And now Iola seemed to be catching up, her share of disappointments enormous for her age. Where did all three of them get that trait? Not from Lilia. She did not have a porous heart, and that, she knew, was the condition disappointments needed as a breeding ground. Could it be their inheritance from Roland? Though he himself would’ve been the first to protest, insisting that he was born without a heart.
No books written, no offspring—at least no one legitimate. And if there were bastards carrying my blood, they were not known to me, Roland wrote in his diary. 5 June 1962. No woman’s warmth enough to melt my heart, if, of course, there is a heart inside me.
No, Roland, so much was unknown to you: your daughter’s birth, your granddaughter’s birth, your daughter’s death.
“MRS. EMBODY, IS IT OKAY if we record this interview?” The boy in front of Lilia checked his notes before raising his face, the black and white of his eyes giving her a shock. One only saw droopy lids and fogged-up eyes these days at Bayside Garden.
The children were still here! Surprise, surprise, Lilia thought, how nimbly the mind travels in the time it takes a body to get itself uncomfortably settled in a chair.
This was one of those days when Lilia wouldn’t mind playing truant from life. Coffee lukewarm at breakfast (and weak, but that was a given, as the kitchen only offered coffee as weak as the legs of the men in residence); Phyllis taking a seat next to Lilia (uninvited, though anyone sitting next to her fell into the category of the unwelcome); Mildred, sitting across from Lilia, talking about what to buy for her granddaughter’s birthday (who cares); Elaine demanding everyone’s participation in an oral history project led by a nearby school. The head teacher was her niece, Elaine announced.
Lilia had decided a little distraction would do her good. Now she could see it was a mistake. “Call me Mrs. Imbody,” she said. “Did you spell it wrong?”
The boy looked down at his pad. The girl next to him raised an innocent face. “Is it okay if we record this interview, Mrs. Imbody?” the girl said.
Lilia gave an impatient consent. The flyers advertising the morning activity had promised cookies, clementines, and hot chocolate with marshmallows. She imagined Jean and her assistant in the kitchenette next door, peeling and sharing a clementine. Infringing on the residents’ rights. A theft, strictly speaking, though no one here was strict with petty crimes. When you’re closer to death, you’re expected to see less, hear less, and care less. Care less until you become careless, and that’s when they pack you off to the next building. The Memory Care Unit: as though your memories, like children or dogs, were only temporarily at the mercy of the uncaring others, waiting for you to reclaim them at the end of the day. You have to be careful not to slip into the careless. The care-full live, the care-less die, and when you are dead you are carefree. “But who cares?” Lilia said aloud.
The boy studied Lilia’s face. The girl patted him on his back. Lilia leaned over to take a look at the girl’s ear studs. “Are they diamond?”
The boy looked, too. “Do you know there’s a diamond called Hope?” he said, addressing the air.
Normally Lilia would remind the boy that it was rude to speak when a question was not addressed to him. But somewhere in her body there was a strange sensation. Sixty years ago she would have called it desire, but now it must be as wrinkled as she was. The memory of desire.
“These are crystal. My cousin in Vancouver made them for me,” the girl said.
Lilia turned to the boy. “Those crystals. Cheaper than your Hope, aren’t they?” Hope, the diamond, had been the subject of a post-lovemaking talk Roland had had with a woman, as recorded in his diaries. Like Lilia, this other woman had been reduced to a single capital letter in the book.
Lilia herself, “L,” had appeared in the diary five times. The first time was on page 124, and Peter Wilson had added a footnote: L, unidentified lover. Unidentified—nearly all Roland’s lovers fell into that category, and Lilia often wondered if some were left out. It would’ve been a sting had she not found herself in the book—there would’ve been no way to tell which man had edited her away. To be erased, intentionally or haphazardly, would have upset her equally.
“My mom took me and my brother to see the diamond last year,” the boy said. “In Washington, D.C.”
“Did she?” Lilia said. Put a woman and a diamond together and you get a thousand stories, all uninteresting. “I bet you a hundred dollars that your mother is one smart woman who knows how to raise good sons.”
“I don’t have a hundred dollars.”
“I don’t either. It’s just an expression.”
“But my mother died.”
The girl looked around, searching for an adult who might intervene.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Lilia said. “But it’s okay. Everybody dies. It’s not up to you and me to say when.”
The boy’s face, not expressive to start with, turned oddly flat.
“Mrs. Imbody, can we start the interview?” the girl asked.
Mrs. Imbody, Lilia thought, has no use for obedient little girls.
The interview was shorter than Lilia had expected. Five questions, all harmless and uninspiring. Where and when were you born? What was your family like when you were a child? Who was your favorite teacher when you were in school? What was your hometown like when you were a child? What’s one thing you’ve done that you’re proud of?
“One thing I’m proud of? Hard to choose. There are too many. How about I once knew a man whose friend tried to borrow that diamond of yours”—Lilia nodded at the boy—“for an exhibition.”
“Did they get it?” the girl said.
“She. I said she tried.”
“And they wouldn’t let her borrow it?”
“Her country,” Lilia said. “Which happens to be Canada.”
“My dad is from Canada,” the girl said again.
“Well, they wouldn’t let Canada borrow it,” Lilia said.
“Why?”
“Ask your friend here.”
“I don’t know,” the boy said.
“I thought you saw the diamond with your own eyes.”
“My mom took us,” the boy said.
And your mom is dead. “Can you do me a favor?” Lilia said to the girl. “Run to the lady there—yes, the one standing by the cart. Ask her if you could help her.”
Lilia moved closer to the boy when the girl went away. “How did your mom die?”