Cinnamon

  "I'm her younger sister," I said. "I've just flown in from Los Angeles and driven here directly from the airport."

  "Oh."

  "How is she?"

  "Well. I don't have updates as to patients' conditions, but let me call the nurse's station and advise them of your arrival."

  "Thank you." I lazed around as she dialed and informed the head nurse. She listened a moment and then thanked her and hung up.

  "Mrs, Mendelson asked if you could please give them a few minutes. Your sister has just had a therapeutic bath and they're getting her back to bed," she said.

  "Oh, fine."

  "Los Angeles. How was your trip?"

  "Smooth." I said. "I had forgotten how beautiful the foliage is here in the fall. Living in southern California," I said "you just forget the dramatic changes of season."

  "Oh. What do you do in Los Angeles?"

  "I work for a television production company. I'm a P.A."

  "P.A.?"

  "Production assistant. It's a way to get yourself into the business."

  "What do you want to be?"

  "An actress." I said as if it was the dumbest question she could ask.

  "Oh, of course. You're pretty enough to be an actress. I bet you're good."

  "I hope I am," I said. "My grandmother has such faith in me. She's the one who sends me enough money to keep trying. You don't make all that much money as a P.A., and it's so expensive to live out there.

  You need someone to be your patron, to support and believe in you."

  "I bet."

  "I auditioned for the part of a nurse recently," I said. "For a soap opera."

  "Really? Which one?" she asked excitedly.

  "I follow one religiously."

  "It's a new one, just starting. It's called Transfusions."

  "Transfusions?"

  "It's set in a hospital."

  "Oh, right."

  "I don't know if it will get on the air, but I tried out anyway. I'll hear next week. It's very nerveracking."

  "I bet," she said nodding.

  "I was very upset when I heard about my sister. I know she wanted that baby very much. It doesn't surprise me that she's had this reaction to the disaster."

  I held my breath, waiting for her to tell me that what happened to my mother was not all that unusual.

  "I'm sure she'll get well soon," she said with little emotion. She obviously didn't know my mother's condition. The phone rang. She said hello and then nodded at me. 'Take the elevator to the fifth floor and turn left. She's in the first room on your left," she instructed.

  "Thank you."

  I took out my compact mirror and glanced at myself. It seemed to me that would be a thing my mother's actress sister would do. When I looked at the receptionist, she smiled and nodded. I smiled back and sauntered over to the elevator.

  When I stepped out of it on the fifth floor and turned left. I saw a nurse come around the desk and approach me. quickly.

  "I'm Mrs. Mendelson." she said. "She's still somewhat medicated. but I'm sure she'll be happy to see a familiar face."

  "Thank you," I said. "I won't stay too long this first visit. Jet lag," I added.

  She smiled.

  "I understand.'"

  She escorted me down to the room and paused at the door.

  "She's still confused, suffering from traumatic amnesia. It's best you don't directly confront anything she says for the moment. She's like a patient with an open wound, but don't worry, she'll soon emerge from this and be fine."

  "Thank you,." I said and I entered.

  Mommy was lying with her eyes open, her head supported by a large white pillow. She seemed smaller, paler to me. It brought tears to my eyes.

  There were flowers in a vase on the stand beside her bed. I thought Daddy had sent them. but I looked and saw there was no card. It was probably just something the hospital did.

  Mommy looked at me as if she didn't recognize me for a moment and I wondered if I had done such a good job of changing my personality that even my mother was confused. Then she smiled.

  "Cinnamon," she said reaching up for me.

  "Hi. Mammy," I said. I quickly kissed her and pulled the chair closer to the bed. "How are you feeling now?"

  "Very tired." she said. "Have you seen Sacha today?" she asked without taking a breath.

  "No. I just came from school. Mommy."

  "Oh, right. I've lost track of time." She smiled. "I don't even know what day it is. What day is it?"

  "It's Thursday, Mommy."

  "Good. good. That's how many days now?" Her eyes blinked rapidly.

  "How many since her birth. Cinnamon? Three, four?"

  "Three," I said.

  "Three. Good. Every new day brings more hope. We've got to worry for a while, but she'll be fine, won't she?"

  "Yes. Mammy, she'll be fine."

  "Good." She closed her eyes. And then she opened them abruptly. "I want your father to get one of those baby monitors... you know, where you can hear if the baby cries? Of course. I'll have her sleep right beside us when we take her home, but even after she's out of danger, older. I want to have that. Too many babies die of crib death or choke on something. When you're that small and fragile... it's just a good idea, isn't it?"

  "Yes," I said.

  "Remind him, remind your father. He's so forgetful these days."

  As if talking about him brought him to life, he called. I picked up the phone.

  "Cinnamon. I'm glad you're there already. How's she doing?" he asked.

  "The same," I said.

  "Right. Don't worry though. The doctor assures me she's going to make a full recovery."

  "What time are you arriving. Daddy?"

  "I'm not sure at the moment. I just found out I've got to go to Brooklyn for this meeting. I was under the impression it was here in Manhattan. That's going to add at least an hour to my travel time."

