Antonia's Choice

by Nancy Rue

  I let go of the phone and pressed my hands into my face. Bobbi. Dear God.

  It was odd for me—thinking Dear God—but who else would know why on earth my sister, my flesh and blood, had let this happen to her children? To my child?

  My chest took another hit, this time from my own thoughts. “Dear God,” I whispered. “Please don’t let me kill her. Please, just don’t give me a chance to kill my sister.”

  The phone rang, jangling through my chest cavity and jerking my jaws into locked position. I picked up the receiver and said a tight, “Hello?”

  “Her name is Faith Anne Newlin,” Reggie said. “My hot line says she’s the best family law attorney in Nashville. Tammi Trice’s sister-in-law used her—she worked miracles in that nasty mess of hers. You got a pencil, honey?”

  I grabbed one. My chest stopped throbbing.

  “There’s one thing I don’t understand,” Reggie said when I’d written the lawyers number down. “Well, there are a lot of things, but for openers, why in the world won’t your mama believe this child when there is proof all over the place? I mean, how could the woman not have known what was going on in her own house? Especially as tight as she had that umbilical cord still tied to those children?”

  “You don’t know my mother,” I said. “She could’ve caught Bobbi standing in the middle of that studio with the camera in her hand, pointed right at Wyndham’s naked behind, and she’d come up with some excuse.”

  “I do not understand that.”

  “Who does understand irrational behavior? Mama can’t admit Bobbi has done something wrong, because that would mean she has to let go of an illusion that has kept her going for years.”

  “That your sister is perfect?”

  “That she is. She couldn’t prove it by the way I turned out, and she sure couldn’t prove it by her choice of my father as a husband, so that left Bobbi.” I gave a sniff. “The fact is, Stephanie is more perfect than the rest of the bunch put together, but by the time she was born Mama had used up all her worship on Bobbi. Poor Steph has been trying to get Mama’s approval practically since the day she was born.”

  “So whose approval were you gunnin’ for?” Reggie said.

  I had to think about that for a second. “Daddy’s, I guess. And after he died, it was people like Jeffrey Faustman.”

  I could almost hear Reggie shuddering. “Honey, ya’ll give new meanin’ to the term dysfunctional.”

  “Tell me about it. I need to call that lawyer before the lunacy gets passed down any further.”

  Faith Anne Newlin sounded like she was about fifteen on the phone, though Reggie swore that Tammi What’s-Her-Name’s sister-in-law said she’d been in practice for at least five years. But I liked her no-nonsense approach when I talked to her. I needed somebody business-like and crisp to get me pulled back together.

  “I can probably have this wrapped up by tomorrow morning,” Ms. Newlin told me. “I’ll call you first thing and have you come over and sign the papers. Where can I reach you?”

  I had to pause. I didn’t even know where I was at that moment, much less where I was going to be the next day. But things had to be better by tomorrow, just having gotten this far. I gave her my number at work.

  Then I called Reggie back.

  “What’s the weather like there?” I said.

  “Partly cloudy and mild until somebody mentions your name. Then Jeffrey’s barometer hits rock bottom. I’m trying to batten down the hatches a little.”

  “Do what you can,” I said. “But don’t give anybody any details.”

  “Unh-uh.”

  “Listen, Reg, let me ask you something. You know the Green Hills Community Church? It’s down on—”

  “I know it.”

  “Are they fundamentalist—I mean, are we talking prudes who would overreact in a situation like this?”

  “Honey, I don’t use labels like that,” Reggie said. “They’re Christians, and they have an excellent reputation for dealin’ with real issues. If you want to debate the end times, go somewhere else. But if you have somebody in trouble, that’s the place to go.” Reggie paused. “Any particular reason you’re askin’ me this, honey?”

  “No rational reason, no. I’m just trying to sort through everything and throw out what’s only going to confuse me more. This whole thing makes little enough sense as it is.”

  I could hear the leather squeaking as Reggie readjusted in the chair. “I’m not following you,” she said.

