In the spring of 1975, the Vietnam war finally ends. Several of the commentators on television call it an ignominious ending for America, and I cannot argue. South Vietnamese peasants are storming the American embassy for either protection or escape while the North Vietnamese army marches toward Saigon. Within a few days, they storm into the city without resistance, while American helicopters flit about like disoriented hummingbirds, desperately evacuating people from the roof of the embassy. It is all hysteria and chaos. Finally, North Vietnamese tanks crash through the gates of the Presidential Palace and the Viet Cong flag is hoisted high. South Vietnam has lost. America has lost. I am not sure exactly what we have lost, other than thousands of healthy young soldiers, and maybe the last innocent generation. I am conflicted about Maggie’s role in this. At times, I think that the demonstrations against the war weakened the country’s resolve and doomed a democratic country. But there are other times, increasingly, when I acknowledge that Maggie was right to oppose the war, and that America would have been spared a lot of misery if more of us had listened.
Maggie calls home every two or three weeks. For the most part, we do not discuss politics. Strangely, even the end of the war goes unmentioned. Thea asks about her life in Chicago, and Maggie tells us that she loves her job at The Daily Defender and has been dating one of the other reporters, although she describes the relationship as not serious. Maggie tells us that the newspaper has been doing a series on the Chicago Police Department and that she has been part of the investigative team. I can pretty much imagine the focus of the stories, but Maggie never uses the term police brutality, and Thea and I do not press for details.
In June, Tessa graduates from UWM with a degree in Elementary Education. Thea and I had half-expected her to announce her engagement to Robert Corrigan, but Tessa surprises us, saying that she plans to return to Sheboygan. Robert, who is also graduating, will be moving to Chicago to look for work.
But you and Robert…you’re still together? Thea asks. Robert Corrigan has always seemed a little cold and remote to me. But my wife has been imagining in-laws and grandchildren, and I agree with her that Tessa is our best hope for securing both.
Tessa sighs deeply, her voice rattling over the phone. Yes, Mom. We’re still together. But he thinks the best jobs for him are in Chicago. So he’ll be moving down there to get settled, and I’ll get a teaching job in Sheboygan and live with you and Dad for a year. If that’s OK.
Of course it’s OK, I say quickly. Unexpectedly, Thea and I have both had some difficulty adjusting to life in a house without kids. I especially missed having Tessa close by. The thought of having her back home, even for a short time, lifts my spirits. Thea is smiling too. She tells Tessa her room will be ready for her.
We later learn that, before Tessa called us, she had talked to the principal at Washington Elementary, the school where Mrs. Apostolos once worked in the front office, and where Tessa has been promised a job teaching second graders. The job will not start until the middle of August, so after she settles in, our daughter has six weeks to do nothing.
But doing nothing is apparently hard on Tessa. I want to work with Mom in the restaurant, she announces on the morning of her third day home. You don’t have to pay me.
So we fall into a familiar and comfortable routine: coffee and toast in the morning, a short drive to the Atheneum, all the usual kitchen and dining room preparations before opening for lunch, passing the afternoon hours preparing for dinner service and snacking between chores, a quick review of the day’s receipts after closing, back home to a late and light supper, bed by eleven o’clock. Tessa is on her feet almost all day, but she seems energized by the work. She and Robert talk every two or three days. Outwardly, I see no sign that Tessa pines for her boyfriend. But young women today are much more independent and self-assured than young women of an earlier generation, so I can draw no conclusions about their relationship. After a month, Tessa tells us that Robert has taken a job at the Chicago Stock Exchange. I do not know what this means, exactly, but Tessa explains that it is a low-paying job in an industry where Robert plans to build a career. In other words, he will be putting in long hours and, I presume, living a frugal bachelor’s life for a year or so, trying to advance and to save enough money so that he and Tessa can get married and start a family.
I am still not sold on Robert Corrigan, or on Tessa becoming Mrs. Robert Corrigan. But I am sure that Mrs. Apostolos had reservations about her daughter marrying Julian Pappas, so I am in no position to complain – especially when I see how close Thea and Tessa are becoming, and how my wife has blossomed this summer.
Saturday, August 10, is Tessa’s last day at the Atheneum, her last workday before having to report to Washington Elementary for orientation. Robert has promised to drive up from Chicago and spend Sunday with Tessa and Thea and me. He and Tessa have not seen each other for almost two months, and they seem a bit awkward around each other. In a private moment, I ask Thea if she has noticed the same thing.
