The Light of the World, page 12
The first two days she worked were slow, and she spent the hours between one and three each day after her cleaning and stocking tasks were completed leaning against the counter and reading her grandmother’s diaries. The progress she made was slow. Her grandmother’s handwriting was cramped and at times difficult to read. Each entry required several re-reads to pull names and places out to add to Eva’s ever-growing list.
Mary was an interesting and compelling narrator. She told stories from the depth of her heart and short experience, revealing what it was like to be so young and so burdened. Eva shared bits of the diaries with Mr. Bertelli when he asked what she was reading on Thursday afternoon.
“She sounds like she was a really interesting teenager, Eva.” Mr. Bertelli wiped his hands on his apron before turning back to the side of beef he was cutting up in preparation for the weekend. “As do her friends.” He paused, one hand on the counter. “In the morning, I’m going to show you how to make sausage.”
As a lover of food, and yet utterly negligent about remembering to eat, Eva perked up. “Awesome.”
He smiled at her from under his mustache. “In this neighborhood, you have no idea how much of a relief it is to hear you say that.”
Chuckling, Eva turned back to the book. She was fascinated with the dynamic that was developing between Mary and Wren. It felt so genuine and organic, the sort of friendship that a person could spend her whole life looking for. Eva wished for friendships like that, but her inability to look outside of her own head made it impossible. She felt trapped by the pull of sadness in her heart, and she had locked herself away when she was a child for fear that it would affect others.
That was before she’d been diagnosed and before her mother had gone into full-scale denial about the whole thing. Sometimes, Eva thought that she was somehow stunted by how little time she’d spent with others as a child. She had always been the weird, friendless kid in school.
A bell jingled and Eva looked up. A woman wearing large sunglasses and a loose linen shirt was standing in the door. Her hair was tucked up under a hat and she looked almost as if she were trying to disguise herself. Eva tucked her bookmark into the diary and set it aside. She swallowed down the nervousness that came with meeting strangers. “Welcome to Bertelli’s Grocery,” she said. “Can I help you find anything?”
The woman at the door pushed her sunglasses up. “Hey, Eva.”
Eva felt a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Hey, Liv.” A little thrill shot through her. Liv had come to see her at work. Cool, collected Olivia, had come to see her at work! She felt honored and a little flattered that Liv had bothered to find out where she worked. She’d left her contact information with Mr. Schultz in case he had any questions for her before she went in to see him again, but she hadn’t expected to see anyone from the bookstore at Mr. Bertelli’s.
Behind the meat counter, Mr. Bertelli whacked at a troublesome joint with his cleaver. Remembering herself, Eva straightened up. “What can I help you with?”
Liv approached the counter and Eva was able to see why she was as covered up as she was. Already little patches of redness on her ears and neck caused by the blazing sun were showing on her skin. She must burn easily. That must suck.
Eva had gone to the bookshop the previous evening, but Liv hadn’t been there. Theo had convinced her that it was okay to leave her grandmother’s diaries with him. Eva still wasn’t sure if she trusted that he had her best interests at heart, but he was very persuasive and after some reflection, she didn’t see the harm in letting him read them.
“I just wanted to drop by to see what you were up to tonight,” Liv said. “It’s Al’s night to close the shop so I’m free if you’d like to get a drink.”
Eva blinked. “A drink? Like drink, drink?”
Liv frowned, furrowing her brow. “Are you not twenty-one?”
“Oh, I am… I just… I don’t really ever do that with friends.” Eva winced. Mostly because I don’t have any.
“Perfect time to start, then. I’ll come collect you after work. I know a good place.”
Eva floundered. “Is this like a—I mean, I’d be fine with that but, like, I hardly know you and maybe…” She trailed off, embarrassed.
“I just wanted to hear some more about your grandmother, Eva.” Liv reached forward and touched her shoulder across the counter. “I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Good, then five it is.” Liv paused, her warm fingers pressing into Eva’s skin. “See you then.” And with that she was gone, sweeping from the shop in flurry of pressed white fabric and blue jeans.
