Chapter 21

Chapter 21

Anna woke up to find Mom’s journal lying on the floor, where it had slipped from her numb fingers last night. She picked it up and read the last entry again just to make sure she hadn’t dreamed those terrible words. “If only they knew.”

Mom had never wanted her. To Mom she had been just another burden. Another cause to fight for. Anna had meant nothing more to her than the literacy program or cleaning up the park that would soon bear her name.

All the pieces of the puzzle fit together now. What Frank had told her and what she remember at the park and the crater about her own childhood told her everything she needed to know about her mother. Mom had always treated her as nothing more than a pet. She provided food, shelter, and occasionally patted Anna on the head to make her feel loved. Then she congratulated herself on doing her job as a mother and went out to make Little Mesa a better place. But when do-gooding wore on her, she pulled some crazy stunt.

The journal also settled the question of her father. Mom had told her that she and her father had met over a weekend in Georgia. They had fallen madly in love, but a drunk driver killed him before their love could blossom. Anna believed this romantic story because it explained why Mom had no pictures of her father and why she didn’t like to talk about him. It certainly sounded a lot better than saying she got drunk in a Savannah bar and woke up in a motel with no clue about who had fucked her. Mom had no more idea what he was like than Anna did.

No wonder the journal had been stuffed in a box at Mrs. McAllister’s house. If anyone in town had read it, they would be shocked to learn the awful truth about their saint. The journal explained why Aunt Esther hated Mom so much and why she believed Mom had committed suicide.

Anna went downstairs with the notebook and found her aunt making a bowl of oatmeal. She tossed the notebook onto the counter and waited for Aunt Esther’s reaction. “Who gave that to you?”

“Frank. He found it at Mrs. McAllister’s house.”

“I thought he might.” Aunt Esther turned to face Anna and crossed her arms beneath her breasts. “I didn’t think he would show it to you.”

“Why shouldn’t he? You didn’t want me to know the truth?”

“You were only eight years old when she died. Do you honestly think you could have handled it then?”

“Why couldn’t you have waited until I was older?”

“When do you suppose anyone is mature enough to understand their mother was a selfish whore?”

“All these years you’ve let me—and the whole town—believe a lie!”

“I let all of you believe exactly what you want. Everyone was a lot better off that way.” She sighed and shook her head. “If Frank hadn’t shown up here everything would still be fine.”

“It’s not Frank’s fault for wanting me to know the truth.”

“No it’s my fault for not destroying that thing when I had the chance. I don’t know why your mother even kept it all these years.”

“Maybe she was going to tell me when I got old enough.”

“Knowing your mother, I doubt it.” Esther took a look at the bowl of oatmeal and then motioned for Anna to sit down. “I suppose now we need to have that talk.”

“It’s too late. You had your chance.”

“Stop acting like a child! I did the best I could.”

“You were even worse than Mom. You never let me believe in myself. You never made me think I could do anything right.”

“I didn’t want you to end up like your mother, believing a lot of nonsense. When are you going to learn real life isn’t like one of those old movies. Real life is shit.”

“It doesn’t have to be. Just because bad things happened to you doesn’t mean it’s that way for everyone.”

Aunt Esther threw up her hands and pointed to the door. “Fine. Go off like your mother and search for that miracle life. Go and get yourself knocked up by a complete stranger. If that’s what you want, you go right ahead. I’m not going to try stopping you anymore.”

Anna turned and stomped back upstairs. She found a suitcase in the closet and packed it with as many clothes as she could fit. She left behind all her movies, childhood stuffed toys, and mementos collected over the years. Only the autographed picture of Ingrid Bergman went with her. Then she left home without another word.

She went straight to the shop and used her key to open the door. After the play tonight she was going to leave. Whether she went with Henry or Frank or alone didn’t matter. She would leave Little Mesa and all the lies behind tonight. But to do that she needed money.

The cash register held only about thirty dollars in small bills and change and the safe another fifty. Eighty dollars combined with what she had saved already wouldn’t get her far, but it didn’t matter. Even if she could only make it to Santa Fe she could find a way to earn more money to get her to Los Angeles. If she was traveling alone.

The three of them could go together: she, Henry, and Frank. Henry must still have friends in Hollywood who could help her get some auditions. Maybe he could even find some parts for himself. They could both stay with Frank for a little while, until Henry found his own place. Then she and Frank would live alone. And when she had paid her dues and become a star, then Frank would go with her on location shoots. Anytime she had time off they would go somewhere and he would take his pictures. He would take her picture, just like he had done for Mom. No matter what Aunt Esther said all three of them could be happy forever.

She considered leaving Aunt Esther a note, but she had said all she needed. She locked up the shop, although anyone who broke in now would find she had beaten them to the prize. Not much of a prize anyway.

After leaving the store she walked to Crater Park where the crew had finished assembling the stage and were now putting the furniture in place for Ron’s Café. The play would have to be perfect to convince Henry and Frank she could do what she proposed. She needed to make them believe in her the way Mom and Aunt Esther never had. She left her suitcase in the changing area and then went onto the stage.

One of the crew bumped into a table, knocking a tray of glasses to the floor. He cursed at someone else in Spanish until they seemed on the verge of fighting. Anna put herself between them and shouted in Spanish for them to settle down. “Clean up this mess and try to be more careful,” she told the boy who had knocked over the glasses.

“What happened?” Henry asked her. His skin still looked gray around the edges and his eyes had a glossy sheen.

“It’s nothing, just a little accident. All taken care of.”

They went offstage and he put both hands on her shoulders. “If you’re feeling nervous, don’t worry. It’s always tough the first few minutes, but then the jitters go away. You’ll be great. I know you will.”

“Thanks, but if I am it’s all because of you.” She kissed his cheek and smiled. “I’d weigh four hundred pounds by now if I hadn’t met you. You saved me from that nightmare.”

His skin had turned a healthier color now as he blushed like a young boy at her kiss. “You did everything. I just helped you see what was already there.”

“Well, why don’t we fight about who should thank who?” She looked around to make sure no one else was around before saying in a low voice, “I wanted to talk to you about something else.”

“What is it?”

“Have you made any progress with the tour yet?”

“No, I made some calls, but nothing definite.”

“Henry, let’s forget about the tour. We can go to Los Angeles by ourselves. We can find work there, I know we can.”

“I’m too old to try making a comeback.”

“You’re not. You still have the passion and the talent.”

“The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak, I’m afraid.”

She thought about it a moment. “Then come with me anyway. I can find work to support both of us. I can take care of you.”

“I know you can, Anna, but I don’t want to be a burden.”

“You’re not a burden. You’ve been like a father to me. I want you to come.”

They stared at each other for a long time while the lighting director tested the switches. Once she had gone, Henry nodded. “All right. We can do it.” Anna didn’t care if anyone else saw her as she hugged him. Maybe her mother hadn’t known whose sperm had created her, but she knew the identity of her true father.