The Invisibles

by Cecilia Galante

  Nora pondered this for a moment. It was possible for women to reject their own children, whatever the reason. Mama had been so vocal about all the extra work Nora’s raising required that it almost felt like a blessing when she was finally taken away. Still, something didn’t sit right when it came to Grace’s rejection of Georgia. Nora could understand the added physical stress a newborn might place on an already fragile psyche. But Grace had said that she wanted the baby. Desperately. And she was one of the most loving people Nora had ever known. After they had come across the dead bird on the sidewalk that day, Grace had scooped up the animal inside the hem of her skirt and carried it home. She fashioned a makeshift coffin out of an empty roll of toilet paper, wrapped the bird inside, and stuffed the whole thing into a Q-tip box filled with cotton. They’d buried it on the riverbank, near the water, and Grace had marked the spot with a tiny plastic figurine of Mary.

  “It’s just a bird,” Nora had said gently as Grace knelt next to the spot and crossed herself. “Seriously, Grace. You really don’t have to do all this.”

  “Of course I do,” Grace answered, clasping her hands together in front of her chest. “It’s one of God’s creatures. Besides, if I don’t, who will?”

  That inherent willingness to love was, at least in Nora’s opinion, one of the most beautiful things about Grace. It might have even been one of the most beautiful things she had ever come across in a human being. It was not something that could just disappear, even if her brain had gone temporarily haywire. Could it?

  “Maybe she can’t help it,” Nora said now. “Maybe on top of the postpartum, there’s too much other stuff that she hasn’t started to deal with yet.”

  “Well, she needs to start dealing with it,” Ozzie said. “And fast. Because that little baby of hers is going to end up with serious mother issues if she doesn’t.”

  Nora didn’t particularly disagree with Ozzie’s assessment. But she wished that Ozzie didn’t sound so irritated when she said it. It made her nervous. People like Grace, who had suffered for most of their lives, didn’t just “get better.” At least none that she knew of. It took time. Months, years. Maybe even a lifetime.

  “I think she needs us to be patient. Grace always did better without people breathing down her neck.”

  “Maybe.” Ozzie sounded resigned. “No, you’re right. And I shouldn’t be so quick to judge all the time. Shit, she’s been to hell and back.” She slowed a little. “Remember when she found out that her mother had been released from the hospital? That she’d been living in that little apartment in the next town over for almost six months?”

  Nora did remember. The news, which Grace had stumbled upon accidentally, after a friend’s mother from school mentioned it, had flattened her. She’d stayed in bed for four days, staring at the wall, refusing to eat or drink. And then she’d snapped out of it, adopting the same mantra she’d used when she first arrived. “She’ll come for me. She will. She just needs to get settled. To feel her way around in the world again. I’m not worried.” Nora had marveled at Grace’s ability to hope, how not even the endless days that stretched before her seemed to extinguish it. She wondered if all children possessed such a gift, if she herself might have it, even if she could not feel it.

  Now Ozzie grabbed her arm. “How much of this do you think is actually about that night? You know, with the abortion and everything?”

  The question caught Nora off guard, so much so that one of her knees buckled and she stumbled.

  “Whoa,” Ozzie said. “You all right?”

  “Just tripped.” Nora smoothed her hair back off her face.

  “I think she might be still killing herself—or wanting to, anyway—because of her guilt about that night,” Ozzie said. “You know? You think that’s it?”

  “Maybe,” Nora heard herself say. “But there—”

  “I know she’s Catholic and everything,” Ozzie interrupted, “but she acted like she’d actually gone and shot someone. Remember? How do you get someone to get over guilt like that? It’s like trying to save the Titanic by bailing the water out with a paper cup. I mean, Jesus.”

  Nora didn’t answer. She could feel a trickle of sweat, light and small as a sequin, sliding down the middle of her chest. She hadn’t expected Chicago to be so warm in September. There was nothing short-sleeved in her suitcase, not one weather-appropriate item she had packed for such weather.

  “This whole visit sounded a lot more manageable when I was talking about it on the phone with you the other day.” Ozzie laughed. “Now I don’t know what the fuck to do.”

