by Gina Ardito
“Oh, thank you,” I said to her now.
“So this is your brood, huh?”
I nodded. “Mmm-hmm. Corey, take the chair. Please?”
He sighed with the put-upon attitude only a true teenager could pull off. “Fine.”
While my son shuffled toward the door to fetch the chair, I made the introductions. “Obviously, that’s Corey, my second-oldest. Over here in the corner is Melissa.”
She popped up her head long enough to murmur, “Hi,” then dove back into her texting.
“And these two Munchkins are Gabriella and Luke.” I gently squeezed my babies. Luke, on my left, had already fallen asleep against me.
Margie smiled. “They’re beautiful, Em.”
A blanket of pride effused me. “Thanks.”
“Mommy?” Gabriella picked up her head to stare at me, fluttering her thick fringe of lashes. “When are you coming home?”
I played with a dark silken curl of her hair. “Soon, I hope.”
“Did the doctor fix your heart?” She placed her head against my chest, as if she could hear the problem through my ribcage.
“Almost. He wants to make sure it’s perfect before he sends me home.”
“Grandma says your heart’s not really broken, that you just wanted some attention.”
“Nice,” Margie remarked, her lips twisted in obvious distaste.
Inside, I burned, but I kept a cool exterior for my children’s sake. “I’m sure Grandma didn’t mean that.”
“Then, how did you break your heart?”
I bit back my first retort, Ask your father, and went with something more benign. “Well, Grandma’s right that my heart’s not really broken. It was working too hard and had to struggle to keep up with me. Dr. Stewart says part of my problem is that weak hearts run in my family. Remember Grandpa? Not Daddy’s daddy, my daddy. He died from a heart attack.”
Gabriella’s eyes widened, and tears shimmered. “You’re not gonna die, are you, Mommy?”
I pulled her closer. My poor kids. First, Freckles. Now, they worried about me. “No, baby. I’m fine. Really. I was very lucky because my heart gave me a warning. You know how I put you in timeout when you misbehave? That’s what my heart did. It misbehaved, so the doctor is putting me in timeout until it promises to be good. Okay?”
After nodding, my daughter clutched the thin I.V. taped to my arm. “What’s this?”
“Don’t touch, honey.” I gently pried her fingers away. “It’s a tube that puts medicine into my heart.”
“Does it hurt?”
“No.” I didn’t want to talk about me or my heart. Not when I only had a half hour to spend with my family. Besides, Dr. Stewart had put the fear of death in me. For now, I couldn’t handle any undue stress. I had to rest and keep my blood pressure level. “Tell me about what you’ve been doing, Gabi. Are you being a good girl for Grandma?”
“Uh-huh. Luke’s been crying a lot though.”
I wasn’t surprised. At his age, he couldn’t possibly understand why his mommy wasn’t around all of a sudden. Luke was a creature of habit, and to suddenly find his major lifeline gone would confuse him.
“Grandma makes him stay in his crib ‘til he cries himself out and falls asleep.” Gabriella yawned wide enough for me to examine her tonsils. “He wakes me up at night.”
A mother’s indignation coursed through me. Where was Roy when my son was screaming himself to sleep? When would he ever learn to stand up to his parents for the sake of his family?
No stress, I reminded myself. Stay calm. I quickly changed the topic. Again. “How’s school?”
“Okay,” she murmured, then looked up at me, concern pinching her brow. “Do you think you’ll be home to help me with my hundred-day project? Mrs. Palmer says we have to hand them in by November twenty-first.”
Right. The hundred-day project. I remembered helping both Corey and Melissa with theirs. Every December, all the elementary school students celebrated the hundredth day of school with handmade craft projects that showcased the number, one hundred. Over the years, I’d drawn a Dalmatian with one hundred spots on poster board, filled a glass cookie jar with one hundred jellybeans, sewed one hundred buttons in the shape of the number on a large square of felt, built a miniature house out of one hundred toothpicks, and created a half dozen other projects that were buried in my memory. This would be Gabriella’s first time participating in the celebration that included all the students from kindergarten through fifth grade.
