Pitcher's Baby

by Saylor Bliss

  I get dressed lightning fast and scrub some toothpaste along my teeth with my finger before meeting Lucas in the living room and letting him know that I'm ready to go. The drive to daycare is quiet but far from uncomfortable. My hand rests in his while he steers with his left. His thumb rubs circles on the back of my hand and along my wrist. I lean my head against his arms, inhaling the warm, masculine scent of his cologne. He smells of pine and . . . almonds. I love it.

  When we pull back up at the house, he puts the car in park, but he doesn't shut it off. I almost ask him what he’s thinking and if he has someplace else he needs to be, but then I wonder if maybe he just wants some time away from me, or some space or whatever it is that guys usually need. I have no clue how to act and what to say or not say. I don’t know how to be this girl.

  Fuck it.

  “How do you feel about a movie after Everly goes to bed tonight? Maybe stay all night?” I ask.

  “Are you sure? I don't want to seem too needy.” He laughs out loud as he runs his hand through his silky brown hair.

  “Yes, I’m sure. I didn't want to be too pushy,” I say, laughing along with him.

  “Okay, for now on, let’s say what we want and not worry about how the other may or may not feel.” He cuts the engine to the car, and the silence is deafening.

  “It's a deal!” I say.

  “In that case, I want you to move into my room, permanently. We can set up your room as the nursery for Everly.”

  “Really? It’s not too soon?” I ask. My heart jumps in my chest, waiting for his response.

  “Pas pour moi. Not for me.”

  “Okay. Let’s do it.” Grabbing my car door, I push it open and make my way to the back to unhook Everly’s seat strap and pull her car seat free.

  Lucas's phone rings as I pull her out of the car, and he lets me know he will be inside as soon as he finishes with the call. I walk up to the door with a light bounce in my step, glancing back one more time before opening the door. I have a crazy gut feeling that something bad is happening, but I can't worry about that right now.

  I have to place my trust in him.

  I kick off my shoes just inside the front door and yell into the house to let my mom and Aaron know I'm home. No one answers, so I head toward the kitchen in search of them. Something catches my eye as I pass the living room, so I take a small detour through there. My mom is on the couch. She looks to be sleeping until I step fully into the room. She’s lying on her back on the couch, her eyes closed. One hand is hanging off the side of the couch, her fingertips laying against the carpet in a pile of vomit.

  My eyes rake over her body, trying to comprehend what I'm seeing, and then my brain kicks into overdrive and I am screaming her name as I rush toward her. Everly is crying now in her seat, scared after being awoken so abruptly, but I can’t move and see to her right now. I can’t move period.

  The entire front of mom’s shirt is covered in puke. It's caked along the side of her mouth and matted into her hair. It looks like she turned her head and threw up, but wasn't able to move out of the way afterward. The smell hits me then, and my mouth starts to water the way it always does just before I puke. I pull my shirt up to cover my nose and mouth, and that’s when I notice I have stuck my hand in something. It's brown and mushy, and my stomach can't take anymore.

  I hurl.

  I don't realize I'm still screaming until Lucas comes barreling through the front door. The look on his face can only be described as pure horror. His eyes are wild as he searches the room for me and then tries to figure out what happened. He rushes to me, wrapping me in his arms and pulling me from the room. I sit hard on the base of the stairs while he goes back in the living room and checks her for a pulse while dialing 911. I hear him explaining what happened to the dispatcher on the other end of the line, but I can't make out his words. I can't piece them together.

  Lucas comes back moments later carrying Everly in his arms, bouncing her gently in the crook of his arm. She has finally quieted and is busy suckling on her pacifier.

  The ambulance arrives five minutes, ten minutes later. I don't know how long has passed. They ask me a series of questions that I am unprepared to answer. In shock, I hear one of them say, and then I don't hear anything, because they are gone and I am left here all alone once again. No . . . that's not true. Lucas is still here. He's sitting next to me on the steps, holding me close to him. My body tenses, alerting him to the fact that I am back in the land of the living.

