“Aren’t you finished yet?” Maddy asked.
“Almost.”
Ann Marsden appeared in the doorway and smiled at the sight of her daughters. “Now, isn’t this something?” She came into the room, moving lightly in her grey skirt and light blue sweater, her famous pearls at her neck, her hair completely grey and tied loosely in a bun low on her neck.
“Madeline’s being difficult.”
“No, I’m not!” Maddy laughed.
“Why are you being difficult, my dear?” Ann played with a loose strand of Maddy’s hair. “Just to tease your sister?”
“I just don’t see why Kate should make such of fuss over my make-up, that’s all.”
Ann took a handful of hairpins and a comb from the dresser and stood behind Maddy where, quickly and efficiently, she began putting up the silky chocolate hair. “Dear, it’s not every day a teacher gets honored for her life’s work. You’ve earned tonight.” Ann lifted several grey strands from the curling mass of brown. “Kate, I think Madeline’s going to need her roots touched-up next week.”
“It’s not that, Mom. I am happy, and I’m flattered. I just don’t want to fuss with things that don’t matter.”
Kate stepped back and squinted at Maddy. She sighed.
“That bad?” Maddy twisted toward Ann.
“Absolutely elegant.” Kate said. “I have a necklace that would go beautifully with that lace blouse.”
Maddy instantly touched her collarbone. “No, thank you.”
Kate made a noise of exasperation. “Madeline! Why won’t you ever wear a necklace?”
“I don’t like to, that’s all.” Maddy reached for Kate’s hand and squeezed it. “But I do appreciate this. I’m sorry I can’t see it!”
Kate laughed, and Ann smiled at her over Maddy’s head.
“I still can’t believe you’ve been teaching at that school for twenty-five years.” Ann pinned Maddy’s hair in soft coils. “How time flies.”
“I can,” Maddy said. “And I don’t mean that in a negative way.”
“Aren’t you happy teaching?” Kate leaned against the dresser, watching.
“Of course I am. My children fill that void in me I once thought could never be filled. They’ve made me feel useful and important and alive for a reason. Being their mentor has saved my sanity. It’s saved my life!”
“So what did you mean?” Ann put the comb on the bed and stood back to examine Maddy’s hair held back from her face in smooth wings that shone in the lamplight. Ann nodded to Kate.
“I’m just feeling the years behind me, I guess.” Maddy sighed. “I know that this is a part of my life, but it’s not my entire life. It’s what I do, not who I am.”
“We know that, dear.” Ann spoke in a quiet tone. She placed her hand under Maddy’s chin and whispered in her ear. “You are much more than your work, darling. You are my gift.”
That evening Sam and Kate sat with Ann in the first row of the St. Bartholomew’s School auditorium. The staff and student body, alumni and parents clapped and chanted Maddy’s name as she rose from her seat and crossed the stage with Tom Marsden, still a dignified man, although he walked now stiffly and with care.
The school principal, signaling to Tom, spoke into the microphone. “Ms. Marden, tonight we gather together on this most auspicious occasion to pay tribute to you: our teacher, our mentor, and our friend. You have given St. Bartholomew’s twenty-five years of service, sharing your time, your talents, and your gifts with us. We have been enriched and motivated by your teaching and guidance. I ask of all those here tonight who have been changed, inspired, and empowered—please show your gratitude to our own Ms. Marsden.” The principal lowered the microphone, and the crowd burst into a thunderous ovation.
Maddy, surprised and moved to tears, took a few minutes to hide her face as she smoothed her lace blouse while Tom adjusted the microphone for her. “Thank you,” Maddy began. She smiled and wiped her eyes with the back of her wrist. “Thank you all so much. Working at St. Bartholomew’s over the years has been such an incredible experience. I never knew before that a job could bring so much satisfaction. When I came to work here and met all of you, I never imagined this would become more than a teacher’s position, that it would become the center of my life, the place where I’ve learned nearly everything I know about the human spirit.”