“Bye…” Eva looked down at her hands and felt a flush blossoming across her face. That girl was going to be a problem.
Behind the meat counter, Mr. Bertelli started to laugh. He leaned on the glass display case, still wearing his bloody gloves, the cleaver loosely clutched in one hand. “I think she might not have anticipated your reacting that way, Eva.”
“Thanks, Mr. Bertelli,” Eva grumbled. She looked up and met his eyes. “I just don’t ever really do that.”
“Let her take you out. It’s what grown-ups do with each other after a long work day.”
“Uh-huh.” Eva knew he was right, but she didn’t want to admit that a lesson in how to be an adult was really not what she wanted from him.
True to her word, Liv returned just as Eva was walking out the door.
“Hey.”
Eva froze. Liv was right behind her. Her layers were gone now that the sun had lost some of its intensity. She wore cut-off shorts and the same white linen shirt from before. Eva smiled slowly, nervousness leaking into her posture. She didn’t know what this meant, or was supposed to mean. “Hey,” she replied.
“You ready to go?”
Nodding, Eva fell into step beside Liv. “Where are we going?”
“This place I know, just a few blocks over.” She turned to meet Eva’s gaze. Her eyes were warm and bright, not harshly closed off as they had been on their first meeting. “One of those coffee shop/bar double features.”
“Ah.” Eva looked down at her feet. Her shoes were disgusting after she had spent all day helping Mr. Bertelli stock shelves and clean out the meat display. She needed to buy shoes just for work. “I’ve never been to one of those.”
“Really?” Liv bumped her side. “You’re post-college age, Eva. How did you never make it out to a place like this?”
“I just didn’t.” She didn’t look up. She hated this moment that always came when she was least prepared for it. The brutal, unpleasant feeling in the pit of her stomach when she felt compelled to tell someone why she didn’t finish school. There was this societal expectation that she share what she studied. It was all the small talk people Eva’s age engaged in, or at least it felt that way to Eva. She knew that there was no way around it, especially in situations like this.
It wasn’t that it was any of Liv’s business, or that their relationship would change at all if she knew, but rather it was the understanding that there was always a loss of respect that went along with such a revelation. Eva didn’t want another person thinking she was a coward.
The limited interaction that Eva had with Liv up until this point seemed to suggest she was a good person who would understand what Eva was trying to tell her—if, of course, Eva should want to tell her the truth. A big part of Eva did want to tell her and see what happened. Not everyone was going to react the way her mother had, right?
Liv shifted beside Eva. She was tense, the muscles in her neck tight. “Look,” she said. “I don’t mean to—”
Fuck it.
Eva cut her off. “I never graduated.”
“You didn’t?” Liv stopped walking.
“No. I dropped out the spring semester of my sophomore year.” Eva sighed. She was committed now. She might as well see it through. She twisted her wrist and tugged the watchband on her right wrist loose. The scar was still there, milky white against her tanned skin. It was a testament to her still being alive and it was a constant reminder of her foolish decision. “I did this instead.” Eva raised her gaze to meet Liv’s. She would not be ashamed, she would not. “I couldn’t stay there after that.”
Liv sucked on her lower lip. She stood there in the middle of the sidewalk, her fingers twisting around the leather strap of her purse. “Did you, um… get treatment?”
Eva nodded.
“And are you better?”
“You don’t get better from something like that. You just get better at coping.” Eva turned and started walking. She had no idea where they were going, but stopping did not seem like the right option.
They walked in silence for a few blocks, stepping around joggers and dog walkers. A street performer was drumming on an upturned bucket, but Eva barely heard him. Her attention was caught up in her confession and in how Liv had reacted. It wasn’t like people to just take what she said at face value. Usually they would start to look at her differently. Time would tell if Liv was the same as the rest of them.
“Did you just do one?” Liv’s question came out of the blue.
