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“Can I stay here?”
“Of course. Let’s clean this up and get you to bed.”
Shockingly, Bianca knew how to both clean a toilet and not complain
about it. We made quick work of it together with Mr. Tubbs on the other
side of the door, yipping for his mother.
On the way to the stairs, we passed my father’s old office, and my eye
caught on two urns side by side on a high shelf. My father’s was polished
gold. My mother’s was pewter.
Instead of heading up the stairs, I stopped to gaze at the urns.
Appreciating Bianca’s honesty meant I had to do her the same favor. I
owed her the complete deal, not just carefully chosen admissions.
“My mother’s urn,” I said.
“Yes?” She scooped up the dog and made a kiss-face at him.
“It’s in the same place.”
“My goodness, Ella, did you think I’d throw it away?”
“It’s empty.”
She laughed brightly, as if cued by the ba-dum-bump after a perfect
joke.
“What?” I asked. “You knew?”
“I knew it the day after your father and I were married.”
She’d never said anything of course, because she didn’t give a shit
about my mother or what she meant to Daddy.
“Of course you did.”
“Your jeans, that morning, after you declined to show up for the
wedding? Strewn on the floor. Of course. You were sleeping, and your
father and I were getting ready to go on our honeymoon. I turned them right
side out to fold them. At first, I didn’t know what on earth you’d gotten on
the knees. What could you have been crawling through? A volcano?”
Was my secret a secret? Had my father known what I’d done? Did he
die hating me and never telling me? Or did he understand?
“Did you tell Daddy?”
Instead of answering, she took two steps to the second floor and stopped
with one arm under the white poodle and the other draped over the banister.
“Are you coming up?
More steps, until her ankles were level with my eyes and I had to look
up at her.
“Did you? Bianca! Did. You. Tell. Him?”