Small-Town Secrets

“She’s muttering more and more lately. I think she misses my mom,” Yolanda said.

“We didn’t mention your mom.”

“No, but we’re asking the kind of questions that she wished my mother would have asked. We’re listening like she wished my mother would have listened.”

“Your mother wouldn’t have listened?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“My mother only had one question she wanted answered,” Yolanda said simply, surprised by how easy Adam was to talk to and how willing she was to share.

“And that was?”

“Who her father was.”

“And Rosi wouldn’t tell her?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

Adam stared at the kitchen door, still swaying and creaking gently as if guiding Rosi’s entrance into its realm.

“A secret from the past, eh?”

“A big one,” Yolanda agreed.

“Was Rosi ever married? We kids all thought she had been. I mean she lived in this huge house and had three children.”

“Yes. But her husband was dead by the time I came along. My uncle Juan was named after him. Apparently, he was full of laughter but not much of a provider. My mom never talked about him. Funny, because she’s the oldest. You’d think she’d have remembered the most. She seldom talked about growing up here except to say that she hated it. Said there were noises that made no sense and that she felt that just by taking a wrong turn, she could get lost and never be found.”

“She had a good imagination.”

“No, not really. She just knew how to justify her actions. She didn’t like coming here. When she’d pick me up after work, she’d come just inside the door, never all the way in.”

“Relatives do that at my house, but it’s because they’re afraid of upsetting Andy.”

“If it hadn’t been for me, my mother and grandmother probably would have stopped talking to each other.”

“Did they have a fight?”

“No, but Gramma Rosi is a free spirit, and my mother was probably the most conservative person I ever knew.”

Adam stopped. “But, she had you when she was pretty old. I can remember my great-grandmother talking about it. She thought it was the gutsiest thing Trina’d ever done.”

“Gutsy? No, more like an accident. She was only married a short time. I doubt either her or my father worried about birth control. They figured they were too old.”

“Your mother always seemed to care about you.”

“She did. She loved me. I know that. But at an age where she wanted to put her feet up and watch television, instead she was helping me with homework and driving me to Girl Scout meetings where she felt like an outsider.”

“She could have made friends if she wanted,” Adam pointed out. “That must have isolated you as much as her.”

Yolanda gave a halfhearted nod. Her mother’s mantra had been Men Leave. Friends Leave hadn’t been much more of a stretch.

The kitchen door finally stopped swaying after Gramma Rosi left. She’d had Adam install it because she didn’t want the customers to be able to see into the kitchen. It was her grandmother’s favorite room, thus, it was Yolanda’s favorite room. It represented laughter and hugs and security.

Rosi’s other children, Freda and Juan, came to town when they could. Yolanda especially enjoyed the few Christmases when the family crowded into the room. It was noisy and cluttered and felt like a home.

In this kitchen at Christmas was the only time Yolanda saw what a big family could be.

Every other holiday, Gramma came to them. She was like a breath of fresh air in their little house, bringing color and laughter. Yolanda had wanted her to stay forever. Her mother wiped every round stain left by a water glass, adjusted rugs that maybe had slipped from their perfect setting, and had made it clear that when the dishes were done, the visit was over.

Why?

Yolanda had always wondered, but never more than now.

Adam shook his head, patted her on the shoulder and then he headed for her office. Today was door day.

“Remember to fix that creak in the kitchen door,” Yolanda called.

He only nodded.

After he left, Yolanda stood in the center of the living room, comforted by the books and knickknacks and cashier stand.

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