I think it’s because you make him nervous, Thea tells me.
I make Robert nervous? Why would I make him feel nervous?
We are sitting in our swinging bench on the front porch, watching the Sunday morning church traffic parade by. Tessa and Robert are inside, having – at Thea’s insistence – some private time. Because he senses that you don’t like him, Thea says, blunt beyond what I am prepared for, though I should know better. Tessa senses it too, she adds.
I wouldn’t say that I don’t like him. But he hasn’t made much of an effort to get to know his future in-laws. Wouldn’t you say?
Thea shrugs. For once, I think I know exactly what she is thinking.
Robert has told us that he needs to leave by six o’clock that evening, to get back to Chicago at a reasonable hour. Nine o’clock on a Sunday night is, in Robert’s world, a reasonable hour. Six in the morning is a reasonable hour to get up and shower. Everything about Robert Corrigan is reasonable, which means that Tessa can expect to have a perfectly reasonable life, raising reasonable children. I know that I cannot tell Thea why this bothers me so much. With the chaotic and thoroughly unreasonable life Maggie is leading, and with Leander doing God-knows-what on an Indian reservation in North or South Dakota, you would think that I would want my younger daughter to have a stable and reasonable life. But there is something missing in the relationship between Robert and Tessa, and it makes me sad.
At Thea’s suggestion, the four of us drive to the lakefront and take a long walk. The forecast is for afternoon temperatures near ninety, but there is a cooling breeze over Lake Michigan that makes for a pleasant stroll. Back at the house, we play an abbreviated game of Monopoly, and then Thea directs us into the kitchen where she has assigned each of us roles in the preparation of an early Sunday supper. I cannot remember four people working in our small kitchen at one time, but we manage.
On Christmas Day, just as Thea had predicted, Tessa informs us that she and Robert are engaged. The announcement is written in Tessa’s careful handwriting on a piece of Robert Corrigan’s personal stationary, packaged in a small white box wrapped in silver foil, and presented ceremoniously on Christmas morning. The wedding is to be held at St. Spyridon on Saturday, June 19, which means that Tessa has contacted the church and has been quietly making the arrangements. Robert has driven up to spend the holiday with us. Tessa’s school is closed the week after Christmas, so she returns to Chicago to spend time with her fiancée.
Over the spring, Tessa and Robert make an effort to see more of each other. Every other weekend, either Robert drives up from Chicago or Tessa takes the train down. They seem to be acting more like a proper couple, and I allow that I may have been overly critical in my appraisal of my future son-in-law. On one of Tessa’s weekend trips to Chicago, Robert takes her to see a house in Elmhurst, and she returns home with the news that they have signed a rental agreement and will be moving there after the wedding. Maggie lives and works in the city, so she and her sister will be close enough to visit often. But Elmhurst is not Chicago, and I am not unhappy that Tessa will be making a life for herself in the suburbs – even though, for the first time, she will be living more than 100 miles away.
Increasingly, Thea and Tessa occupy themselves with wedding preparations, which mostly do not involve me. My only role is planning the rehearsal dinner and the reception, both of which will be held at the Atheneum. The private room in back will be large enough to accommodate the dinner. But Thea and Tessa want to open the reception to pretty much every person who has ever eaten a meal in the restaurant, as well as family, college friends, Thea’s high school and neighborhood friends, several of Robert’s coworkers, and various others – so the reception will occupy every square foot of the restaurant. Maggie and Leander will be there, of course, and Robert’s parents will be flying in from New York. This will be our first encounter with Tessa’s future in-laws, and my opportunity to either confirm or reshape my opinions of Robert Corrigan, if I am totally honest.
I am a bit concerned about the cost of the reception, and the logistics, although this is something else that I keep to myself. I will be making most of the food myself, assisted by our kitchen staff – with the exception of the cake, for which thankfully I am not responsible. But I have never prepared food for 150 or so people who will be descending at one time, and a lot of things can go wrong. Tessa tells me that Robert’s parents have offered to pay for the reception. But I know that Thea would not hear of it, and I tell Tessa that it will be our gift to our daughter and her husband, and we are happy to do it.
