Things I Want to Say

by Cyndi Myers

  I shoved Cocoa aside and began to pace. What should I do? I could call hospitals, looking for her. I could call the police, but I doubted they’d do anything about a grown woman who had failed to show up in time for dinner. Besides, though I knew the local police had no inkling of the crime I’d committed in my youth, I didn’t want anything to do with the law.

  In the end, I went next door and knocked. An older woman with oversize glasses answered. “Hello?” she asked cautiously.

  “Hi. My name is Ellen and I’m staying next door with my friend, Alice. Have you seen her today?”

  “An ambulance came in the middle of the afternoon and took her away,” the woman said.

  “No!” I steadied myself against the door frame and tried to breathe normally, which was impossible. “Where did they take her? What was wrong with her?”

  “I don’t know any of that. I think she was still alive, though. They had one of those oxygen masks clamped over her face.”

  “Th-thank you.” I staggered back into the house and searched for a phone book. Of course there wasn’t one, because Alice still hadn’t had a phone installed.

  I grabbed up my cell phone and dialed directory assistance. “I’m in Ojai and I need to find the closest hospital,” I gasped.

  “You need to call 9-1-1,” the operator said.

  “No, I’m not the one who needs the hospital. I mean, my friend was taken away in an ambulance and I need to find out where they’ve taken her.”

  “Do you know the name of the ambulance company?”

  “No. Could you just give me the numbers of all the hospitals in the area?”

  The list was short and I found Alice with my first call. “Yes, she was admitted this afternoon,” they said. “Are you a relative?”

  “No, just a friend. Thank you.”

  I left Cocoa chewing on a piece of rawhide and set out for Ojai Valley Community Hospital. After a few wrong turns, I found it and raced into the lobby. “Can you tell me where I can find Alice MacCray? She’s a patient here.”

  The efficient woman behind the desk consulted her computer. “Third floor. Room 316.”

  I didn’t bother to ask if Alice was allowed visitors. If she was on a psych ward, maybe not. I had the vague idea that was where they consigned attempted suicides. But maybe I could sneak in for a few minutes to see her…

  As it was, I was able to walk right into Alice’s room. All my courage left me at the door. The woman in the bed looked so small and frail, her skin only a shade darker than the sheets that were tucked around her, tubes leading from her nose and her arm.

  I must have made some noise, because she turned toward me. “Ellen?” she whispered.

  I came to stand at her bedside. “What’s going on?” I asked.

  She waved her untethered hand vaguely in the air. “Cancer. I had a bad spell and got scared. Had to call the ambulance.”

  “Oh, Alice. I had no idea it had come back.”

  “More like it never really left.”

  I took her hand and held it gently. “I’m glad you’re here where they can look after you. You beat this before. You can do it again.”

  She looked at me sadly. “It’s in the lungs now. Doesn’t look good.”

  I didn’t know what to say, so I continued to hold her hand, stroking it softly. “Should I call your children and tell them?” I asked after a while.

  “Why? They don’t want to hear from me.”

  I squeezed her hand. “No matter what, you’re their mother. They deserve the chance to make peace with you….”

  “Before it’s too late.” She finished the sentence and closed her eyes. “I’ll call them. I don’t want them hearing this from a stranger.” She smiled. “Or at least not from a stranger who isn’t related to them.”

  This was the Alice I knew, still joking. Tears clogged my throat and I swallowed hard. “I’ll let you get some rest now,” I said. “Is there anything you need from the house?”

  “No, I’m fine. I had a bag packed that I brought with me.” Her eyes met mine again. “I had a feeling something like this might happen.”

  I thought back to all the times on the road when she said she wasn’t feeling well. Was it the cancer making her sicker?

  I promised to come back the next morning and drove back to Alice’s apartment. Once there, I held Cocoa close and cried. The little dog licked my face and whined, which only made me cry more.

  All that night, I tossed and turned, thinking about Alice, and my own life. If I knew I was going to die soon, what would I do differently? Would I find the courage to accept my past or change my future? Would dreams that had seemed impossible now be within my reach with that change in perspective?

