The Opposite of Never

by Mary Kathleen Mehuron

  Instead of attending Mass, she designated Sunday mornings as Spencer’s music time. Yvonne had read that the use of music to help heal head injuries was growing because of modern scans that revealed plasticity, meaning the ability of the brain to change, and the specific parts of the brain that music activates. She brought her iPod dock with her to the hospital and played what she considered humankind’s most joyous music.

  The first Sunday she played her son a carefully chosen collection from operas, and the next week she blasted the most famous ballet suites. On the third, the greatest hits of the doo-wop era evoked a visible response from Spencer when he lifted his hand a few times. She then tried swing and rock and roll—all songs that were joyous and upbeat. Although Spencer was confined to his bed, Yvonne danced around his room with abandon to encourage him. The staff came and went, efficiently performing their tasks, but as time went on, they would enter and exit leaping, swinging, swaying, and even strutting along with the music.

  Yvonne was certain the songs were stimulating Spencer’s brain, and he became able to move the toes of his right foot in time to the rhythm. Many months later, he added one index finger and eventually, his entire arm. Another year passed before he could sing along. His strength over the passing time continued to gather. After marathon physical therapy treatments, and in a moment of divine intervention, he was on up his feet and leading his mother around the hospital floor in a Texas two-step. The nurses cheered that day. Every one of them begged for a turn until he fell back on his bed, drained by the effort.

  But today it seemed clear to Yvonne that Spencer had forgotten her five years of sacrifice. Not to mention that she had carried and birthed him and taken care of him over his twenty-two years of life. He hadn’t consulted her at all about Zelda coming to work Friday morning. It was early when Yvonne saw her car pull in, and then they were out in the enclosed pasture exercising the horses. She stewed the whole day and called Rolland’s cell phone to complain about their thoughtlessness. When she looked out her kitchen window again that afternoon, they were riding up the hill and away from her.

  Her only child hadn’t bothered to check in and see how she was doing after the distressing events of the night before. That cut her to the quick, and on top of the scene that had unfolded, it made her livid. Leave it to Rolland to bail out when things get difficult. He decided to pack up and start driving the second we got home from Kenny’s house. Yvonne hardly slept at all after the scene that played out.

  The temperature had dropped quickly during the night, so on top of her fury, she was freezing. After hours of tossing and turning, she finally got up and closed the windows, turned the lights on, and dug deep into her cedar chest for an extra blanket. The weekend became a study in extremes with the daytime temperature well in the eighties and both nights dipping down into the forties. Her second night alone, she was even more irritable and furious than the first one.

  Early on Sunday, thick ribbons of fog were evaporating off the riverbed in the valley and the streams up on the mountain. This often happened on late spring and early fall mornings. Zelda and Spencer knew they would soon have to pack up and head back home. While she made coffee on her camp stove, Spencer kept finding excuses to come up behind her and kiss her on the neck. “I had such a great time these past few days. We got a lot accomplished, too. I can’t wait to talk to my father about all our plans.” When the coffee had fully percolated, Zelda started frying bacon that she drained off into a tin can. Once it was crisp, she used the same frying pan to make eggs over easy to complete their hearty breakfast.

  Spencer tended to the horses and took the tent down. After each chore he returned, put his arm around her, and nuzzled her above her collar. He circled his hand around her wrist. “My fingers touch. You are so tiny. You’re my china doll, and you cook too. I always thought beautiful girls didn’t cook.”

  “I don’t know who told you that. Your mother is a great cook, and she’s gorgeous. Spencer, thank you for making me feel like this. I had a wonderful time, too. I hope that we can do it again soon.”

  He kissed her and said, “Me too, China Doll.”

  It was ten o’clock before they were ready to break the spell they had both been under and head down the mountain. By that time, the sun was burning through the fog high above, but on the trail directly before them, the visibility was still poor. They rode slowly and carefully on the trails. As the air warmed, the mist rose in threads that spiraled as they rose. They looked like phantoms dancing toward the sunlight that was streaming in. At the same time Zelda and Spencer descended in elevation, reality came rushing back at them.

  Spencer made a mental list of all the things he had to do as soon as they got back. “When I go away, I hire other people to care for my animals, but I never really know what I’m going to find when I get home. I guess I’m particular and I have my own way of doing things. Before we unsaddle and unpack, I’d like to ride over and check the dairy cattle. It would help if you could go on and look in on Clarice; she’s locked in the foaling stall with her baby.”

  The exceptional design of the horse barn was one of the things that had sold Yvonne on the Old Carpenter Farm. The stall where mother and foal were resting was a generous twenty feet square. It had its own exit out into the pasture, but that double set of Dutch-style doors was likely now closed. An automatic watering system was installed toward the front, but the fixture had been on the fritz for the last few days.

  Spencer explained, “I called the plumber. He can’t come out until next week. Just make sure Clarice and her foal have their water. I’m not sure what time my help came in this morning.”

  “I just fill up a bucket with water and pour it into the reservoir bowl?”

  “Yes, but be careful. Clarice has been a mare-zilla with me since she gave birth. She’s protective of her foal to the point of being aggressive when I’m around.”

  “It’s interesting she hasn’t given me any trouble. Could it be because I’m a woman? Can she possibly know I’m pregnant?”