“I didn’t have time to get to the other before I passed out.”
“Oh.” Liv went quiet again. “Can you drink?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. Good.”
“I’m not, like, broken or whatever. I take medication, I get sad sometimes, and sometimes it’s worse than just sad. I obsess about little details to avoid dealing with the bigger picture.” Eva followed Liv down a side street. The coffee shop was in a basement, but it had large windows that were opened wide onto a little courtyard with a few spindly stools. Eva nearly tripped over an old paint can filled with cigarette butts.
At the door, Liv paused as her fingers closed around the handle. “I know a lot of people like you, Eva.” She turned her head to look over her shoulder and smile at Eva. A dimple was showing at her cheek. “I wasn’t judging. I just wanted to make sure I understood.”
“And do you?” Eva asked.
“I do.” Liv replied. She tugged the door open and gestured for Eva to head inside. “After you.”
“Thanks.”
Inside, it was cool and in the fading afternoon light, the far reaches of the shop had fallen into shadow. Eva liked it immediately. The place had a very homey vibe to it that made her feel welcome. The walls were painted a very light gray that looked almost blue in the low lighting. The bar was set against the back end of the shop and a tiny kitchen was tucked behind a half-closed black curtain. A few comfortable-looking couches lined the walls. Eva approached the bar and surveyed the tap list. She felt lost.
She was about to ask for help from the bartender when Liv stepped up behind her and put her hand on Eva’s shoulder. “Let me get you one. Go grab the table by the window.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
Eva retreated at Liv’s firm nod. She took a seat by the window and waited for Liv to come back with two glasses of amber liquid. She set one in front of Eva. “If you’re not much for this sort of thing, this will be the easiest one they have on tap for you. It’s a golden lager.” At Eva’s blank look Liv gave a dimpled smile. “A summer beer.”
“Oh!” Eva perked up. She liked those sorts of beers. They weren’t bitter or too sweet. “So, perfect for a day like today?”
Liv leaned forward on her elbows. “Yeah.”
Eva took a sip, frowning at the alcoholic taste before the back-end citrus flavor hit her tongue. “That is good.”
“Isn’t it?” Liv took a sip of her own beer. “So, Eva, now that you’ve told me about a demon from your past, would you like to share any more?”
Laughing, Eva grinned. “Why don’t I just tell you about my Gran, okay?”
“Sounds good.”
Eva sipped her beer. “Her name was Mary Oglesby. She married my grandfather in ’42 or ’43, whenever he came home from the war. She was born in 1909. The diaries I found are from when she was sixteen, in 1925.”
“And she just passed?” Liv ran a hand through her hair. “Christ, she was ancient.”
“She was very stubborn,” Eva agreed, “even about staying alive. My dad likes to joke that she was trying to outlive him.”
“Does he, um, suffer from what you have, too?”
“Depression?” Liv nodded. “Yeah, he does. My Gran mighta had it too. We can’t really be sure. She never was diagnosed or anything like that. She just seemed to be haunted by this old loss—and in the diaries she hasn’t experienced it yet. I keep thinking that she must have saved them for a reason, and not just the whole light of the world thing that I told Mr. Schultz about.”
“Do you think that what happened to her is documented in the diaries? Theo’s still working his way through them, won’t let me read ’em.”
With an apologetic wince, Eva picked up her beer once more. “I’m sorry he’s monopolizing them.”
“It’s fine, really.” Liv inspected her nails. The polish was chipped in places. “It isn’t every day someone comes in asking about a phenomenon like the light of the world. He’s just being thorough.”
“I’m really more interested in finding out about what happened in 1925 that made these diaries so important,” Eva confessed. She didn’t want to talk about the dreams she kept having about the light of the world. She didn’t want to worry anyone with what were pretty obviously run-of-the-mill stress dreams. “But knowing what the heck she meant by the light of the world would be cool, too.”