  “My mother thinks the fundamentalists have gotten to Wyndham and now she’s possessed by the devil and that’s why she’s turned her mother in.”

  Reggie spat out a laugh. “That just doesn’t make sense at all. That woman is tragic. Honey, if the fundamentalists thought Wyndham was possessed, they’d be trying to drive the devil out of her! Lordy, Toni, they’re Christians, too!”

  “Okay. I’m just trying to get my head straight.”

  “Then look someplace else besides your Mama. Bless her heart, the icing has slipped off that woman’s cupcakes.”

  “I know.”

  “And you can’t be worry in about her now. You got Wyndham and Ben to take care of.”

  “I know.”

  “So what’s your next step?”

  “I have to break the news to Wyndham,” I said quickly, before Reggie could break in and tell me what my next step was. “She isn’t going to be happy about it. She said last night that if I didn’t want her, she didn’t know where she would go.”

  “Bless her heart.”

  “But I do have a place for her to go—what else can I do? I’m just going to have to convince her that this is the best thing.”

  “When’s that going to happen?”

  “Tonight. Hale Isaksen’s coming over—that’s the youth pastor.”

  “I know about him. Everybody in town knows about him. God has definitely sent you to the right place.”

  I didn’t ask her why God would give me any kind of directions at all, seeing how I’d barely given Him the time of day lately. I wasn’t in the mood for a theological discussion.

  “And where’s Ben going to be durin’ this little get-together?” Reggie said.

  “Ugh.” I put a hand in the small of my back and started pacing the kitchen. “He has soccer practice today, which means he’ll be worn out, so with any luck I can get him into bed by…” I blew air out between my lips. “Nine or ten o’clock, give or take a couple of screaming fits.”

  “You think he’d go to McDonald’s and an early movie with me?”

  “Oh, Reg, you don’t have to do that.”

  “I know it. I want to.”

  “I’d feel like I was completely taking advantage of you.”

  “Now you listen to me, girl.” Reggie was undoubtedly sitting straight up in the chair, tweezed eyebrows arched up to her hairline. “You have got one mess on your hands and there is no way you’re going to be able to get through this by yourself. You better cling to every friend God’s giving you who’s willin’ to get some of it on ’em. Now—do you think Ben would be comfortable going out with me for a while tonight or not?”

  I laughed—a now-unfamiliar sound inside my head. “Does he have a choice?”

  “No, I don’t think he does,” Reggie said. “Bless his heart.”

  It was the first miracle I had ever experienced—the fact that Ben went meekly off with Reggie at 5:30 that night. It might have been the lime-green Volkswagen Beetle Reggie drove up in that intrigued him, complete with a large stuffed frog poking its giant bulging eyes out of the sunroof. Or perhaps it was the tiny Power Puff Girls decals on her fingernails. Or it may have been that he would have done just about anything to get out of the house after I told him Wyndham was coming home soon. Reggie whispered to me that it was just one of God’s little miracles. One look at the grin on Ben’s face as he climbed into her front seat, and I believed her. It did stab me, knowing that he didn’t smile at me that way. But now that I knew why, I was going to fix
it. I just needed to get Wyndham handled first.

  Hale arrived shortly thereafter, and we had a chance to look through the Trinity House packet at the kitchen snack bar over coffee before Lindsay pulled up with Wyndham. From the photographs, it appeared to be a surprisingly un-Tennessee-like place, with Spanish mission—style stucco buildings and saltillo tiles on the floors and a spare, monastic-looking chapel off in a clearing, sans azalea bushes. It had none of the gracious Southern charm of the Green Hills Church. In fact, it reminded me of a convent.

  “Have you ever been to this place?” I said.

  “Many times,” Hale said. “I’ve even made some day-long retreats there.”

  “You have? What were you retreating from?” I put my hand up before he could answer. “That is so none of my business. I’m sorry—I’m losing it here.”

  Hale chuckled. Even his laugh had a square, solid sound that made me want to lean on it.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “Mostly I was retreating from myself—and of course that’s exactly who I found when I went there.”