  “Come on, baby, let's get you cleaned up.” As soon as he says it, I realize I'm still covered in my mother's vomit and feces. I feel my heartbeat pick up, and then claws of panic start to scratch at the walls of my resolve. I stand and race up the stairs to the bathroom, peeling off my clothes as I go. I put the water as hot as I can stand it, and then I make it just a little hotter. I need this off me. I pour heaping amounts of body wash into my hands and scrub at my skin. When that doesn't seem to help, I use my nails, scratching a layer of skin off. Anything to get the smell gone.

  Lucas opens the shower curtain and pulls my hands away from my body, locking them into one of his. His voice is calm and smooth as he coaxes me down from the edge of insanity. I listen to the gentle hum of it as it brushes against me, calming me. He releases me hands and pours some shampoo into his own hand and then gently scrubs away at my scalp. I can almost pretend we are back at his room and he is in the process of making love to me, but when I close my eyes, I see my mother's lifeless body laying against our maroon couch. I rinse my hair and then step from the shower and dry off with the towel he holds out for me.

  “Is she . . . was she alive?” I finally summon the strength to ask him.

  “Yes, baby. Barely.” I nod my head, accepting his answer. I can’t believe how much it hurts me to think that she might have died while I was out having a good ole time with my boyfriend. That's just something I could never forgive myself for.

  “Come on. Let's get you dressed and we will head to the hospital,” he says, pulling me toward my bedroom. Lucas walks me to my bed and then tells me he is going to run and grab a new shirt to put on.

  “Do you want me to call anyone for you, Charlee? Your brother? Ashlin?”

  “Can you? Is that too weird? I just can't do it right now. I don't know what to say.”

  “Of course, baby. I'll call them for you. Come downstairs when you're done, and we will head to the hospital. I’ve already got Everly and her bag ready and waiting downstairs,” he says, taking my phone from me when I offer it to him. I know he and Ashlin get along pretty well, but I don't think he has her number, and I know he doesn't have my dad's. It may seem like a crazy time and situation, but Mom coming back in town when she did gave Dad the chance he needed to forgive her. They have been having regular conversations on the phone just about daily, and I know he would want to know what is going on. Just makes sense for him to use mine. That way, I don't have to find pen and paper and write down the numbers.

  I finish dressing in record time, choosing to just throw on a pair of black jeggings and one of my dad’s old oversized t-shirts from years ago. I haven't worn one of his shirts since I was a little girl. I used to wear them to bed every night. It's strangely comforting to put one on right now, like he is wrapping me in a tight hug. Lucas is just hanging up the phone when I walk outside, pulling my hair into a sloppy bun on top of my head.

  “Ashlin didn't answer, but your brother is gonna meet us there. He asked if you were okay, and I said you’re better now. I hope that's okay. If you want, I can call him back and have him swing by here to get you. I mean, if you would rather be with him right now. I would understand.”

  “No. That's fine, Lucas. Thank you,” I say, climbing back into his Cadillac.

  He starts the engine and pulls out of the drive. His tires peel out, screeching into the air when he shifts into drive. My hand reaches for his, needing the comfort more than ever right now. I finally understand what Lucas meant earlier about not wasting time and fo
rgiving. I wish I had told her last night that I did . . . forgive her, I mean. I wish I had taken the time to wrap my arms around her and let her know how much I still loved her. I just hope I still have a chance to do so.

  I can't begin to describe the emotions flowing through me on our drive to the hospital or during the twenty minutes we wait in the stark white waiting room for Aaron to show up or the doctor to come out and let us know what is going on. They range from all-encompassing guilt to anger, to grief, then back to guilt.

  I'm mad at myself for not being there for her when she needed me. On a normal day, I would have been at class, and I wouldn't have known anything out of the way was happening. It doesn't change the fact that I'm hurting. I think most of it has to do with the fact that I have no idea what the hell is going on, and no one will tell me a damn thing. I'm about to the point that I start screaming and yelling and demanding answers of some kind, but more than likely, the people who rush out to quiet me down would be the ones working to save her life, and I would pull them away from that. I can't do that. I already feel like I failed her by not being there for her today.

