by Karen White
Joe silently pushed the door open after hearing no response to his tapping. Suzanne lay in bed, curled on her side in what he would describe as a defensive position. When he had pictured her asleep, that was how he had seen her.
Quietly he moved to a stuffed armchair by the side of her bed and sat down, heaving his briefcase, stuffed with student papers to be graded, onto his lap. He pulled out the first paper and a red pen but just held on to them, unable to take his eyes off the woman in the bed.
Her long hair spilled over the pillow, veiling her face. But one long, elegant arm, covered with bright red and pink splotches, lay on top of the blanket, her gloved fingers clutching it in a fist under her chin as if preparing for a fight even in her sleep. His gaze wandered down the gentle slope of her body under the covers, and he was struck again by her vulnerability. It softened his heart in places he’d never expected to reach again.
She stirred, knocking off a stuffed bunny that Amanda had given to Maddie to bring to the patient. He realized the toy had been curled in Suzanne’s arms, and that place in his heart pinched again, as if receiving an extra dose of softening. As he bent to retrieve the bunny, he noticed the two books on the nightstand. He picked up Heaven’s Passion and opened it up to an earmarked page and began to read.
“Learning anything new?”
Startled, he slammed the book shut, feeling the tips of his ears burn as if he’d been caught with his pants down. He cleared his throat and looked at Suzanne. “Good morning, Sleeping Beauty.”
She raised a hand to her face and stopped in dismay when she spotted the white gloves. Resigned, she lowered her hands to her lap. “Not that I can’t take a compliment, but I think you need glasses.”
He plopped the book down on the nightstand. “Actually, I think you need more of that pink stuff. You missed a spot.”
She shifted to a sitting position, and he helped her adjust the pillow behind her back. “I think it would be easier if I just filled a bathtub with it and wallowed in it for an hour or two.” With a frown, she wriggled under the covers. “I’d like to drink some, too, to reach all those places I can’t scratch.”
Joe glanced around the room, trying not to think of what Sam had told him about the severity of Suzanne’s chicken pox. She had the itchy blisters all over her body—inside and out. It made him squirm. He sat down again in the armchair, feeling seventeen again in the scrutiny of her steel gray gaze. “Can I get anything for you? Food, water, a new DVD?”
“My camera, actually. I’d like to get a picture of everybody who sits in that chair. I think it would make a nice collage.”
“I’m at your service. Just tell me where.”
“It’s on the top shelf of the closet, next to my backpack.”
He pulled something out from his briefcase before moving it to the floor. “Oh, and I brought you a few back issues of Lifetime magazine. Maddie said it was your favorite. I had to barter season tickets to Walton High’s football games for Mr. Harmon to release these from the library.”
She held out her hands, and he placed the magazines in them. “Thanks.” She smiled, making some of the dried calamine on her cheek crack. “I hope Mr. Harmon doesn’t tell everybody what a pushover you are. Football coaches are supposed to be stern and admonishing.”
He made a mock pass with a pretend football. “It’ll be our secret.”
He walked over to the closet and opened the door to the walk-in closet. As he pulled the camera from the shelf, his hand accidentally grabbed a strap from the backpack and tumbled it to the floor of the closet. When he bent to pick it up, the top flapped open and he caught sight of what was inside. He froze, staring at several bundles of crisp one-hundred-dollar bills.
“Did you find it?”
Somehow he found his voice. “Yes, coming.”
He placed the bag back on the shelf and closed the closet door. He opened his mouth to question her but stopped. He’d ask her about it later, when she was feeling better. He couldn’t deal with it now any more than he thought she could. And underneath it all, he trusted her. He couldn’t explain it, but he did. It was in her clear gray eyes when she looked at him and in the clenched hand she placed under her chin when she slept.
Placing the camera next to her on the bed, he sat down again, pushing aside thoughts of the bag and the money. Smiling, he clasped his hands in front of him. “Well, at least let me entertain you. We could play connect the dots.” He held up his red pen.
