The Opposite of Never

by Mary Kathleen Mehuron

  She seemed thrilled to tell him about her plans to use the hallucinogenic drug Ecstasy that night. As a teenage boy, ecstasy was exactly what Spencer constantly dreamed about, and he wished he could experience it with Zelda, but without the drugs. He was so taken with the beautiful girl that he’d convinced himself it wouldn’t be bad to join her. He’d heard lots of pop songs that mentioned Molly, MDMA, and Ecstasy. Apparently, it was a cool club drug in the big cities. Besides, he rationalized, it was only this one time.

  They were all staying over at their friend’s house for the night because everyone knew better than to drink and drive. What was the worst that could happen? Zelda brought a bag of pills she had purchased and then sold some to other kids at the party. She only took a small profit for herself, just something for her trouble and the time she put in tracking them down.

  The police report filed the next day was the only factual information that Spencer’s family had about what happened after he made his unfortunate decision. Spencer remembered nothing, the other kids very little, and they were all intoxicated, so their recollections were unreliable at best. As horrible as the surgery for his amputation had been, the trauma to his brain was worse. For five years, he’d fought his way back from oblivion, out of a wheelchair, and finally learned how to speak and read again.

  When Yvonne glanced at him across her kitchen now, her heart was torn apart by the sight of the thick jagged scars across her child’s face and head.

  He was scrutinizing the local paper when he abruptly looked up and smiled. This caused her to stop dead in her tracks, for it was the open, animated smile of the boy she used to know. The tears that had been forming in her eyes dried instantly. Yvonne, whose maternal instincts ran deep, recognized his expression for the milestone it was. She held her breath and waited.

  He said, “Mom, I’ve got to read this to you. It’s hilarious.”

  By way of a response, she went over to stand behind him. For the first time since the accident, she laid her hand on the shoulder of the arm he had lost and squeezed it.

  Six

  “I believe in intuitions and inspirations.

  I sometimes feel that I am right.

  I do not KNOW that I am.”

  —Albert Einstein

  Zelda had been eighteen that fateful night of the party in DeGranit. Exactly twelve months earlier, her mother, Sharon Simmons, a petite spitfire of a woman, had died of ovarian cancer. Her mom had spent seven gutsy years fighting for her life, so Zelda tried hard to believe her when she insisted she was a statistical outlier.

  “The doctors say there’s only a five percent chance for a cure. I will be one of those in the five percent.”

  Until the day she died, Sharon held on to the hope that she could survive the disease, but Zelda was terrified at the thought of losing her, and consequently she clung to her mom at a time when most people her age were pushing their parents away. During the regular intervals when Sharon’s health took a downturn, Zelda often fell into frantic spells of desperation. She had nightmares that caused her to cry out in the night, and her parents would find her sitting up in bed, clammy from a cold sweat. Five years into Sharon’s treatments, the family doctor put Zelda on a selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor, an antidepressant that was supposed to help control her anxiety. They did not notice any change in her night terrors, so they all agreed to let her stop taking it.

  Zelda lived in a state of prolonged hypervigilance. There was a part of her that believed if she were a good, good girl, she would be rewarded with her mother’s life. She watched the nurses, doctors, and other hospital personnel when they attended to Sharon, and became a precocious caregiver. After every chemotherapy session, she slept with her mother so she could respond instantly, whenever Sharon needed a sip of water or help getting to the bathroom when she was nauseous. Kenny, as her stepfather, was concerned about Zelda taking on such an adult role, but he also knew better than to act on his instincts alone. He consulted with a psychologist who told him that all children were different, and if this helped her to feel a sense of control over Sharon’s illness, he should let her do it.

  Kenny could remember a night when the three of them decided it was time to shave Sharon’s head. Two days after her second intravenous chemotherapy treatment, as Sharon leaned over a bowl of cereal at breakfast, a clump of her hair fell into her organic granola. She didn’t say anything to anyone because she wasn’t yet ready to face the reality. She’d seen other patients in the treatment center who’d lost every follicle including their eyebrows and eyelashes. They went through a period of time when they resembled a hairless alien. As the family was having dinner together around the table that evening, both Kenny and Zelda spotted errant strands floating down from Sharon’s head onto her plate and the tabletop. Trying to be helpful, Kenny pointed it out to her. She burst into tears as her bubble of denial burst.

