Page 5 of A Map to Paradise

4

Eva was surprised by Melanie’s request that she head over to the Blankenship house at noon but wasn’t put off by it. Most days she’d done all there was to do at Melanie’s by noon anyway, and she spent the rest of the workday dusting shelves that weren’t dusty, cleaning windows and mirrors that weren’t smudged, vacuuming rugs that yielded nothing, polishing furniture she’d polished the day before. Her only reluctance in helping out at the Blankenships’ was that she was somewhat nervous about being around Elwood Blankenship, the man who never left his house.

Melanie told her there had been a tragic car accident years ago; that Elwood had been driving and someone had been killed. That event had changed him. Transformed him into someone who did not venture out anymore. Apparently this inability to step outside one’s own house happened sometimes to people who’d suffered a great trauma. There was a name for the condition, Melanie had said, but she could not remember what it was.

Eva could halfway understand Mr. Blankenship’s response to this immense tragedy in his life. She was familiar with immense tragedy. What she’d liked most about her new life in America was that she was far, far away from everything that had happened to her, and if she was honest, being inside the same house as a man who’d dealt with disaster by shutting himself away from the world concerned her. Would she be reminded again and again of what she’d lost when she heard Elwood Blankenship moving about behind a closed door or when she cleaned his bathroom or as she prepared a lunch tray for him?

Melanie wasn’t sure she would even see Elwood, but what if she did? What if she had to serve that meal and witness firsthand the haunted look she’d seen in her own eyes?

Then again, maybe it was time to see if she could bear a hearty visible reminder that the world could be a cruel place. Maybe it was time to gauge her resilience. How did a person know how strong they were if their strength was never tested? And didn’t she want to know if she was free of the ghosts of her past, even the ghosts of those she had loved?

Yvonne had said only yesterday that it was time for Eva to shed the weight of her old, sad life. Eva wasn’t getting any younger, Yvonne had said. Eva was still pretty, still had a lot to offer—whatever that meant. Yvonne was newly single, in her late forties, with a plump figure, and had raised two sons. And while she’d inherited a great-aunt’s tiny Los Angeles house, she didn’t see herself anymore as desirable. Eva, however, was still a catch.

“Let me fix you up with my friend’s little brother,” Yvonne had said. They’d been outside in Yvonne’s postage stamp backyard, and Eva was taking her freshly dried laundry off a clothesline. “He’s nice and about your age. And he needs to come back from a heartbreak, too. Just like you.”

“I doubt he is just like me,” Eva had said, reaching up to unpin a washcloth.

“I mean,” the woman had continued, “he’s been dealt a difficult hand, too. The gal he was engaged to suddenly decided she was in love with someone else. He was devastated. I’m just saying he knows the loss you’re feeling.”

Does he really? Eva had wanted to say. Does he know what it’s like to watch the one you love and who loves you be led onto a transport truck at gunpoint? Does he know what it’s like to watch your father and brother and the man you love be taken from you and sent to the gulag while all you can do is drop to your knees in anguish, helpless? Does he know what it’s like to be told you will never see them again and to have those who told you this be absolutely right? Does he know what that’s like?

But Eva hadn’t said any of this to Yvonne. She had no plans to tell anyone any of that, ever. All Yvonne knew was that Eva had lost her home and family in the war, as well as Sascha, the man she loved. That was all Yvonne knew. That was all Yvonne would ever know.

So Eva had placed a folded pair of slacks in her laundry basket and said she wasn’t sure she was ready.

“C’mon, Eva,” Yvonne had pressed. “Didn’t all that happen a long time ago? The war has been over for a decade. And you had to have been only a teenager when you lost this fellow you cared for, right?”

Eva had instantly remembered a conversation she’d had with the woman who’d slept across from her at the third DP camp, and this woman saying something along the same lines but with far less compassion—as though when she’d pledged her love to Sascha at fifteen she’d known nothing about love or the world.

