Dreaming Water

  "Who's that?" Hana suddenly says, pointing to a car I almost don't see, parked in our driveway.

  "I don't know," I answer, slowing down to get a better look. It's not a car I've ever seen before.

  "You expecting a date?" Hana asks.

  It's rare that we have many visitors, even in the daytime, so I can't begin to imagine who might be visiting now, at dinnertime. In the past year, we've seen Miles and Lily most frequently. Hana feels uncomfortable with too many people around now. Many of Max's and my old friends have kept in touch by phone or cards, but making sure Hana is comfortable is all that matters to me now.

  "I don't recognize the car," she says.

  "It's not Miles," I say; I would know his white Lexus anywhere, even in the dark of night. His previous car was a white Volvo and before that, a white Saab. I used to think it was just an eccentricity, but now I know it's for the more practical reason of being seen in the dark. Miles is one of the few doctors in the world who still makes house calls, day or night.

  "Then who would be visiting us now?" Hana asks. "I can't see anybody like this." Her voice has an edge of apprehension to it. She shifts in her seat, and I'm reminded of her discomfort.

  My eyes strain to see in the hazy fog. "Don't worry, I'll get rid of them," I add, reassuringly.

  As we pull in behind the midsize, dark-colored car, our headlights illuminate the inside. I see someone sitting in the driver's seat, and two heads poke up from the backseat. The front door of the car swings open, and a lean, long-legged driver steps out, shielding her eyes against the glare of our headlights as she walks toward us. In the white hazy light, she approaches us, finally coming into focus so that I can see she's well dressed, with stylish, shoulder-length hair.

  Hana sits forward but doesn't say a word. It takes me a minute to recognize the face I'd seen almost daily during Hana's childhood. She's thinner and older, and perhaps a bit pale in the harsh white glare, but after more than ten years, it's unmistakably her.

  "It's Laura," I say, surprised.

  "Yes, it is," Hana whispers back.

  HANA

  Reunion

  I knew it was Laura from the moment she stepped out of the car. No one moves like her, with the quick snap of assurance that she's had ever since she was a little girl. Even when she was in trouble at school, or at catechism, she didn't show fear like most kids would. Her eyes would glaze over as she was being lectured and she would drop her head and retreat somewhere within herself. What adults thought was remorse, I knew was simply boredom.

  The years quickly dissolve the moment I glimpse Laura's face illuminated in the headlights. I can feel the blood circulating through my body down to my legs, and I want to get out of the car and run to her as fast as I can. I click open the car door, and only then, in all the excitement, remember the ulcers and the swelling of my ankles. And the fact that I'm sitting on an old beach towel my mother found in the trunk so I wouldn't wet the seat. Instead, I stay in the car and wait.

  My mother gets out and greets Laura first. "I can't believe it's you," she says, hugging her tightly.

  I can hear a symphony of crickets and smell the sweet night air. Seeing my mother and Laura together after so long, both so tall and beautiful, I can't help but think of what a perfect mother and daughter they would have made. The thought like a small ache moves through my body.

  Laura says something that I can't hear, and in the next moment, she's coming around the car toward me. There's hardly enough time to panic before she swings the door open, and it's like being at the flower market with my grandparents again, as she brings the scent of lilies and narcissus into the car with her.

  "I took the chance you'd be mad at me for coming," she says, bending over and kissing me on the cheek.

  I touch her face, making sure she's real. Laura hooks a strand of her blond hair behind her ear and looks at me. For a split second it seems as if we're frozen in time. I can't imagine what she's thinking as she looks into my face — the tired, wizened face of an old lady.

  * * *

  The last time that I saw my grandmother Midori was at my father's funeral, three years ago. My grandmother was eighty-eight and in frail health. She sat in a wheelchair, staring straight ahead, and didn't say a word. I could only imagine how she felt, seeing her child die before her. Then I thought of Cate and how she would feel when I left, and my tears fell for both her and for Max. When my grandmother saw me, I saw a glint of surprise in her eyes, followed by recognition. Almost five years had passed since we'd last seen each other. She nodded her head and smiled kindly as if she understood. During that time, we had both become frail, old ladies watching the world pass us by.

