The Secret to Hummingbird Cake

by Celeste Fletcher McHale

  “Not feeling too good this morning?” I asked.

  “Not so much.” Her voice was just a decibel above a whisper.

  It was the first time since her diagnosis that she had ever acknowledged that. I glanced over at Ella Rae. The statement wasn’t lost on her either.

  “What can we do?”

  “Mitch is packing,” she said. “I’ve asked him to leave.”

  “Why?” Ella Rae said. “Don’t you want to spend . . .” Her voice trailed off.

  “Whatever time I have left with him?” she asked. “No . . . I don’t. I don’t want him to see the rest of this.” She gestured around the room. “The end of this.”

  “But he wants to be here.”

  “No,” Laine said, “that’s enough. I can’t let him watch. It’ll hurt him too much.” She struggled a bit for another breath before she continued. “It doesn’t matter how much time we had . . . or didn’t have. Never did.”

  I didn’t understand the Laine Logic behind that, but it wasn’t the first time I didn’t understand the way she thought. I didn’t want her to waste any more energy. Every sentence was a battle.

  “Stop talking, Laine,” I said. “It’s okay if you want him to go. Ella Rae just wanted to be sure.” Laine’s eyes were closed, and I looked at Ella Rae and silently put my finger over my lips so she wouldn’t ask her anything else about Mitch.

  “I need to say this,” Laine said. “I need you both to hear this . . . Mitch was the only man I ever loved. When he left me years ago, the last thing he said to me was ‘I love you and I’ll see you again. I promise.’ He said it to me again this morning.” She paused. Catching her breath was harder this time.

  “Laine, you don’t have to explain it,” I said. “Please stop talking. Save your strength.”

  She smiled a little but still didn’t open her eyes. “Save it for what, Carri?” She continued her monologue. “The next time Mitch sees me . . . I’ll be whole again . . . and not like this. Maybe we didn’t have the perfect love story. But we had the perfect love. Because it endured, and it remembered, and it forgave.” She paused again. “Not everybody gets a gift like that. God has been so good to me and I am so thankful.” Her voice broke and tears escaped from her closed eyes.

  “It was a beautiful love story,” I said. By now tears were streaming down my face. “Please don’t talk any more, Laine, okay?”

  She smiled slightly and nodded. “I love you both, so much. Stay while I sleep?”

  “We love you too,” I said. “Of course we’ll stay.”

  Ella Rae couldn’t answer at all.

  Debra had given her a pretty strong shot for pain, and I could tell it was already working. A few minutes later, Laine was asleep. I adjusted her oxygen and continued to look at her.

  “This ain’t good, Carrigan,” Ella Rae said.

  “I know.” For the last couple of days, every time she went to sleep, I was afraid she wouldn’t wake up. This morning I was horrified.

  “We can’t leave her today.” Ella Rae reached for a tissue. “At all.”

  “I know,” I said. I took my cell phone from my pocket and texted Jack, asking him to come to the bedroom. He was beside me in an instant.

  “Hey, baby,” he said softly and knelt on one knee by the chair. “What can I do?”

  “Will you take the baby to Mama? There’s milk in the freezer. Take plenty. I don’t know when.”

  “I’ll go right now.” He kissed my cheek. “Are you all right?”

  “Probably not.”

  “I’ll be right back,” he promised. “I love you.” He looked at Laine for a moment and turned to leave.

  Ella Rae’s face was ashen and frightened. “Is this the day?” she asked quietly.

  “I don’t know,” I whispered.

  I could feel an uncomfortable pressure in my chest, like the one I’d had the day at the hospital when Doctor Rougeau was telling us Laine was going to die. I tugged the collar of my T-shirt away from my neck and tried to breathe steadily. I couldn’t afford the luxury of a panic attack right now. I had to be here. I had to stay present. I had promised I wouldn’t leave her, no matter what. I had promised, promised, promised.

  Debra came back into the room and put her hand on my shoulder, startling me.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “What’s happening here, Debra?”

