by Karen White
“I thought it was what you needed. And then Jude came along, and he was so completely different from you. Not that I loved you any less; it’s just that he always needed me more.”
The old memories of her childhood and her mother clashed with recently made ones, creating enough confusion and anger to push aside the grief and worry. She welcomed these feelings; they were familiar to her in a way that forgiveness never had been. She turned to her mother, still hugging herself tightly.
“And then he was gone, and you didn’t have anybody else to need you anymore. I guess I was second choice, but I was there.”
Her mother’s eyes were damp. “Oh, no, Caroline. You were never second choice. You were my firstborn. We had tried for so many years for a baby, and then you came along. I never thought I could love somebody so much. Even after Jude was born, there was always a special place in my heart just for you. And you grew so fast and so independent—and I was so proud of you even though it meant you had no real use for me.”
She sniffed and reached into the pocket of her jacket for a perfectly folded linen handkerchief. During her entire lifetime, Caroline had never known her mother not to be prepared with a fresh handkerchief.
“When I learned that you needed to take a few months off work, my first reaction was sheer joy. I finally saw the chance to mother you. Since you were a toddler, you’ve never allowed me. I’m sorry if it seems like I’m smothering you.”
Caroline wiped her own tears with the sleeve of her shirt. “Oh, Mom. I have known all my life that Jude was your favorite child. And I don’t blame you for that. Everybody loved Jude—including me. But please—not now. Don’t try to pretend that you haven’t spent the last thirteen years wishing that Jude hadn’t been the one to die that night.”
Her mother marched over to her, and for a moment Caroline was afraid of what she saw in Margaret’s eyes. She shook when she spoke. “No, Caroline. Not for one minute. Not for one second. Have you really believed that all these years?” She raised fisted hands and pressed them against her chest. “When the doctors told me that your heart was damaged beyond repair, I told them to take mine. You were my little girl. And even now, after all these misunderstandings between us over the years, don’t you know that you’re the daughter I’ve always wanted? Don’t you? If there were a store where I had to go pick out a daughter and there were rows and rows of baby girls, I’d still pick you. You’re mine. Whether you had a brother or not, you’re mine. And I never wanted it any other way.”
Caroline turned her back to her mother again, unwilling to comprehend. Too many years had passed, and she found herself aching for the simple existence of only three months before; days when she got by on presumptions and independence, and never thought about the hidden wells of feelings she’d neatly tucked away around her heart.
She stared out the window, at the dying light of day, fighting the voices that seemed to be warring in her head. “If you really loved me, then you’d let it all go. It’s too late to rehash the past. Whether you wanted to or not, you taught me how to live on my own, not to need anybody. I’m happy that way. Why can’t you just let it all alone?”
She sensed her mother’s presence behind her and then her voice, soft but strong. “Because you’ve been crying for the moon for over thirteen years—and you can never, ever have it. Jude is still dead, and you can’t change it. Is this how you think he would have wanted you to live? A part of me inside dies each time I see you alone and hurting—and unwilling to meet me halfway. I’ve tried, Caroline. I’ve really tried to get through to you—to let you know how much I love you. I want you to live that life that was promised to you when you were born. The life that Jude’s heart was meant to live. And I don’t know what else I can say or do to make you listen and believe. I’ve always loved you and I’ve always wanted what’s best for you. I’ve tried to show you, but somehow I’ve failed.”
Her voice was thick with tears, and Caroline heard the sounds of her mother blowing her nose softly into the linen handkerchief. “I won’t give up, Caroline.” The feathery touch of her mother’s hand brushed her on her shoulder, like a tentative butterfly touching down only briefly on unsure terrain. She wanted to feel her mother’s touch again, but didn’t know how to ask. Margaret took a deep, shuddering breath before speaking again. “But I don’t know what else to do.”
Caroline hugged herself tighter, wanting so badly to hug her mother instead but unsure of the steps involved. She wiped her eyes and nose with the sleeve of her shirt again. “I can’t talk about this now. I need to worry about Jewel and Drew. And nothing else. It’s too much.”
They each stood their ground, as they had done for so many years, the small space between them no wider than an arm’s breadth, but deeper than the ocean and just as treacherous.
Her mother was the first to speak. “I’m tired. I’m going to bed. But I will drive with you in the morning.”
Caroline turned her head slightly and nodded once, then listened as her mother’s footsteps slowly faded into the back of the house. She wasn’t sure how long she stood there staring out the window and listening to the grandfather clock tick away the minutes. It marked the hour with a chime once, and when it started to chime the second time, Caroline picked up her purse and left the house, shutting the door quietly behind her.
She used the key Drew had given her to let herself into the house next door. The house was dark and quiet, as if filled with the ghosts that were now filling her head. She moved swiftly through the downstairs rooms, flipping on all the light switches. She paused in front of the dining room table as she’d done the last time she’d been there, recalling that she’d never seen what Drew had carved into the fourth leg.