  When I turn away, Laura gently turns my face back to hers again. All the time, a smile never leaves her lips, and she doesn't register the slightest bit of surprise at what she sees. She's still so beautiful. Her perfect features have improved with age, gained depth and character; a sudden rush of embarrassment rises inside of me, and I have to look away again.

  "I could never stay mad at you for long," I say, my voice high and dry.

  I wish I could disappear so she can't see

  how much I've changed. I can only hope that in the dim light she'll see me gradually, like in one of my father's Polaroid snapshots, fading in slowly so it isn't such a shock.

  Laura laughs. "Here, let me help you out."

  "Please," I say. "My mother will." And before I can say anything else, Cate is there, carefully lifting me. Together they help me walk into the house.

  "I've had an accident," I turn and confess into Laura's ear. "I've wet myself."

  "I know," she whispers back to me. "Your mother warned me."

  I swallow and don't know what to say. It's almost comical. After more than ten years, my wetting myself is the first thing we talk about.

  "Did you ever think of getting some of those adult diapers?" she asks. "John's mother uses them when she goes out, just in case. They save her a lot of trouble. I'll pick some up for you tomorrow if you like," she says.

  I laugh out loud at her answer. A few weeks ago, it was my greatest fear, losing control, regressing to wearing diapers. Now, here is Laura offering to get them for me.

  "Do they come in designer colors?" I ask.

  She laughs. "I'll find out."

  I look back when I hear muffled voices, remembering there were other people in the car with Laura. The two figures cast hazy shadows standing by the car.

  Laura turns and says to them, "Josie and Camille, come in and meet your godmother." Out of the misty fog, they step forward, and I can see that one girl is tall and gangly with wavy dark hair and the other, shorter and rounder with Laura's golden locks. I strain to get a better look at my goddaughters, then give up and concentrate on taking each careful step, one at a time.

  I can feel my mother pressing closer, holding on to me tighter, her reassurance that everything is going to be all right.

  JOSEPHINE

  Strangers in the Night

  Hana is so tiny, walking between my mom and hers. I've never seen a grown-up so small, except for midgets and dwarfs, but they were born that way. Camille and I are standing by the car freezing, when Mom finally remembers she has two daughters and tells us to come over. But we can barely see Hana as she's quickly escorted into the house.

  "Girls, wait in the living room," Mom tells us when we get inside. It's a big, old house, but it's warm and comfortable, with a huge fireplace and lots of pillows on the sofa. I have to pinch myself to believe that this morning we were in New York, and now we're in California.

  Camille looks at me and says, "It smells strange in here," then sits down on the cream-colored sofa, takes out her Game Boy, and starts playing again.

  "It's just the smoky smell from the fireplace," I tell her, though there's a tinge of something else I can't quite place. I walk over and look at all the photos on top of the piano. Most of them are family snapshots. None of them is recent, but I recognize a younger version of Cat
e standing next to an Asian man, who must be Hana's father. Another shows Hana as a little girl standing in front of a birthday cake with her parents and two older couples, one of them Japanese. I guess they must be Hana's grandparents. In the majority of photos, I see Hana at the same age that she is in Laura's picture back in New York, a young girl who looks much more like her father than her mother. It's good to know that we have something in common.

  CATE

  Floating

  The last person I ever expected to see again was Laura, and not far behind — her daughters, Josephine and Camille. Their very presence feels like a breath of fresh air. The long, cold winter had left Hana and me both feeling languid and stagnant. Add to that Werner's more aggressive symptoms this week, and I felt Hana losing the fight that's always been in her. But like a saving grace, here is Laura, and I can see a flicker of light return to Hana's eyes.

  When Laura called last week, I was the one who answered the phone.