  Would I know what I needed to do, instead of struggling with paralyzing doubt?

  The third day after Alice entered the hospital, Frannie called me and I answered. I knew it was long past time for us to talk. “You’ve got to come home, Ellen. I don’t know what the hell to do.”

  The panic in her voice rattled me, and I gripped the phone tightly, as if trying to hold Frannie herself steady. “What is it?” I asked. “What’s wrong?”

  “I got a call just now, from the cemetery people. They want to dig up Mama and Daddy.”

  I steadied myself against the counter, reeling from the impact of the words. “Perpetual Rest Memorial Park called you?”

  “That’s what I said. They want to dig up Mama’s and Daddy’s graves. They need to move them because of some highway expansion.”

  “The state’s building a bypass around town,” I said, recalling the construction I’d seen while I was there. “Then I guess we have to let them move them.” It wasn’t as if either of us ever went back and visited. “I can’t see that it makes any difference.”

  “But what if they d-decide, as long as they’re dug up, to do an au…an autopsy or something?” Frannie’s voice shook so badly she could scarcely get the words out.

  “I don’t think they can do an autopsy on a body that’s been buried twenty-two years,” I said. “And why would they want to?”

  “Somebody new could be at the police department, going through old cases, getting suspicious.”

  “You’ve been watching too many detective shows on television,” I said. Frannie had always been prone to mild paranoia, but this new anxiety worried me. “Just give your permission to move the graves and that will be the end of it.”

  Except it wouldn’t, really. How could either of us entirely shake the guilt over what we’d done?

  “Come home and you can tell them,” Frannie said.

  “I can’t come home right now,” I said. “Alice is in the hospital. Her cancer’s back.”

  “If she’s in the hospital there’s nothing you can do for her there. I need you here.”

  “I’ll call the cemetery from here.”

  “No. You have to come home.” She sounded hysterical.

  I took a deep breath. I resisted the temptation to give in and tried to calm her, but I couldn’t back down now. I had to push on with the decision I’d made. “I’m not coming home again,” I said. “Not to stay. I can’t.”

  “What do you mean you’re not coming home?”

  “Just that. I can’t live there with you anymore. I need to get out on my own and make a new life. One that doesn’t revolve around guilt and secrets.”

  Her sharply indrawn breath left a ringing silence in my ears. I waited, giving her time to process this news. After a while I wondered if she’d hung up the phone. “Frannie? Are you still there?”

  “What are you going to do?” she asked, her voice brittle. “Now that you’ve started sharing all our secrets with Alice, are you going to tell everything? Do you think that will absolve you from all guilt? Or do you just want to see me punished?”

  “I think we’ve both been punished enough,” I said. “But we can’t keep pretending what we did never happened. We have to acknowledge that what we did was wrong.”

  “It wasn’
t wrong!” The words hit me like a slap. “He deserved to die.”

  “You poisoned him, Frannie,” I said. “And I let you. That was wrong.”

  “I did it to protect you.” She spoke through tears. Frannie, who never cried. “Don’t you even appreciate that?” It frightened me a little that I wasn’t more moved, as if I really had become immune to her manipulation.

  “You made sure I did,” I said. “I’ve spent my whole life feeling as if I owe you. But now I can see that living with the guilt has hurt me worse than he ever could have.”

  “You’re wrong! When he died we were set free. We were able to make a new life.”

  “A different life. Not a better one.”

  “How can you say that?”

  How could she be so blind? “Look at us!” I demanded. “You’re practically a recluse and I’ve wasted too many years, too afraid to have the family I’ve always wanted.”

  “I’m your family.”

  “But it’s not enough. Not anymore.” I swallowed the tears that finally threatened. “I want a chance to meet a man and have children and…and to have a real life.”

  Her wet sobs and choking breaths filled my ear. “What are you going to do?” she asked. “Are you going to the police?”