Robert’s parents arrive three days before the wedding. Sheboygan’s accommodation options are limited, but Thea has managed to secure rooms for the Corrigans and several other important guests at The Kneevers, which bills itself as The Hotel with a Heart. Heart or no heart, the place is a little shabbier than it once was, but it is clean and respectable and probably the best that Sheboygan can offer.
We have closed the Atheneum for the week so we can get the place ready. On the day Peter and Irene Corrigan arrive, we invite them to the house for dinner. Knowing Robert, I had formed a picture of the couple in my head: Peter, a tall and proper gentleman with graying hair, a financial titan. Irene, a trim, proud, soft-spoken, perfectly attired New York socialite. On both counts I could not have been more wrong.
The Corrigans do resemble each other, but they are both quite short and slightly overweight. Peter has white tufts of hair that look almost like large cotton balls on either side of his head. His voice is high-pitched, with an accent that sounds to me more Boston than New York, although my knowledge of regional accents is pretty much limited to television shows. Irene has the most pale complexion of any woman I have ever seen, and her face is almost completely free of wrinkles – as if she has never subjected herself to sunshine. But she has a bright smile and is clearly more extroverted than her husband, hugging Thea and me like old friends as soon as she steps inside the house.
Thea and I have collaborated on the dinner menu. Thea has made a lamb roast, salad, and baklava for dessert. I have made dolmades as an appetizer, tomatoes stuffed with feta cheese and spinach pie to accompany Thea’s roast.
We adore Greek food, Irene tells us. There is a wonderful little Greek taverna on 55th Street that we go to almost every time we’re in Manhattan. So lovely.
Peter smiles and nods.
We honeymooned in New York City, Thea offers. Years and years ago.
This seems to please Irene. She and Thea chat about New York. Thea remembers staying at the Hotel Manhattan somewhere near Times Square, the Christmas tree and ice skating in Rockefeller Center, the distinctive scent of roasted chestnuts which she will always associate with New York, drinking hot chocolate and listening to Christmas carols, looking at shop windows on Park Avenue. The memories float back to me as Thea reminisces.
Eventually, the subject of conversation shifts to Robert and Tessa. Irene remarks on what a sweet daughter we have raised, and Thea reciprocates with kind words about Robert. Peter and I exchange glances. This is how the dinner will proceed, we seem to be telling each other…the two of us eating silently as we listen to our wives engage.
The wedding is the first time I have been inside St. Spyridon in years. The new priest, who I realize is not that new anymore, is a young man named Father Leonard. I worry that Father Leonard will interrogate Thea and me about why we no longer attend Sunday service, but he could not be nicer, and there is not the slightest hint of judgement about him. I wonder how things might have been different if, from the beginning, our family had worshipped under Father Leonard rather than Father Gregory. But as Mama would remind me, wondering about things that never were is pointless.
The staff of the Atheneum have volunteered to work without pay on the day of the wedding, as their gift to Tessa and Robert. It is a wonderful and generous gift, and it allows Thea and me to be there simply as the parents of the bride. For the honeymoon, our regular customers surprise us all with a wedding gift that is every bit as generous: a pair of tickets to Greece and a week in an Athens hotel.
The preparations have kept Thea and me so busy, we have had no time to think about what our lives will look like after the wedding, after all the guests have departed and Tessa and Robert have headed off to begin their new lives. Fortunately, the house does not immediately evacuate. Maggie returns to Chicago within a day, but Leander has taken leave for another week, so Thea and I have time to visit with our son. Despite the multitude of doubts he had before enlisting with VISTA – doubts that were never expressed to his mother and me – Leander has found that he loves everything about the work. Standing Rock, which straddles the Dakotas, is part of the Great Sioux Nation. Leander acknowledges knowing next to nothing about the Sioux Nation when he set off for Standing Rock, and very little about what the job would entail. What he found when he arrived was a community that was, not unsurprisingly, suspicious and resentful of outsiders, families with a long list of grievances who were slow to accept him but who also did not judge him or hold him to a standard he could not meet. Standing Rock is sacred land for the Sioux people, the land where Sitting Bull defied the United States Cavalry, where Custer made his last stand at the Battle of Little Bighorn, and where the United States began in earnest its campaign to appropriate native land, to eliminate native traditions, to sign and then violate treaties. The people of Standing Rock, Leander explains, resisted when they could and conformed when they had to. For a hundred years, the white man has represented invader, occupier, homesteader on native land, oppressor, false friend. So when Leander arrived, presenting himself on behalf of the American government as a VISTA volunteer, he had two strikes against him. Now that he has been there for a year, he wants to stay for another year.
