U Is For Undertow

I called your workplace and was told you were unavailable, so it’s possible you’ve taken a brief leave of absence. If there’s any way we can help tide you over, please accept the modest sum I’m enclosing by check.

We are willing to supply anything else you need in the way of aid in this heartbreaking transitional period. We want only what’s best for you and the child.

We hope you’ve been giving serious thought to our previous suggestion about Kinsey’s living with us. We have the stability essential to a child in her position, unsettled by the sudden loss of those so dear to her…

The check she’d enclosed was written for twenty-five dollars. There was no sign of the proposal she’d mentioned, so maybe Grand had reconsidered the wisdom of tendering the plan.

The next two letters were variations on a theme, offers of comfort, solace, and cash in just about that order, with the continuing suggestion that “little Kinsey” would benefit from their generosity and long experience with young children. I started skimming, picking up a paragraph here and there to see if the tone or content changed over time.

In a letter from Grand dated August 8, 1955, she began to pick away at Aunt Gin’s lifestyle. The school year was rapidly approaching, and Grand probably wanted me settled with her in Lompoc so I could be properly enrolled. Since the envelopes were still sealed and being returned to Grand as soon as they arrived, she knew her good counsel was falling on deaf ears. This forced her to operate in the dark, without feedback of any kind, spurring new efforts on her part to break down Virginia ’s resistance, which was steely to say the least.

Given your limited resources and your lack of experience with child rearing, we feel we have more to offer Kinsey. Perhaps by now you’ve come to understand the impossibility of raising a child alone. We feel our position has merit, and while the idea might not seem tenable to you at first, we beg you to keep an open mind. Whatever our differences, I’m sure we’re united in our desire to do what’s best for her. We feel we can provide her a loving family, good schooling, and the best prospects possible on her journey to adulthood. Of course, Burton and I would want you to remain a constant in Kinsey’s life, and we assure you we’d make every effort to nurture and protect the bond you have with her.

Granted, there were difficulties between us these past few years. I don’t know that either of us could trace the short sad history of our disagreements. Suffice to say, in light of Rita Cynthia’s passing, all such conflicts should be set aside so that we may act in concert. We’re hoping to avoid giving Kinsey the impression we’re engaged in a tug-of-war. She should not be put in the middle of this discussion-that could only leave her feeling torn and confused. We’d appreciate the opportunity to present her with options without prejudice or undue influence. Since you’ve been in her life, her natural inclination might be to cling to what’s familiar, but working together we can demonstrate the many advantages that await her.

The irony wasn’t lost on me. Here all these years I’d resented Grand’s apathy when, in fact, she’d been doing her utmost to pull me into her orbit. My wants, needs, and desires were scarcely mentioned except to suggest that she could serve me better than Aunt Gin. Two letters later, she was saying,

You’ve always valued your career goals and your independence, issues that would be strongly curtailed by the rigors of parenting. Given your full-time employment, Kinsey would, of necessity, be relegated to day care, which we can’t help but think would be disastrous in light of her losses…

I set the rest aside and turned to the small bundle of letters addressed to me.

Dearest One,

How are you today? I bet you can’t guess who sent you this letter. I don’t believe you know how to read yet, so I’m hoping your Aunt Virginia will do me the incredible honor of making my thoughts known to you.

I hope you haven’t forgotten your Grandfather Kinsey and me. We love you so very very much. You may not remember, but the last time I saw you, you were three years old and we took you to the circus. You had a wonderful time watching the clowns and the trained animals. I promised you another visit and now I’m hoping your Aunt Virginia will make this possible.

You might wonder what you would do in this big house of ours. We’ve set aside a special bedroom for you with lots of toys and books. We can paint it any color you like. Pink or blue or yellow. Which do you prefer? We have an orchard with some trees that grow big red apples and some that grow oranges. In front of the house, there’s a big oak with a tire swing, and there are grassy fields where you can run to your heart’s content. And guess what else? We have two Shetland ponies and a na

The rest of Grand’s letters to me were the same saccharine and simple-hearted tomes, addressed to an imaginary child, as she knew nothing about me. I could hardly fault her for that. It had been years since her mothering had been called upon. She might have done a bang-up job raising five daughters when the role was hers. Here she was, working to insinuate herself into my life while Aunt Gin blocked her every move.

I had to admit Grand’s question about child care was legitimate. I hadn’t thought about the fact that Aunt Gin, working full-time, would have had to find someone to watch me during the day. I was certain she’d done no such thing. My memory of those early days is sketchy at best, but I would have shrunk in horror if I’d been left in the hands of anyone else. Aunt Gin was my anchor. The death of my parents was probably what triggered the overwhelming sense of timidity with which I lived all through my school days. If Aunt Gin had tried handing me off I’d have set up such an unrelenting howl she wouldn’t have tried it again. I knew she hadn’t asked for time away from her job, as Grand had suggested. From early June until September, she took me into work with her. Virginia Kinsey was high-energy, a tireless worker, with no patience at all for slackers. She’d been with California Fidelity Insurance since she was nineteen years old, probably without having taken a sick day or a vacation day, both of which she considered a form of self-indulgence.

When I started school that fall, she dropped me off in the morning and then picked me up at twelve-thirty, when she’d usher me into the office with her. I had a little table and chair on one side of her desk, and I would amuse myself with picture books, coloring books, and other quiet pursuits. I wondered how California Fidelity Insurance felt about having a child underfoot. By the time I went to work for the company myself, investigating arson and wrongful-death claims, there was a child-care facility on the ground floor of the building, where parents could drop off their children on their way to work.

I felt the pe