There was a handmade kitchen table in Girl’s basement, stained a pale blue, and on the bottom was carved, MADE BY CLINT LILLIBRIDGE AND HIS TWO WIVES, SHARON AND CARRIE, so at least the open marriage part of the story could be verified.
“Your father’s marriage did not survive the death of Sebrina, Juli’s older sister,” Mother explained to Girl. “Most marriages fall apart when a child dies. It’s sad, but it happens.”
Mother and Father had a whirlwind romance, marrying at the courthouse. Mother wore a leopard-print minidress, and Father wore jeans. They brought Millie, Mother’s mother, flowers on the way to the ceremony. No one could imagine a wedding with Mother’s father so recently deceased. Mother thought she and Father had a good marriage, even though she thought it was a little unnatural that they never fought. Father was studying for his boards in pediatrics, and she got pregnant with Brother, and then Girl. Millie died before Brother was born, but Mother was close to her brother and cousins. She was not yet without family. Then one day she opened the glove box in her VW Bug and found a pair of women’s panties that were not her own. There was a one-year anniversary card as well. Mother was six months pregnant with Girl at the time.
“I thought we had an open marriage,” Father had said, although clearly this was wishful thinking on his part. Mother dragged him to counseling, where he wrote down only her name under “name of patient” on the intake form. By the time Girl was crawling, Mother asked Father to move out. As soon as Mother sorted out a place to live and had packed their things, she and the children left. It had been his house, after all, and it didn’t seem right to keep it.
Mother stood at the top of the mountain, skis pointed downhill. She had buried her father, then spent two years watching her mother slowly die. She thought her happiness had ended with her marriage, but here she was. She looked down the slope at the white-frosted pines, the diamond snow, not just watching life out the window anymore, but being a part of it. She pushed off with her poles, the wind flowing across her cheeks, listening to the shhh-shhh of her skis as she pushed with one leg, then the other. She bent over in a crouch and let gravity do the rest. The universe was pulling her along, buoying her up, giving her what she needed.
Although Mother could provide adequately for the children, she wanted to do better than always living paycheck to paycheck. She wanted to raise them up to a higher standard of living, so she enrolled at the University of Rochester to finish her bachelor’s. It meant signing up for food stamps and taking the last of her savings and buying a single-wide trailer. The day she walked into the government office and admitted that she needed help—there weren’t words to describe the humiliation she felt. Afterward she took the last fifty bucks out of her checking account and bought a red sweater. It was dumb and frivolous and irresponsible, but somehow, it had felt necessary to do something that was for just her, not the children—something impractical that said she was still important, still visible, still deserving of nice things. She was flying on hope, flying down the ski slope and out of poverty and into a rich life filled with books and politics and new ideas. And she was carrying the children along with her.
It was hard being poor. She wanted to give the kids everything, but she had so little. Sometimes, at the end of the month, she pulled out the beige flannel bag that held her father’s coin collection and cashed in a few to make ends meet. She made a sandbox out of uncooked oatmeal for her toddlers to play in at one end of the living room. She stapled blankets over the thin trailer walls in the winter to keep out the wind. But she could feel her mind expanding with every class: psychology, literature, the composition classes she was so good at, and the math her brother, Lewis, had to help her understand. Plenty of guys asked her out, and she dated a few of them, but she was protective of her time, her new life. And let’s be honest, men didn’t want to settle down with a woman who already had children.
Their first Christmas alone, Girl asked Mother, “What are you going to ask Santa for?”
“Oh, I don’t know. A ski rack for the car,” Mother said. She thought that would be the end of it, but Girl and Brother kept bringing it up, kept saying how they were sure Santa would bring her a ski rack. Eventually, Mother found one on clearance and wrapped it for herself, so they wouldn’t lose their faith in Mr. Claus. Mother had a band saw and a jigsaw inherited from her father, and after the kids were asleep, or when they were at Father’s, she made them wooden elephants on wheels, with a handle on top to roll them back and forth.
The night before Christmas, Girl woke up and had to go to the bathroom. Girl’s bedroom in the trailer had a tiny half-bath, but for some reason, she refused to use it.
“I wanna use your bathroom, Mommy,” Girl said.
“But you have a nice little bathroom all of your own right here!” Oh Lord, if Girl walked through the living room and saw the presents under the tree, it would be all over. Mother did not want to do Christmas at 2 a.m.
“Please, Mommy,” Girl asked, her lower lip sticking out.
“Okay, okay,” she said. Mother picked up Girl and carried her through the living room. Girl’s big brown eyes looked at all the presents, but she didn’t say a word. She used the bathroom, then Mother carried her