  Debra sighed. “No one can predict—”

  I cut her off. “Please don’t lie to me or speak in medical terms. I can take it. Just tell me.”

  “I put a catheter in last night, but there’s not much output. Her blood pressure is dropping and her color isn’t good.”

  “And all that means?” Ella Rae asked.

  “All that means she’s getting close to letting go.”

  Neither of us replied, but we both waited for her to answer the unspoken question.

  Debra lowered her lids, then looked up again. She put her hand on my shoulder once more and gently squeezed it. “Hours . . . maybe a day at the most. I could be wrong, but . . .” Her voice trailed off.

  Ella Rae began to cry quietly, and I felt the familiar anger in the pit of my stomach.

  “I’m so sorry,” Debra said. “I’ll be right outside. If she’s in pain when she wakes up, let me know.”

  We sat on either side of her bed for the next half hour, each of us holding her hand and lost in our own thoughts. We didn’t speak at all.

  I didn’t know Mrs. Jeannette was in the room until she patted my shoulder. I got out of the chair so she could sit down.

  “It’s so hard . . .”

  “I know,” I said. “Would you like for me to stay?”

  “No, sweetheart,” Mrs. Jeannette said. “Michael is on his way. We’d like to sit with her alone for a while. I know this is the end, and I know what she wants.”

  She took my seat and reached for Laine’s hand. “Good morning, baby.”

  Laine moved her legs a bit. “Hey, Mama.”

  I motioned to Ella Rae, and we left Mrs. Jeannette alone to tell her daughter good-bye.

  During Laine’s last stay in the hospital back in December, she had shooed Ella Rae and me home so she could talk to her mother and Michael regarding her wishes when this time came. One thing she’d been adamant about—she did not want her mother to watch her die.

  Mrs. Jeannette had been alone with Laine’s father when he’d suffered the heart attack that killed him. It had devastated her. Laine didn’t want her to watch it happen to someone else she loved. She wanted Ella Rae and me with her because it would be easier on her mother.

  Mrs. Jeannette balked at the idea immediately, but after Laine got pretty emotional about it, she finally relented. Laine assured her that every word they wanted or needed to say would be said before she left this earth.

  Time seemed to stand still that day. Every hour felt like it packed ninety minutes into it instead of sixty. Everybody and everything moved in super slow motion. Word got around quickly in Bon Dieu Falls. People were in and out of the house all day long. Tommy and his family, my family, the pastor at our church, a few of Laine’s co-workers and a principal she’d been close to came to say good-bye to her.

  Kids she had taught left cards and letters, and one of them brought her a picture of her cousin who had died recently in a wreck. I flipped it over. She had written, “Please look for my cousin Blake when you get there.” That had nearly killed me. Then one of the Thompson boys who was in her class the past year was openly weeping, and that totally broke my heart. Others had come to sit with Mrs. Je
annette, offer their support, bring food, hold a hand, and anything else we needed. Small towns.

  Around six p.m., the thunderstorms began to close in, with pounding rain and high winds. Mrs. Jeannette had left Laine’s room for the last time. At the first loud clap of thunder, I looked across Laine’s bed at Ella Rae. Laine had always loved thunderstorms, and I wished she were awake to hear this one. Suddenly I remembered my grandmother saying that during thunderstorms, the heavens were opening up so the angels could come to earth and pick up a soul. It wasn’t a comforting thought.

  By nine p.m., the almost constant thunder was grinding on my nerves, and any other sound in the house nearly made me jump out of my skin. The grandfather clock in the corner of Laine’s room got louder and louder with each tick until I wanted to punch the glass out. “Hickory, Dickory, Dock” played over and over in my mind like a broken record. And I could’ve sworn the room was getting smaller and smaller. I unconsciously moved my feet back and forth against the rug and tried to concentrate on keeping my breathing even.

