How had I forgotten that? Had I remembered it lately, I’d have thought he was wrong.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
September 1951
It was the Labor Day holiday, the official end of summer, and Janie bounced in her stroller with her stuffed Donald Duck toy. Older children at the festival smiled and waved at her as they passed. Janie waved back. Dennis’s whole family had her spoiled, but I was glad of it.
It’d been five months since our loss, and I was getting better now—at least I was sleeping through most nights and being more productive during the day, though I hadn’t resumed my beloved paperwork for the business. I wasn’t ready for that, especially if it were to mean a battle to convince Dennis. I still didn’t get out much either, but I’d not had a single pill since the weekend before. I was counting the months till my body was recovered enough so Dennis and I could “try again.” My husband was anxious to make love, but I was more anxious to make a baby. He was cautious with my emotions across the board, not wanting to set me off, I supposed. Or else he continued to guard his own feelings the way Fort Knox guarded gold. He went to work. He came home for dinner. He manicured the yard. He played with Janie. He helped out around the house. He told me he loved me, said I was the prettiest girl a guy ever got; I said he was the most charming guy a girl ever snagged. I believed it, too, but I knew there was less enthusiasm in our voices than there’d been in the carefree days.
Yet today promised to be a fun family outing. At close to two years old, Janie was excited because she recognized the words ice cream. We were headed to Graeter’s.
Dennis had said it was a nice day for a jaunt—and he’d urged me to make a go of it. He had chosen Cincinnati’s Hyde Park, where the ice cream shop was decades old. Shop owners on the square had hung red, white, and blue banners and bunting. Small flags on sticks lined the green grass along the walks. Hyde Park’s convertibles were out in droves, their chrome bumpers glistening in the sun. The aromas from vendors ranged from Belgian waffles to chocolate fudge, while many people milled about with their children and pedigreed dogs in every breed from German shepherds to Great Danes. No one had mutts like our Raggsie at home, so named for how he looked like a pile of old rags. In the cutest sort of way.
Everything was beautiful and lively and gay. It’d been a good decision to come.
Our little family stood beside the historic fountain, where droplets of water caught Janie’s face and she laughed. Dennis twisted the stroller and headed to the other side of the square while making silly sounds with his cheeks. Janie giggled. How I loved her giggles.
She was so innocent. She had no idea what had befallen her parents—neither the tragic loss nor how we walked on eggshells, each in our own subtle way . . . Dennis never saying Kathleen’s name. My feeling intrusive when asking about the business. His acting as if all were well. My protecting Janie as if my life depended on it—my guilt for how I’d carried Kathleen making me vigilant: tying Janie’s shoestrings in double knots so she wouldn’t trip if they loosened, not letting her have lollipops for fear she’d choke and die.
We would tell her one day, of course, that she’d had a sister. But that wouldn’t come until after she had another sibling. I was glad she got to experience her young life carefree, without knowing the bruise of loss. Except for Pauline, none of our family or friends spoke of Kathleen, at least not in our presence. Not even the Glenns. If tragedy existed, it might come too close to them. It might rub off. I thought they feared becoming targets when nature’s ax made its next random slice through the world. Or they knew they too could stumble, make a heinous mistake, and suffer the consequences. Dennis, on the other hand, thought they were all merely being nice, didn’t want to be nosy, didn’t want to upset me again, didn’t want to make me cry.
Thank God for Pauline. She let me be me.
“There’s a bee, Mil,” Dennis said. “Don’t move.” His grandad had taught him how to avoid being stung: stand like a statue, even if the bee lands on you. I’d learned the hard way on the farm. I’d flailed my arms and got stung on my elbow. Mother Glenn had stirred up a poultice of water and baking soda to draw the poison from my sting. I’d stood still around bees ever since.
Yet when this one started buzzing too close to my precious daughter’s tender head with her crop of downy-fine hair, I started swatting at it. What species of bee was that anyway? It looked monstrous to me, like a prehistoric creature in furry black and yellow.