  “I guess it’s like what we said earlier,” Nora said after a moment. “We just have to be here for her. And then maybe the rest will start to take care of itself.” Even as she said the words, she wished she could yank them back, put them somewhere where no one would ever find them again. Her earlier belief in their validity had vanished; now they were just ridiculous things to say, juvenile thoughts, Hallmark-card mantras. Just be there for her. Please. Real life didn’t work that way. Everyone knew that.

  “Yeah, well.” Ozzie sighed. She wasn’t buying it, either. “It is what it is, I guess. Come on, let’s see what’s around this place.”

  Grace’s neighborhood was small and neat, the tree-flanked streets dotted with bright blue recycling bins and stacks of newspapers. Flags bearing watercolor pictures of autumnal leaves and overflowing cornucopias stuck out from the front porches, and a few wisps of smoke curled out from the tops of chimneys. A first line by William Faulkner came to Nora as they made their way around a corner: “Through the fence, between the curling flower spaces, I could see them hitting,” and she tilted her face up toward the sun. It was warm against her skin, and she closed her eyes, feeling the heat of it against her lids.

  Theo had been waiting for her in Mrs. Ditmer’s room the day after they’d had sex for the third and final time and had asked her to come out into the empty hallway so he could tell her something. She did, but timidly, with her shoulders hunched, her throat tight, as if she’d done something else wrong besides dissolving into sobs (again) during sex. He stood next to her as she pushed up against the row of gray lockers and rested his hand on the metal door sticking out just above her head. She could smell the faint spiciness of his deodorant, the clean, aloe scent of the shaving cream she knew he used every morning, and she pushed down the stirring inside.

  “Nora,” he said softly. “Please look at me.”

  She shook her head. She couldn’t look at him, couldn’t even raise her eyes to stare at his Adam’s apple.

  “All right.” He shifted his weight to his other foot, readjusted his hand on the locker. The faint smell of a cinnamon Life Saver drifted down from his mouth, and she wanted to raise her mouth and press it against his, to inhale the taste of him one final time. “I know I apologized for things last night,” he said. “But I just want to make sure that you’re really hearing me. I shouldn’t have pushed. Especially after that first time. And definitely not after the second. I shouldn’t have made you feel like you had to try again. I’m sorry.”

  His words were unexpected, and the shock of hearing them combined with their kindness brought tears to her eyes. She shook her head, the floor blurring beneath her feet.

  “I know people have hurt you, Nora.”

  She raised her head warily, on guard. All he knew was that she lived in a group home. She hadn’t told him anything else. Not about Mama, and certainly not about Daddy Ray. There was no way he knew any details about her past. Nobody did.

  He shrugged at the question in her eyes. “I can just tell. I can feel it. And that’s . . . I mean, I think it’s better if we break up. I just . . . I don’t want to add to that. Not in any way. Not ever.” He kissed her on the cheek and then paused, his face inches from hers. “I couldn’t take it, you know? Graduating next month and leaving you behind, knowing that I hurt you, too. I just can’t do it.”

  She realized in that moment that she had been bracing herself for suc
h a thing, more or less, since their very first date. But hearing the words out loud was unbearable, more painful than anything she’d imagined. He might as well have been staring at her from the banks of the pond as she slid under the ice.

  “It’s fine,” she heard herself say, turning her face away from his. “You got what you wanted. I didn’t expect any more from someone like you anyway.”

  The look that came into his eyes then reminded her of the time Mama had come into her room and without a word slapped her across the face. There was no reason for the blow, and as Mama turned around and walked back out again, Nora had caught a glimpse of her own face in the mirror across the room. She’d looked both shocked and crushed, a humiliated fragment of herself.

  “Nora.” Theo’s voice broke in the middle of her name, and he reached for her, but she pushed his hand away and strode down the hall away from him. She could feel his gaze making its way into the center of her spine, through the red-and-white-striped shirt she was wearing, the one he had always said she looked good in, the one she had put on purposely this morning just to please him, and she knew that he was willing her to turn around, to look at him a final time, to say that she hadn’t meant what she had just said, not a single word of it, but she did not. She would not.