Slowly she approached it and squatted down to get a better look. Her gaze slid down the length of it, then back to the top where the leg met the table, wondering if she’d missed something. Both hands rubbed either side of the leg, but met with only smooth, bare wood. What are you saying, Drew? She somehow knew that the leg was the way it was meant to be, and that the dining room table masterpiece was complete. She stood and stared down at the plain wood of the table leg. What does it mean?
Leaving the room, she moved toward the stairs, remembering where Drew had told her Jewel’s room was. The bedroom door was partially closed, and when she pushed it open Caroline saw that a reading lamp by the bed had been left on and the bedspread was rumpled where it looked like Jewel had been lying on top. A journal lay open in the middle next to an old teddy bear, the pages covered in a flowing, rounded handwriting.
She stepped toward the bed, intent on closing the journal and bringing it with Jewel’s things in case she wanted it. But when she bent to pick it up, the date on the top entry caught her attention. November 15, 1991. Six days before Jude died. She moved closer and caught the word Jude. Shelby’s diary, she thought as she picked it up. She looked at the pages for a long moment, not reading, but not able to close it either. Her hands shook with indecision. But here, in her hands by some miracle, lay a piece of her life that she had thought gone forever. But there it was, an account of the days before her life had irrevocably changed. Slowly she sat down on the edge of the bed and began to read.
November 15, 1991
Thanksgiving break is finally here. Jude and I survived not seeing each other for almost three months, but now we both feel as if we need to make up for lost time. I’m sure there are no doubts for our parents concerning the depth of our relationship, but I know neither one would agree to our sharing a room, so we haven’t bothered to ask.
It’s cold outside, but we’ve found that leaves make a great insulator. Yesterday we went to our secret lake and made a huge pile of leaves. We were so tired from our efforts that we fell asleep on the pile. When we woke up we made love, and it didn’t occur to me until this morning that we didn’t use any protection. I counted the days in my cycle and figure I should be okay. Not that I don’t think that one day we will have a child together. But not now, when we
’re so young, with so much of life ahead of us.
Caroline’s here on Thanksgiving break from the University of Georgia and has been working on Jude’s quilt. She hopes to have it ready for Christmas. She’s only got three rows done, and I have no idea where she’s going to find the time to finish it by then, but she swears it will be. It’s hard because she has to leave it here, since there’s no room in her dorm for all the stuff she needs for it. I hope she finishes it before I have to go back to school. It’s so gorgeous—even though it only shows the first seventeen years of Jude’s life. She says she’s going to give it to him with lots of empty space at the bottom and that when he does something special, she’ll add it.
The only black spot on my school break is that I have to drive everywhere. Jude’s mom took away his driving privileges because he just got his second speeding ticket in three months. He keeps begging me to let him drive, but there’s no way I’m going against Mrs. Collier on this. Jude begs and begs me, and I don’t know how much longer I can say no. I know he’s been asking Caroline, too, but so far we’ve both stood firm. Caroline says Jude needs to learn his lesson and stick to his punishment. Jude’s like water on rock, though. I wonder which one of us will finally give in.
Caroline’s hands were shaking so badly she almost dropped the journal. She should stop reading. It wasn’t hers and it was never intended to be read by her. But she felt as if she were driving by an accident in slow motion, and she couldn’t stop herself from looking. She turned the page, realizing that there had been a huge gap in time when Shelby hadn’t written in her journal, and began reading again.
January 1, 1992
Today is the first of a New Year. A time for resolutions and new beginnings. I suppose that’s why I’ve chosen today for my wedding day. My dress is hanging in my parents’ bedroom, waiting for me to put it on, and Drew and his parents are staying at the Colliers’. Caroline isn’t coming to the wedding. She’s still too weak from the surgery, but even if she were well she wouldn’t come. I can’t blame her. She sees my marrying Drew as a betrayal of Jude. And in some ways she’s right. I only wish I could tell her everything.
The baby is due in August, so Drew and I thought it would be best to get married sooner instead of later. His parents and my parents have both said that we don’t have to get married just because I’m pregnant. But we love this baby so much already that I can’t imagine not giving it two parents who are committed to each other. And Drew is so excited about being a father—he says it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him, with the exception of meeting me. I wonder if he’d feel the same if he only knew.
I can’t tell Drew the truth now. How could I break his heart like that after everything he’s done for me since Jude died? I was an empty shell, and Drew filled me up with his love. I owe him my affection and my gratitude—and this child. In my grief, I sought his love selfishly, giving my body to him because it helped heal my wounds, if only temporarily. I didn’t realize then how much of his heart and soul he’d given to me. But this baby and this marriage will join us together, and maybe one day erase the pain I feel each and every day. And my secret is mine to keep. Telling even my mother would be like a betrayal of Drew. For whatever wrongs I’ve done to him, that is one thing I could never do.
Caroline looked up from the journal, dry-eyed. Oh, Shelby, what did you do? And then she thought of her mother, being a grandmother all these years and not knowing it, and of Drew. Drew! What would this do to him?
Caroline closed the journal and stood. She’d bring it with all of Jewel’s things, not willing to leave the journal there where anybody could find it.
