Invisible, as Music

by Caren J. Werlinger

“It seems like a lot of trouble to get into your braces just to go home and go to bed…”

  Henrietta started to protest, but Meryn cut her off. “Because that is where you are going, Hank.”

  Henrietta closed her mouth.

  “Anyway, I brought a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt. They’ll be a little big on you, but they’ll do for the ride home.” She waited a beat. “What do you think?”

  Henrietta had to admit, she’d been dreading the struggle with her braces. The hospital bed was too soft and too high to sit on the edge as she did at home. She gave a reluctant nod.

  “Great.” Meryn reached for the braces. “I’ll take these out to the car while Wendy here helps you get changed. Be right back.”

  The aide fumbled and apologized, but she was gentle as she helped guide Henrietta’s feeble legs into the sweatpants. Meryn had brought socks as well. Wendy tugged those in place over Henrietta’s feet. She helped her to sit up to get the sweatshirt over her head.

  “It’s like dressing a three-year-old, isn’t it?” Henrietta grumbled, but Wendy smiled.

  “You’re a little easier. At least you point your feet in the right direction.”

  Henrietta ran her hands over her thighs. She hadn’t worn pants of any kind since before she’d gotten sick. Skirts were just more practical, since her braces went all the way up her thighs. The soft material felt good on her skin. She sniffed the sleeve of her sweatshirt. It smelled like Meryn and, for a moment, she longed to bury her face in it and inhale.

  Meryn returned in a few minutes. “How shall we do this?”

  “Just position the chair next to the bed, and I can slide into it.”

  Wendy placed Henrietta’s folded nightgown in her lap. “Take care, Miss Cochran.”

  “Thank you, Wendy.”

  Meryn wheeled Henrietta down the corridor to the checkout area near the entrance. The woman there had all of the paperwork prepared for Henrietta’s signature. The station wagon was waiting under the covered drive-up just beyond the doors.

  Meryn opened the door and rolled the chair close, but Henrietta’s weakened state was already taking a toll. She tried a few times to partially stand, gripping the door, but she couldn’t.

  “Here.”

  Meryn backed the chair up and locked it. Bending down, she said, “Put your arms around my neck.”

  She picked Henrietta up and pivoted her around to the car seat. From there, Henrietta was able to manually lift her legs inside while Meryn folded the chair into the back of the car.

  The house was a welcoming sight, as was Bonnie, standing at the door, waiting for them. She hurried out to the garage when Meryn pulled in and parked.

  “I’ve got your bed all made up with fresh sheets,” she said, opening the car door.

  As much as Henrietta didn’t want to go back to bed, she had to admit she was tired.

  “This is simpler than getting the chair back out,” Meryn said, leaning down to her.

  She gathered Henrietta in her arms and carried her into her room, setting her gently on the bed. Bonnie followed with the braces and other items from the hospital.

  “I’ve got a pot of nice hot chicken soup all set for whenever you’re hungry,” she was saying, but Henrietta was looking into Meryn’s eyes, her arms still wrapped around her neck. She slowly let go, wishing she could hold on a little longer.

  Meryn straightened and held her gaze as Bonnie fussed with getting Henrietta situated in bed.

  “We should get you changed and into a nightgown.”

  “I’ll be just out here if you need me,” Meryn said, backing out of the room and closing the door.

  Bonnie tugged and rolled Henrietta to get the shirt and pants off her. Henrietta was thoroughly exhausted by the time she was dressed in a clean nightgown and covered up to her chin.

  “Leave that,” she said when Bonnie started to take the sweatshirt away. “I’ll just rest for a while.”

  “You do that.” Bonnie gave the covers a last tuck and left the room.

  Henrietta brought the sweatshirt to her face, breathing in Meryn’s clean scent. She rolled over and gasped. Sitting on the bedside table was a photo, one she hadn’t looked at in years. She dropped the sweatshirt to the floor and turned the other way.