“Stop, Millie, you’re going to agitate—”
“I can’t just stand here and let Janie get stung, can I?”
My voice was much higher than Dennis’s, and other families turned our way. But caring mothers like me couldn’t just stand around doing nothing. Bad things happened to children. Children needed protecting. That’s what mothers were for.
The bee flew off, and I breathed heavily with relief. I thought I’d saved Janie, but Dennis said it had flown off of its own accord. But all the fuss had made Janie wail. Dennis frowned. See what you did?
“But Janie was—”
“She’s fine,” Dennis said flatly.
If I had a dime for every time someone said those two words to me, she’s fine, I’d have been a rich woman. As justified as I felt in my response with the bee attack, I knew intellectually there was only one thing for me to do. This day could slide into the abyss, or we could pick back up where we began and have fun. It was my responsibility as wife to see that we rallied.
“Daddy says it’s time for ice cream.” I tried to rein them both back in. “You scream, I scream, we all scream for ice cream.”
Dennis stared at me, mystified. How could I be cheerful one minute and a wreck the next? And then cheerful again?
I tried teasing Janie with the ducky, making quacking noises and bringing his rubber beak to her cheeks, and going on and on about “banilla” ice cream, as she called it. But she was having none of it. She whined and looked at me like I was the danger instead of the bee. I had pangs of guilt, feeling like a failure as a mother. Had I packed my pills?
We walked the length of both sides of Erie Avenue, the three of us. We offered polite hellos to passersby. Peeped into windows of shops mindlessly. Commented on how hungry we were getting, whether it was true or not. The only change after a time was that Janie quieted, distracted by a clown and balloons and boys laughing.
At Graeter’s we settled into the parlor chairs atop the tiny octagonal black-and-white tiles. Dennis spooned nibbles of vanilla ice cream into Janie’s mouth. He was good with her. Minutes before, she’d twisted her head back and forth and pursed her lips when I’d tried to feed her. Now as Dennis extended a bite, she swallowed it and then bobbed up and down and opened her mouth again like a hatchling awaiting a worm. Perhaps Janie had come to prefer Daddy more often. I wasn’t sure what to think of that. Did she sense my grieving more than she did his? Of course, she would. She spent many more hours with me. Dennis sipped on his malted milk through a straw, for it was easier than holding a cone the way I was doing with my melting black raspberry chocolate chip, the flavor that’d made Graeter’s famous.
I had just reached the edge of the cone and was biting around its soft, chewy rim to get to the crunchy part when someone at a table in the middle of the shop caught my eye. The place was bustling with families, so I had to lean left and narrow my eyes to view her better.
Yes. It was her. That beauty mark above her lip.
My face flushed. Nurse Breck rose and made her way toward the restroom.
“I need to use the ladies’ room.” I grabbed my purse and told Dennis I’d be right back.
Nurse Breck was washing her hands, alone, in the small restroom with two stalls and one sink. She smiled at my image in the mirror.
“Nurse Breck?”
She spun, and the full circular cotton skirt of her red-and-white checked dress swished into place beneath her knees. How tiny her waist was, accentuated by a slim red plastic belt. She had the air of one who’d been born here in Hyd
e Park, not down in the city’s basin like me, and not on a farm. How different she looked without her pressed white uniform and nurse’s cap.
“Nurse Breck,” I said again. Then she recognized me. Color rose in her neck.
This woman had seen my Kathleen alive. She had covered my hand with hers. Mrs. Glenn, these are the most difficult words I’ve ever had to speak. Your baby, your daughter, hasn’t survived.
“Please, call me Carolyn,” she said. But there was distance.
“Carolyn.” I found it hard to call her by her given name anyway. She’d been my nurse. I wadded the napkin from my cone in my fist. I’d carried it with me.
“How are you, Mrs. Glenn?”
“Please.” I bit my lip, feeling a tad out of place. “I’m sorry to intrude on your day, but—but I have to ask. Did you hear about the conclusion regarding our daughter’s death?”
