London Street by Jane E. Griffieon

Author:Jane E. Griffieon [Griffieon, Jane E.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781725267572
Publisher: Wipf & Stock Publishers
Published: 2020-11-04T19:07:42+00:00

Officially sixteen years old, I started dating Case, Bobo’s friend from the family from Canada who was originally from The Netherlands. I was now included in my brother’s group, “The Do-It-Nothing Gang.” We hung out on Sundays. Donald, Case, Bobo, Chuck, Liz, Ginny and me. Our parents didn’t know we went to Big Boy’s after church in the mornings. Occasionally, our parents let us sit as a group in the balcony. Sometimes we skipped evening church and visited Anazeh Sands pool hall instead. Church or not, the gang would gather in someone’s living room for a night of “Bonanza,” “The Smothers Brothers,” and ice cream without parental interference.

One Sunday when the Do-It Nothing Gang settled into the living room for a night of television, I followed Ginny into the kitchen to get snacks before the episode of “Mission Impossible” started.

“How are the plans for your folks’ 25th anniversary coming?” Ginny asked.

“We have a room at the Stagecoach Restaurant reserved.” I poured a bag of pretzels into a bowl. “Deannie and Gracia’s idea.”

Ginny covered vanilla scoops of ice cream with frozen strawberries. “That will be in November?”

“Yeah. November 25. They were married on Thanksgiving Day that year.”

“Cool.”

We counted out eight glasses. As I filled them with cola, my brain clicked like the ice we just added. I stared at the fizzling soda. “You know, I never thought of this . . .”

“What?” Ginny asked.

“Well . . . it’s my Mom and Dad’s twenty-fifth anniversary.”

“Yeah.”

“Funny . . . Gracia is going to be twenty-nine in the spring.”

Ginny looked at me long and hard. She emptied a bag of potato chips into a Tupperware bowl.

“It’s weird, you know? I hadn’t thought of it, ” I said. “I don’t get it.”

Ginny’s hand went over her mouth. She set the potato chip bag on the table. “It only dawned on you now?” She stared at me. “Janie. You don’t know?”

I said nothing.

“Okay.” Ginny squinted. “Okay. Gracia is your mother’s daughter,” she said very slowly like a teacher in first grade. “Your mother had her before she married your dad. Gracia is your mother’s daughter, Jackie is your father’s daughter. You knew Jackie was your father’s daughter, right?”

I nodded. I didn’t want Ginny to know I didn’t know.

Of course Jackie is my father’s daughter. But my mother isn’t her mother?

“When your dad’s first wife died, he married your mother. Your mother already had Gracia,” Ginny said.

Forget what Ginny thinks. “My dad was married before?”

“Yeah.”

I released a long, fatigued sigh. The sound of my mother sobbing in the night years ago came back to me. Of course. I’m so stupid.

“My mother’s first husband died too?” And how the hell was it that Ginny knew so much about it when I didn’t.

“No, Janie. She wasn’t married.”

I dropped my gaze to the floor and stared at the muted pattern on the indoor-outdoor carpet. My face grew hot from anger, or confusion, or embarrassment, not sure.

Then I shrugged, picked up the bowl of chips, walked to the living room and pretended to watch television.

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