I have given up on all fantasies about Leander taking over the Atheneum, keeping the restaurant in the family. But I am surprised by this passion I have never seen before, for something he never expressed interest in, and by his determination to persevere. I am also, despite our talks, still not sure exactly what Leander does as a VISTA volunteer.
We’re not supposed to teach, he explains. Although that’s sometimes what we do. But mostly we help the communities figure out what problems matter to them and then help develop programs so they can fix the problems themselves.
So. Teach a man to fish, Thea suggests.
Sort of.
I had once been concerned about Maggie’s influence over Tessa. I see now that it was Leander I should have worried about…although worry is not really the word I mean to use. Maggie would certainly be proud to see how her little brother has evolved. I want to tell him this, but I do not want him to conclude that his mother and I are not proud.
Tessa has secured a job teaching fifth graders at a school in Elmhurst. She tells us she would rather teach younger children, but the school is less than a mile from their house, and it has an opening for a fifth-grade teacher, and that decides it. The job starts in six weeks, so she and Robert decide to take their honeymoon in July, even though Athens will be hot and crowded with tourists.
I know that Mama and Papa would be thrilled to see Tessa and to meet her new husband, and Tessa would love to see them. But she tells us that Robert has the week planned out, and she does not want to raise my parents’ hopes if a visit proves not to be possible.
I’m sure Cassius would be happy to drive my parents into Athens for a day, if that’s the only way. I am suggesting this to Thea, because I do not want to put our daughter on the spot. It is clear that she is deferring to Robert on all the particulars of this trip, even though this is their honeymoon and even though Tessa is the one who has relatives in Greece. And if Tessa is deferring to her husband on the planning of her own honeymoon…
Regarding my suggestion about employing Cassius, Thea agrees, to a point. I’m sure he would. But that would be a long drive for your folks, all the way to Athens and back. I don’t know if they’re up to it. The kids could probably take the train to Farsala, if they had the time…
Of course, neither one of us is going to actually suggest that Tessa and Robert take the train from Athens to Farsala. Robert is obviously deep into planning the week, and spending time in a remote town in central Greece that offers nothing for American tourists would make no sense. And Thea is right about my parents not being up for a trip into Athens. Since our visit six years ago, both Mama and Papa have had their health struggles. Papa was hospitalized twice for what Mama described as mild heart palpitations, while Mama has been laid up several times with vague stomach ailments that have been diagnosed only by her neighbors. I could probably get a clearer picture of their health from Cassius, but there is no way I can talk to him without half of Farsala knowing about it.
Tessa calls when she and Robert return from the honeymoon.
It was nice. This is Tessa’s review of the week, in a nutshell. Exhausting, but nice. I thought we would spend more time in the hotel, but there was a lot of sightseeing to do in Athens. Robert said he’ll probably never be in Greece again, so we had to see it all. And he had planned a little getaway to Hydra, which I liked a lot. It was a one of these charming Greek islands off the coast where you have to take a ferry to get there. They don’t allow cars there, so you have to walk or take a donkey to go anywhere. I think that was my favorite place. I wish we could have stayed longer, but Robert had to get back to Chicago for work. And I wish I could have seen Grandma and Grandpa.
We were right, it seems, not to mention the trip to my parents.
Tessa likes her school, although she reports that her fifth graders are a handful. Robert has received two promotions since starting work at the Chicago Stock Exchange, and to make sure he is in line for a third, he is out of the house early and not back until after dark. That leaves Tessa with a lot of time to plan her classes and grade papers. Mostly, Thea believes, our daughter’s focus is on trying to get pregnant. Thea talks to our daughter more than I do, sometimes calling her from the restaurant in the afternoon, before dinner service, so I rely on my wife for most of my information about Tessa’s personal affairs.
I remember how much difficulty Thea had getting pregnant for the first time after we were married. I wonder if there is some deterrent in the family genes.
After a full year, Tessa calls with the good news.