She lifted an eyebrow. “Or we could take turns reading from Miss Lena’s book.” After rubbing her neck with a gloved hand, she reached over and picked up Heaven’s Passion and flipped it open to the same earmarked section that Joe had been reading. She stared at it for a moment, her eyes open as if trying to focus, and he saw the redness of her face deepen, the bumps on her face accentuated like the glow buttons on the arcade game at the Dixie Diner.
“Maybe not,” she said, closing the book and letting it fall on her lap.
Joe took the book and placed it in the drawer of the nightstand, hiding it from sight. He sat down again. “Are you sure I can’t get you something to eat?”
She shook her head, fiddling with her camera, then raised it to her eye before snapping a picture of him. “No, my stomach isn’t feeling so great right now, and I’m afraid it will come back up. Just company is fine.”
“Okay, who are you and what have you done to the real Suzanne Paris?”
“What?”
“Well, the Suzanne I know would never admit to wanting company.”
She shrugged, looking down at her nightgown sleeve and fiddling with the safety pin. “Maybe I’ve changed my mind a bit.”
He stared at her for a long moment, wondering what it had taken to let herself admit that little tidbit. “So, what would you like to talk about?”
She closed her eyes and spread her arms wide. “Oh, I don’t know. How about Maddie? Have you decided on an appropriate punishment yet?”
He stretched his legs out in front of him, crossing them at the ankles. “Her next three or four weekends will be spent scraping and repainting the iron fence that goes around the town square.”
“That’s kind of rough, don’t you think?”
“She’s lucky I’m not sending her away to boarding school in Siberia.”
“She’s not a bad kid, you know. She’s . . . scared.”
He moved forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees. “What do you mean? What on earth could she be scared of?”
She paused, as if reluctant to share a confidence. Slowly, she said, “Of her own mortality. And of leaving you. She wants to go away for college but is reluctant to leave you here all alone.”
“I’m hardly alone.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you? You can be alone in a crowd of people, you know.”
The truth stung him, and he responded before he could think. “And you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?”
She looked up at the ceiling and sank back on her pillow. “Yes, I guess I would.”
“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . .”
She held up her hand. “Yes, you did—and it’s true. But I want you to be gentle with Maddie. Let her spread her wings, but let her know that she still has a home to come back to. It will make all the difference.”
He rubbed his hands over his face, thinking of his beloved, incorrigible eldest child. “She’s been pushing at the bit ever since she was a baby, testing us, seeing how far we’d let her go before pulling her back.”
“That sounds like the Maddie I know. But it’s a wonder you had more children after that.”
He heard the smile in her voice and decided not to take offense. “Do I need to explain the birds and bees to you, Miss Paris? Or maybe you need to read more of Miss Lena’s books. But I would think that a person as well traveled as you would have some kind of understanding.”
She turned away from him, hiding a small grin. “Oh, I think I understand the basics.” She was silen
t for a moment, then said, “Did you know that there’s some kind of moth that exists just to make more moths? Their mouths are too small to eat. So they just hang around, waiting to have sex before they die. Sort of a worthless existence.”
“Not necessarily.”
He enjoyed watching the display of bright coloring pass over her face again.
As if to change the subject, she said, “I went to Darlene Narpone’s last week and picked up Maddie’s album. Harriet did a beautiful job with it.”
Joe paused, waiting for the jolt at the mention of Harriet’s name, and was surprised that all he felt was a dull ache in his chest. “I haven’t seen it.”
“Would you like to look at it now? It’s under the bed in case Maddie stops by again. I don’t want to spoil the surprise for her.”
He shook his head, knowing he wasn’t ready to see it yet. “No, I’ll wait until you’re done.”
A soft smile played on her lips, and despite her ravaged face, she still looked beautiful to him. “You were a goofy-looking fifth-grader.”
He placed his hands behind his head as he leaned back. “Yep. I’m still trying to grow into my looks.”