  "How is she?" Laura asked.

  "As good as can be," I answered. That was just before Hana's ankles began to swell. I was trying to sound hopeful, but my words fell flat.

  Laura sighed. "Do you think she'd mind if I brought the girls out to see her?"

  "I don't know," I answered truthfully. The last thing I wanted was for Hana to feel any more self-conscious about the way she looked. At the same time, something inside of me screamed for Laura and the girls to come now, before it was too late.

  "Just for a short visit."

  "You'll have to ask Hana," I finally said, all the while thinking. Yes, come. Come now.

  "I will." Then she added, "Again."

  I smiled, knowing how stubborn Hana could be. "Is she still giving you a hard time?"

  "She doesn't give an inch." Laura laughed.

  "No, she doesn't." I shook my head. Then I added, "Thank you, Laura, for always being such a good friend to Hana. It has meant the world to her."

  "I always thought it was the other way around." She laughed over the phone.

  When they were growing up, I used to be afraid that Laura would abandon Hana for the captain of the football team or for a group of healthy, popular friends. I knew it was a natural part of life, but I still braced myself for it. From childhood they'd been like sisters. Then one day I overheard a conversation she and Hana were having. They were in high school at the time, and had become more secretive and possessive of what was happening in their worlds.

  "What do you suppose dying feels like?" I heard Laura ask. Part of me wanted to rush right into Hana's room and shut her up, but I couldn't move. I stood at the doorway waiting for Hana to say something.

  There was a long pause, and then she finally did. "I guess it's like closing your eyes and going to sleep."

  "Are you ever afraid to go to sleep?" Laura asked.

  "I'm not afraid of the sleep part," Hana said. "I just hate to leave my parents and you."

  I couldn't listen anymore. I slowly backed away from her doorway and down the hall to the living room, unable to stop shaking. I hadn't realized that they had reached the level of intimacy that actually allowed them to speak about Hana's death. If it had been a question about sex, it would have been perfectly natural, but death! At first, I was angry with Laura. Max and I had steered away from the subject, treating Hana as much like a normal teenager as we could. But when I calmed down, I reminded myself that Hana's life would never be normal, and that she needed someone like Laura to relieve her burdens, to help her through it. In many ways, Max and I were always too close for her to confide in us.

  But when Hana got off the phone with Laura, I knew her answer just by the look on her face. "She wants to come out with the girls," she said. A thin thread of hope. "But I said no." Quickly replaced by reality.

  While I'm helping Hana get cleaned up and changed, Laura is in the kitchen, making us something simple for dinner.

  "Laura certainly surprised us," I say, helping Hana lower herself slowly into the bathtub. Her body is so thin I can see her ribs protruding, the two small mounds of her breasts dimpling the water. The ulcers have left dark scars on her legs and feet, but the swelling around her ankles has gone down, and I breathe a sigh of relief. I remember how Max used to bathe her when she was a baby, her chubby limbs splashing in the warm water. He lowered her in gently as if she might break. Now I can feel how her body instantly relaxes when she's in the water.

  Hana smiles. "She always did get what she wanted."

  "Are you all right with them staying here?" I ask, having already made the offer to them.

  Hana stirs the warm water. My right arm cradles her neck as if she were a baby again, only it's an old, kind face that looks up at me.

  "Laura can stay in my old room and the girls can use the guest room," she finally says. There's a tinge of defeat in her voice, or is it just fatigue?

  "It'll be fine," I say. "The girls can't help but love you. Laura loves you."

  "Those girls would rather be home with their friends," Hana says. "The only reason they're here is because Laura wants them to be." Her hand slaps at the water. "Did you get a good look at them?" she asks. Her eyes look hopeful. I know she wants some clue as to who her goddaughters are, a slight edge when she comes face-to-face with them. But we had spirited Hana into the house so quickly, I realize now, that I hadn't really seen the girls at all.

  I shake my head. "Laura looks good," I say instead.

