chatting animatedly. And all of a sudden, she felt sick to her
stomach. A friendship between the two of them would severely
impinge on her time with Livia. This thought made Caro hate
Beatrice. Why didn’t she and her mother stay in Rhode Island?

The truth was, Caro was jealous of their
fun, and of the freedom Beatrice had to lightheartedly manhandle
her friend. Caro was demonstrative by nature and in normal
conversation thought nothing of pressing a wrist or caressing an
arm even with people she’d just met.

Moral to the point of being borderline
prudish, she was scrupulous, however, about avoiding close physical
contact with Livia. Since her husband’s death, she’d never been
interested in remarrying or finding a male companion. Discovering
his affair, however, had instigated a desire to let go and be bad.
She’d learned that keeping her prim behavior intact all her life
had only led her to misery.