Her smile broadened. “I noticed there aren’t any wedding pictures in the album. If you have any to give me, I’ll be happy to add them.”
The old memory hit him hard, but not with the pain he had expected. Instead, it seemed as if the old memories lay in a protective cocoon inside, waiting to be revisited but no longer able to hurt. “There aren’t any. Harriet and I eloped. We always expected to have a big wedding later, with all our family and friends, but Har got pregnant with Maddie right away, and then, with Cassie being gone, it just never seemed right.”
She splayed her white cotton fingers on her lap and stared down at them. “I don’t think Harriet minded. It’s funny, but working on the album and seeing the pictures Harriet chose to show Maddie’s history and life, I feel as if I know her.”
A lump lodged somewhere in his throat, and he busied himself with stacking papers and shoving them back into his briefcase. When he was able to speak again, he said, “Yeah, she was pretty special.”
Those serene gray eyes regarded him keenly. “I know. I can tell just by being with her children. And with you.”
He nodded, swallowing thickly. “How long do you think it will take for you to finish the album?” He wanted to add more to the question, to ask her what he really wanted to know, but he held back.
“I don’t know. I need to take more pictures of her family and friends. Her house and school, too. Things for her to cherish and remember later.” Her voice was filled with certainty, as if she knew the truth to her words from experience.
He ducked his head and stared at his hands. “Do you think you’ll be staying through Christmas?”
She drew her knees up, scratching her legs through the blanket. “I hadn’t really thought about it. There’s no reason for me to hang around once the album’s done.” It looked as if she wanted to say more, but she stopped.
“Why?”
“I think it best I leave before the election. Stinky . . . well, let’s just say that Stinky will have a harder time opposing you if I left before he did any damage.”
He leaned forward. “Has Stinky been harassing you?”
She paused before answering. “He really wants to win this election, and he’ll do it any way that he can.”
“You know, if you would just tell me everything, I could help you. Help you take care of Stinky. And maybe help you stay. For Maddie.” He didn’t know where those words came from, only that he meant them.
She shook her head, burying her forehead in her drawn-up knees. “It’s too late. And knowing would only make it worse for you.” She peered up at him. “When’s the election?”
A surge of hope shot through him. “January.”
She was silent for a long while, and he was afraid to speak. Finally, she said, “I can stay until then, if you want. For Maddie.”
He reached for her hand and held it, the cotton warm under his fingers. “I’d like you to.”
Her eyes, when she looked at him, were filled with such hope and loss that he wanted to shake her, make her tell him everything. But he held back and so did she.
Dropping her hand, he said, “Hey, you want to go to the bathroom or something? I could unpin your gloves.”
A grateful look of relief crossed her face. “Oh, thank you! Thelma and Selma Sedgewick, those evil old women, wouldn’t consider unpinning them even for a minute.”
He chuckled, knowing he’d never heard the words “evil” and “Thelma” or “Selma” in the same sentence before. He leaned close and unclasped the safety pins. “I’m going to go reheat some of Lucinda’s chicken soup. If it’s all right with you, I’ll stick around and have a bowl with you.”
“I’d like that.”
He moved to leave, but she pulled at his hand. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He stood. “And don’t scratch or I’m going to have to pin the gloves back on.”
“Yes, sir.” She sent him a mock salute. “I’ll keep myself occupied while you’re gone by reading a bit of Little Women, okay?”
He moved to the doorway and paused. “It’s not so bad depending on other people, is it?”
She didn’t answer, and when he turned around, he saw her with Little Women in one hand and the other one holding up a shiny copper penny.
“It was inside the book,” she said, her voice quiet. “I didn’t put it there.” She pulled open the drawer of the nightstand and pulled out another, identical brand-new shiny coin.
“A lucky penny?”
She shook her head. “No. Pennies from heaven.”
Her eyes shone with darkness and hope, and he wanted to walk up to her and kiss all the pain and doubt away. Her expression reminded him of the way she had looked on the creek bed, and he wondered if anything had changed. Taking a step into the room, he asked, “What do you want, right now, more than anything else in the world?”