  If Ryn had thought the weekend was tiring, it was nothing to the following week. Between getting up several times a night to check on Henrietta—who was recovering nicely—calling the house three times a day to see if she needed anything, and dealing with upcoming midterms, she was frazzled and irritable, ready to explode.

  Either that or cry at the drop of a hat, which pissed her off even more. She hated being hormonal. It was bad enough in a normal month, but this month felt anything but normal. Her emotions were all over the place, what with the scare of Henrietta’s illness and the discovery of that damned photo, and the soul-searching she’d been doing.

  So when she went to the library to write up her exams, she cursed under her breath when she saw Tamara sitting at one of the computers. She briefly considered taking her chances with Geary and using the computer in his office, but he’d been exceptionally volatile lately—falsely cheery one minute and then slamming doors the next.

  We are adults, she reminded herself. Surely, she and Tam could be in the same space and not have issues.

  But one icy glare from those eyes told a different story.

  Too bad, she thought with a resigned sigh. She sat down at a console in a corner and dug out her notes. From where she sat, she had a rear quarter-view of Tamara, which allowed her to glance over periodically with only a flick of her gaze whereas Tam had to turn around to look in her direction. She tried to concentrate on her exams—all she had to do was type up the questions she’d already written—but she was finding it difficult to do without making stupid mistakes.

  Tamara was as attractive as ever. She was wearing a navy blue sweater that probably looked amazing with her eyes, and her blonde hair was a little longer, tucked behind her ear. Ryn could trace the curve of her cheek and jaw.

  But she felt nothing. She lowered her head to her hand and closed her eyes, allowing herself to remember the kisses she’d shared with Tamara, the way she felt and tasted. She was relieved to at least feel a slight arousal of her body, but it stopped there. Her heart, her mind—nothing above the waist—none of those parts of her were stirred, not the way they were when she thought of Henrietta.

  More pissed off than ever, she jammed a floppy disk into the computer to save what she’d done so far. She zipped all of her things back into her backpack and left the lab without a backward glance.

  Her head down, she muttered to herself as she strode across campus back to Rayburn Hall. “Didn’t ask for this, goddammit. Why the hell can’t I ever do things the easy way?”

  At an intersection of the concrete walk, she nearly plowed into Roberta and Franny.

  “Hi,” Roberta said cheerfully, but Ryn glowered at Franny.

  “Sorry. Late for…” She kept walking.

  She stomped up the back stairwell and slammed her own door. She tossed her bag down and threw herself into her chair, feeling like a supreme idiot.

  A few seconds later, there was a light rap at the door and Beverly opened it to peek inside.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Fine,” Ryn mumbled. She scrubbed her hands over her face. “Fine.” She looked more closely at Beverly’s worried expression. “What’s wrong?”

  Beverly stepped inside and closed the door. “Dr. Talbert wants to see you as soon as possible.”

  “Oh, jeez.” Ryn sat up straighter. “What now?”

  Beverly only shook her head. Ryn got to her feet, filled with a foreboding feeling that this wasn’t going to be good.

  “Just perfect.”

  “What was that?” Beverly asked.

  “Nothing.”

  She followed Beverly down the corridor. Beverly gave her arm a little squeeze as she ushered Ryn into Talbert’s office and closed the
door.

  Jerry Talbert looked up, a plume of smoke drifting from his nostrils. She was a little startled. He looked as if he’d aged several years. There were large bags under his eyes and deep lines along his jowls.

  “Sit down,” he said without any kind of greeting.

  She slowly sat and waited as he ground out his cigarette and sat back.

  “I don’t know how much you’ve heard,” he began, a heavy crease between his brows. “But Bradley is going to be out on medical leave, effective immediately.”

  Ryn wasn’t certain she’d heard correctly. “Medical leave.”

  “Yes. He most likely won’t be returning to St. Aloysius next year.”

  It took several seconds for this revelation to sink in. “Can you tell me why?” she asked.

  His nostrils flared. “If you don’t know, then no. I can’t. But something tells me you had more to do with this than I realized.”