“Of course, I’ll be home in plenty of time. What did you have in mind?”
“Something with kittens,” she said. “Or Barbies.”
Fabulous. A hundred cats or a hundred fashion dolls. Like that wouldn’t be too challenging. No stress, I reminded myself. Besides, since this was her first year, Gabriella didn’t know what to expect. I offered her a confident smile. “Let’s see what we can come up with.” Maybe I could pack a hundred shoes into Barbie’s closet.
I turned to my older two children. “How about you guys? How’s school going for you?”
“Fine,” Corey replied. He still stood near the sink, the empty chair pushed against the open curtain that separated my half of the room from Margie’s. I could lead a stubborn mule to a chair, but I couldn’t make him sit.
“Mellie?” I prompted.
“Huh?” She glanced up from her phone. “Oh. Yeah. Good.”
I probably should have told her to put the phone away and engage her family in conversation, but the last thing any of us needed was a full-out teenage angst-fest. Besides, I knew my daughter, and I remember how turbulent I felt at sixteen. I understood her nonchalance was her armor, a shield that kept the outside world from seeing how confused, how scared, she really was. If I thought she’d allow it, I would have asked her to switch places with Gabriella for a little while, just so I could hold her and tell her everything would be all right. For now, those days were behind us both. I kept hoping, one day, Melissa would wake up and realize I was on her side, that I’d always been on her side.
Time, I reminded myself. She needed time and space to grow into womanhood. In a few years, she’d come back—but only if I didn’t barrel over her now. The pettier the power struggle, the farther she’d pull away from me. Taking a page from my mother’s relationship with me, I gave Melissa plenty of freedom to discover herself, but left the door open in case she needed me. It didn’t mean her aloofness didn’t hurt, but mothers throughout the ages had gone through this phase of childrearing and survived. We would, too.
“Hey, wanna hear the good news?” Corey blurted.
“Absolutely.” Good news was always welcome, but right now it was a godsend. “What’s the good news?”
“Grandpa gave me the money for the freshman camping trip. I missed the deadline, but Mr. Rossi made an exception for me so I get to go!”
Terrific. Leave it to Grandpa to open up his wallet without consulting us first. I forced enthusiasm. “That’s great, Corey.”
Roy and I had weighed the options carefully when we first received notice from the school about the weekend camping trip, meant to give incoming freshmen a chance to meet and create friendships. Through group tasks and team outings, the students would learn how to cooperate with each other, becoming a unified class. Aside from the exorbitant fee for the trip itself, Corey would need camping gear, special clothes, and extra money for “expenditures.” As miserable as I felt to say no, I knew our budget couldn’t stretch that far. Now, when our defenses were down, my in-laws swooped in and gave the kid half of what he needed to go. Roy and I would have no choice but to scrape up the rest, or risk not only our son’s wrath, but the school’s.
“God, I wish you’d had this heart attack two years ago,” Melissa remarked. “Then I could’ve had Grandpa pay for me to go on that trip.”
I’d never struck any of my children. Roy and I had agreed corporal punishment didn’t teach right from wrong—only weakness vs. power. Right then, though, if my oldest had been i
n arm’s reach, I would have slapped her. “Congratulations,” I said instead and held out my hand. “You’ve just lost your cell phone privileges for a week.”
She looked up at me, eyes wide with panic. “Why?” Her voice grew strident. “What’s the big deal? I was just kidding.”
“The big deal is your mother nearly died, and you act like some spoiled diva,” Roy said as he strode into the room, his face florid. “Now, hand over your phone. Then you and Corey take the little ones down to the lobby and wait for me. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
“This is so not fair!” Shooting to her feet, she slapped the phone into my palm. “Corey gets everything.”
“That’s enough, Melissa” Roy said from the doorway. “You’ve not only lost your cell phone privileges, you’re grounded for the weekend.” I’d never heard such a sharp tone from him—not directed at his princess.
“But, Daddy!”
“No buts. Get moving. Now. Unless you want to be grounded for a week?”