“We love you Ms. Marsden,” a voice shouted from the audience.
Maddy raised her head, blushing, and one hand to her throat. “When I started here—having been born with sight—I knew I could teach art, but I wasn’t sure I could teach what the children here really needed from me. I was worried I wouldn’t be able to teach what it’s like to see. Well, what a surprise I got! I never expected my experiences here would give me a much clearer view into the world than eyes ever could.” Maddy paused. “I have touched so many of your hands, heard so many of your sweet voices, felt—so much emotion. Thinking I had come to assist you, I found instead that you all have touched me in the most powerful way possible. You have empowered, mentored, enriched, and motivated me. My life has been meaningful because I have you. I am forever grateful for this company of unique and special individuals. Thank you. I love you all.”
As the crowd roared, the principal handed Maddy a bouquet of roses and a hand-made Braille book with the names of the St. Bartholomew’s family lettered on the front. Maddy clutched the gifts to her and turned, smiling, to the audience, and her once-lovely hazel eyes, now clouded over their green flecks, swam with tears under the auditorium lights.
That evening Maddy and Kate sat alone on the Marsdens’ patio. Citronella candles flickered in the shadows as they leaned back on the chaise, cradling glasses of white wine.
“I’m so proud of you, Madeline.” Kate reached over and touched Maddy’s arm. “Did you have a good time tonight?”
“I did.” Maddy put her hand over Kate’s.
“So why do I get the feeling something’s wrong?”
Maddy took a sip of wine and rested her head on the chaise. “You’re always right about me. I was just thinking about what makes someone successful.”
“You’re successful. Look how many people you’ve touched.”
“I know. I do, honest. But at the end of the day, I don’t have anyone to share it with.”
Kate frowned. “You have us.”
“I know, but deep down you understand what I’m saying. You have Sam and the children to share things with, to grow old with. I guess I’m just feeling the loss of—not having that.”
“It’s not too late, my dear.”
Maddy squeezed Kate’s hand gently. “Thank you for everything you have always given me, Katie. I want you to know I treasure it.” Her voice was soft in the quiet evening.
Kate took a sip and looked away, tightening her grip on Maddy’s hand. A sharp cry came from indoors, and Kate sat up, spilling her wine.
Chapter 36
Shadows
It was almost noon when Peter reached the hospital and ran straight to the nurses’ station in the Cardiac Care Unit.
“Richard Michaels?” Peter leaned forward anxiously while the nurse checked her log.
Amy spotted him from the hallway and ran to him. “He’s stable.” She put her arms around him, and they stood for a minute in each other’s arms. “Peter, it was a bad stroke.”
“How’s Mom?”
Amy gave him a worried look and led him down the hall to Richard’s room.
The small two-patient room had a large curtain between the beds, the wall half- glass to allow a view from the nurses’ station. One bed was empty, and in the other Richard lay with an oxygen mask over his face, an IV hanging from his arm, and a heart monitor that beeped softly and regularly. Sheila, in her pajama top and sweatpants, sat in a chair by his side holding his hand, small and disheveled without make-up. She almost didn’t
notice Peter by the door.
“Mom,” Peter whispered.
Sheila glanced up and stood quickly to hug him. “I can’t do this,” she whispered after a moment. “I don’t want Richard to see me this way.”
Amy took Sheila’s hand and nodded at Peter over Sheila’s bowed grey head. “I got you some clothes, Mom, your brush and things. Let’s go to the bathroom and get cleaned up a bit, okay? Maybe coffee?”
“I don’t want to be away from your father.”
“Peter’s here. He’ll sit with Dad. We’ll only be gone a minute, I promise.”
Sheila looked at Richard and smiled a painful smile while Amy took her arm and, after a moment, led her into the hall.
Peter took his jacket off and laid it gently on the edge of the bed. He pulled the chair closer to Richard’s bedside and kissed him on the forehead.
Richard opened his eyes, blinking. “Peter,” he whispered his name clearly.
