grandparents' racy love triangle rather than do any work. But, at heart Veronica was a good girl and despite her penchant for heavy sighs and eye rolls, was generally compliant.
I sifted through the old chest's drawers and found another of Margaret's photo albums. This one contained baby photos of her own three children and pictures of Rose from age eighteen months to age five. After my grandfather Tim Murphy was crushed by a collapsed brick wall at a building site, Kitty became a live-in practical nurse and worked for wealthy elderly matrons in Manhattan. Since Kitty couldn't take a baby with her to the sickrooms, she'd left Rose with her sister Margaret, who in the interim had married a widowed police sergeant and was pregnant herself. If Margaret resented being saddled with the child of her former fiancé and her flirty sister, it didn't show in these pictures. There were several faded photos of a very pregnant Margaret holding Rose quite tenderly. Rose shared Margaret's dark straight hair, small narrow face and pointed chin and looked more like Margaret's child than the chubby fair haired Molly who was born soon thereafter. I found a picture of Rose, age five, holding Molly's hand, surrounded by a sea of daffodils. I carefully removed the snapshot from Margaret's album.
"Any luck?" I asked Veronica.
"Here's a photo of Nana dressed up like a nun, but it's weird, it doesn't look like she's at a Halloween party."
"Let me see. I've never seen a picture of my mother in her veil."
"Her veil?"
"Your grandmother spent six months in a convent when she was seventeen." The photo of a young Rose smiling broadly in her short blue postulant's veil made me smile myself. My mother looked so happy, even joyful, that her normally pinched features were almost beautiful.
"What other family secrets haven't you told me?" Veronica scolded. "Am I adopted? Is Dad secretly an alien?"
I laughed and ruffled her hair again. "Your father is many things, but an alien he is not. Nana didn't really tell me too much about her convent days. Besides it was so long ago, I never thought to tell you. This is such a great photo and I'm sure she hasn't seen it in a while. Let's add it to the pile. Did you find anything else?"
"I found her high school graduation picture, but she looks kind of nervous."
"No, I only want pictures where she's smiling, happy."
Veronica sifted through some more photos and then handed me a small, creased photo. "What about this one, Mom? Nana's smiling and it looks like she's at a party."
In the photo Molly and her husband Bobby, dressed in his police cadet's uniform, stood next to my mother and another young cadet. My mother's normally straight hair was ratted in a sixties bouffant and she had a full face of makeup. Both of the young men held beers. I flipped the picture over and read the faded scrawl: St. Paddy's Day, 1966. Me, Bobby, Rosie and Denis.
"St. Patrick's Day, 1966," I said. I stared at the picture of the young cadet named Denis. He was blond, with high cheek bones. Very wide set eyes.
"Mom, what is it?"
"Nothing, sweetie. Why don't you finish getting dressed and then we'll head over to St. Francis."
After Veronica left the room I sat on Kitty's high four-poster bed. I looked at the photo again, and focused only on the fair, handsome young man. I was born on December 20th, 1966. "Dear God," I said aloud, "I think this man is my father."
Chapter 3
Ellen
I'd placed the last of the newly framed photos on my mother's bedside tables when my mother's cousin, Molly, walked in. Her broad face was pale and her light blue eyes dull with fatigue, but she brightened when she noticed Veronica.
"This can't be Veronica." Molly's meaty arms engulfed my daughter in a bear hug. "Last time I saw you, you were playing with your dollies."
Veronica grinned. "I left them in the car."
"You look fantastic, Veronica. So grown up. Rose tells me you'll be at NYU this fall."
"That's right. I can't wait to get out
I sifted through the old chest's drawers and found another of Margaret's photo albums. This one contained baby photos of her own three children and pictures of Rose from age eighteen months to age five. After my grandfather Tim Murphy was crushed by a collapsed brick wall at a building site, Kitty became a live-in practical nurse and worked for wealthy elderly matrons in Manhattan. Since Kitty couldn't take a baby with her to the sickrooms, she'd left Rose with her sister Margaret, who in the interim had married a widowed police sergeant and was pregnant herself. If Margaret resented being saddled with the child of her former fiancé and her flirty sister, it didn't show in these pictures. There were several faded photos of a very pregnant Margaret holding Rose quite tenderly. Rose shared Margaret's dark straight hair, small narrow face and pointed chin and looked more like Margaret's child than the chubby fair haired Molly who was born soon thereafter. I found a picture of Rose, age five, holding Molly's hand, surrounded by a sea of daffodils. I carefully removed the snapshot from Margaret's album.
"Any luck?" I asked Veronica.
"Here's a photo of Nana dressed up like a nun, but it's weird, it doesn't look like she's at a Halloween party."
"Let me see. I've never seen a picture of my mother in her veil."
"Her veil?"
"Your grandmother spent six months in a convent when she was seventeen." The photo of a young Rose smiling broadly in her short blue postulant's veil made me smile myself. My mother looked so happy, even joyful, that her normally pinched features were almost beautiful.
"What other family secrets haven't you told me?" Veronica scolded. "Am I adopted? Is Dad secretly an alien?"
I laughed and ruffled her hair again. "Your father is many things, but an alien he is not. Nana didn't really tell me too much about her convent days. Besides it was so long ago, I never thought to tell you. This is such a great photo and I'm sure she hasn't seen it in a while. Let's add it to the pile. Did you find anything else?"
"I found her high school graduation picture, but she looks kind of nervous."
"No, I only want pictures where she's smiling, happy."
Veronica sifted through some more photos and then handed me a small, creased photo. "What about this one, Mom? Nana's smiling and it looks like she's at a party."
In the photo Molly and her husband Bobby, dressed in his police cadet's uniform, stood next to my mother and another young cadet. My mother's normally straight hair was ratted in a sixties bouffant and she had a full face of makeup. Both of the young men held beers. I flipped the picture over and read the faded scrawl: St. Paddy's Day, 1966. Me, Bobby, Rosie and Denis.
"St. Patrick's Day, 1966," I said. I stared at the picture of the young cadet named Denis. He was blond, with high cheek bones. Very wide set eyes.
"Mom, what is it?"
"Nothing, sweetie. Why don't you finish getting dressed and then we'll head over to St. Francis."
After Veronica left the room I sat on Kitty's high four-poster bed. I looked at the photo again, and focused only on the fair, handsome young man. I was born on December 20th, 1966. "Dear God," I said aloud, "I think this man is my father."
Chapter 3
Ellen
I'd placed the last of the newly framed photos on my mother's bedside tables when my mother's cousin, Molly, walked in. Her broad face was pale and her light blue eyes dull with fatigue, but she brightened when she noticed Veronica.
"This can't be Veronica." Molly's meaty arms engulfed my daughter in a bear hug. "Last time I saw you, you were playing with your dollies."
Veronica grinned. "I left them in the car."
"You look fantastic, Veronica. So grown up. Rose tells me you'll be at NYU this fall."
"That's right. I can't wait to get out
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