As if in slow motion, she moved to the dresser and took out a few changes of clothes and stacked them on top of the journal. Then she moved to the closet to pull out a clean pair of jeans. When she tugged on the closet door it stuck, and she realized something had been shoved on the floor of the closet and was now caught between the bottom of the door and the carpet. After a lot of pulling and cursing, Caroline finally got the door open.
She glanced at the bottom of the closet to determine what it had been and felt the breath leave her lungs in a loud whoosh when she spotted the quilt. Kneeling, she picked it up, recognizing the red-and-blue border even after all this time. She sank both hands into the soft cotton, holding on to it as if she’d finally found her long-lost brother. With a wary heart, she brought it over to the bed to get a better look at it.
She saw the first three rows that she’d done, the ones with his baby blanket, a football jersey with the number 02 on the back, and a brown cutout of a football that read HPHS 1992 on it. But now there were more rows completed, nearly filling the entire quilt except for two rows on the bottom. Looking closer, she recognized one of her swimming photos silk-screened onto a square, and a picture of her at Shelby’s sixteenth-birthday party. Where did these come from? She sat back, trying to recall a conversation she’d had recently about Shelby’s birthday party photo. She stared hard at the quilt, seeing one of the place mats she’d made in the last few weeks and an appliqué of one of her swimming trophies made from a bathing suit.
Jewel. Caroline suddenly recalled the snippets of conversations she’d had with Drew, her mother, and Rainy about little things that had suddenly been misplaced. And here, on Jude’s quilt, were most of the missing items. But why?
She picked it up again and buried her face into her brother’s quilt, with her own stitches intermingling with Jewel’s, somehow connecting her brother’s life with her own in one flawless transition. She studied her brother’s portion, at all the things he loved and held dear—and then moved her gaze to the unfinished section symbolizing her own life unlived.
Jewel, she thought again, feeling an urgency to see her, to work out all the confusion from the journal and the quilt that were fighting for space in her brain. And Drew. What was she going to tell Drew?
Quickly she wrapped up Jewel’s clothes and Shelby’s journal inside the quilt, throwing the teddy bear on top as an afterthought, and let herself out of the house. She’d take the second car and leave the Cadillac in case Margaret decided to come on her own in the morning. First she needed to write her mother a note to let her know where she had gone, and then she was driving to the hospital in Atlanta as fast as she could go.
CHAPTER 27
SHE REACHED THE HOSPITAL SHORTLY AFTER MIDNIGHT, BUT THE bright lights and activity inside gave no nod to the late hour. Parking as close to the bustling entrance as she could and leaving everything in the trunk of her mother’s car, she ran inside, worry and panic pushing her forward to the reception desk. She focused on Jewel instead of the hated hospital green and the sound of her footsteps on the linoleum and the smells of the hospital that always reminded her of her long stay there thirteen years before. She fought her fears and her memories all the way up to the third level and the waiting room where she found Drew.
She walked into his open arms without a word, giving as much comfort with her own arms as she was getting from his. Laying her head on his chest, she asked, “Where’s Rainy?”
“She was exhausted and Jewel’s stabilized, so I sent her to a hotel to get some sleep. I think she’s more worried about Jewel than she was about her own cancer.”
“Sounds like Rainy.”
They both smiled as Drew led her to a bright orange vinyl couch next to a coffee table littered with parenting magazines and children’s books with missing covers.
“How is she, Drew? How is Jewel?” His hair stood up in front as if he’d spent several hours pressing his hands against his forehead.
“The doctors say she should be fine. Brain surgery is never easy, but she’s young and healthy and they don’t anticipate any problems. She’s scheduled for seven o’clock in the morning.”
She squeezed his hand. “I’m glad I came tonight, then. I’m not going to leave until it’s over—if you’ll let me.”
He nodded and she squeezed his hand tighter.
He swallowed, then
said, “I told Jewel that I had asked you to go get a few of her things from her room and bring them. She got real agitated when I told her that, but wouldn’t tell me why. But she insisted on talking to you before her surgery.”
“Oh.” It was her turn to swallow. “Will we have time?”
“Not likely. But one of her nurses just came in and told me Jewel was fighting sleep until she could speak with you. She said if you arrived before it was time to prep her for surgery, that she would let you talk to her.” He looked at her closely. “Do you have any idea what is so important that she needs to tell you?”
Caroline nodded. “I do. But it’s between Jewel and me, okay?”
“Is it about the furniture? She already told me that it was her idea to take the pictures and send them.”
She gave an unexpected laugh. If only it were that simple. “No. I’m sure it’s not.”
He closed his eyes for a second, and when he opened them again she saw the determined lawyer with all emotions stored away someplace safe.
He held out his hand. “Come on, then. Let me take you to the nurses’ station and they can bring you to Jewel’s room.”
She could tell how much this was hurting him, and she wanted to offer him some assurance. They stood and she took his offered hand. “She loves you very much, you know.”
His jaw clenched; then he nodded once before leading her to the nurses’ station.
The nurse pushed open the door to Jewel’s room and put her finger to her lips as she indicated the closed drapery partition in the middle of the room hiding Jewel’s sleeping roommate.