She’d already known quite a bit about the world at fifteen. Too much, her father had once said. And Sascha had not been some fleeting childhood crush. She had loved him with every fiber of her being. He, though only seventeen, had loved her. And Sascha hadn’t left her for someone else. He had been taken forever from her. This heartbroken friend of Yvonne’s was not like her in the least.

“I’ll think about it,” Eva had said. But she’d not thought about it at all.

When she was ready to leave Melanie’s for the day and head next door, she found the actress standing by the front room picture window, staring at the Blankenship house.

Melanie had been moody since returning from June and Elwood’s. She’d changed out of her nice skirt and blouse into everyday clothes—pedal pushers and a lemon-yellow twin set—but she didn’t relax. If anything, she was more on edge since her chat with June, more so than even after she’d hung up with the government man.

Something was bothering her; that was clear.

When Eva reached the front door, Melanie turned from the window and reached out to stop her from opening it.

“I need you to do something when you’re over there.” Melanie looked to the Blankenship house and then back to Eva. “I want you to make sure Elwood is okay.”

“Okay?” Eva echoed.

“I want you to find a way to talk to him.”

Melanie’s tone was solemn. Anxious. As though she was afraid for the man.

“About what?” Eva asked.

“Just make sure he’s not being, I don’t know, kept away from people.”

“What…what do you mean?”

“I mean I want you to make sure he’s not being held in his bedroom against his will.”

A chill swept through Eva. “Why do you—” she began, but Melanie interrupted her.

“Because I haven’t seen him in a few days, that’s why. I haven’t heard his voice. I haven’t seen his shadow cross in front of the window in his room. I haven’t heard him cough or sneeze or call June’s name and we’ve all had our windows open because it’s been so warm.”

“But…she brought over that note he wrote this morning,” Eva said, the chill intensifying.

“Yes, but how do I know she didn’t write it?”

Was Melanie being serious? A sudden image of June coming at Eva with that garden shovel filled her mind, and, despite the absurdity of it, she felt the color drain from her face.

Melanie must have seen her pale.

“Look. It’s probably nothing,” Melanie said quickly. “Probably just my imagination. But I want to make sure, okay? I seriously doubt you’ll be in any danger. Just open his bedroom door and peek inside. I’m positive June can’t make it upstairs right now. She’ll never know you’ve done it.”

“But what if Mr. Blankenship yells at me when I open his door?”

“He won’t. He’s not that kind of person. Apologize for the interruption and then ask if there’s anything you can get for him. Or do for him. See what he says.”

“And…what if”—Eva swallowed—”what if he’s not in his room?”

“Get back here and I’ll call the police.”

“Shouldn’t you call the police now if you think—”

“And tell them what? I haven’t proof that anything bad has happened. Everyone knows Elwood Blankenship never leaves his house. C’mon, Eva. This isn’t that hard. I would do it if June would let me do what she’s letting you do. Surely you’ve done far more difficult things. You did survive a war.”

The observation stung even though it was spectacularly true.

She had done far more difficult things.

“All right,” she said.

“If you see anything amiss, you come back here right away.”

June Blankenship was slow to answer the door when Eva rang the bell. When it finally opened, June was bent to one side and her face was pinched in obvious pain. The pinned twist at the back of her head had loosened and tendrils of her hair, flecked here and there with gray, spilled about her neck.

She looked helpless, in pain, and quite incapable of chasing her through the house with the garden shovel.

“Hello, Mrs. Blankenship,” Eva said. “I am Eva.” She wanted to sound friendly. She hoped she did.

“Hello. And please call me June. Come on in.”