  "Laura has always looked good." Hana lies back in the water, my arm still supporting her neck. She says this matter-of-factly, without a trace of envy in her voice.

  "Don't worry," I reassure her. I lean forward and turn on the faucet, splashing water into the tub again. Hana loves the feeling of floating.

  * * *

  While Hana rests, I drop her soiled clothing into the washer, then help Laura with dinner. The girls are in the living room watching television.

  "Care for a glass of wine?" I ask. I realize it's the first time I've offered anyone a drink in a long time. "I think I still have a bottle somewhere."

  "You've read my mind." Laura smiles.

  I open the pantry and rummage through the contents, at last finding a bottle of 1996 Merlot. It was the year Max died. While I'm opening it, Laura tells me about their trip. "I decided last week, after Hana and I got off the phone, that we were coming to Daring, even for a weekend, whether Hana wanted me to or not. I want the girls to know Hana and see where I grew up." She pushes a strand of hair away from her face. "At first they thought I was crazy. But believe it or not, Cate, I haven't been very crazy in the last ten years."

  I hand her a glass of wine, and she lifts her glass to me and takes a big swallow.

  "We flew into San Francisco around noon, rented a car, and I drove straight up to Daring." She stops to pour the cooked spaghetti into a colander. "Anyway, it's a good way for them to see some of California."

  I can hear the blare of the television, every once in a while punctuated by one of the girls' voices yelling out something at the game show contestant. "They must be exhausted with the time difference."

  Laura laughs. "They never seem to be exhausted. I'm the only one exhausted."

  "Here, let me do that."

  "No, please sit," Laura says, "I'm having a great time. I rarely have time to cook back home. Mostly, it's takeout after a long day at the office."

  "Who watches the girls?" I ask.

  "We have a housekeeper," she says.

  I look at Laura, and she catches my eye.

  "Frannie's been with us since the girls were born. She treats them as her own." Laura divides the spaghetti onto five plates, pouring sauce over each small mountain. "The salad's in the refrigerator," she says, taking another sip of her wine. "I see Hana's kept every photo and drawing of the girls."

  "She loves all their letters and pictures," I say.

  There's a pause between us before Laura asks, "How is she, Cate, really?"

  "You've seen for yourself," I answer, a bit abruptly. "She has her
good days and bad days. Tonight she wasn't at her best and she's embarrassed about it."

  Laura turns to face me. "It's now or never. I want them to have a sense of who Hana is. She's their godmother, and they deserve to know her."

  And what about Hana? What does Hana deserve? I ask myself. I've selfishly wanted Laura and the girls to come, to see this precious child of mine before it's too late, but now I feel guilty. Just thinking of Hana having another accident this afternoon, and seeing her fragile body in the bathtub tonight, I feel suddenly afraid that this visit will be too much for her.

  "It's just that she doesn't need to feel any worse about herself," I finally say. "For whatever time she has left, I want her to be comfortable."

  "How will seeing her goddaughters again make her feel any worse?"

  I sit down at the table, suddenly drained from the day. "It's how your girls will see her that really scares her."

  "They know all about Werner." Laura fidgets with a napkin on the counter. I can see that she's exhausted, her nails bitten down to the quick.

  "Knowing and seeing are two different things. Until now, they've only heard that their godmother has some kind of aging disease. They haven't really seen firsthand that +she's your age but looks like your grandmother," I say.

  Laura comes and sits beside me at the table. "I won't lie and tell you I wasn't shocked to see how much she's aged," she says thoughtfully. "But all she had to do was speak to me and I knew she was the same Hana I've always known. Give the girls a chance. They're wiser and stronger than you think," Laura says, reaching across the table and touching my hand.

  But all I can think of is how everything has changed in just one day, how our life this morning began with Hana and me, just as it always did. And now there are five warm bodies in the house, filling it up and making it feel like a home again. "Thank you for coming," I say softly, placing my other hand on top of hers.