It is now relatively easy for a doctor to confirm that a baby is developing properly, although determining its gender is still not much more scientific than a roll of the dice. Tessa is convinced that she is carrying a girl, and she and Robert have spent hours discussing girl names. They have settled on Rebecca, which has some significance in the Corrigan family. Her full name will be Rebecca Thea Corrigan, which satisfies me. Thea insists that the gesture means nothing, but I can tell it makes her proud. If the baby turns out to be a boy, Thea assures me that the name Julius will be somewhere on the birth certificate. But Tessa is so convinced, I do not believe they have given it much thought.
And with each checkup, Rebecca’s growth and development – which is the only thing that really matters, and the thing over which the parents have almost no control – is reported to be routine. As if anything about pregnancy can be called routine. It is around the five-month mark that Tessa starts referring to the fetus as Rebecca. At the seven-month mark, she begins calling her Becky. By the time she is born, it seems, the baby will have established herself as a very familiar family member.
A week before Tessa’s due date, Thea and I post a notice that the Atheneum will be closed until further notice. All of our regular customers know what this means, and they drop by with gifts and cards stuffed with cash and well wishes. The Atheneum has been in business for 52 years, since Mama and Papa arrived from Chicago, a young couple with big dreams and few resources. It has seen joy and had its share of troubles, but it survives, thanks to Sheboygan’s Greek community and hundreds of others who think of themselves, at times, as honorary Greeks. Thea and I are fortunate.
Tessa has reserved a room in an Elmhurst hotel for us. The place is less than a mile from their home. The room is actually a suite, which is more than we need, but Robert has insisted on paying for it. Regardless, during the daytime hours, Thea and I spend most of our time at the house with Tessa, telling family tales and making food, answering the phone and tidying up, doing what we can to keep Tessa distracted and off of her feet.
This is the first time we have been to our daughter’s home. Tessa has sent photos, so we know what it looks like, inside and out. The house is a single story, light gray with blue shutters and trim. There is a narrow front yard between the porch and the sidewalk, and a single small elm tree in the yard. The front room is a combined living and dining space, which opens into a small kitchen. There are exactly three framed pieces hanging on the living room walls: a studio photograph of Thea and me with our three children, a similar photograph of a young Robert with Mr. and Mrs. Corrigan, and a large gauzy painting of the New York City skyline hanging over the sofa. The house has two bedrooms, but Robert uses one for an office, which is why – or is one reason why – Thea and I are being housed in a hotel.
On our second evening in Elmhurst, Maggie appears at the door with bags of Chinese food. Tessa invited us for dinner, but seeing Maggie is a surprise. I had presumed, since Tessa had not spent much time in the kitchen all day, that Robert would be bringing carryout.
Robert’s working late tonight, Tessa says, reading my mind. So he can take time off when Becky comes. I thought it’d be fun for the four of us to have dinner.
Tessa has told Thea and me that her sister has a new boyfriend, but Tessa has not met him and apparently the relationship is not at the meet-the-parents stage. Not that Maggie is the kind of person who observes such conventions. In any event, I am quite happy to be able to spend an evening with my wife and my two daughters. This has taken, I am sure, some conspiratorial planning on the part of Maggie and Tessa. Keeping Robert out of the house for the evening would have been Tessa’s assignment, of course – in large measure because Maggie and Robert, unsurprisingly, do not like each other. As much as Thea and I have tried warming to our son-in-law, he and Maggie are such opposing personalities, neither has made much of an effort. I know that this has been painful for Tessa, but time spent with Robert is one part of her life, and time spent with Maggie another, and Tessa has learned to compartmentalize.
Chinese food seems to me like an unusual choice for dinner, given how far along Tessa is in her pregnancy. Each time Thea was in her last trimester, she ate boiled chicken at least three times a week, soup every day, a lot of rice and soft-boiled eggs and green vegetables. Also vanilla ice cream. But Tessa appears comfortable as she nibbles on an egg roll, sips a bland hot broth with soggy vegetables, eats white rice, drinks tea and listens to Maggie’s stories. Out of deference mostly to me, I suppose, or concern for Tessa’s condition, Maggie does not venture into perilous political ground. I know that she is not a fan of President Carter, although she voted for him in the end when it was a choice between Jimmy Carter and Gerald Ford. Thea and I actually did the same, although for different reasons. But we avoid talking about all that. Instead, Maggie tells us all about the interesting new neighbors in her Chicago apartment building, a young couple from New Hampshire and their four-year old adopted Korean daughter. And, Maggie announces, she has begun teaching a night journalism class at Kennedy-King College. Most of her students, she says, are young and middle-aged women, from whom Maggie believes she is learning as much as they are learning from her.