She looked away to toss her paper towel. “Investigations are standard procedure,” she said.
Another patron entered and squeezed past us, into a stall.
“Do you by chance know anything more?” I said quickly. I told her how I’d read the description of the baby’s condition in the book at the library. Nurse Breck might suspect the specific cause—such as inflammation from a virus when I carried the baby. I had to know how to prevent the condition from occurring again. She could help me.
“How can I improve my prenatal care so my next baby is healthy?”
She started. There was something in the manner in which the nurse looked away that suggested there was indeed something she knew, but she didn’t answer. Dennis was waiting with Janie. I had to get back, but first I had to know.
“Anything? At all?” My eyes implored her.
“Mrs. Glenn, I don’t think—”
“Please,” I said more softly. “Sometimes I lie awake unable to stop thinking it was my fault.” A toilet flushed. “I need to know before I try again to have a baby.”
“Well, perhaps you could call me.” Her cheeks looked feverish, as though the instant the words came from her lips, she regretted having released them. Before she could change her mind, I’d shuffled around for a pen in my pocketbook and pushed it into her hand. Nurse Breck jotted her number on my napkin. I slipped it into my purse.
2015
Today I was alone. I was in the back seat of a taxi with my purse in my lap. Tiny heat vents put out little warmth for all the racket they made. I hated not driving myself—hated going to the cemetery at all—but I couldn’t be behind a wheel. Not today. It was supposed to be the day of Jane’s biopsy. We hadn’t spoken since she learned she had a sister and walked out of my house without saying goodbye. I had telephoned her twice and left messages, but she’d not called back.
I’d spent three days fretting, distressed that I had thrust Jane and me back into our near estrangement, just when we’d been getting close.
Kelsey and I had both been set to go to Jane’s appointment today no matter what. Forty-five minutes before she was to pick Jane up, and then come by for me, she got a call from Jane. The electric company had been working on lines in the vicinity of the breast center, a tree had gone down, and service was disrupted in the surrounding area. By the time the crew expected service to be restored, Jane would miss her appointment. If the center was able to operate at all the rest of the afternoon, remaining slots were already booked. Jane was forced to reschedule for four days later.
Another long, agonizing wait for us all.
There I’d been, all ready to go, anxious to see Jane, ready a half hour early, my heart and my head and my gut tied in knots, unsure of Jane’s future, unsure of ours. When the appointment was canceled, I threw my cane crashing to the kitchen floor.
I had let my temper subside and touched Jane’s speed-dial number. It rang. Once. Twice. It rang five times in total and went straight to her voice mail. I hung up. She’d see a missed call and reach out if she wanted. But she’d made it clear she didn’t.
This was what I had coming. What I deserved. I hadn’t slept. I thought: I should have said this, I should have said that. I shouldn’t have said this, I shouldn’t have said that. Every scenario of the day in my basement plagued my waking hours. The only variance from that was: How would Jane’s biopsy turn out? What would we say when we finally encountered each other? How would I fix us?
I had to visit Dennis.
“Ma’am, where should I let you out?” said the cabbie.
I was here. I’d been in a daze as we passed through the cemetery’s ornamental wrought-iron gates. “This is good.” I paid the man an extra twenty dollars to wait.
I secured my head scarf around my neck and slipped on my gloves. The man helped me climb out. He supported my elbow while I got my bearings with my cane on the gravel path.
“Thank you, young man,” I said.
“I had a grandma once,” he said, kindly. He trudged back to the yellow car, already entranced by the cell phone in his hand.
Clouds shifted in front of the sun’s face, throwing shadows and light all around me. I looked from the bend in the gravel path to the gardener’s brick house, the oaks and black birches and blue ashes—trees spreading their wings along the knoll. I looked down now to my husband’s marker, to the dates of Dennis’s birth and death—life’s two most notable events—though the stone was silent, giving no hint of all that’d happened in between. On this stone was also engraved my name, Millicent Marion Glenn, and my birthdate. There was a blank spot, as well, for the future date of my death. The space had been there many years. Only now did seeing this blank space scare me.