  “Don’t you think I know it? Can you just baaaaaacccck . . .” Sharon gasped and choked on the word, but eventually, managed “off?”

  Kenny was so surprised by her explosion that he raised his eyebrows and let out a soft whistle, but otherwise remained silent.

  Zelda stood behind her mother’s chair, and reached around Sharon’s shoulders to hug her firmly. With the most tender of expressions, she laid her young face between her mother’s shoulder blades. Sharon didn’t protest at all. Eventually Zelda slid her cheek up next to her mother’s. Kenny could hear Zelda as she quietly said, “Mom, I think it’s time.”

  Sharon was silent for several seconds. Zelda still had her arms wrapped around her, when finally her mother nodded up and down in a slow motion. Afterwards she pinched the bridge of her nose between both index fingers. Her daughter left the area near the table and set about gathering up equipment she deemed necessary for the task ahead of her. They could hear her climb the stairs and move from room to room. Doors and cabinets opened and then closed.

  “What is she doing?” Sharon wanted to know.

  “I don’t know, Shar. I’m kind of afraid to say anything right now. I don’t want to upset you any more than I already have.”

  “Kenny, it’s not you, it’s . . .” She waved her hand around in the air trying to communicate something but ultimately wound up pointing to her head.

  Zelda returned with Kenny’s double-edged razor. “I think we should use this one, Kenny. A disposable won’t work well enough for this job. I hope it’s okay I grabbed it out of your bathroom, I found fresh blades and put one in.” She also carried shaving cream and two clean towels across one arm.

  Sharon looked at the assemblage and said, “Honey, you shouldn’t have to do this. You’re my daughter, still a child; it’s not right.”

  Zelda ignored her and went into the kitchen to fill a big bowl with warm water. She dragged a comfortable chair out on the back deck and called for her mother to come.

  “I want to do it, Mom. You’re on that blood thinner. I’m not going to trust anyone else because they might cut you.”

  “But, sweetheart, you might cut me. You’ve never done this before.” Sharon put her head down on the table, already lamenting the loss of her crowning glory and her daughter’s guileless trust in her own abilities at such a tender age. She suddenly felt furious because she had already forfeited so much—body parts, her sexuality, and her good health. There wasn’t a moment in any day that she wasn’t in pain.

  “Mom, I will be careful, more careful than anybody else.”

  Defeated by the truth in her child’s words, Sharon stood and walked out the kitchen door to the deck. Surprisingly, in direct opposition to her heartache, the summer night was a glorious spectacle. A dome of glittering stars showed off their majesty. Just as she was getting settled in the chair, a meteorite flared and fell across the sky. The lush green lawn of their backyard emanated a fresh herbal scent and sparkled with so many fireflies it was difficult to tell where the dark sky ended and the lightning bugs began.

  “Look at this miracle of an evening. It�
�s like God is mocking my suffering.”

  “I think it’s an omen, Mom. He’s not mocking, he’s telling us everything is going to turn out great. Not just fine, but great.” Zelda didn’t really believe what she was saying, but she felt it was her job to keep her mother’s spirits up. Every time Zelda scraped the razor across her mother’s scalp, Sharon wept anew. She paused between strokes until Sharon collected herself, and then started again. It took two full hours to complete the shave, but she did so patiently, patting her mother’s arm from time to time. The sheer effort of trying to sound positive left Zelda revved up in a state of anxiety, until she crashed from emotional exhaustion.

  The last week of Sharon’s life, Zelda took up residency on her bed with her. When her mother cried out in pain, Zelda always knew exactly what she needed.

  “Take a sip of this water, Mom. Take the straw. That’s it. It’s nice and cold. Mom, you can’t help it if you pee. It’s not like you have control over it. Don’t cry, Mom. Here, work with me and we’ll change the pad.”