  Ryn’s eyes widened. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  He reached for his pack and struck a match. The flame trembled as he held it to the end of a cigarette and inhaled. “No matter. You and I will have to split his classes between us.”

  “Split?” Ryn felt as if she were struggling to keep her head above water as she tried to keep up with all of these revelations. “Is he on paid leave?”

  “No.”

  She took a steadying breath and braced herself. “Then no. My contract stipulates that I will teach four sections each semester, in addition to the scholarship committee and my advising responsibilities. I’m doing that. If I’m to pick up after Geary, there will have to be additional compensation.”

  “Why you—” Talbert ground out the fresh cigarette and leaned forward. “You think you’re in a position to make demands?”

  Ryn regarded him for a few seconds. “If you’d moved on to the dean’s position and Geary had taken over here as chair, he’d already made it clear I wasn’t going to have a job at this college next year.” She held up her hands. “I’ve got nothing to lose. And if I’m going to be helping pick up after the mess he’s made—”

  Talbert jabbed a nicotine-stained finger at her. “You do know something!”

  “I know he’s a pig and should have been fired years ago. I’ll help out, for the students’ sake, but I won’t do it for free.” Her brain was whirling. “You’ll also write me a letter of recommendation, giving me full credit for creating that women-and-history class. If you meet those conditions, then I’ll pitch in to cover his courses.”

  He looked as if he’d like nothing better than to throw her out of his office, but at last he nodded. She jumped up and left before he could change his mind.

  In the outer office, she risked a glimpse in Beverly’s direction, not sure how much she might have heard. When Beverly gave her a furtive thumbs-up, she nearly laughed out loud.

  Her heart was racing so fast as she ran to her office to get her stuff that she didn’t even realize her first thought was, I can’t wait to tell Henrietta.

  Henrietta sat on the sofa, a book open in her lap, but she was watching Meryn at work at the dining table. Their routine had changed over the last couple of weeks, ever since Jerry Talbert had announced that other man’s departure. Henrietta had listened as Meryn recounted the conversation, and had to give the girl points for so adroitly managing the situation. She had her letter of recommendation, in case she had to seek a new position elsewhere—but Henrietta couldn’t let herself think about that.

  Meryn had fretted about needing to work on the new courses. “I don’t want to leave you alone in the evenings, but I have to prep these. They’re a mess.”

  It had been Bonnie’s suggestion to have Meryn use the dining table as a temporary desk. “You hardly ever use it,” she’d pointed out. “You always eat in the kitchen.”

  So, after dinner, Henrietta read while Meryn worked. Where Henrietta had often had the television on in the evenings for noise, she found the silence comfortable—this silence, made bearable by Meryn’s presence. It was embarrassing to remember how she’d dreaded the quiet and the alone after her last companion had left. Meryn filled the house—and me, Henrietta thought—simply by being there. Of course, it wasn’t always silent, as Meryn had a habit of humming while she worked. Henrietta smiled, listening to her.

  “Did you return your mother’s phone call?” Henrietta asked now.

  “Yes.” Meryn glanced up. “I told her about all this new work, and that I wouldn’t be home for spring break. She was disappointed, but she understood.”

  Henrietta nodded and looked back down at her book, afraid to let Meryn see the shine in her own eyes. It felt selfish—it is selfish, she reminded herself harshly, but she couldn’t help it. A week without Meryn in the house would have felt like an eternity.

  “Are you sure you didn’t have anything to do with this?”

  Though the question seemed to have come out of nowhere, Henrietta was prepared. She carefully kept her face neutral. “You’ve asked me that a hundred times.”

  “And a hundred times you’ve avoided actually answering me,” Meryn pointed out.

  “How could I interfere with your work or the college?”

  “See, that’s what you do every time. You deflect with another question.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to be working?”

  Meryn stared for a few more seconds but then shook her head and returned to her notes with a half-laugh.

  But she knew Meryn didn’t believe her. Maybe someday she’d tell her the truth, but it seemed best to keep the girl in the dark for now. Henrietta felt sure it would help protect her from any retribution Jerry Talbert might want to mete out.