Taking a long pull on her beer, Liv smiled almost sadly at Eva. She licked at the corner of her mouth, her pink tongue flitting out and filling Eva’s vision to the point of distraction. She could not look away, and the color rose on her cheeks. “Be careful what you wish for, Eva. Some historical stones are better left unturned.” She leaned across the table and patted Eva’s hand gently. “Even if they’re really fun to try to figure out,” she added with a grin that made Eva’s heart flutter in her chest.
This girl was definitely going to be a problem.
Later that night, still a little buzzed and awash with the memory of Liv’s pleasant smile, Eva turned her attention back to her grandmother’s diaries. She was working her way through June now, and was surprised to discover her grandmother on a date of her own—a date with Wren.
June 14, 1925
Today it was unbearably hot outside. Wren spent much of the morning asking and eventually convinced me to go with her to Ebbets Field and watch the Robins play. She was confused when I called them that, though, and would not stop ribbing me for it later on in the grandstand. In my heart of hearts I know that these are Uncle Robbie’s boys and it simply is not polite to call them anything but who they are. Dodgers they may be on paper, but they are the Robins in all of Brooklyn’s hearts. Wren should know that. She’s from here, too.
Despite the ribbing and running commentary from Wren, the game was lovely. Terribly exciting, too. Dazzy Vance pitched well and the Robins won a 12-3 decision over the Reds of Cincinnati.
It was strange to be out with Wren like that, as if we hadn’t a care in the world. Ever since we met, it’s been a pattern of meeting behind closed doors and out of the public eye. We have our moments out of doors, naturally. Not like this, though.
Wren seemed to enjoy the clandestine nature of our meetings up to this point (or at least that is what she says, but I’m not sure that she’s entirely solid on what the word clandestine means. Honestly, we spend half our time with Elsie and Mrs. Talbot. That is hardly a secret.). I do not think that she particularly liked the screaming crowd of our neighbors from all over Brooklyn shouting out cheers for Dazzy and the boys, but she was the one who suggested going and I was not about to pass up a chance to go see the Robins when I didn’t have to pay for the ticket.
It felt like the sort of outing one would go on with a steady, what we did today. I cannot shake the feeling that that was what it was meant to be, for Wren seemed preoccupied the entire game, not truly paying attention to the dizzying performance that the Robins were putting on for the adoring crowd. Her hand kept touching mine, curling against the skin there and refusing to let go despite the heat of the day.
Afterwards, we walked around Crown Heights. I asked her why she had wanted to come out like this. It wasn’t like her to want to be so brazen about things. She was quiet for a long time after that. Quiet and stoic. Everything she is not usually.
We are brazen about things, even if whatever it is between us has no name. She acts like a fella, holds my hand in public, lets me walk on her arm. She’s cut her hair short with the fashion and styles it like a boy’s sometimes. I want to know why she does this, why she hides herself away when she should be giving herself to the world. The world deserves to know her. She shouldn’t feel like she has to hide.
Wren said that she wanted to give me something that I would enjoy, a gift of sorts. A happy memory, she called it. Again I asked why; people do not do kind things for me just for the sake of friendship. They always want something from you. Father told me that time and time again. You must protect yourself against their designs if you want to get anywhere in this world, he said. I wonder if he protected himself.
Wren doesn’t want anything from me that I would not willingly give her anyway. She is my closest friend, my confidante, and the person I trust most. I do not mind the playacting, but sometimes I wonder what the purpose is. She treats me the way a fella would treat his lady, even though we aren’t steadies. Girls don’t do that sort of thing.
Today, Wren was different. She brought me out of Crown Heights and bundled me onto a train that took us into the heart of Manhattan. I felt like I was being shanghaied and said as much, but Wren just laughed it off and told me not to worry. I find myself so caught up in her that I forget myself. She is overwhelming with her mere presence and I have to remember to keep my head straight or else she’ll vanish like a figment of my imagination and leave me in nothingness, trapped in the middle of the city.