“Dad, I’m here.” Peter leaned in so Richard could see him, combing a few strands of hair away from Richard’s eyes and touching his face.
Richard made a sound and an odd grimace, as though he were trying to smile.
Peter’s blinked back tears, looking into his eyes. Richard maintained a steady gaze, and Peter squeezed his fingers.
As Richard tightened his hand in response, he mumbled something that sounded like, “Maddy.”
For a moment Peter didn’t understand. “You want to know about Madeline?”
Richard squeezed his hand again.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t bring her but tomorrow’s Saturday. I promise I’ll bring her then. She loves you, Pops.”
Richard almost shook his head, his lips forming words but his voice nearly inaudible. “Apologize.”
“I’m so sorry, Dad,” Peter said after a minute. “I don’t understand what you’re trying to say. Whatever it is, don’t worry about it. We’re here to take care of you.”
Sheila and Amy came into the room behind Peter with coffee, Sheila small under the shelter of Amy’s arm. Amy carried Sheila’s change of clothes in a bundle, and Sheila made her way to Richard’s side, taking his hand. “Are you sleeping, sweetie?” Sheila patted his hand tenderly. “That’s good. You’ll feel better soon.”
“She sounds exhausted,” Peter murmured to Amy. “Did she drink any coffee?”
“Just a sip.” Amy handed him a Styrofoam cup.
Sheila raised her eyes to Peter. “Peter! Where’s Tara? Shouldn’t you be with the doctors in her room?”
“Tara?” Peter looked at Amy. “Mom, Tara’s not in the hospital. She hasn’t been since last winter. Don’t you remember?”
Sheila glanced down, momentarily confused. “Of course. But—but where’s Madeline?”
“She’s in school.” Peter frowned slightly. “She’s always in school at this time of day.”
Sheila looked down at Richard and at Amy, and she shook her head, waving her hand. “I’m sorry. I forgot. I didn’t know what I was saying. I didn’t mean anything.” She patted Richard’s hand. “I’m sure he’ll be able to come home soon. He has such good color. Doesn’t he look good, everyone?”
When Peter turned to Amy again, she met his gaze steadily.
Richard fell in and out of sleep for the rest of the afternoon. It wasn’t until the doctors arrived that he fully awoke while they poked him and prodded him and asked him questions. He made what sounds and gestures he could, blinking his eyes on command, but he tired easily, and his reactions became unpredictable. The doctors took Peter and Amy and Sheila into the hall.
“His condition could persist for a very long time, but even with rehabilitation—” The doctor shook his head. “He’ll never regain what he’s lost.”
Sheila gave a small cry and covered her hand with her mouth.
“Be prepared,” the doctor said gently. “His heart’s been in bad condition for a very long time. Also a stroke at this age could indicate another aneurysm. We’ll be running tests.”
Peter put his arm around Sheila as she leaned into him, a sudden weight.
That evening Peter and Amy sat at the Michaels’s kitchen table over macaroni and cheese in the old blue-spotted bowls that Sheila had been using since they were children. The kitchen seemed silent and empty without Sheila and Richard, the fabric of the curtains dated, the linoleum faded. Peter looked around hopelessly. He could barely swallow.
“She’s not taking it well,” Amy said between bites.
“It was awfully strange of her to mention Tara being in the hospital.” Peter paused, circling his plate with his fork. “What was that all about?”
Amy shrugged. “I told you she’d been getting forgetful. How is Tara?”
“She’s doing all right.” Peter pushed his plate away. “She just needs a little rest to get over this latest biopsy. She beat this thing once, she can beat it again.”
Amy put her hand on Peter’s arm.
“But what about Mom? She seems to be going to pieces, Amy. Is there something you haven’t been telling me?”
“You know how absent-minded she’s always been. It’s gotten a lot worse recently. Even Dad noticed and said maybe we should get her evaluated. Peter, what’s she going to do if Dad doesn’t recover? What are you and I going to do?”