Thea finishes chewing, swallows and takes a sip of tea. That’s wonderful. Do you think you might get into teaching? As a career, I mean?
Maggie glances at Tessa. Thea’s question must have offended her for some reason, but Maggie apparently decides not to rise to whatever challenge has apparently presented itself. I like teaching. And I like my job at the paper. I like that I can do both.
We navigate our way through dinner without stepping on any more landmines. Maggie leaves before Robert returns from work, which feels thoroughly choreographed to me. Thea and I stay with Tessa until Robert’s arrival. He greets Thea and me, kisses Tessa, and heads into the kitchen for a late dinner of leftover, reheated Chinese food.
I had remembered everything about Thea’s late-term diet, but I had almost forgotten how difficult and precarious her first pregnancy was. And the prolonged, painful delivery. It all comes rushing back to me on the morning of May 6. Thea and I are getting ready to make the trip over to the house when the phone in our hotel room rings. It is two days before Tessa’s due date, but Becky is apparently impatient. Thea tells our daughter that we will be there in five minutes. She has phoned Robert, but he is already at the office and it will take him at least 45 minutes to get to the hospital.
Tessa is waiting for us in front of the house when we arrive, an overnight bag at her feet. She picks up the bag and starts for the car as soon as she sees us.
I called Maggie, Tessa says, after I called you guys. She’s on her way.
Thea asks if Tessa is certain that today is The Day. Tessa winces and nods. Thea has given her the front seat, reclining it as far as it will go, but Tessa is sitting on the front edge of the seat, watching the road and telling me where to turn.
When we arrive at the hospital, Tessa is hurried into an examination room. Thea accompanies her, while I wait in the anteroom along with three nervous-looking young men. None of us speak to or acknowledge the others. After a time, Thea emerges and tells me that Tessa has been moved into a delivery room and that I can join the two of them. I was not in the delivery room when any of my children were born, and I am uncomfortable at the thought of being with my daughter when she gives birth. But Thea tells me that there will likely be hours of labor before Becky arrives and that, in the meantime, Tessa wants both of us bedside.
I hold Tessa’s hand while Thea does her best to distract our daughter with idle talk and childhood songs.
For the first eight months, I was pretty sure you were going to be a boy, Thea says at one point. And then one morning I woke up and knew that I was carrying a girl. I just knew it.
But Tessa reminds us that she was certain from the beginning, and she is even more certain now that her baby is a girl.
Either way, I tell her, our daughter will be a wonderful mother.
Just like my mom. Tessa smiles weakly and emits a small gasp.
Maggie arrives a short time later. The room feels crowded, so I squeeze Tessa’s hand and give her a kiss on the cheek and head back to the anteroom, where the same three young men are still waiting in their anxious isolation, each of them with magazines open uselessly in their laps. I am keeping an eye out for Robert, but I am glad that Maggie reached the hospital first and I hope that she and Thea have a bit longer with Tessa before Robert appears on the scene. Since our dinner at the house, I have begun feeling more allied with Maggie against Robert – although there has been no evidence of warfare, to be honest, and Thea and I have not had to witness any actual battles, thankfully.
It is a good thirty minutes before Robert rushes into the waiting room. He spots me, and I direct him down the hall to Tessa’s delivery room. A short time later, Maggie joins me.
I told Mom to stay, she says. She doesn’t need all of us in the room.
Over the next six hours, Thea makes periodic trips down the hall to report on Tessa’s progress. She tells us, using a very clinical voice, the number of minutes between contractions and how many centimeters Tessa’s cervix is dilated. I want to tell her that fathers do not need to know about their daughter’s cervix, but I realize that my unease is a small and trifling part of Tessa’s day. Maggie and I have each had three cups of coffee. I am having a hard time sitting still. Maggie tells me I should eat something, but I do not feel hungry.
Mom told me that she was in labor for nine hours before I was born, Maggie says. I guess you remember.
What I remember is Thea’s first labor being excruciatingly long, and my sitting at Thea’s bedside for an eternity before I was told finally that it was time for me to leave the room. I do not remember it being nine hours, but I am sure that Thea’s memory is accurate.