Eva was shown into a living room. Slightly open venetian blinds tossed rods of light across a sofa under the front window. Its leather was creased and dull but in a pleasing way, as though hours upon hours had been spent enjoying its ampleness. Throw pillows were scattered about the seats and back, and a matching armchair with the same tired but welcoming look was angled next to it. The magazine-covered coffee table, end tables, and floor-to-ceiling built-in shelves surrounding the fireplace gave the room the look of an aging university library—at least how Eva had always imagined one. Framed artwork of seascapes and African savannas and fox hunts hung on the walls. A dry bar with etched crystal tumblers and decanters hugged one corner, and a floor lamp and yet another leather armchair—this one tufted and with a tall back—sat in another corner. A small console television set sat across from it, and a hi-fi topped with three framed photos stood against the wall directly across from the sofa and next to a doorway that presumably led to a kitchen and dining room. Several record albums were strewn across the floor in front of the hi-fi as though one of the Blankenships had recently wanted to listen to some music but couldn’t decide which album to place on the turntable. Half a dozen cat toys were tossed about the floor. A thin layer of dust lay on all the shelves and tables, and a barely there scent of tobacco completed the decidedly masculine ambience, all of which calmed her.

The room looked comfortable but dated, as though everything Eva could see had been purchased years ago.

“Sorry about the dust and clutter.” June waved a hand over the room. “We—I assist my brother-in-law with his scriptwriting. And we’ve been busy on a new one. Very busy. I was going to tidy this room up today. But I hurt my back this morning.”

Eva didn’t know how to respond to an apology to a housekeeper for a messy house. She said nothing.

June stared at her for a moment. “Please have a seat,” she finally said.

Eva took a chair and June gingerly set herself down on the sofa. The seat cushions squawked as she took her place.

“I suppose Melanie has told you I take care of my brother-in-law,” June began.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You don’t need to call me ma’am, just June, please. I don’t know if you’ve ever seen Elwood from the window or out in the backyard—back when he was going out in the backyard—but my brother-in-law is a very private person. Did Melanie tell you that?”

“Yes.”

“He doesn’t like strangers, Eva. He’s rather fragile and I need you to understand that if I’m going to be able to let you in the house to help me. It’s important that you do not attempt to invade that privacy. His rooms upstairs are the only world he has right now. I will allow you to clean his bathroom and vacuum the stairs and his office but I do not want you disturbing him up there when he’s behind a closed door or shut up in his bedroom. Do you understand this?”

The sense of calm wavered a bit. “Yes.”

“Thank you.”

“And…and what about meals? Shall I be putting something on a tray and taking it up?”

“No. No, you don’t need to do that,” June said quickly. “Neither of us, uh…eat much for lunch, and breakfast is easy enough for him to take care of on his own. We eat dinner early, so perhaps you can make something simple just before you go that we can heat up? When he knows you are gone he will come down and eat it. But only if he knows you are gone.”

“I understand,” Eva said, wondering how Melanie was going to take those instructions. Eva might not make it upstairs at all this afternoon.

“All right. That’s good,” June said, as though checking off an item on a list. “Now then, about the work. Do you have any questions about cleaning this house?”

“I have cleaned many houses.”

“And may I ask where you have cleaned houses? Not just here in the United States?”

“No, not just here. I emigrated four years ago. I worked in West Germany as a maid before.”

“But you are not…German?”

“No. Polish.” The lie had grown much easier to say since Eva had arrived in Los Angeles, where no one bothered to try placing her strange accent. “When the war ended, I was living in West Germany, though. Near Munich.”

“How was it that you were near Munich when the war ended?”

“The Reich brought in forced labor from all the countries they occupied.” That line had never been a lie and had always been easy to say.

“Oh. Yes, I see,” June said. “And you could not…you could not return home to Poland after the war?”

Again the practiced answer fell from her lips. Also not a lie. “There was no home to return to. No one to return to.”

“Ah. I’m so sorry. That is very sad.”

“Yes.”

“And how do you know English so well?”

“At the DP camps we were expected to find work. I was able to get a job as a maid with an American woman who had married a German man. She offered to teach me English.”

“Well. That was very nice of her.”

An image of Louise Geller flitted across Eva’s mind. A happy one. But a tortured one replaced it almost instantly and Eva reflexively shook her head to dispel it.