  She squared her shoulders instead, and kept going.

  Here we are.” Ozzie pointed to Grace’s house up ahead. “See, I always find my way back. No matter where I am. God, I’m exhausted all of a sudden. I think I will take that . . .” Her voice faded as her phone began to ring. She pulled it out of her pocket and glanced at the screen. Her jaw clenched as she punched at a button and held it to one ear. “What now, Gary?”

  Nora began to walk on ahead, wanting to give Ozzie privacy, but she heard her name being called. “Nora, wait! It’s my kids!” Ozzie jogged up next to her and pressed another button. “They’re on speakerphone. I told them all about you before I left. Say hi!”

  “Hello?” Nora spoke tentatively into the phone.

  “Hello?” A little boy’s voice came through the tiny microphone. “Is this Norster?”

  Ozzie laughed out loud, and Nora couldn’t help but smile. “It is,” she said softly. “What’s your name?”

  “Alec,” the boy said. “I’m four. Are you on a walk with my mom?”

  Nora glanced at Ozzie, who was nodding gleefully. “Yes, we just walked around the neighborhood. It’s nice to talk to you, Alec. I like your name.”

  “It means ‘defender.’”

  “My name means ‘God is gracious!’” An older voice cut over the younger one. “I’m six!”

  “Don’t interrupt, Jack!” Ozzie leaned into the phone.

  “Nice to meet you too, Jack,” Nora stepped back, unsure what to do.

  Ozzie leaned into the phone again. “Where’s Olivia, guys? Does Daddy have her?”

  “Listen to me, you cunt.” The voice hissed through the phone like a serpent. It was a calm, weighted sound, the tone so horrifyingly matter-of-fact that Nora felt her whole body freeze, as if getting ready for battle. “What’d I tell you before about hanging up on me? I swear to God, I’ll fucking . . .”

  Ozzie turned away, stabbing at the speaker button with one index finger, and then stalked on ahead, pressing the phone to her ear. Nora could hear her replying, using her own vulgar language, sounding appropriately outraged, but for some reason, this fact did nothing to assuage her horror. She stood there for a moment, as if rooted to the ground. Who was this man, talking to Ozzie in such a way? And even more flabbergasting, why was Ozzie letting him? It could hardly be the first time he’d used such vile language; they’d been married for twelve years. Did Ozzie really put up with that sort of thing? Or even consider it acceptable?

  And if she did, when had that happened?

  And what else in God’s name was she hiding?

  Chapter 13

  Ozzie was pacing around the living room when Nora let herself in the front door. A vein, wide as a shoelace, was pulsing in the middle of her forehead, and her jaw was thrust so far forward that it looked disjointed. The only other time Nora could remember seeing her in such a state was when they had talked about their mothers back at Turning Winds. And even then, Ozzie’s anger had been fleeting, a sudden release of something that she had been able to bottle again, like water. This was bigger. And this time, Nora wasn’t sure if she was going to be able to put a cap on it.

  “Hey.” Nora tried to keep her voice steady. “Oz. You okay?”

  “I’m fine.” She threw her phone on the couch and walked over to the window. “Goddamned motherfucker.”

  “Ozzie.” Nora walked toward her. Ozzie’s hand, clenching one end of the curtain, was trembling. Nora put a hand on her shoulder. “Oz. Please. Talk to me.”

  Instead of answering, Ozzie dropped the curtain. She scrubbed her face with her hands, the skin along her fingertips turning pink and then white, and then sank into the couch, shaking her head.

  “Does he call you names like that a lot?”

  “Oh, he was just worked up.” Ozzie’s fingers were clenched so tight that the knuckles were turning white. “We both get like that. We fight a lot. Obviously. He’s pissed that I came and left him with the kids.”

  Nora blinked, still uncomprehending. The Ozzie she knew would never stand for a man who would call her such disgusting names or deny her freedom. It didn’t make sense. What was going on?