I wasn’t ready. I had much left to do.
The autumn breeze tugged at the sleeves of my car coat and the cuffs of my slacks. I couldn’t smell the honeysuckles this time of year. The graveyard was quiet but for squirrels shimmying through leaves and sparrows singing. Not even the groundkeepers were out this morning. Good.
“Dennis,” I said as if he were still here. “Jane’s come home. We’ve been trying to patch things up. But now she knows—she knows about Kathleen.” My throat seized. I had to wait until its cords let go of their grip. I pulled a pack of tissues from my purse.
“Jane’s hurting. She doesn’t know the rest yet, about what Nurse Breck said. What I’ve realized in these last days is I can’t go on keeping it all bottled up anymore.” Tears dribbled down my cheeks. “I can’t hold it in, especially without you here.” Especially, I thought, with Pauline gone, too.
“And now Jane’s sick.” I choked out my words between sobs. No matter what transpired beyond or within our control, Dennis and I had stayed together. We’d made a life. We’d loved each other to the end. “And we’re to have a great-grandchild. I wish you were here. I miss you so badly.”
I cried and heaved, leaving tissue upon tissue in ruins, shuddering, until I stopped.
“I don’t know how, but I’m going to see this through, Dennis. I’m going to bring this family together for good. I won’t be back here until I do.”
I kissed the pads of my damp fingers and then pushed their tips to the cold granite, letting them remain for a time. It was the way I could be closest to Dennis.
Next, I went up the knoll to where my baby had been buried in the children’s section, six decades before. And I told her she had an older sister who loved her.
Kelsey FaceTimed me from work the next day.
It’d taken three tries last summer for me to learn how that mobile app thing worked on my iPhone. But Kelsey had been a patient teacher. Soon I’d enjoyed watching her as if she were on TV. Now I still wore my flannel gown, my robe, and furry slippers. My eyes were puffy, and my joints ached something awful. I would do some stretching, but I was too tired to attend water aerobics.
On the screen of my cell phone, Kelsey talked between bites. She was eating a salad for lunch in her office. It looked to me like she had dark rings beneath her eyes. She was tired, too. Tired from watching her mother and grandmother have a world war on top of her mother�
��s health scare. Not to mention being pregnant.
Fear struck my heart: What if, while Jane and I were busy alienating each other, we caused something bad to happen to Kelsey? I could not under any circumstances shoulder the guilt of something happening to that girl. Or her baby.
“I tore this lettuce just the way you taught me, Grandma—first bang the core end of the head one time on the counter, as hard as I can, and then remove the core.” She was determined to go on through this call as if nothing were happening around her.
I’d humor her for a while. “That’s exactly how your great-grandma Glenn taught me the first time I came to the farm. Except that she added that removing the core was like extracting a tooth from a child’s gum.”
“I’ve thought a lot about what happened to you losing the baby,” Kelsey said suddenly.
“We need to focus on yours,” I said with a knee-jerk reaction. I had enjoyed our conversation being light. “How is the baby?”
“Kicking. A lot,” she said. She stood to model her tummy for the phone. “Might have an athlete on my hands here.” We should have giggled there but couldn’t. “I want you to know, your story is helping me put things in perspective.” She returned to the topic being me.
“Oh?”
“I’m leaning more and more toward a midwife, because I want you and Mom to be present at the birth, with Aaron and me.”
Knowing Kelsey, this was her way of being a peacemaker, of trying to bring us back together. Did they even do that these days, have a roomful?
“Are you sure?” I said.
“Yes, and Aaron has come around to the idea of a midwife. He’s all in.”
“What’d he say?”
“At first, he said maybe there’s a reason that babies don’t die as often as they did two centuries ago. Because there is better medical care.” Kelsey held my gaze; we both knew that was debatable. “He asked if I was going to hire a wet nurse, too.”
“He was kidding, right?”
Millicent Glenn's Last Wish: A Novel Page 19