“That wasn’t nice of her?” June asked.

“No. It was. She was…very kind to me.”

A lull fell over the conversation, as though neither one of them knew what to say next.

“Would you like me to get started?” Eva finally asked.

“Yes. I suppose so. Thank you for doing this. Melanie rather insisted.”

“I am happy to help.”

“It’s just until my back is better.”

Again, silence stole across the living room. Eva supposed June Blankenship had never had a maid in her house before and didn’t know what to do with one. She glanced at the staircase that led to the upper story and Elwood Blankenship’s bedroom.

“Is there something for your brother-in-law that I can do right now?”

June looked to the staircase, too. “He’s resting now. He had a rough night, I’m afraid.”

Eva contemplated this answer for a moment and June’s silence. “Would you like me to begin here? In the living room, then?”

“Oh. Yes. Yes, that would be good. The dusters and vacuum and such are in the hall closet.”

Eva rose from the chair. June made no move to get up off the couch and Eva realized she would likely have to clean up this room with June sitting there watching her. She retrieved the feather duster and Electrolux from the closet and returned to the room. There was no sense in vacuuming until the floor was cleared.

“The record albums?” Eva asked. “Would you like me to put them away?”

“Oh. Yes. They go in the cabinet under the hi-fi. The magazines on the floor there go in that basket in the corner. The newspapers can be thrown out.”

Eva knelt down and began pulling the record albums together. The Blankenships liked classical tunes. And jazz and big bands. Liszt. Bach. Benny Goodman. Thelonious Monk. Glenn Miller. The Andrews Sisters.

June spoke into the silence. “So do you like it here in California?”

“Yes, thank you.” This is what Americans expected her to say in answer to this question so she always said it.

“It must be very different from Poland.”

“Yes.”

“Do you miss it? I’m sorry if that’s none of my business. I just…We were mostly sheltered from the war here. We were never pushed out of anywhere. Do you mind my asking if you miss it terribly?”

Eva looked up. She’d been asked this question before but those other times the askers had been simply curious. The tone of June’s voice was different. Eva couldn’t quite name the sentiment behind the question. It was almost as if June needed to know if one could lose everything and still be happy.

“I do miss my home. And my family. But I know I cannot return to what is not there. I have them in my heart, though.”

June was silent for only a few seconds. “It must have been awful. What you went through. You must have been very brave.”

Despite the sound of admiration in June’s voice, Eva shrugged. She had never thought of what she had done or endured as having anything to do with bravery. “I was whatever I had to be.”

June nodded thoughtfully. “Hmmm.”

Eva opened the hi-fi cabinet doors. A long row of albums greeted her, all in alphabetical order. She replaced the records in like fashion and then reached for the feather duster as she stood. She began to dust the top of the hi-fi, picking up the framed photographs as she did so. One was of a much younger June in a light-colored suit and veiled hat. A corsage of orchids was pinned to her lapel. She stood in between two men of smallish stature who looked very much alike and who were also several years older than June. Both were dressed in dark suits and ties, and both wore boutonnieres. The three of them had their arms around each other’s waists and everyone was smiling.

“That’s me and Frank on our wedding day. With Elwood,” June offered from the couch. “Elwood gave me away. Frank is the one on the right. He and Elwood are twins. Not identical but everyone could tell they were brothers back in the day. Their looks were the only way they were alike, actually. Frank was outgoing, spontaneous, lots of fun to be around, a bit reckless sometimes. And Elwood? The exact opposite. Quiet, careful, and happy to be at home by himself, even before the accident. But that doesn’t mean people don’t matter to him. Or that he doesn’t care about them.”

This last sentence June said rather wistfully.

“You look very happy in this picture,” Eva said.

June smiled. “I was. That was 1939. The world still seemed like a wonderful place back then, like all our troubles were behind us. At least here in the States it did.”

“But you are a widow now?”