  "Can't you get out of it?"

  "It's pretty important. Heavy hitters," he added.

  "Mammy's been hit pretty heavy," I responded. He was silent a moment.

  "She doesn't even remember if I'm there or not at the moment. Cinnamon."

  "That doesn't matter. You'll remember you were here," I said sharply.

  "Okay. Let me speak to her. Let's see what she says to me," he said and I handed Mommy the phone.

  "It's Daddy," I said.

  "Hello, Taylor?"

  She listened.

  "I need you to get something," she said and then she put the phone aside and looked at me. "What do I need? I forget."

  "I'll tell him later. Mommy. Don't worry."

  "Oh. Good. It's all right. Taylor. Cinnamon knows and will tell you. Is everything all right?"

  She listened and nodded as if she thought he could see her through the wire, and then she handed me the phone.

  "Hello?"

  "I'll try to get there," he promised me.

  "Whatever," I said.

  "How are you doing?"

  "I'm terrific. Matter of fact. Daddy. I think I'm going to win the Academy Award this year for the best all-around performance as a loving

  granddaughter. She was rearranging the living room when I left this morning. The bathrooms might be next, if she can pull up the toilets and tubs."

  "All right, all right," he said in a tired voice. "I'll have a talk with her this week. I promise."

  "You know what promises are. Daddy? Lies with pretty ribbons tied on them. I'll see you later." I added quickly and hung up.

  Mommy stared at me and for a long moment. I thought she realized what was really happening and was coming out of it, crawling up from the dark pit of her temporary madness into the light of day like a restored heroine about to do battle, with all the forces of evil. We'd be a team again.

  Then she smiled that strange, distant smile.

  "You know what I want you to do?" she asked. I shook my head. "I want you to sneak a camera into the prenatal intensive care unit and take Sacha's pict
ure for me. Bring it here next time, okay. Will you?"

  I took a deep breath to keep my throat from completely closing and nodded.

  "Good." she said. "Good." She closed her eyes again. I reached for her hand and held it and sat there for nearly half an hour, waiting for her to open her eyes again.

  She didn't and when the nurse looked in. I rose and smiling at her told her I was tired, too. I'd be back tomorrow,

  "She'll be better in a matter of days," she promised.

  Another lie wrapped in a pretty ribbon. I thought and went to the elevator.

  There was a different receptionist behind the desk in the lobby when I stepped out. She looked up at me. but I didn't feel like performing anymore.

  I hurried out and to the car where I sat for a while, catching my breath. I dreaded going home, not only because of what else I might find my

  grandmother had changed but because Mommy's absence, the heavy silence in light of where she now was, would be hard to face. Instead, on the way. I stopped at a pizza place and bought myself a couple of slices. I sat in a quiet corner and ate them watching some younger kids talk animatedly, a pretty girl of about fourteen at the center, wearing headphones and listening to a portable CD player while the boys vied for her attention.

  I envied their innocence, their wick-eyed fascination with everything they saw, touched and did. How had I grown so old so fast? I wondered.

  After I ate. I decided to call Clarence. I needed to talk to someone.

  He came out of his house to meet me in my car when I drove up. I told him what I had done when I arrived at the psychiatric hospital.

  "And she believed you? You're so much younger than your mother," he remarked.

  "She never doubted it." He laughed.

  "I guess you are good."

  "It helped me go in and up to my mother's room, but it didn't do me any good when I was with her. There are some things you can't pretend away." I told him.

  He nodded.

  "What about your father?"

  I described the conversation,

  "Maybe he just had to go to the meeting," he said.

  "Maybe. Would you?" I quickly asked.

  "I don't know. I guess I would like to get out of it. People should understand why and excuse him." "Exactly," I said.

  "Well, what are you going to do?" "I don't know," I said.

  "Miss Hamilton pulled me aside at the end of the day today. I was on my way out of the building. She wanted to talk about you. She said. 'I know you and Cinnamon are close friends.'"

  He looked at me.

  "I guess we are," he said.

  "Of course we are-- so? What did she want? To tell you how she'll be there for me or something?"

  "No, she wanted me to try to talk you into going out for the play. She said you'd need something like being in a play more now."

  "I'm already in a play," I said.

  "What? Where?"

  "At home. It's called, A Happy Fmnily," I said.

  Clarence laughed.

  I started the engine.

  "I'd better get home." I said. "I haven't even begun any homework vet and who knows?

  Grandmother Beverly might have moved my room into the pantry or something by now."

  He shook his head and opened the door. For a moment he just looked at me as if he were making a big decision. Then he leaned over and kissed me an the left cheek.

  "Good night," he said quickly. I touched my cheek.

  Even that. I thought, even a kiss was a ritual for him and had to be done from left to right.

  I laughed.

  It was the only laugh I had had all day.