  “Yourself.”

  “They have some amazing people at Trinity. The residential part of it is for abused girls, but the rest is open to anyone who is seeking…whatever they’re seeking.”

  “It would have to have something to do with God, I assume.”

  Hale gave a square shrug. “I don’t know what else would be worth seeking.”

  I went back to the pamphlet, which I’d pushed aside in order to peruse the more official looking materials. A moment later I heard myself whistle.

  “You found the price,” Hale said.

  “Three thousand a month.”

  “That includes room, board, intensive counseling—”

  “How ’bout membership in the country club?” I ran my finger down the bulleted list of benefits Wyndham was going to receive for my money. I noticed, oddly, that the nail on my index finger was now short and ragged. I didn’t remember chewing it off.

  I knew I could swing the cost for a while. I’d spent part of the afternoon looking at my financial statement, figuring out which assets to liquidate. Fortunately there were plenty that were in my name alone. I didn’t know how Chris was going to react to all this. I still hadn’t called him.

  “How long do you think it’ll take?” I said. “Until she’s—what—cured? Rehabilitated? What do you say?”

  “Healed, I think, is the word. I don’t know. It probably depends on how hard she works—how hard she lets God work. And how much support she has.”

  I grunted. “She has me. Period. My mother has written her off—both of us, actually. Something about us being possessed by the devil.”

  “I wouldn’t doubt that the devil has everything to do with this situation.” Hale got up to pour himself another cup of coffee and looked back at me over his shoulder as he crossed the kitchen. “But I don’t see the devil in you. Wyndham could do a lot worse than having you on her side.”

  “What else am I supposed to do? Right now, she doesn’t have anybody else.”

  “You could elect not to help her.”

  “Right. And I’d never sleep at night. I may not go to church, but I do have a conscience.”

  “Conscience. God.” He sat down again, squinting against the steam rising from the mug. “In this case, I think it’s the same thing.”

  “Then it’s a freebie,” I said. “If God’s in this, it isn’t because I thought about asking Him.”

  I expected something like, “It’s never too late to start,” or “Why not ask Him now?” I got neither. Hale just sat there looking square, like a rock. It kept me from fleeing when I heard Lindsay’s car pull into the driveway.

  “You get this thing started,” I said to him. “I have no idea where to even begin, so I’m going to follow your lead.”

  “You okay?” he said.

  Whether I was or not, Wyndham rushed in through the door from the garage, looking a little less starched and primped than she had that morning. Both of us seemed to have wilted as the day had gone on. But when she saw Hale and me there, her face lifted visibly, and at first I thought her eyes were shiny. As she came closer to hug me, though, I saw that they were actually glassy, feverish. The smile, the flush, it was all forced, as if she thought it ought to be there and she needed to make it so.

  “Hungry?” I said.

  She shook her head, the mop of dark curls jiggling nervously from the ponytail atop her head. “Lindsay and I had fries with some of the girls.” She glanced at me warily. “I hope that’s okay?”

  “Of course. You don’t see a seven-course meal here waiting for you, do you?”

  Her eyes grew more nervous. “You want me to fix you something? As long as I’m staying here, I can cook. Earn my keep or something.”

  My heart took another hit. I looked helplessly at Hale.

  “Who did you go out with?” he said.

  As Wyndham headed for the refrigerator she listed several names that Hale seemed, from his nods, to recognize.

  “You want me to fix you a salad, Aunt Toni?” she said.

  I shook my head and pointed to one of the snack bar stools. Glancing from one of us to the other, she climbed up on it, next to Hale. I was across from her, pressing sweat marks into the granite with my palms.

  “They’re all great girls,” she said to Hale, still using an obligatory cheery voice. “I love it here. I thought no group could be like my group up in Richmond, but these kids are so cool. I’m so glad I’m here.”

  Stop, I thought. Hale, do something. Make her stop before I start hating myself more than I already do.

  Hale, however, seemed bent on dragging the same line of conversation into next week.

  “What did ya’ll talk about?” he said.