So I guess this isn’t unusual, Maggie continues. First pregnancies are supposed to be the hardest. It makes you wonder why there are so many second and third pregnancies.
Rebecca Thea Corrigan arrives at 7:14 on the evening of May 6. It is Robert who delivers the news. Thea appears a moment later, and there are hugs all around. One of the three young men who were in the room when we first arrived is still here. He is a young father-to-be named Warren with what he insists are religious convictions against being in the delivery room with his wife. He and Maggie have passed the hours in long conversation about God and spiritualism and skepticism, and now Warren joins in our celebration, hugging Maggie and Thea and me and a puzzled Robert Corrigan.
You would have been so proud of your daughter, Thea says. They kept offering her painkillers, and she kept saying she didn’t want them. She needed to experience it all. And she and Robert will be going home with a perfect, beautiful seven-pound seven-ounce baby girl.
For all the pain she endured in labor, Tessa is rewarded with one of history’s most tranquil, well-behaved infants. That is, at least, Tessa’s characterization of our granddaughter’s first months of life. It is difficult, especially for Thea, not living close enough to watch Becky’s development, not being able to sit and have long talks with Tessa while Becky naps and to watch Becky while Thea runs errands. This is what Thea imagined when she contemplated being a grandmother, and she feels cheated by the distance between Sheboygan and Elmhurst.
Tessa does call almost every morning, and every week, she mails a handwritten letter with a packet of photographs. And for one weekend every other month, we close the restaurant and make the drive down to Elmhurst for an overnight visit. At Tessa’s insistence, Robert has installed a sofa bed in his home office, so Thea and I can stay in the house. But the calls and packages and weekend trips do not satisfy Thea’s need to be close to Tessa and Becky. I do not feel quite the same ache, but I do wish things were different. I am developing a strong aversion to Chicago, and this includes its suburbs.
After two years working for VISTA on the Standing Rock Indian Reservation, Leander had moved further west, taking a job as a teacher’s aide in Spokane. He was, Thea suggested at the time, still searching for a purpose in his life. I had hoped that having a little niece would draw Leander back to the Midwest, but 1979 came and went without his return, even for a visit. What brings Leander back, finally, is a piece of shattering family news.
Tessa had bought Thea and me an answering device which hooks up to the phone, so we do not miss any important calls when we are at the restaurant. On the evening of April 14, 1980, we return home to find a message from Cassius on the answering device. On the phone, he sounds as tentative and unfamiliar with the technology as I am. After a long silence, he speaks.
Mr. and Mrs. Pappas. I’m sorry to be calling. I got your phone number from your father. The other Mr. Pappas. Your mother. I’m sorry. She died last week. In her sleep. It was very peaceful. I should have called you. I thought your father had called. But he said he didn’t. He is very sad. Your mother’s funeral was yesterday. I’m very sorry.
Some time ago, I had fallen out of the routine of talking to Mama and Papa weekly. The last time I spoke with them, in fact, was almost a month ago. Mama had sounded more tired than usual, but she did not complain of being sick. I was actually more concerned about Papa, who spent most of the call coughing and hacking. It was a simple cold, he told me. Early spring in Greece is warm one day, cold and rainy the next. Very unpredictable, but always the same. As he has aged, Papa has become more susceptible to these coughing fits. Nothing to concern myself about, he said. So the call did not concern me – focused, as I was, on the wrong parent.
Cassius did not leave a phone number, so there is no way of getting in touch with him. I think about calling Papa, but in Greece it is very early in the morning, and if Papa is sleeping I do not want to wake him.
I can’t believe they had the funeral and no one called you, Thea says. She sounds more angry than sad. I am having trouble sorting through my own emotions.
We should let the kids know, I say finally.
Thea shakes her head. It’s late. We can call them in the morning.
It’s not late in Spokane, I say. Leander is the child with whom we speak less frequently than any of the three, so I do not know why the thought of calling him now even occurred to me. I think that perhaps I need to hear from someone else in the family, and Leander is the only one who makes sense, given the hour.
The news brings Leander back to Sheboygan – back, finally, to a crowded family reunion at the house: Thea and me and our three children, along with Robert and Becky. Leander meets his niece for the first time, and he is, of course, charmed by her. Becky is just two weeks away from her second birthday, and she is developing an impressive vocabulary. She can count to ten and can sing the alphabet song without skipping a letter, which seems advanced to me.