  I think back over last night's conversation and the biggest revelation of the evening. After I had come back around from my minor fainting spell, she and my brother questioned me on why I thought she had kidnapped us. I explained what I remembered from that timeframe thirteen years ago and why I thought that. Apparently, I was wrong on so many levels about her taking us unlawfully to begin with, even if later, she did take just me. She didn't disagree with that, and I skimmed over the rest of my time with her, not wanting to dive back into all that right then, but I couldn't understand one thing, and I asked her about it.

  “If you didn't kidnap us and you didn't press charges, then why did you end up in prison?” I asked her and Aaron. I could tell she didn't really want to get into detail about what sent her away, but I asked, and she wouldn't keep it from me.

  “I went to prison for money laundering. Do you know what that is?” she asked.

  “Yeah, I think so. Isn't that when you take money from someone you're working for and spend it?” I asked, giving my chopped up version of what I thought I recalled money laundering being.

  “Yes. That’s pretty much it in a nutshell.”

  “I don't understand.” And I didn't. All these years, I thought she was in prison for taking us. None of this made any sense to me.

  “Do you remember that Christmas in South Carolina? The one when your dad came and got Aaron?” She asks, and I nod my head that yes, I remember. It's one of the strongest memories I have of my time with her. The day my brother went home and I was left behind. The day Santa found us.

  “I had been skimming money off the books for a few months before that, but I was always careful to keep it hidden. It wasn't hard being the manager of the park. The owner pretty much left me alone as long as I made sure the renters paid their rent and he got his check deposited every month, but then Christmas came and I wanted it to be the best one you had ever had. It was the first one you guys had spent with just me, and I wanted it to be perfect, so I took more money, and in my rush, I got sloppy. I'm not saying it would have been okay if I hadn't gotten caught, just that's how I got caught. A few weeks after you flew home, I got pulled over on the way home from work, and when the cop ran my license, a warrant popped up. I was hauled away to jail and extradited to South Carolina for court.”

  “Oh. Wow. So all those years spent in prison just for us to have presents, and then we left most of them behind when we left.”

  “Yeah, I know. I hate that, but it is what it is. Life sucks sometimes, ya know. I like to believe it was time for us to move on, and as far as my going to prison, well, I don't really regret it. I know you remember how messed up I was. I had lost myself to dope, and I wasn't ever going to get myself back. Prison forced me to get clean. I can't ever regret that. God works in mysterious ways, Charlee. Don't ever forget that.”

  I couldn’t deny what she was saying. Any of it. Truth be told, if she hadn't been sent to prison, she would probably be dead. Shit, she might be now, anyway. I jump when Aaron touches my shoulder, pulling me back out of my own thoughts. He has a bag slung over his shoulder and my purse in his left hand. His right hand has a cup holder with three venti Starbucks cups in it. I stand, taking my purse from him and thanking him for taking the time to go by and get it. I open it up and see he remembered my charger and my favorite book.

  I pull the book out, dragging out an envelope with it. It's one of Mom's letters to me. The most recent one, with the drawing of a wolf across the back. I shove it back inside. Seeing it reminds me of the annoying, stuck up bitch I was just a few short weeks ago, solely focused on myself and how much I hurt. I'm amazed how much of a difference I see in myself. Oftentimes, I think our own perception of ourselves is the hardest to adjust to, but I could see the changes. I was happier, more open and bright.

  Gone was the stale, stagnant shell of a being, the lost, confused child hiding behind the image of a well put-together adult. I think I have both Lucas and my mother to thank for the change in myself. Lucas has shown me how to love and forgive, regardless of one's own past, and how to let everything I never had any control over go. My mother showed me that people can, in fact, change. It's never too late, and she gave me the chance to practice my newly found forgiveness. I’m far from normal, but at least I know I’m on the right track.