  An hour earlier I asked Jack to go to my parents’ house to check on Elle, and he still wasn’t back. I was worried about him driving in this weather, worried about my baby—although I knew she was in excellent hands—and worried about Ella Rae, whose tears had never stopped flowing today. It seemed I was back to square one, with no tears left to cry. I felt defeated and powerless. I wanted to stomp the floor, throw things, and slam doors. I knew that was stupid and childish, but I felt stupid and childish. All my life I had defined things by competition. It was the only way I knew how to measure anything. If you couldn’t do something like dribble behind your back, lay down a perfect bunt, or outmaneuver a chick trying to take your man, you just hammered and hammered and hammered until you got it right.

  I couldn’t fix this. Ever. I had no control over this situation with Laine. I’d never had any control of it. She’d orchestrated everything about her death right down to this minute. This was the first time in my life there was literally nothing left to do except sit by this bed and wait for her to die. It was hot in here, hot enough that I was sweating, although Ella Rae had a light sweater on. Every time I looked at Laine, it seemed like her color was worse, a strange grayish color that no human ever needed to be.

  Why didn’t God just take her if he wanted her? What was his deal? Is this how he got his kicks? I didn’t want to look at her again, but every time I looked away, the room was tinier. I tried to breathe in deep, but the air never seemed to reach the bottom of my chest.

  I didn’t want to do this any more. I wanted to run out of this room and down the road and never look back. I wanted to go back to a time where my most difficult decision of the day was which jeans made my butt look better. I wanted my life to be fun again, and I wanted this awful, horrible nightmare to end. I didn’t want to be around death and dying and tears and pain. Not another second.

  The thought made me so ashamed of myself, I buried my face in my hands. How could I be wishing anything for myself while Laine was lying in bed with oxygen crammed up her nose, an IV shoved in her arm, and her skin a pasty grayish white? She was dying. Dying! And I felt anxious?

  I hated myself at that moment and wanted to claw my own skin, again, like I had from Day One. She loved me, and I didn’t deserve that. How could she possibly love me? How could anyone? I was selfish and hateful and mean. I didn’t deserve anything, not Jack, and not the baby. And my baby certainly didn’t deserve me.

  I stood up, suddenly unable to stay in this death chamber another second. I felt like someone was holding a pillow across my face and I had the urge to swing wildly until I connected with whatever held me captive. But there was nothing and no one to swing at. I had to get out of here. Now. I wanted to run, and so I did. I knew I was failing her with every step I took, but I couldn’t help it. Besides, I failed everybody.

  “Carrigan,” Ella Rae said, “what are you doing? Where are you going? You can’t leave.”

  “I . . . I’ll be right back.” I groped the door handle that seemed stuck and unyielding. “I just have to . . . I’m gonna . . . I’ll be back.”

  “Carrigan, you can’t go too far.”

  “I know!” I snapped. “I said I’d be back.”

  Her brows creased in question, but she didn’t answer, tucked Laine’s hand back into hers, and lay down on her recliner. Ella Rae was dependable. Unlike me.

  I slipped quickly out of the bedroom door and past Debra, sitting in her ever-present chair doing cross-stitch or needlepoint or some such crap. Did she ever move? She was always here, with some kind of needle, one for Laine or one for fabric. Her eyes met mine briefly, but I didn’t hang around long enough to talk. God, what a depressing life. Always living in somebody else’s tragedy. How could she live like this? How could anybody?

  I could feel her eyes on me as I picked up speed, but I didn’t care. Let her think whatever she wanted to think. I ran into the living room, where Tommy was asleep on the sofa. I could hear low voices from the kitchen and changed direction again. Dear God, was there not a place where I could be alone? I ran out the front door and right into Jack’s chest.

  “Carrigan, what is it?” He grabbed me by the shoulders. “Laine?”

  “No.” I pulled away from him. “She’s breathing . . . dying . . . then breathing. I can’t stay here.” I backed away from him off the porch.

  He took a step toward me.

  “Don’t!” I shouted. “Stay away from me.” I ran toward the barn, lightning all over the sky and rain stinging me everywhere it touched. I expected to see angels arriving with Laine’s chariot any second.