Corey snickered, and Roy whirled to him. “You want to be next?”
He ducked his head. “No.”
Meanwhile, Melissa reached for Gabriella, huddled up against me, clinging like ivy to a stone wall. “Come on, Gabi. Let’s go.”
“No!” Gabriella plunged her fingers into my arm. “I wanna stay with Mommy!”
“Too bad.” Melissa yanked hard on her sister’s waist.
“Mellie,” I chastised, “stop.”
She jerked back, hands on her hips. “I’m only doing what Daddy said.”
“There’s a better way than pulling her like taffy,” I said and ran a hand over my younger daughter’s hair. “Gabriella, go with Mellie. I’ll be home soon. I promise.”
“I love you, Mommy.” She nestled her head under my arm.
“I love you too, sunshine. Go on now.”
“O-kay.” Sighing, she scrambled off the mattress and grasped her sister’s hand.
On the other side of my bed, Corey scooped up Luke, who gave a soft whine, but slept on. “Bye, Mom,” he said as he cradled his baby brother against his shoulder. “Feel better.”
“Thanks, honey.”
I would have liked a kiss, but knew better than to ask. Teenagers would rather eat live squid than be seen in public showing affection to their parents.
Once the kids were gone, Margie turned on her television, giving my husband and me some semblance of privacy. After replacing her chair and drawing the curtain that separated us, Roy sat at my bedside and cupped my hand. “Melissa didn’t mean it, Em. She’s just scared, you know.”
“I know.” Although, I admit, I never expected him to show that kind of insight about his daughter. I glanced at the closed curtain as if Melissa might come bounding around the corner, sunny and sorry, rather than sullen and sniping.
“So am I.”
My gaze swerved to him. “What?”
He’d bowed his head to stare at his feet, but didn’t lift his eyes to meet mine. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared. My heartbeat slowed to a crawl while I sat in the waiting area until the trauma team had you stable and would let me see you.”
“Roy, I’m fine. Really.” I squeezed his fingers.
Leaning forward, he placed his other hand over mine. “You weren’t, at first. They worked on you for over an hour. The whole time, I sat outside in the waiting area, barely able to breathe. I couldn’t move—I was literally frozen. I kept asking myself, ‘What the hell am I gonna do without her?’ The weirdest thoughts raced through my mind. Like, I don’t even know what Luke’s favorite toy is. And Melissa…she’s gonna want you to take her shopping for a prom dress this year, and what the hell would I know about that stuff? And what kind of laundry detergent do we use? I know it’s some kind of special formula or something because of the type of washing machine we have, but I have no idea about the details.”
A chill rippled through me, and I eased my hand from his clasp. “Those were your thoughts?”
“Well, yeah.” He looked up at me, a puzzled expression pleating his brow. “I mean, I had others, but the ones I just told you were the sensible ones.”
The sensible ones. Like I was the nanny-slash-housekeeper. “Tell me the crazy ones,” I said slowly. Inside my chest, my poor battered heart hiccupped.
He shook his head. “No. They were stupid.”
“Tell me anyway.” I had to know. Hope flourished inside me. Roy had always been one of those he-man football player kinda guys who didn’t admit to any gushiness. So, maybe that he-man side of him refused to consider how much losing me would hurt by focusing his thoughts on the mundane.
“I wasn’t thinking clearly,” he replied.
“I understand that. Just tell me.”
“You already know. I kept thinking about that Ambrose guy and trying to figure out what you saw in him. Just stupid stuff. I was angry. It was nothing major.”
No, nothing major. Nothing about how he loved me or would be lost without me—not because of the laundry detergent but because we’d been a couple for nearly twenty years. Nothing about love at all. Just childcare, laundry, and suspicion. Awesome.
My dream rushed back to me in vivid clarity. I want a divorce.
Did I? I wasn’t sure. But I definitely didn’t want this stranger in my room right now. I rolled over so my back was to him. “You should take the kids home.”
“You’re mad.”
“No.” I’d bypassed mad and careened straight to devastated.
