Mama advised all of her French family not to come to the funeral. They were all very busy with their lives and families, and she assured them that she would be fine. She promised that she and I would visit France as soon as we could. When she spoke to them, she spoke only in French. I thought I heard her mention Roxy’s name when she spoke with her brother Alain and her sister Manon, but not when she spoke to her younger sister, Chantal.
Papa’s company sent a limousine to take us to the funeral parlor and the church to make arrangements. I took it as a compliment that Mama did not try to get me to stay home and avoid all of it. Instead, she made me feel adult and equal. In fact, she gave me the impression that she needed me and leaned on me for support. Because of that, I pushed away any childish thoughts or feelings. It occurred to me that we don’t just grow up on some schedule. Events jolt you or drag you into maturity. I was sure that the day Roxy walked out of our home and into the New York streets, she put aside all of her youthful feelings and thoughts and immediately became a young woman. She had no choice. Either she did that, or she would not survive.
Papa hated the idea of an Army career but was the first to admit that it made men of boys and women of girls. “If you have no choice but to grow up, you grow up,” he would say.
Nevertheless, I was anxious to get home at the end of the afternoon to see if Roxy had left a message. There were messages, condolences, and offers of assistance from other friends and some cousins on both sides but no message from Roxy. No one at my school had called to leave me a message except for Chastity. She wanted to come over to tell me what everyone was saying at school. Suddenly, all of that meant little or nothing to me. When I didn’t call her back, she called again. I was sure she was really more interested in what was happening with Roxy.
I told her not to come over, because both my mother and I were too tired. More visitors came to offer their condolences, however, and some who had been there the day before returned for a little while. People didn’t stay as long. Mama wasn’t hiding her exhaustion. Enough food had been brought in to feed us for a week. Neither of us ate very much, and it was more difficult to fall asleep this time. I was still hoping to hear from Roxy, even expecting her to show up, but none of the later phone calls were from her or anyone who knew her. When I thought about it, I considered the possibility that she was out of the country or somewhere far away and still hadn’t picked up the message or heard the news. I didn’t ask Mama about it. I thought it was just adding to her pain to mention Roxy now.
Throughout my father’s funeral and the burial at the cemetery, I hoped Roxy would appear. I imagined her stepping up between us and taking Mama’s hand and mine, but she never came. I didn’t know until the next day that Mama had called her hotel and tried to leave a message containing the details of Papa’s services for her that way, too.
“What happened?” I asked her when she told me.
“The receptionist said there was no one by that name living there. She probably has changed her name, or perhaps she has left that place and gone to some other state or even another country. Whatever. I’ve done all I can about it, Emmie. We have enough to do.”
I said nothing. I didn’t have the nerve to tell her that Chastity and I had been spying on Roxy and that I knew for certain that she was still living at the Beaux-Arts. I thought that would only make her feel worse.
Mama wanted me to return to school immediately. “The longer you stay out, the harder it will be for you to return,” she said.
“I don’t want to return ever,” I told her. “I hate that school now.”
She looked as if she would collapse under the burden of any more trouble and turmoil. I felt terrible complaining.
“Emmie, I don’t have the strength to start looking for some other school for you right now. Please,” she said.
“I’ll finish the year, but I’d like to go to a public school, Mama.”
“We’ll see,” she said.
I told myself I would just grin and bear it, but what I had more trouble accepting was Roxy’s complete disinterest in our father’s passing and our mother’s grief. I was no longer interested in her as much as I was angry at her. I didn’t care how she had been treated. She had brought the trouble on herself. She was at least partly, if not mostly, to blame, especially if she could be this heartless now. I was determined not to let her get away with it.
I certainly wasn’t going to tell Chastity what I was planning, and I couldn’t tell Mama, but that night, I sat at my desk and composed a short letter.
Dear Roxy,
You and I haven’t seen or spoken to each other for years. You knew that Papa knew who and what you were now. There’s no point in pretending anything. I don’t care how angry you were at him and Mama. Papa died, and Mama left you a message with your service and your hotel, and I know you are there. She tried to reach out to you, thinking you might have an ounce of decency left. I think it’s horrible that you wouldn’t even respond.
All I can say is that even with your rich possessions, you’re someone I pity.
Your sister,
Emmie
I folded it and put it in an envelope with the charm bracelet she had given me years ago. On the front, I wrote in big block letters: TO ROXY WILCOX.
I told Mama I needed to go for a walk. She nodded and went back to the papers she was studying in Papa’s office. Then I left the house and marched with such determination that I didn’t see or hear anyone around me until I reached the Beaux-Arts. I stood outside for a moment. Of course, I thought how much Papa would hate me doing this, but it was too important to me. He’d have to understand.
I entered the lobby and immediately stopped. I was sure Roxy was just getting into the elevator. She was with a man, and just before the doors closed, I saw him put his arms around her waist and pull her closer.
The desk clerk looked up. He was a very thin man with large dark eyes and thick dark brown hair. I didn’t think he was much more than in his twenties.
“Can I help you?” he asked when I hesitated.
My heart was throbbing so hard I didn’t think I could speak, but I stepped forward.
“Yes, you can,” I said. I slapped the envelope on the desk. “That woman who just got into that elevator was Roxy Wilcox, right?”
He stared at me for a moment and then leaned forward, his beady eyes looking like two glass ebony marbles. “Who are you? What do you want here?”