“For the last five years. Frank had a heart attack on the studio backlot where he was working. He was a set builder at Warner Brothers. That’s where we met. I worked with the cutters.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“The film editors. They take the day’s footage and cut out all the bad takes and loop together the nice ones. The director comes in at the end of the day and views just the good parts. I was the cutters’ secretary and girl Friday. Their go-to girl. Anyway, Frank was only fifty-three when he died. His father had a heart attack in his fifties, also. Frank and I were already living here with Elwood, and I…I just stayed on to continue to care for him. I was happy to do it. Relieved, actually. Frank and I didn’t have our own place anymore. And by then this house felt like home.”

“Elwood never married?”

June didn’t answer right away. “He dated a number of women way back when,” she finally said. “But no. Frank always said Elwood was awkward around ladies. A bit of an odd bird. I don’t know that I would say that. He was never awkward around me. In any case, when Frank died, all Elwood and I had were each other. I wanted to stay; he needed me to stay. So I stayed.”

Eva could see so easily that grief cloaked June’s words. She was still mourning a great loss. And the loss still seemed fresh, as though it had only just happened.

“I am sorry your husband died,” Eva said.

“Thank you. Were you…married over there?”

“No. But I loved someone. Lost someone.”

They were quiet as Eva looked at the other photos. One was of the two brothers in army uniforms from the Great War. They were both smiling—Elwood slightly but Frank was beaming.

“They served together,” June said, now in a somewhat brighter tone. “In France and in the same regiment. They were only twenty. So young. Frank took a bullet during an advance and it was Elwood who dragged him to safety all the while getting shot at himself. Frank would have died if he hadn’t. At least that’s how Frank would tell it.”

The last photo was of Elwood in shorts and sunglasses, standing in a desert landscape with a camera around his neck.

“That’s El in Palm Springs. He has a little bungalow there. He’s done very well for himself. He was nominated for an Oscar once; did you know that? Frank was always so proud of him. I would have been jealous had I a sibling who had so much talent. But not Frank. He would talk about his brother’s achievements to anyone who would listen.”

As Eva replaced the last photograph, she noticed there were no baby photos in the room, no portraits of tots in rompers or school photos of adolescents.

“Did you and Mr. Blankenship have children?” Eva ventured, shyly. Hesitantly.

A soft sigh escaped the woman on the couch. “We wanted to but after trying for a while we found out the wounds Frank sustained in the war messed with something essential. To fathering children, I mean.”

Eva wished she hadn’t asked. “I’m sorry.”

June shrugged. “Frank and I found other ways to be happy.”

At that moment from above them came a soft thud. It sounded like a shoe dropping to the floor, perhaps. Or a small ashtray getting knocked off a bedside table onto a rug.

Or maybe a cat jumping down from the top of a highboy.

Eva looked toward the ceiling and the second floor. So did June.

June cleared her throat. “Elwood must be awake.”

Eva turned back to the frames, noticing how in the wedding photo a young, smiling June had her head tilted to the side, toward her brother-in-law, and she sensed great affection among the three of them.

Eva didn’t know what to make of the sound she’d just heard. She took her time straightening the frames to see if there would be another thumping sound, followed by another, which could perhaps be taken as a cry for help.

But the upstairs was quiet.

When Eva stepped out of June’s house a couple of hours later, Melanie dashed out to meet her, looking over at the Blankenship house to make sure June wasn’t at her own picture window, watching.

“Well?” she said when she reached Eva.

Eva shrugged. “June didn’t want me to go upstairs today. But I did hear Mr. Blankenship moving about up there. And I don’t think…I don’t know. June seems genuinely nice.”

Melanie frowned as though she wished June had seemed like a lunatic.

“She said Mr. Blankenship is having a bad spell and doesn’t want to see anyone right now,” Eva continued.

“I know what she’s saying about him,” Melanie replied quickly. “But tomorrow I want you to try again. And the next day and the next until we know for sure. I just want you to see him, Eva. I don’t care what you heard or how June seems. I’m telling you, something doesn’t feel right.”