  4 A Father's Lies

  Grandmother had concentrated her efforts on Daddy's office this day. I didn't know how she had done it, but all by herself she had moved his heavy dark oak desk across the room so it faced the window on the east side, and once she had done that, she had to change everything: lamps, chairs, the small sofa, tables and even rearrange books,

  "Why didn't you come home for dinner?" she demanded as soon as I entered the house. She had been watching one of her movies and keeping one ear turned to hear me or Daddy come home. The second I closed the door, she was in the hallway.

  "I went directly to the hospital and visited with Mammy," I told her. "You were there all this time?" "It's not down the street," I replied without

  much emotion. "Don't you want to know how she is?" "I've already spoken to your father about her,"

  she told me.

  "Really? Well considering he wasn't there, I'm

  sure he was very informative."

  "He's been in contact with her doctor, which is

  more important," she insisted.

  "Is it? You think that's more important than

  having your husband come see you, be with you,

  comfort you?"

  "Don't start with your dramatics," she warned.

  "All of you children are so theatrical these days. It

  comes from spending so much time in front of the

  television set," she analyzed. "It's either that or staring

  into a mirror all day."

  "I don't do either. Grandmother, and you know

  that. Matter of fact, you watch more television than I

  do, and you wear more makeup," I added.

  "Don't be insolent."

  "I'm not being insolent. I'm just stating facts." "Never mind, never mind," she insisted. "There

  are far more important things to talk about and do. I'm

  getting this house intelligently organized. Come see

  your father's study," she told me.

  It was really more of a command. but I was too

  curious not to follow her, and when I saw it, I smiled

  to myself.

  If he doesn't like it, too bad. I thought. "He works mainly in the afternoon when he

  works here on the weekends. He shouldn't be facing

  the sunlight. Don't you agree?"

  "Fine with me," I said. Then I looked at her, my eyes small, determined. "Don't come into my room. Grandmother. If you move so much as a picture frame

  on the dresser..."

  "I have no intention of entering your cave," she

  said. "You'll have to repair your room yourself." "It doesn't need repairing. It needs to be left

  alone," I told her.

  "Have you done your homework?" she cried

  after me when I turned away and started for the stairs. I paused and looked at her, a half-smile on my

  face.

  "Have I done my homework? Since when have

  you ever asked about that?"

  "Well, with your mother gone. I thought I had

  better--.

  "My mother isn't gone!" I screamed at her.

  "She's just recuperating. At least she's able to

  recuperate from her madness, which is more than

  some people can do."

  I charged up the stairs, anxious to get away

  from her. She simply returned to her old movie,

  wallowing in it like she would soak in a warm bath. It took me hours to calm myself down and do

  my homework. It was nearly midnight when I went to

  bed and still. Daddy had not come home. I fell asleep. but I woke to the sound of his footsteps on the stairs. Those stairs always creaked loudly, which was part of the charm of the house for me and for Mommy. Daddy didn't like it and Grandmother Beverly thought they should be ripped out and redone. She said the house was too old to be inhabited and complained vehemently about the creaks in the walls, the moans in the pipes, and the leaks in the roof. I would smile to myself, imagining her awake at night listening to the sounds, terrified that the house itself was coming alive and closing in on her. Footsteps on the stairway echoed with electric speed over the hallway floor and into her room as well as my own, but she didn't get up

  to greet Daddy.

  I rose quickly and went to my door just as

/>   Daddy was passing my room.

  "Daddy," I called in a loud whisper. He had his

  shoulders slumped like someone trying to tiptoe

  guiltily away.

  "What are you doing awake?" he asked. "I heard you coming up. Did you get to see

  Mommy?" He shook his head.

  "It was a horrendous trip. There were accidents

  and delays and I just managed to get home now. I'll

  get there tomorrow," he said. "but I did call and the

  nurse told me she was resting comfortably."

  "She's drugged. How would they know if she

  was comfortable. Daddy?"

  "All right," he said. "It's late. Cinnamon. Let's

  talk about it all tomorrow."

  "When?"

  "When I see you," he said. ''Go to sleep. You're

  just going to make things more difficult for everyone

  by being contentious," he added and walked on to his

  bedroom.

  I stood there and watched him go in, closing the

  door softly behind him.

  He's not the same. I thought. He's just not the

  same. There's something more than Mommy's

  condition affecting him. I knew he would never tell

  me what it was. Could it be he was in trouble

  financially? Were we on the brink of economic

  disaster? Did he depend on Grandmother's money

  these days? Was that why he wouldn't contest

  anything she did?

  Falling asleep with these questions in the air

  was like trying to walk over an icy road. Every time I

  drew close to drifting off, another troubling thought

  jerked me back awake, keeping me slipping and

  sliding until I finally passed out just before dawn. I hadn't set the alarm and my grandmother actually had

  to come pounding on my door.

  "Are you getting up or not?" she cried from the

  hallway. I heard her try the knob, but I had locked it.

  "Who locks their bedroom?" she muttered. She

  knocked again. "Cinnamon, are you getting up?" I groaned and looked at the clock astounded at

  the time myself. For a moment I considered not going

  to school at all and then, all my questions from the

  night before began to flood over me again and I made

  a quick decision. I was up and dressed in minutes. "Why do you lock your bedroom door?"