You can thank Sesame Street, Robert tells us. Ernie and Bert and Cookie Monster and the rest of them.
Tessa tries to hide it, but I can see that she is hurt by this remark. Before marrying Robert, Tessa had a job teaching young children, and she has dedicated herself to raising a smart and well-adjusted daughter. I am sure that Sesame Street has helped, but Tessa is not the kind of mother who plops her child in front of the television set while she drinks coffee and catches up with friends on the phone.
Maggie, who has picked up on the affront, glares at Robert. But he either does not notice or chooses to ignore the look.
After Becky has been put to bed, the talk turns to my parents – how to honor Mama, and what to do about Papa. Thea suggests that she and I make the trip back to Farsala, along with anyone who wants to make the journey. Since Cassius’ call, I have talked to Papa almost every day. I have not mentioned the possibility of a visit, but I am sure that it would do him good to see Thea and me and one or more of his grandchildren. On the phone, he seems sometimes distracted, sometimes a bit more focused, always sad.
I could keep the restaurant running while you’re away, Leander says.
The offer takes me completely by surprise. Leander and I have not worked together in the kitchen for years. But I am sure that, if we spent a few hours reviewing the menu and getting him acquainted with the staff, he would manage just fine. I do not even want to entertain the thought of luring him back to the Atheneum full time.
Tessa says that she would love to go, but Becky is too young to make the trip and too young to be without her mother for even a few days. Robert nods without making a comment.
That leaves Maggie, who says that she could join us if we could wait two or three weeks, so she can wrap up the series she is working on for The Defender, and make arrangements for someone to take her classes at the college. Waiting two or three weeks actually does not seem like a bad idea. It would give Leander and me some time together in the kitchen. It would also give Cassius time to help us plan some sort of memorial service for Mama, and a gathering of her friends. And since Papa is the real reason we are making the trip, it would give him time to prepare – and something to look forward to.
We are just a week away from our scheduled departure when Cassius calls to tell us that Papa has died. It is ten o’clock in the morning, late afternoon in Greece. Cassius’ mother has gotten into the practice of walking across the street to check on Papa, bringing him something nourishing to eat for supper that evening. She found him on the sofa – apparently asleep, but not asleep. She called the doctor, who came to the house and make the pronouncement of death. Like Mama’s, it seemed to have been a peaceful passing, although there was no one there to serve witness. The cause of Papa’s death is not yet known, Cassius says, but his mother noted that it happened three weeks to the day after Mama’s passing, which she believes is more significant than anything the doctors will report.
Having missed my mother’s funeral, there now seems no urgent reason to make the trip to Greece for Papa’s funeral. He will be buried next to Mama in the local cemetery, in close company with their own parents, as they both wished. This is the cemetery that Thea and I visited back in 1969, on that day when Cassius was showing us the sights. Papa had taken us to see his mother’s headstone, which was one of the newer installations on the grounds, pointing out the vacant plots nearby where he and Mama would one day rest. It was an impossible thing to contemplate then, and it is impossible still. Thea and I will make the trip some day, perhaps with one or more of our children – and perhaps with their own children as well, if we are so blessed. But I would rather plan the trip when we are not being compelled by a death in the family.
In October, Tessa calls with the news that she is pregnant again. She sounds less excited this time, and she acknowledges feeling less certain about the baby’s gender. It just might be a boy, she says, and that possibility apparently troubles her.
But on May 19, 1981, a healthy Katerina Irene Corrigan is born. Since Becky was given a name from the Corrigan family tree, it seems that Tessa has prevailed on the decision to name Katerina after Mama. Although whether there was any debate about it, I have no way of knowing. Tessa has become both more restless and a bit more assertive, which Thea and I are happy to see. But we have witnessed little change in Robert – and little reason, honestly, to believe that our daughter’s marriage will ever be a warm, stable, enduring one. This is, of course, something that Thea and I do not speak about.
From the outset, Tessa calls her daughter Kat. Becky and Kat. And that will be all, Tessa tells us in a private moment. Thea and I have become rather good at reading Tessa’s moods over the phone, and this morning I can hear fatigue, monotony, maybe resignation, a small ache for the life she once expected to be living.