Wrapping her hand around the pennies, she didn’t hesitate. “I want to learn to swim. I want to know what it was like for you during your summers as a boy. I want to know what I missed.”
He regarded her for a long moment. “I’ll see what I can do.” Then he made his way downstairs, in search of chicken soup.
CHAPTER 15
As Maddie approached the Ladue house, she spotted Suzanne sitting on the front porch, swaddled in a purple and pink afghan and wearing large, fluffy slippers. A book was propped on her knees as she bent her head to read, the breeze flipping the corners of the pages. It was odd to see Suzanne sitting in a rocking chair on a porch—she just didn’t seem the type to want to sit still long enough. Aunt Lucinda had once told her there was something about a front porch and a rocking chair that anchored a person’s soul, bringing it down to the heart of life. As Maddie watched Suzanne’s face as she got nearer, she could almost believe that Suzanne had discovered that for herself.
With the sound of the front gate banging closed, Suzanne looked up from the yellowed pages and saw Maddie.
She waved. ���What’s up?”
Maddie just groaned and threw herself into the empty rocker next to Suzanne. “I can’t move away soon enough. Sarah Frances is pitching a fit because Daddy says she can’t go with us to the High Museum for the photography exhibit. I’m surprised you can’t hear her caterwauling from here. She sounds like a stuck pig.”
“Why can’t she go?”
“Well, it turns out that the entire twelfth grade is going for a field trip, and I signed up you, Aunt Cassie, and Aunt Lucinda to be chaperones. Which means Sarah Frances will be in school and can’t go.”
Suzanne eased back in the rocking chair, her face wary. “You signed me up to chaperone?”
Maddie avoided her eyes. “Yeah. I knew you wanted to see the exhibit, so I didn’t think you’d mind. There will be enough adults so you don’t even have to hang out with the kids.”
“Oh.” She didn’t sound completely thrilled. After rocking back and forth a few times, she asked, “When is it?”
“The second Tuesday in November, right before Thanksgiving break. It’s the first exhibition of Gertrude Hardt’s photographs in over twenty years, and nothing could stop me from being there. If I’m not in prison for killing my sister, of course.”
“Well, I guess I could check with your dad and see if Sarah Frances could come along with me. If she’s caught up with her schoolwork, I think it could be just as educational as a day in the classroom.”
Maddie stared at her. “You’d purposely take another kid? You don’t even like kids.”
Suzanne stopped rocking. “Stop saying that. It’s not true.”
Maddie raised her eyebrows but didn’t say anything.
“I’ll ask your dad and see what he thinks.”
Maddie snorted. “If you asked him to dye his hair purple, he’d probably do it.”
Suzanne’s face turned pink just as Maddie’s mama’s face had done when she was embarrassed. She’d never thought the two women were anything alike, but maybe she’d been wrong. And maybe her daddy had known that all along.
Suzanne noticed the folder in Maddie’s hand. “What’s in there?”
Maddie hesitated for a moment. “It’s my contest entry. I wanted you to look at it before I sent it in. I played with the filters and burned the image a bit around the edges to make the shadows lighter, just like you showed me.” She passed the folder to Suzanne. “Let me know if you think it’s any good.”
She’d tried not to sound so pathetic, but had definitely failed. She didn’t want Suzanne to know how important this was to her, that she truly believed that her photography was her ticket out of Walton and her way of becoming more than just the girl whose mother had died.
Suzanne took the folder and opened it to the first photograph. It was the picture of Cassie and Sarah Frances that Maddie had taken on the night of Sarah Frances’s party. There was no doubt that the faces in the image were what created the beauty of the photograph, but Maddie’s enhancements took it up a few notches to become a piece of art, in her humble opinion. At least that’s what she’d thought. Until now. She hardly dared to breathe as she waited to hear what Suzanne had to say.