  “Wait for the nurse, honey . . . not your job,” Sharon croaked out.

  “She won’t be here until ten. We’re not doing that; it will irritate your skin.”

  It was Kenny’s job to keep track of the narcotics. He would have liked to do more, but inserting himself between mother and daughter was nearly impossible. He had learned that lesson long ago. Zelda had been five when Kenny met Sharon, a single mother. The two were extraordinarily close, and he felt it was wise to take his time earning his way into their circle of trust.

  During Sharon’s last month, Kenny experienced a difficult moment that raised his suspicion. His accounting of pills came up short. When he asked Zelda about it she said, “Oh, I forgot to tell you, Mom’s had breakthrough pain. She couldn’t wait the four hours.”

  Kenny had a gut feeling she wasn’t telling him the truth, and as soon as the home health workers arrived and freed up some of his time, he drove to the local hardware store and bought a small, lockable safe to keep the narcotics secure. He promised himself he would administer every dose in the future. It was an awkward moment when he announced this to Zelda, but he was exceedingly troubled by her lie, and it turned out, in the end, he had every right to be concerned.

  Zelda was dumbfounded on the day she watched her mother draw her last breath. Sharon had close calls that were nearly heart-stopping before, but she proved herself to be resilient. For over seven years—eighty-seven months—though she experienced downturns, she managed to rally enough to participate in her family’s life. And all the while, she maintained her determination to be among the small percentage of women who survived this particular cancer diagnosis. On this night, Sharon’s breath became so faint that Zelda was alarmed. She laid her head on her mother’s pillow, nose-to-nose and just a few inches away from the air pushed out by her exhalation. Within seconds Zelda found her own breathing became synchronized to Sharon’s shallow pull and release. She fixated on every labored pant, almost as if she were trying to breathe for her.

  Sharon’s eyes had been closed all day but now her lids fluttered as she turned her head and looked deeply into Zelda’s eyes. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m not going to . . .” and she was gone.

  At first Zelda didn’t believe it was over. It had been peaceful, the opposite of the drama she thought would accompany death. Her mother’s life force had swirled around and above her and within seconds it drained from the bedroom. Kenny was downstairs cleaning up the dinner he had made for them. She was nearly in a daze as she walked to the top of the oak stairs to call for him. Though her voice sounded relatively even and strong, she felt like she had been bludgeoned. About a week later, after the activity surrounding the funeral ended and the family and friends returned home, she actively began to seek out ways to dull her extraordinary grief.

  Her need to numb her feelings of intense mourning had led to the accident on Main Street in DeGranit. It was a travesty that carried with it a high cost of collateral damage. All the other kids involved were injured much worse than Zelda. Many of the other parents in town blamed Kenny’s stepdaughter entirely and said so openly. The local paper published a letter to the editor that stopped short of naming her, but detailed her actions on that fateful night. It was clear she had supplied the drug that stupefied the young people. It was reported they’d thought they were in some sort of spacecraft instead of Spencer’s family’s Subaru and another family’s Audi sedan that both wound up being totaled. The teenagers were also over the legal limit for alcohol, and it was widely known the family that hosted the party had a habit of looking the other way. Ironically, no one was angry with these parents who were supposed to be supervising. All the blame was leveled at Zelda.

  During the debacle, Kenny had gone into an empty Catholic church and lit a votive candle for his wife. He was one of many Catholics who found themselves in a lifelong holding pattern waiting for the church to change. He couldn’t abide many of the policies of his religion, particularly the role that women were asked to play and its stance on family planning, but in times of great need, he chose to practice selective traditions. I suppose I’m a cafeteria Catholic, he reflected, I hope that doesn’t mean I’m a hypocrite too. Look kindly on me today, Lord, for I am lost.

  Kenny sat in the second pew and took in the scent of bees-wax and incense. He pulled a velvet-covered kneeler out and went down onto it, his elbows up on the back of the bench in front of him. When he folded his hands in prayer, he broke down, gasping and, despite trying to hold his feelings in, shedding many tears. Finally, he spoke aloud to the crucifix hanging over the altar, but he was actually addressing his wife.