No wonder Melissa had cracked that callous remark about the camping trip. The rotten apple didn’t fall far from the dead tree.
“I’m tired,” I added. “Take care of my kids. The staff here will take care of me.”
“I knew I shouldn’t have told you,” he mumbled. His shadow fell over my face as he rose, blocking the overhead light.
If he even tried to kiss me, I’d slug him. To avoid a violent scene, I squeezed my eyes shut and pulled the sheet up to my ear, leaving almost no flesh for him to place his lips against. “Goodnight,” I bit out.
His sigh pierced the stillness above me. “See you tomorrow, Em.” His tone carried that lost little boy lilt he always used to charm me. Not tonight.
I didn’t need to open my eyes to know when he’d gone. After seventeen years of marriage, I could sense the change in the air that signaled I was, once again, alone. Only then did I allow the tears to slip down my cheeks while Margie’s television show hummed in the background.
****
Francesca
The E.R. came alive shortly after midnight with calls for a full trauma team. I raced down the hall with Gerald on my heels. “What’s up?”
“Don’t know yet,” I replied. “Guess we’ll find out together.”
“House fire,” Dr. Reeves said as we approached the ambulance bay. “Bad one. Fourteen people in the residence at the time, ranging in age from thirty-three years to two months.”
“Fourteen people?” Gerald asked. “What was it, a party?”
“Don’t know.”
I did. Real estate in Snug Harbor sold for diamond prices, which meant that most of the people who worked here couldn’t actually afford to live here. Many of those in domestic employment—chambermaids, wait staff, and janitors—took up residence in rental properties which they could only afford when crowds of them lived together. These types of living arrangements were illegal, for health and safety reasons, but the residents themselves lived on the fringe, often in the country illegally, few of them able to speak English.
My stomach plummeted. “Burns?”
“Mostly smoke inhalation,” Dr. Reeves replied. “We’ve got half a dozen ambulances on the way in.”
“Let’s get to it,” I said as the doors to the ambulance area whooshed open.
Three hours later, I collapsed in an empty exam room and fought back tears. Four years old. Lucia Espinosa was only four years old when she died tonight. We’d done all we could for her. The ambulance crew had administered
CPR and brought her back from death once before they even arrived here. But in the end, we couldn’t save her. According to the EMTs, the fire had begun in the hallway outside the bedroom she shared with her mother, two brothers, and cousin. Unfortunately, at the time, Lucia was asleep alone, and no one could get past the heat and flames to rescue her. A firefighter finally reached her through the window, but by then, she was unconscious and wheezing with every breath.
As long as I lived, I would never forget the horror, the absolute defeat, on Zuleika Espinosa’s face when I told her that her only daughter hadn’t survived. She’d turned as white as the sheet, crossed herself, and begun wailing in rapid Spanish. Two gentlemen with her had to grab her arms as she flailed in her hospital bed, nearly ripping out her I.V. lines in her distraught state. She and her sons would survive. Their lungs would heal. But their lives had been altered irrevocably, and a huge gaping wound would always remain in their hearts.
I wanted to throw myself onto the exam table and pound my fists. I wanted to scream out my own anger at the unfairness of life that a precious, innocent child, with so much to live for, had died tonight. No. I glanced at the glowing red numbers on the digital clock near the door. This morning. Lucia had died at exactly 1:53 a.m.
The door flew open and another night nurse peeked in. “Dr. Florentino? You’ve got a patient in Exam Room One.”
On a deep sigh, I gathered my emotions and continued my night’s rounds of drunken hallucinations, babies who’d spiked fevers, and minor injuries. All the while, Lucia’s death haunted me. The rest of my shift passed in a numb blur. I might as well have encased myself in an iceberg. Nothing penetrated me. Whenever I closed my eyes, little Lucia’s pale and soot-covered face swam in my mind. I couldn’t wait to go home, to break down, and give in to the emotional turmoil swirling inside me. My conscience stabbed me with penetrating reminders that I’d hoped for something to take my mind off Michael’s perfidy. But I’d never wanted a child’s suffering to ease my selfish thoughts.