  She allowed her eyes to close. She was pleasantly tired after having spent nearly the entire day painting. Finally, she was sufficiently recovered to have the energy and the concentration to work. It had been ages since she’d gone so many days without being able to paint or draw, and she’d missed it sorely.

  “Why do you always draw?” Una tilted her head as she flipped through Henrietta’s Latin notebook, looking at the little sketches she’d drawn in the margins.

  They were stretched out across Una’s bed, supposedly studying for their next exam.

  “I just like to.”

  “Is that me?” Una tipped the page to look at it more closely.

  Henrietta felt the flush warm her cheeks, but Una beamed at her. She rolled over on her back, her hair splayed out around her head like a glorious red halo.

  “You draw me?”

  Henrietta shrugged. She sat behind Una in class, so it was easy to watch her—the way she absent-mindedly ran her fingers through her thick hair, the way she twiddled her pencil when she was bored, the way she pretended to be taking notes when Henrietta knew she was writing a story or poem.

  Una nodded sagely. “You need that creative expression. It’s like air to you.’

  “Then your writing must be like that for you.”

  “It is. Artistic souls need that outlet. Without it, we’d wither up and die.”

  Henrietta wanted to blurt, “I’d die without you.” But she didn’t dare say anything so melodramatic. It’s true, she thought, even if she couldn’t say it.

  The framed photo was still on her bedside table, the first time she’d been able to have it out, seeing it daily, since she’d come home from the rehab hospital. Back then, she’d hated seeing it, that reminder of Una, of when she herself was healthy and whole, of an innocence that she’d never have again. She’d forgotten it was in the bottom of that drawer. Since Bonnie was the one to put the clean laundry away, Henrietta hadn’t dug to the bottom of the drawer for years and years.

  She could still remember the day that photo was taken. It was just a few weeks before they’d gone swimming in the pond, the first day of summer vacation. Una’s Aunt Wilhelmina had taken it in front of their house.

  When Una had had it framed and given it to her, Henrietta hadn’t noticed the inscribed poem right away. S
he’d asked Una about it a few days later.

  “It’s Emily Dickinson, isn’t it?”

  Una smiled. “Yes.”

  “But I don’t understand it. This world is not conclusion. What does that mean?”

  Una had looked at Henrietta in that way she had sometimes—the spells that seemed to come over her now and again, where she focused on something only she could see, almost as if she was only half in this world. It made Henrietta wonder if she could see the future.

  “You will understand,” Una said. “Someday.”

  She thought about it now, wondering if there really was something beyond. Would she see Una and her parents again someday? She was nearly fifty-four, more than halfway through her life. The end suddenly felt very near. Her parents had had her, and her father had left a legacy of buildings that still stood.

  What will you leave behind? she wondered. Nothing but a few paintings. No one will miss you when you’re gone.

  “What are you thinking about?”

  Henrietta’s eyes snapped open. “Nothing.”

  “It didn’t look like nothing.”

  Henrietta colored under Meryn’s scrutiny. She squirmed when the girl got up from the table and came over to sit on the coffee table.

  “Tell me, Hank.”

  Henrietta plucked at the fringe of the throw on her lap. “It was silly. I was just thinking of my parents and what they left behind. And how I’ve left nothing. No children. Nothing of any importance. No one who will remember.”

  She felt Meryn’s gaze, almost as intimate as a caress, and she didn’t dare look up.

  “That’s not true.” Meryn braced her elbows on her knees. “Your art is important.” She paused. “And you’re important. To me.”

  Against her will, Henrietta slowly raised her eyes. She lost track of how much time ticked by as they stared at each other.

  “Your life is just beginning,” Henrietta managed to say. “I’ll be long gone as you move on, living your life.”

  To Henrietta’s horror, Meryn’s eyes filled with tears.

  “I may have to go on without you, someday,” Meryn said in a strangled voice, “but I’ll never be the same. I had time to think about that while you were sick.”