  “How do I help her, Sharon? How?”

  He screamed the last question, and the volume of his voice startled him. For one wild moment he was fearful that he might be losing his mind. He was also flustered, thinking he might have been overheard, so he scurried back down the aisle making the sign of the cross. He sprinted out the high, carved, double front doors. They closed slowly and softly behind him with barely a whisper.

  Without knowing he had come to a decision, Kenny began to take action. First, he set meetings with the head of retirement services for his company and his personal financial advisor. He studied all the information he was given and created a spreadsheet to outline the pros and cons of early retirement. Then, he contacted a realtor whom he knew through the Rotary Club. He told the man that Zelda had always dreamed about having a horse and a dog. He wanted to see properties out in the deep country where she could keep both.

  His list of requirements for a new home was extensive. It had to be far enough away from DeGranit so people wouldn’t automatically associate Kenny and Zelda with the tragedy that had occurred or Zelda with illegal drugs. He wanted a place with essentially two master bedroom suites so they could each have privacy. It had to have a covered front porch deep enough to protect a long comfortable couch and must face west so they could watch the sunset. Kenny also wanted a deck or sunroom where they could have coffee and enjoy the morning sun. The property was to have its own pond, a running stream so they would hear the tranquil sound of water, established gardens, a fenced pasture for the horse, and a barn. In addition, he hoped for a three-car garage with a workshop. This last part was for him. All the other things on the list he hoped would help Zelda to heal.

  Their new house was on Millhouse Road in Moorestown. As requested, it did have its own small swimming pond, but it also sat high above a larger one. Millhouse Pond was over a hundred acres in size. That made it big enough to accommodate two pairs of nesting loons, despite the fact they are extremely territorial. It was a pristine body of water that teemed with fish and consequently drew large birds of prey. Bald eagles, hawks, ospreys, and great herons were common sights. The pond was roughly kidney shaped, and just where the kidney curved inward was a small island. The lake was nestled into a basin-shaped valley. On every side of the water, the land rose quickly to become mountainous. Kenny noticed someone had cons
tructed a rope swing over a large rock on the water’s edge. A dirt path wound all the way around the pond, and logging roads shot off into the woods. He hoped Zelda would make some new friends and bring them here.

  Zelda did not appreciate his new vision. She was red-faced with fury when he talked about leaving DeGranit. She was still hanging out with the wrong crowd, so he started seeing a counselor who helped him to remain strong as he sold their home and filed his retirement documents. Because she was of legal age, he couldn’t force her to do anything, but she was still dependent upon him financially as she recovered from her injuries. He steeled himself not to buy into her objections. The police were watching Zelda’s every move; if he didn’t do something soon, he was afraid she would wind up in jail. And in the middle of his many sleepless nights, his fears ran amuck. If Zelda continued down this dangerous path, prison, in fact, might be the safest of all possible outcomes.

  Seven

  “I felt my lungs inflate with the onrush of scenery—air, mountains, trees, people.

  I thought, this is what it is to be happy.”

  —Sylvia Plath

  Georgia was back in bed with her first cup of coffee. She pulled all her blinds wide open. The wall across from her was a series of glass doors, and through them she had a sweeping view of the garden around her pool. Beyond it, a bit farther out, was a hay pasture. Farther still in the distance, across the entire valley floor, Alese Peak rose before her a soaring nine hundred feet.

  She knew the hiking trail that went up the mountain very well. It was of moderate difficulty, maybe two and one-half miles out and back. The trail access was on private land near the historic grounds of Bowen Farm, and it passed by a few points of interest including an old cellar hole, a waterfall, and a high-elevation saddle formed between Bragg Mountain and Alese Peak. Just where it merged with an old logging road, the trail became public property, exactly at the same point when the forest began to mix and turn from hardwood to evergreen. Hikers who made it to the top were rewarded with a panoramic view of cascading beaver ponds that were fed by blue snowmelt spilling over from one shallow basin down into the next. From the edge of the last pond was a waterfall that roared all year long.