  I’d wrestled with this question for days and arrived at the only answer I thought I could live with. “I don’t see what good that would do now,” I said. “It won’t bring our father back, and it won’t give either of us back all the years we’ve wasted.”

  “Then what are you going to do?” she asked again.

  I took a deep breath. Here was the hardest part, the part that would take all the courage and strength I could muster—maybe more than I actually had. “I’m going to start over. I’m going to stop being afraid of other people, of other relationships. And I’m going to try to help other people not screw up the way you and I did.”

  “All I ever wanted was for you to be safe and happy, and now you hate me.”

  I sighed, drained by the battle I’d been fighting. “I don’t hate you, Frannie. I just think it would be better if we tried to live our own lives. Both of us.”

  “You won’t admit it, but you need me. You always have. I can see it, even if you can’t.” Some of her old forcefulness was back, but she failed to sway me.

  “Goodbye, Frannie. I’ll talk to you soon.”

  “I’ll be here. I’ve always been here for you. One of these days you’ll appreciate it.”

  I hung up the phone and slumped into a chair. My insides felt heavy. I’d known confronting Frannie would be difficult. I’d expected to feel guilty, even sad. But I hadn’t counted on this despair and, yes, anger that weighed me down.

  The Frannie I’d talked to now was a stranger to me. She refused to admit she had done anything wrong. She couldn’t see how twisted her perspective was and how it had hurt us both.

  Cocoa whined and climbed into my lap. I scratched behind her ears. The sadness I felt was beyond tears. For all I’d gained from my new resolve to make changes in my life, I felt as if I’d lost my sister. Maybe forever.

  When I went to visit Alice that afternoon, I was surprised to hear voices coming from her room. I assumed she was with her doctor, but when I peeked in I saw a man and woman about my age and two teenagers. I tried to duck out before anyone had seen me, but Alice called my name. “Ellen. It’s okay. Come on in.”

  I reluctantly entered the room. Alice was sitting up in bed, looking less pale than she had when she’d first been hospitalized. Her hair was combed and she was wearing lipstick. “This is my friend Ellen,” she said. “Ellen, this is Bobby MacCray and his wife, Margie.”

  Bobby was a solid man with graying hair and blue eyes pulled down at the corners by sadness. He nodded to me, his expression rigid. The look of a man determined not to cry.

  Margie twisted her hands together and looked as if she would rather be undergoing a root canal than standing in this hospital room. Her lips were compressed to a thin line and every few seconds her gaze darted to her husband, as if she was prepared to flee after him if he decided to bolt.

  “And this is Bettina and Clark.” Alice smiled at the two teens, who stood between the bed and the window. Clark, the younger of the two but also the taller, slouched against the window frame, hands shoved in his pockets, watching Alice with a troubled expression.

  Tina stood closest to the bed, her arms folded beneath her breasts, eyes downcast. She never looked at Alice, but I had the feeling that, of all of us in the room, she was most aware of her every movement, her every breath.

  I noticed Alice didn’t introduce the children as her son or daughter. Perhaps they had all agreed not to use those loaded words. Not yet. The fact that they were all here now spoke to the gravity of the situation, and the charity dire circumstances can call forth.

  “It’s nice to meet you all,” I said. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’ll just wait outside.” I was already backing toward the door, and ducked out before anyone could stop me.

  I found a chair at the end of the corridor, where I could watch Alice’s door but not be readily seen. Then I waited. I strained my ears, listening for raised voices. For sobs. For any clue as to how the scene in that little room was playing out.

  Maybe fifteen minutes later, the family emerged. Bobby had his hand on Clark’s shoulder, and Margie had her arm around Tina. They walked, heads down, to the elevator, none of them saying a word.

  When I was sure they had left, I stood and walked slowly back to Alice’s room. I was surprised to find her out of bed, standing at the window. She looked over her shoulder when I entered. “I still can’t believe they really came to see me,” she said, her smile stretching the skin across the fine bones of her face. I had heard of people glowing with happiness—brides and new mothers—but this was the first time I’d actually seen it. Alice’s face was illuminated by a light from within. A happiness that was like a heat radiating out from her.

