In her make-believe memory, her mother had sported a similar outfit. It would have matched her light-brown hair, which now looked many shades lighter due to the gray. Her mother rarely wore a suit—she had been partial to skirts and blouses, and seemed to be, still. An unintentional preference from the past? A favorite of hers?
Either way, the choices were a hint of the woman Lillian had known, and that comforted her, made her hope that the mother she knew would somehow reveal herself to the next generation.
Anna would have had a Gimbels discount, but her clothes had never been showy or posh—or even good. But she had been beautiful, with a round face, big blue eyes, and petite nose and mouth, all pleasantly positioned and proportioned. Lovely had been a word associated with Anna not only for her looks but also for her disposition.
The same was said about Penny.
Pearls lost their luster, and flowers lost their vibrancy—and so had Anna lost much of her own shine and bloom. But she was not the one who needed to change; it was Lillian. And the world that Lillian’s children inhabited. Today was the first step toward that.
As she walked into the house to refresh her cup of coffee, Pammie and Penny raced down the stairs.
They passed their father in the foyer and galloped into the kitchen, where they’d soon delight in the cinnamon buns Lillian had set out on the table.
Peter twiddled his fingers as he paced the foyer. Lillian knew why he was worried. They were adults and even they had trouble visiting the mental institution. How would their girls react?
Lillian channeled the sane part of her mother and offered Anna’s solution for anxiety. “Come have some cinnamon buns. You’ll feel better.”
In the kitchen, Pammie gulped her milk. “What should I call her? I don’t want to call her Grandma, since I never met her before.”
Peter looked at Lillian for guidance. “That’s fine,” she said. “It might confuse her, anyway. Just call her Anna.”
“Can we ask to see her scar?” Pammie rubbed her arm.
“No.” Penny shook her head.
“Then how do we know it happened?”
“It’s important to believe our friends and family,” Lillian said. “Even if it’s hard to do. It’s our job to be open-minded. Do you know what that means?”
Pammie nodded. “It means trusting someone even if you don’t want to?”
Peter smiled. “Not exactly. Being open-minded means seeing things in new ways. Or seeing people in new ways, even if it’s hard.”
Lillian grabbed Pammie’s hand. “If you ever told me someone hurt you, I would believe you—even though it would make me sad and angry that it happened.”
“Don’t worry about me, I wouldn’t allow it. I would kick him in the—”
Lillian stomped her foot. “Pamela Rachel, don’t be fresh!”
“Well, I would.”
Peter cleared his throat, flustered at the bluntness. “That’s no way for a lady to talk.”
But it was exactly how Lillian wanted her daughters, and all girls, to think. She cleared the table. “How about this? If a boy or a man is unkind to you, or makes you uncomfortable in any way, tell me and Daddy. We promise to believe you and help you.”
“What if you really like him?” Penny asked.
Lillian’s father’s smile popped to mind. A memory of sweet cigar aromas filled her nose. What would she have done? Would she have turned on the father she loved? Then she thought about Anna, being taken to the institution, being robbed of her freedom, of her family. “Yes, you tell us—especially if we like him. You’re more important.”
Peter’s eyes filled. “Always.”
Yes, Lillian understood, Peter was on her side, on their side. It wouldn’t always be easy. Perhaps it wasn’t supposed to be. It would be difficult when she got the courage to tell him how she wanted to change her life—their lives.
“Why didn’t your mother tell her mom and dad?” Penny asked.
“Her father had died a long time before that. And maybe she was too ashamed or embarrassed to say anything to her mother.”
“Why didn’t she tell someone else?”
This question should have plagued Lillian, but she knew the answer. “She may have. We don’t know.” Lillian cringed at the thought that Anna probably did tell someone—just like Ruth had told Lillian. “It’s possible no one believed her. Back then, they didn’t treat injured women the way they should. That’s why it’s important to tell someone if you’re in trouble—to stand up for yourself. Make sure you’re heard.”
The family stepped outside to the sidewalk, and Lillian hurried back to the kitchen. She returned to the car with a Tupperware container. “I almost forgot my mother’s cookies,” she said.
Peter opened the car door for her but paused before he let her in. “I know I don’t say it, but you’re a good daughter.” He stepped aside for Lillian to enter. “And a good mother.”
As they piled into the Lincoln, Lillian flooded with gratitude.
Forty-five minutes later, the Diamonds arrived at Friends Hospital. Autumn leaves camouflaged the buildings, but Lillian saw through the gold and red and orange. Even gold sparkles couldn’t make this place what it wasn’t. It wasn’t a temporary healing place or a stopover for Anna; it was her home. It had been, for many years. Years in which Lillian now admitted she had been ashamed to admit her mother was hospitalized. Now she believed that dying was likely the best thing her father could have done for them. It hadn’t been her husband’s death but his cruelty that had caused Anna’s nervous breakdown and her commitment to that first asylum. Lillian was sure of it. Anna’s early senility was unrelated, the doctor had said. Lillian didn’t believe that one bit.
But if her father had lived, her mother would have lived in danger. Lillian might have been in danger as well.
As she had learned firsthand from Carrie, domestic violence was rarely an isolated instance.
Peter parked the car, and the girls eyed the building in front of them. Penny was the first to speak. “It looks kinda nice, like a school or something.”
As they left the car and walked toward the building, Lillian had to acknowledge that her mother was better off committed than married to her father. When Peter opened the door for them, she pushed aside thoughts of how her mother might have coped if she’d received kindness from Lillian’s grandparents.
Her grandparents—her grandmother in particular. Lillian had so far ignored the feelings—the anger—she had toward them. Gran had given her a home after her mother was taken away, but she should have done something to help long before. And yet, Lillian didn’t have all the facts. There was so much for her to learn about what really happened.
As the family neared Anna’s room, the reality of the hospital settled back around Lillian. Today was about her daughters’ grandmother, not Lillian’s mother, and she would focus on that. She would search out her cousins on her mother’s side when the dust settled. Rekindle those lost relationships. See what they knew.
Everything in due time. She’d ease into the knowledge, the pain, of what had been done to her mother, to her. She’d had enough shocks lately and needed to go easy on herself too.