  Jack was close on my heels. “Carrigan! What are you doing?”

  I ran in one direction and then the other, zigzagging, trying to bypass his touch, but he caught me when I flung the barn door open.

  “Carrigan,” he said, “what’s the matter?”

  I backed away from him. “What’s the matter?”

  “I mean, what happened?”

  I spun around so I didn’t have to look at him. I was so ashamed of the things I had been thinking, of what I was still thinking. I was so ashamed of the things I had done. I was sure he could read them all over my face if he looked at me. Then he’d know for sure what kind of person I was.

  “Tell me.”

  I shook my head. “I can’t.”

  “Yes, you can.”

  “I was just sitting there . . . waiting,” I stammered. “Just waiting, and I started thinking . . . I can’t . . .” I shook my head and squeezed my eyes shut.

  He laid his hand on my shoulder. “Carrigan, this is me you’re talking to.”

  That sentence broke the dam. I began to cry. I sobbed the way I had in the rose garden the day Doctor Rougeau had told us Laine was going to die so you better get used to it because we sure can’t stop it, thank you very much. I cried from the pit of my soul. Why? Why Laine? Dear God, why did it have to be Laine? When I caught my breath, I bawled, yelled, and roared everything I had kept trapped inside me the past year. The words tumbled out of me on top of each other, sometimes coherent, sometimes not. I was powerless to stop them.

  “I’m so mad at her!” I marveled at how good it felt to scream. “Why didn’t she just take the treatment? Maybe it would’ve made a difference. She didn’t know. She just quit! Who just quits?” I kicked dirt and threw whatever I could get my hands on. “She didn’t even try. It makes no sense. Her God gives out miracles every day. Surely he would’ve given her one . . . surely. But no. She just lay there.” I gestured to the house. “She just lay there and withered up, and now she’s gonna die. I’m so mad at her! She didn’t care about us. It was all about her and how she wanted to do this. Screw Carrigan and Ella Rae. They�
��ll get over it. Well, I won’t get over it. Ever!”

  I kicked a water bucket and scared the horses. “Nobody just quits. Nobody. I can’t even . . .” I plopped down on a bale of hay, put my hands over my face, and then jerked them away again.

  Jack moved toward me, but I put my hand out to stop him. “No,” I said. “No, there’s more. Don’t you touch me. There’s more. Did you hear all the stuff I just said? About my best friend? The one who is dying while I am out here screaming about how mad I am? How selfish is that? Who does that, Jack?”

  A new flood of self-loathing spilled over me. “I am an awful, horrible person. You don’t know it, but I am. I really am. You can say it. I don’t deserve her. I don’t deserve you. And Elle? She surely doesn’t deserve me. I’m not fit to be a mother. Any one of these cows is a better mother than I am. Would you want me to be your mother? Of course not. A mother is supposed to be stable. I feel crazy. Crazy! I am not a good person, Jack. You just don’t know everything about me. I’m not a good person at all.”

  I jumped up again to throw something, but this time he caught me in his arms and held me there. I twisted and turned to remove myself from his grip, but he wouldn’t let me go, so I stopped fighting, slumped against him, and began to cry again.

  Jack held me against him while I wailed into his chest. “Just get it out.”

  I let myself go limp in his arms. I was exhausted, so tired of being strong. I couldn’t hold up another second.

  Finally there were no tears left to cry. “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “Sorry for what?”

  “For everything,” I said. I felt too guilty even to look up at him.

  He pushed me away from him gently and curled his finger under my chin. “Carrigan, I’m gonna tell you something,” he said slowly, “and I want you to listen to me very carefully, okay?”

  I shook my head and swiped at the tears.

  He cradled my face in his hands and said, “I don’t know another person who loves people any deeper than you do.” He paused and searched my face. “So I don’t wanna hear what a bad person you are. You are the mother of my child, and I wouldn’t want anybody else on earth to have that job. And I hope she turns out just like you. Full of grit and spirit and life.”