People’s thoughts about Marian were all basically the same but usually presented with an air of revelation. Bart Olofsson had stared earnestly into my face and said things like I see her as being very strong, very brave, as though this was some radical theory.
Absolutely, I’d said.
Someone who’s so strong, so brave like that—she was compelled to do the flight. Otherwise she would have exploded.
Totally, I said, even though bravery and strength aren’t reasons but qualities. I don’t think she had a reason, not really. Why does anyone want to do anything? You just do.
“Adelaide!” Carol called. “Come meet Hadley.”
The woman and the Days all turned. The Day who’d been talking extended one arm to usher Adelaide in, and I caught a trace of disdainful amusement on her face at being herded. “Hello, Hadley,” she said, shaking my hand after they’d all trooped inside and the Days had cheek-kissed me. She was tall and willowy, had a long, pale, lined face, and wore no wedding band, no makeup except for dark red lipstick. I couldn’t decide if she was beautiful. “I hear you’re an actress.”
Carol made a show of friendly exasperation. “Hadley’s a movie star, Adelaide.”
Adelaide’s tone conveyed a shrug. “I’m afraid pop culture is an area I’ve particularly neglected.”
“But pop culture is so fascinating,” said one of the Days. “You just have to look at it on a deeper level. It’s like contemporary art in that sometimes the actual product isn’t the point as much as the context in which it’s created.”
Adelaide gazed at him without interest.
“I agree,” Leanne jumped in. “Like take Hadley’s Archangel movies. As a feminist, I object to their emphasis on traditional gender roles—the man as the protector, you know—but as a consumer I was still sucked into the love story, gobbling down the popcorn. It’s a dog whistle only women can hear.” She took a green olive from a bowl and popped it into her mouth.
I asked her, “How do you and Redwood know each other?”
“We’re old friends,” Redwood said.
“We deflowered each other,” Leanne said, extracting the olive pit from her lips.
“Leanne!” Carol said, covering her ears.
“Don’t pretend you didn’t know,” said Leanne.
A buzz. Redwood went to a panel on the wall. “Hello?”
“IT’S HUGO,” came a roar through it.
* * *
—
“It was right before she left on the flight,” Adelaide said. “She came to see my mother in Seattle. I would have been five.”
The eight of us were sitting at the table outside, under the wisteria, eating salmon with some kind of too-sweet sauce of Redwood’s invention. Redwood had set out place cards, which meant I now knew which Day was Kyle and which was Travis.
“My family collected art,” Adelaide went on. “My mother was an old friend of Jamie Graves. We still own quite a few of his paintings, though most are out on loan.”
Carol piped up. “That’s how I found Adelaide. I knew of her work, of course, but I didn’t realize there was any connection to the Graves story until I was researching my book and started looking into her family’s collection. I’ve been thinking—wouldn’t it be fabulous if there were a Jamie Graves exhibit to coincide with the release of the film?”
“At LACMA,” Travis Day said. “Hundred percent yes. Or maybe a more unconventional space, somewhere—”
“Yes!” Carol interrupted. “LACMA would be fabulous!”
“Or somewhere more unconventional,” Travis said again. “Like a warehouse or somewhere repurposed.”
“Do you want me to talk about Marian Graves or no?” Adelaide said.
Travis looked miffed. Carol clapped a hand over her mouth. “Go ahead,” she said in a muffled voice.
“Marian came to town in 1949 just to see my mother,” Adelaide said. “They’d never met before, but they had Jamie in common. And also—Carol put this in the book—my grandmother had helped Marian get an abortion when she was leaving her husband, although no one told me that until I was an adult.”
“That’s why she came?” Hugo said. “To reminisce?”
“You’d have to ask her,” Adelaide said. “Good luck with that.”
I took a preparatory breath. I had a sense of fulfilling my duty, asking my prearranged question, like the littlest kid on Passover. “What was Marian like?” I said.