  “Just girl stuff.” She rolled her eyes elaborately. “It feels so good to talk about something besides—you know—the yucky stuff that’s been going on with me. I feel normal again.”

  I looked at Hale, but he was still studying Wyndham. “Did you talk about shaving your legs?” he said. “You girls always seem to wind up talking about shaving your legs.”

  The flush disappeared from Wyndham’s face. Her eyes darted to her calves, and she pulled both of them, clad in black Lycra, up another notch on the stool so that she could wrap her arms around them.

  “We didn’t talk about that,” she said.

  “Do we need to?” Hale said. “You were showing some pretty bad gashes at the pool yesterday.”

  “I just have to be more careful.”

  I could feel my eyebrows twisting. If there was one thing I had learned from my five years of being a mother, it was how to tell when a kid is lying. Hale obviously knew it, too, because he was going right for the jugular. “You sure we don’t need to talk about it?” Hale’s voice, if possible, was getting softer even as it grew firmer. I personally was ready to confess every sin I’d ever committed right there on the spot. He touched Wyndham’s sleeve lightly. “I’m not one to ask a lady if I can look at her legs. But how about that arm?”

  Wyndham’s chin came up slowly from her knees, her eyes riveted to his.

  What is he doing? I thought.

  “You want to show us your arms?” he said. “We’re not going to do anything to you, Wyndham, we just want to help you—your Aunt Toni and me.”

  “I was doing—some stuff,” she said in a voice I could barely hear. “I stopped, though. Now that I’m here with Aunt Toni and everybody, I’m not depressed anymore. I’m gonna be okay now.”

  I’m completely lost, I wanted to say. Somebody tell me what’s going on.

  “Let’s have a look, huh?” Hale nodded toward her arm. “You’re with people who care about you. You need to show us what’s going on.”

  Something shifted in Wyndham, something visceral. Moving mechanically, as if she herself were no longer in her body, she unbuttoned the cuff on her white blouse and slowly rolled up the sleeve. I gasped out loud.

  There was a three-inch cr
oss cut into Wyndham’s forearm. It looked raw and angry, puffed red at the edges of the wound with no sign of a scab. It was a recent injury, done that morning at the very earliest.

  “Wyndham,” I said. “Honey—oh.”

  “Don’t be mad at me, Aunt Toni! It’s the last time—I promise. I don’t need to do it anymore. I can stop now, because you want me here. You still want me here after I told you about Ben!”

  “But didn’t you do that just today, Wyndham?” Hale said.

  I wanted him to stop. The look on Wyndham’s face was so agonized, I didn’t want him pushing her anymore. But she nodded.

  “It’s the last time, though!” Her mouth drew up, her eyes closed. It was a contortion born of pain. “I just wanted to see if I could feel—and I can! I can now! So I can stop!” She turned to me with her eyes still squeezed shut. “Aunt Toni, please—”

  I reached across the counter and put my hand on the arm that was still covered by a sleeve. She winced. Her eyes locked into mine.

  Dear God, I thought. She IS mutilating herself.

  “You’ve been through a horrible thing,” Hale said, as if from some other dimension. “It has taken a terrible toll on you, and you’re going to need some help being healed. You can’t just stop.”

  “But I’m away from him now.”

  “And that’s a start. But all that he did to you isn’t going to disappear overnight.”

  “But God can do miracles! He’s already done one—he’s brought me here!”

  Her eyes searched my face, rummaged through it for a rescue, as if I myself were God.

  “Your Aunt Toni can’t heal you,” Hale said. “She’ll be there for you, but she can’t do it. God’s going to need some time to work in you.”

  Wyndham paused, her face marble-still as if she were dumping out one set of responses to replace them with another. When she spoke, her voice was lower, steadier, but even that was forced. “I’ll go to counseling then,” she said. “I’ll do whatever you want—just let me stay here.”

  So let her stay here. Let her just go to counseling. She’s dying right now, for heaven’s sake.

  “I’ll work hard, I swear,” Wyndham was saying.