  Ozzie’s eyes filled with tears, and she brushed them away with two brusque flicks of her fingers. She got up again from the couch and yanked the curtain back once more. “Fucking asshole. Goddamned motherfucking asshole. The only other time I’ve gone away in twelve years—in twelve goddamned years—he did the same thing. Called the whole time and made me feel like shit about it. I should’ve known better.” Without warning, she reached out and pounded the wall with the side of her fist. “I should’ve never come.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “I should’ve stayed home and never fucking left.”

  “What is it that . . . he . . .” Nora struggled for the right words. “Is it that he doesn’t trust you?”

  “Probably.” Ozzie’s voice was dull now, resigned. “Or he doesn’t have a goddamned life of his own, so he resents me having one.” She turned, taking Nora’s hands. “Listen, I’m sorry I got you involved in this. It’s not fair to you, and it was never my intention. It’s not even that big of a deal really, okay? I have a husband who gets a little crazy sometimes. That’s all. But I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t say anything to anyone else. About the call, I mean. Or what I just said about him. All right?”

  Nora opened her mouth but didn’t say anything.

  An exasperated noise came out of Ozzie’s mouth. “The last thing I need right now is anyone else knowing this shit and getting all worked up about it. Especially with everything else we’ve got going on with Grace. Come on, Norster. This weekend is about her, okay? Not me. And especially not my marriage.”

  Nora swallowed.

  “Nora.” Ozzie squeezed her hand a little too hard.

  “Okay.” She took a breath. “But you know, it’s not okay that he calls you names like that.”

  “Oh, I know.” Ozzie sighed. “Believe me, I call him worse.” Her eyes searched Nora’s as if peering at something in deep water. “I gotta go lie down,” she said finally, dropping Nora’s hands. “I’ll see you in a little while, okay? For dinner?”

  “Okay.” Nora’s voice was small. She watched Ozzie walk from the room, and she didn’t move until she heard the door to Ozzie’s bedroom close. Then she headed upstairs.

  She needed to lie down, too.

  The entire right side of the room that Nora and Monica were sharing, a neat, small space with yellow walls and white trim, was almost completely taken up by Monica’s luggage—two enormous Louis Vuitton suitcases and a Gucci carry-on bag. Eyelet curtains tied back with pieces of yellow fabric hung over a single window, and the beds had been made up with patchwork quilts and matching pillows. T
here was a bureau too, and a throw rug on the floor that matched the colors in the quilts. Another one of Grace’s paintings hung above the bureau, this one framed with gold edges. Another bruise, although not as dark as the ones downstairs, with the same scribbled moniker in the corner.

  Nora lay down on one of the twin beds and pressed her hands over her eyes. They were trembling. She felt drained inside, exhausted, like the time she’d tried to swim too many laps at the pool and emerged from the water breathless and shaking. So much had already happened in such a short span of time. Grace getting so angry at the lunch table. And now the scene with Ozzie and the phone. Nora shuddered as the sound of Gary’s voice drifted through her head again, the way he’d emphasized the t in that awful word, as if spitting it at her. Then there was everything else still waiting on the horizon. How long was it going to take for that final, dreadful night at Turning Winds to be addressed? Because it would have to be, wouldn’t it? That’s what this trip was ultimately all about—coming to terms with their actions that night, and somehow, in some way, making peace with them? Nora wasn’t sure if she could do it anymore, if she possessed the physical or emotional strength to withstand what was to come.

  She sat up as her door opened.

  “Hi,” Monica said. “I thought I heard you come in. I was just getting myself organized in the bathroom. How was your walk?”

  “Nice,” Nora said, lying back down. Did Monica know anything about Gary? Had Ozzie let anything slip during the few conversations she’d had with her over the last few days? Or was Nora really the only one who knew?

  Monica walked over to the other bed, taking in the room with a few sweeping glances as if seeing it for the first time. She had changed into white cashmere sweat pants and a matching hoodie, revealing just the slightest edge of a pink camisole beneath. Her hair was swept up, held in place with a tortoiseshell clip, and her heels had been replaced with delicate leather thongs.

  “You guys weren’t arguing just now, were you?” Monica asked. “I heard Ozzie down there. She sounded pretty loud.”