Peter reached across the table and took her hands. “Whatever we have to.”
Amy looked at him helplessly, and he looked back. After a long moment he kissed her hands.
Days had passed, life had changed, but in the Michaels’s house, time seemed to stand still. Now everything was quiet, only the hardwood floors of Sheila’s bedroom creaking overhead.
Peter poured himself a cup of coffee and pulled another mug from the cupboard. As he turned to face the island an open view to the living room, he saw Richard’s empty recliner, a thin beam of morning sun streaming from the window to touch the edge of the arm, and he saw how the leather still held Richard’s shape, as though he’d just gotten up.
Tears came to his eyes.
This time last week Richard had been alive and well. Five days ago he had been alive. Even four days ago at this hour he’d still been alive.
Peter had arrived at the hospital early that morning with Amy and Sheila, anxious because Richard had shown signs of progress the day before. After a restless morning, Richard had finally fallen into a quiet sleep, so Sheila stepped out with Amy for a cup of coffee. Peter was at the nurse’s station when a deafening beeping startled him. Within moments, a nurse had whisked into Richard’s room and out again.
“Code Blue!” Her voice echoed down the long hall.
Before Peter could move, doctors hurried with their white coats flapping into Richard’s room. Nurses wheeled in a defibrillator, and the doctors leaned over the bed.
“Clear!” The voice was loud and authoritative over the heads of the staff.
Richard’s body on the bed jerked. There was a pause.
Peter’s heart pounded, as he stood frozen in the doorway. He could barely see the lower half of Richard’s body under the sheets and blankets through the crowd of nurses and doctors around the bed.
“Clear!”
Richard’s body jerked again.
Peter tried to push into the room, but a nurse laid a hand on his chest, her eyes fixed on the doctors. An instant later she gave a small sigh. The beeping of the heart monitor had stopped and a flat line ran unendingly across the screen.
“Peter!” Amy’s voice was panicky by his shoulder.
He turned to where she stood holding Sheila’s hand behind him, and he burst out crying. Sheila took one glance at Peter’s face and collapsed to the floor as he and Amy leaped to catch her. They were kneeling with Sheila in their arms when the doctor came to the doorway and saw them there.
“I’m so sorry,” the doctor said softly. “We were afraid of this.
”
Chapter 37
Roses
Now Peter looked around the Michaels kitchen in the morning light. He shook his head and wiped the tears from his face with his palm. He paused, feeling unconsciously with his fingers for the woven leather bracelet he had once wore around his wrist, so long ago.
Amy appeared in the kitchen door with paper bags in her arms. “I brought bagels and cheese and more coffee and danishes.”
“Let me help you.” Peter took the bags and set them on the island.
“Has she come down yet?” Amy asked with some trepidation. “How was she last night?”
“We didn’t talk much.” Peter reached into a bag. “She went right to bed after I gave her the new medication, and it seemed to help her sleep. I never heard her wake, even to go to the bathroom.”
“Good.” Amy laid bagels on a platter. “How’s Tara?”
Peter sighed. “We met with the doctor yesterday. It was malignant.” He paused, his throat tight. “She’s started another round of chemo immediately, so she’s exhausted. You know the drill. She’s sorry she can’t be here today.”
“Oh Peter! I’m so sorry.”
“I know.”
“We’ll take care of Madeline. You know what sisters Victoria and Hope and Janie are to her. Even Matt has always fussed over his sweet older cousin.” Amy shook her head and surveyed the layout of food critically. “Do you think this is enough?”
“I can always have something delivered by the time we get back from the cemetery.” Peter looked into Amy’s face. She wore no makeup, and her eyes were red-rimmed. He stepped around the island and opened his arms, and she leaned into them. His arms tightened, and they lifted their heads together as the creaking of the floor resumed above. “You all right, sis?”
“No, but maybe no one will be able to tell.” She smiled up at him, and a tear ran down her cheek.
The Shoebox Page 23