Look Closely - Laura Caldwell [25]
“Martin has poker tonight,” Della said, “but I’m making enchiladas and salsa, so you’re just in time. I’m glad you’re here, because I was worried about you when you left. I hope I didn’t upset you.”
I leaned against a countertop while Della picked up a carving knife on the butcher-block island. “I was startled, that’s all.”
Della nodded and began chopping cilantro, sending the scent of it into the air to mix with the garlic. “You all moved away so fast when Leah died. I always wondered if that was the best thing for you kids after losing your mom.”
“I guess my dad thought it was right.” At least I assumed that’s what my father thought. We had never talked about his rationalization for that first move out of Woodland Dunes and over the ocean to London and Paris or the next to San Francisco, except that my dad said the firm needed him in those particular cities. When I was fourteen, and he told me we were moving again, I put my foot down, telling him this had to be the last move, that I wanted to go to high school in the same place for all four years. So we moved one more time to Long Island, and my father hasn’t left New York since.
“Oh, I don’t mean to second-guess your father,” Della said. “Part of my thinking was probably because I missed you all so much. Danny was ready to go off to college, but I don’t know that Caroline was quite prepared for boarding school.”
I stood away from the counter and blurted out the questions I’d returned to ask. “Do you hear from them? Do you know where they are now?”
Della abruptly stopped dicing cilantro, and it was a moment before she looked up at me. “You don’t talk to your brother and sister?”
I shook my head, aware of a ticking clock somewhere in the room.
Della opened her mouth as if to say something, but she paused first. “You don’t keep in touch at all?”
“I did get a few letters from Caroline when she was in boarding school, but I haven’t seen either of them since my mom died.”
Della laid the knife on the butcher block and came around to me. “Let’s sit down.” She led me to a polished wood table.
We both sat, and I leaned forward, ready to listen, to learn anything I could. “Do you know where they are now?”
Della took the dish towel off her shoulder and slowly rubbed her hands. “I don’t know if your father would want me to talk about this. Shouldn’t you ask him these questions?”
“Look, Della,” I said. “My dad and I are very, very close, but there’s one thing we don’t talk about, which is the time when my mom died. And I’d really like to find my brother and sister. It’s been way too long for a family not to see each other.”
Della’s concerned face watched me as I spoke, then she looked down and kept rubbing her hands with the towel. I forced myself to endure the silence even though I didn’t understand it.
“Wait here,” Della said. She left the room for a minute or so. When she returned, she was carrying two stacks of envelopes, one thin, the other thicker.
“I used to hear from Caroline regularly, maybe once a year,” she said, placing the larger pile of envelopes before me. “These are most of the letters. A few I misplaced or threw away. I haven’t heard from her for a year or two now. The last place she wrote me from was Portland.”
I ran my finger over the top envelope made of thin, peach paper. In the left corner was a label that read “Caroline Ramsey” and an address on Northeast Jarrett Street in Portland.
“So she’s married?” I said, looking up at Della.
Della nodded. “She sounds very happy. I think there’s even a picture in there.” She placed the other stack before me. There were only four envelopes. “I’ve saved everything I’ve received from Dan, but again it’s been a while. Last I heard he was out in Santa Fe.”
The top letter was in a plain, white envelope, and just as Della had said, it bore a return address from Santa Fe, New Mexico.