  I think about making an excuse and taking my purse and the hidden letter to the bathroom for some privacy, but quickly squash the idea. My brother is the one who tucked it in there, so I know he would see straight through me, and Lucas . . . well, I need his strong presence there to catch me when I start to fall—the way he has been since the beginning. I take my Venti coffee from my brother and pull the letter back out, carefully tearing into the envelope.

  It’s now or never.

  Charlee,

  There is no pleasant way to say this, so I'll just spit it out and move on. I am dying. Stage 5 kidney failure. It's been a long, hard battle since I was first diagnosed eleven years ago, two weeks after being sentenced to prison. I have fought hard. I have given it all I have, but now I'm out of options. I quit dialysis this week. I had no choice. It was causing an infection in my body, an infection my poor immune system just can't fight. I’ll be released in less than a week. Apparently, a death sentence from God carries a lot of weight in parole hearings.

  I know it's been years since we talked last, and by now, you probably don't think much of me or don't want a thing to do with me at all, and I truly, truly understand that. Your short time with me was one horrible experience right after another. I know that now. It took a while for me to realize that I wasn't good for you. I'm still not. I'm selfish and only care about myself. Even right now, as I write this letter asking you to let me come see you, I am being selfish.

  There have been so many times that I've wanted to say this to you, even in person, but I haven't had the guts to know how yet, so I'm going to start here, in case I never get the chance to see you or speak with you again.

  I'm really sorry I couldn't be there for you. I'm sorry I wasn't there to talk to you when I should have been. I'm sorry I left you alone for so long, and I'm sorry I wasn't able enough to tell you straight forward how much I loved you when I had the chance. But most of all, I'm sorry I couldn't make more of an effort to let you know I cared more than I've shown you.

  You meant a lot more to me than I was able to openly express, and although it may be too late to prove it to you now, I will always love you, Charlee. I wish I had enough time left on this earth to show how much, but God works in his own time, not ours, and because of that, I will be leaving you again soon—this time for good. In my mind, I know I should just let you be and leave you alone to live your life without ever having to hear from me again, but my heart won't allow that.

  I'm not sure if you'll ever read this letter or if you have read any of the fifty that came before it. It doesn't matter now, but on
the off chance that your curiosity gets the best of you and you decide to rip this thing open, I want you to know if I ever made you feel ignored or unimportant, that was never my intention at all, and that I'm sorry for coming off so passive-aggressive. The truth is that I doubted myself. I doubted my ability to be a good mother, to love you and Matt the way you deserved to be loved. Fully. Completely. Selflessly.

  You have no idea how badly I really want to be there with you, but at the same time, I don't know if you're ready yet. When I first got word of my release, I was ecstatic. All I could think was THANK GOD, even if I’m only being let out to die in peace. That didn't matter to me. I was finally going to get to see my babies, but it's been eleven years, and you're grown now. You have your own life, and I doubt you want your selfish mother back in your life.

  In my state of mind, I was so uncertain of myself. I felt like I couldn't hold together a relationship, and I wasn't sure If you actually wanted a relationship with me either. Then you figure in the sickness, and I really started to doubt things. How cruel is it for me to show up requesting a relationship with you after eleven years and then DIE? You don't have to answer that. I know, but again, I'm selfish, so this is me asking you, just like I asked your brothers and your father.

  Can I come home?

  If you reply to this and tell me HELL NO! Then I promise, Charlee, I will respect your wishes. I won't push myself on you, but on the small, tiny off chance that you don't care, that you actually want to see me as much as much as I want to see you, then I'll see you soon, baby.

  I can't wait. My fingers are crossed, anxiously awaiting your reply.

  Love always and forever,

  Mom

  I don't cry while reading it. I don't shed a tear after I'm done. I refuse. I hold every bit of it inside of me, locked away tight until I'm able to talk to her again, then I'll let it all out. I'll yell and cry and laugh when I can do it with her. I pass my letter to Lucas and let him read through it while I sip on my coffee and wait and wait some more.