  “They’re great-looking children,” I said. “Bettina looks just like you.”

  “Do you think so?” Her face crumpled a little and she pulled a wad of tissue from the pocket of her robe. “I’m sorry. I’m just so emotional with everything that’s been happening.”

  “Don’t apologize,” I said. “You should never have to apologize for your feelings. Of course you’re emotional.” I pulled a tissue from the box by the bed. “I’m getting choked up myself just thinking about it.”

  She sat on the edge of the bed and I pulled a chair closer. “Tell me all about it,” I said.

  “I called again last night,” she said. “After you left.” She flashed a half smile. “It took me all this time just to work up the nerve. I asked to speak to Bobby. When he came on the line, I told him everything.”

  “Everything?”

  She nodded. “I told him about the cancer first, then I told him the rest—about Travis and moving back to Ridgeway, and how sorry I was for everything I’d done. I accepted full blame. Then I told him that the only thing I wanted was the chance to apologize to my children face-to-face.” She sniffed and tried to stem a fresh tide of tears. “I told him I didn’t want to go to my grave with them thinking I never cared about them.”

  I mopped at my eyes and swallowed past the knot in my throat. “What did he say?”

  “He said he would talk to them, and that he would bring them to see me. And he said…he said he forgave me.”

  “Oh, Alice.” I leaned over and squeezed her hand. This was the best gift anyone could have given her.

  She nodded and sniffed. When she’d composed herself, she said, “About an hour ago, he called and asked if they could come over right away. Of course I said yes.” She pressed her palms to her cheeks. “I was so nervous one of my heart monitors went off. A nurse came rushing in and fussed at me for getting too worked up, but when I told her what was happening she helped me get fixed up to see them. And she said she’d pray for me.”

  “That’s great.” I blinked back fre
sh tears. “When they arrived, were you surprised to see Margie with him?”

  “I didn’t know what to think.” Her eyes met mine, bright with tears, excited as a child’s. “I didn’t really even look at her at first. I was too busy staring at Bobby. He looks…he looks so much like his father.”

  “And Tina and Clark—what did you think of them?”

  “I couldn’t think. It was so strange. Foolish as it sounds, I couldn’t help picturing them as these little children I’d left so many years ago. But here they were, practically grown.” She stared down at her hands, knotted in her lap. “I was so afraid they’d hate me,” she whispered.

  “They don’t hate you,” I said. “I’m sure of it.”

  “I hope they don’t.” She raised her head again and stared past my shoulder. “They didn’t say much really, except Clark did say he was sorry I was sick.”

  “It will take a while. They’ll have to get to know you all over again. But they’ll be glad they did.” Whatever happened now, they would know Alice had loved them. The empty place her leaving had left inside them could now be patched over and partially filled.

  “How are you doing otherwise?” I asked.

  She sighed. “As well as can be expected. Isn’t that a meaningless assessment?”

  “Are they going to start treatment soon?” I asked. “More chemo? Or surgery?”

  She shook her head. “It’s too late for that.” She looked around the room, blinking rapidly. “Someone from hospice is coming to talk to me tomorrow. They apparently have a very nice facility here in Ojai. Like a private home, where family can come visit.” She smiled through cascading tears. “Isn’t that great? Now I actually have family who can visit. Bobby promised they would. He was always a man who kept promises.”

  I bit my lip, determined not to break down in front of her. I’d had no idea Alice was that sick. She looked so…so like Alice. Older. Thinner. Sadder. But weren’t we all? “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

  Her eyes met mine, full of sympathy. “It’s all right. I’ve had sometime to get used to the idea. When I first started getting sick again, I had a feeling this time would be different. It’s one reason I decided to move back here and try to repair at least some of the damage I’d done.” She smiled. “I won’t have a lot of time with them, but I’ll have some. That’s more than I had a right to ask.”