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“I don’t even know what I did wrong!” Analise said.
“You don’t listen!”
“I’m sorry, I thought I was.”
Penelope frowned. Her daughter’s bullshit detector was top of the line.
“Okay,” Analise continued, “I was distracted. I . . . I had a weird day and that’s what I was thinking about when you were talking to me.”
The front door of the house breezed open. It was Julia, beaming as she dumped her backpack and piano books on the tile. “Ms. Roach got sick, thank God!” She sized up the situation and mouthed to Penelope, I’ll be upstairs.
Penelope blew Julia a kiss. She turned to Analise and walked into her chest, pressing her face against her mother’s heart. The conflict was over. Analise wrapped herself around Penelope.
“What happened that was weird?” her daughter asked.
Analise combed her fingers through Penelope’s locks. “A random person came into the café this morning looking for Ulla. He said she was friends with his mother.”
“That is weird. Ulla doesn’t have any friends.”
They shared a laugh, and as Penelope disappeared upstairs, Analise went to find Dany.
She’d first met Dany at kindergarten orientation—technically his late wife, Sofia, first. Sofia and Dany co-owned a remodeling company. She’d traded hard hats for spiked heels when not on the job and was quick-witted with her shiny black ponytail and bright makeup. Their only daughter, with her pierced ears, curled pigtails, and patent dress shoes was Penelope’s opposite. They hit it off immediately. By the end of second grade, the school administration conspired to keep the girls in separate classrooms to avoid any more talk of becoming president and vice president and demanding pure allegiance to their every whim. The girls at first had decided on being co-queens. But this was America.
Julia was frills on the outside and unflappable on the inside. Penelope was skinned knees and soccer cleats on the outside, but on the inside, a volcano of fiery emotions that could erupt unprovoked.
When Sofia was diagnosed with an aggressive brain tumor during the girls’ third-grade year, Sofia took Analise aside and said she knew Penelope would take care of Julia—and that Analise would take care of Dany. Analise, flummoxed, mutely nodded. She’d found Dany attractive, but admiringly so, sort of how a woman could look at her friend’s husband and understand the appeal.
After Sofia died, Analise did care for Dany the way all good Midwesterners do. She made food. The problem was, every time she brought over a new hotdish, she was roped into staying by the myriad of family that floated in and out. Over the years, Analise wondered about Sofia’s dying request. Was it really Dany, who had family members and affection in spades, needing to be taken care of?
The relationship with Dany was a foregone conclusion a year later when Julia and Penelope realized their path to true sisterhood was via Parent Trap. They arranged their school projects together, and accidentally intermixed belongings to provide excuses for drop-offs, eventually necessitating such text messages as: Less than 4 hrs since the girls have seen each other—J is going thru withdrawals.
When Analise caught Dany and Penelope playing a game of pickup basketball like any father and daughter would do, she’d decided that this was what love felt like.
He finally asked her on a date.
They’d talked about making love long before they actually did. It required logistical planning. Dany arranged for the girls to have a sleepover at his mother’s in St. Paul on a Saturday night. When Analise and Dany retrieved the girls the next morning, in time to attend Mass with his family, far too many of them asked how things went.
Dany proposed to Analise one quiet morning when they were alone but the next day made a show of asking her hand in marriage at the Sunday family brunch. He’d cajoled Analise the night before, teasing that she needed to practice astonishment. “No, Ana, I need more chin trembling! Can’t you manufacture some tears for crying out loud?” And she did cry, but from laughter. He was good at that. Making her laugh. Humor was his defense, a guard he seldom released. Except when he asked about Penelope’s father.
She told him the truth one hot August evening, underneath the stars, in the back of his pickup. “Apparently my abusive ex-boyfriend nearly killed me.”
Ulla had pushed for an abortion, but when Analise asked Ulla if she wished she’d had one, it was the only time Analise had seen Ulla cry. God, no, Isa, you’re my life. I love you more than anything!
“Aren’t you afraid for you and Penelope?” Dany had asked. “What if he ever finds you?”
Fear was the logical outcome of a horrific story. But Analise, surprisingly, felt none. “I don’t think he will. And no, I’m not scared.”
“What’s that like? Not remembering.”
Analise replied with a question, “What do you remember about your senior year?”
“That was over fifteen years ago. Not a whole damn lot.”
“Exactly. No one has a memory that replays like a recorder. There are gaps everywhere. And memories change over time. People fill them in with things that aren’t always true. It’s been so long now for me.”
“What have you told Penelope?”
“About her dad? That he was a bad guy, and it’s best that he never knew I was pregnant.”
