“This is so sad,” Andrea said in a tone that expected an answer.
“It is.”
“What’s sad, Mommy?” Steven asked as he entered the kitchen.
Kate turned to watch him. Steven was a more cautious copy of his brother. It was always interesting to see how he’d adapt to a situation. His eyes moved from where his brother was sitting, to Kate at the sink, to his mother, whose own eyes never left the screen. Satisfied that everyone was where they should be, he put his blanket down carefully and walked to Kate.
“Up,” he said, holding his arms above his head.
She took off her rubber gloves and did as he commanded. Lifting him up and then lowering him into his high chair. Then strapping him in tightly as he nodded in approval.
“What’s ‘sad’ mean, Mommy?” he asked again.
“It’s what you feel when bad things happen to people you love.”
“On the TV?” Steven asked, pointing.
Kate followed his finger. McCormick Place, Chicago’s convention center, was on-screen. It would be a convention of grief.
Kate felt feverish. She was going to fly into a million pieces. She was sure of it.
“Yes, Stevie. The TV’s showing the sad people.”
Steven cocked his head to the side, trying to puzzle it out. Kate refrained from suggesting that it would be better for the children if Andrea turned it off. Andrea wouldn’t comply. She didn’t believe in shielding her kids from harsh realities. Or, at least, not any more than the shield that came from living in the rich, mostly white enclave of Westmount.
“Why is TV showing sad people?” Willie asked. He picked a spoon up off the counter and started drumming it against the quartz. His spoon was in time with the quick cuts flashing by. A car. A picture. A wreath of bright flowers. Tap, tap, tap.
Andrea assumed the most serious expression she could on her newly Botoxed face. (She was “trying it out for fun,” she’d told Kate in confidence a week ago. Kate doubted that highly.)
“What city do we live in?” Andrea asked.
“Montreal!” the twins said together.
“Correct. And there are lots of other cities in the world, right?”
“New Work!” Willie said, looking to Andrea for approval.
Andrea smiled back. She and Rick had taken the twins there for a long weekend a few months ago. Andrea had been upset when Kate told her she wouldn’t be able to travel with them when she’d realized too late that her passport was expired. She’d offered to reimburse her plane ticket, but Andrea swept that suggestion away as if she were shooing a fly. “It’s not about the money . . .” The unfinished part of that sentence being that it was about the fact that she and Rick would be without childcare for a weekend. But she couldn’t admit that out loud.
“Correct!” Andrea said. “And there’s another city called Chicago.”
“Chi-cag-wo?”
“Very good.”
“What happened there?”
Kate felt light-headed. She forced herself to breathe. She picked up a glass, meaning to fill it with water.
“There was a terrible accident. A building blew up.”
Willie looked puzzled, but Steven looked upset.
“People dwied?”
“Yes, honey. Many people. A year ago. And today we’re remembering them.”
“Mommies and daddies?”
“Yes,” Andrea said. “Mommies and daddies. And also . . . some little kids—”
Kate dropped the glass she was holding. It shattered against the floor like a bomb.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, I . . . Nobody move.”
She rushed to the cupboard where the wall vacuum was kept. She turned it on and scooted back to where the glass shards were thickest. Sucking up as many as she could along the way as the vacuum’s engine whirred, blocking out the television.
“Don’t move, boys,” Kate said. She caught Andrea’s eye. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s only a glass.”
Kate bent her head again, searching carefully for each tiny shard. She’d have to make sure the boys wore shoes for the next couple of days. From experience, glass would continue to show up for a while despite her efforts.
“Hey!” Willie said. “It’s Aunt Kwait.”
“I’m right here.” Kate smiled at him, waving from the floor.
“Not here . . . there!”
His little finger rose and pointed at the screen.
INTERVIEW TRANSCRIPT
TJ: Getting back to your biological mother. You obtained your birth records when, exactly?
FM: Two years ago. I stepped up the search after my parents died. It took a few years, but as I said, as a result of some help I got, I was able to get a copy of the hospital record of my birth. After all those years of trying and wondering and . . . I had this piece of paper in my hand that was filled out the day I was born. That said who I was. It had my footprints on it, too.
TJ: What was that like for you? To see that?
FM: It was surreal. I mean, I cried. I had a name. She didn’t call me Franny. She called me Marigold. And that’s another thing, because Franny never felt like my name to me, and Marigold did the moment I read it, but it also felt like it would be too weird to change my name back to that, you know? Like I didn’t own either name.
TJ: What happened next?
FM: It took me another six months to find her. It wasn’t easy. She’d gotten married, changed her last name. She had a whole family, you know? I had another whole family.
[Sounds of crying]
TJ: Do you need a minute?
FM: I’m all right. Let’s continue.
TJ: Did you learn anything about your father?
FM: My biological father? She left his name blank on the birth record. She wouldn’t tell me who he was.
TJ: Did she say why?
FM: She didn’t want to talk about it. The whole thing was quite a shock to her, me contacting her.
TJ: I can imagine it must’ve been.
FM: But she was happy I did it. Happy