  “We’ll never know the way horses think. I do believe animals have a stronger sixth sense than we do. What I’m trying to say is, while I’m worried about their water, you’re my top priority. If she’s acting weird, wait until I get there, and I’ll handle it.”

  “Go do the cattle. If you run into your father and want to talk with him about your plans, ask him to come back to the barn to chat. I’ll check on things, and when you two get there, I’ll say my goodbyes and give you some privacy.”

  Spencer hesitated because he was still concerned about Clarice’s petulance and unpredictability. He stood fixed in place, staring at the ground, uncertain as to whether he should leave his girl. “Go!” Zelda insisted, “Honestly. I just have to give them water. It’s not rocket science.” Convinced by her tone, he jumped in his truck and sped off amid a cloud of dust.

  Zelda strode into the barn and moved toward the horses. Clarice looked happy to see her. “How are you, girl? How’s that darling baby doing?”

  The mare moved her head toward Zelda’s face. Just as Spencer had taught her, she stood quietly and listened to the horse’s breath next to her left ear. When she was certain that Clarice was feeling friendly, Zelda blew softly into one of her nostrils. The horse scrunched her top lip up trying to get more of the smell, and she looked hilarious as she was doing it. Zelda laughed softly. “You are so affectionate, you sweet lady. I love you, too.” Zelda felt safe to pop her head over the half door to look around inside.

  There was water in the reservoir bowl, but it was only half full. She resisted an impulse to top it off immediately because she was sensitive to Spencer’s concern, and he certainly knew more about horses than she did. Zelda waited patiently, standing with Clarice and listening to the soft sounds she was making. I’ll go fill up a bucket with fresh water and when I come back, I’ll see how she’s doing then.

  When she returned with the pail Clarice was still calm. The foal stood at her side although Zelda couldn�
��t see the baby’s head and so didn’t know if it was nursing. She decided to give them a few minutes and went into the office where an old Dell computer sat on the desk. Zelda fired it up, checked her email and Face-book, and read the news. She timed herself. After a half an hour had passed, she went back to the foaling stall. Clarice greeted her the same way she had before. The foal was in a back corner.

  This is a good time. I won’t be anywhere near the young one. Do it.

  With that, Zelda opened the door and walked in carrying the bucket. Clarice curved around her baby in a protective posture, which had been her habit lately. She poured the water into the storage bowl and although Zelda was mindful of the horse, she wasn’t the least bit nervous. Until an angry voice rang out.

  “Spencer! Zelda! I know you are home from your trip!”

  Clarice’s ears went back and her protective curve around the foal tightened. Zelda was afraid to call back to Yvonne for fear it would set the mare off. She was too scared to even put the bucket down or make any movement at all. She flattened herself up against the wall, attempting to be as small as she could and as far away from the foal as possible.

  Then, an infuriated screech rang out. “Spencer!”

  Clarice reared up and kicked out her back legs. One of them struck Zelda’s abdomen with such force she thought she might black out. She felt a rush of fluid run down her legs. It took all her will not to vomit, but she was too weakened to hang on to the bucket. It hit the floor with a clanging sound. Her adrenalin was released and self-preservation took over. Somehow she was able to open the latch and stagger out without further incident.

  Yvonne stood about thirty feet away with a horrified look on her face. “Were you just in there with Clarice?”

  Zelda’s only response was to drop to her knees and put her forehead on the ground. The next thing she knew Yvonne had put a blanket down next to her and helped her to roll over onto it. “Zelda, your pants are soaking wet. I think you’re bleeding. I’m going to call 911; you’ll only be alone for a few seconds.” A roaring sound engulfed Zelda as she lay on the straw-covered floor. Yvonne was standing over her again.

  “Yes, this is Yvonne Paquette over at the Old Carpenter Farm. I am in our horse barn. My son’s girlfriend is four, maybe five months pregnant. She fainted and her pants are soaked with fluid. She’s bleeding a lot. Listen, when I walked into the barn a mare with a foal was making unhappy noises, and then I heard a thud and a clang. I think it’s possible Zelda, that’s her name, was kicked by the horse.” Yvonne was having a hard time hearing what the dispatcher was saying to her and she repeated her conjecture. “Kicked by a horse. Cover her? It’s not cold in here. Oh, in case she goes into shock? An ambulance is on its way? Thank you. Of course, I’ll stay on the line. I did what you said, I covered her. She lying on her side, and the blood is running out kind of behind her. Okay. She’s definitely breathing. She’s breathing. Ohhhhhhhhhhh. Okay, wait. Let me get a hold of myself.”

  Yvonne looked up as Rolland and Spencer walked in. Spencer spotted Zelda on the ground and sprinted over to her. When he saw her blood-soaked clothing, he choked.

  Without hesitation, his mother firmly said. “Son? I am talking to you now. Do you hear me?”

  Spencer nodded yes.

  “I believe I startled Clarice when I came in and called for you. It may be Zelda was kicked in a way that is bringing on the baby. Now, listen to me, no good can come from us getting so upset that we’re not thinking clearly. We have to stay calm. We must keep letting Zelda know what’s happening and be strong for her. Even if she doesn’t appear to be listening, we have to tell her everything that is going on. An ambulance is on the way. You get down on the floor and wait with her. Dad and I are going to walk out to the road to make sure they know where we are and how to find the entrance to the barn. Honey, don’t move her. We don’t know if she has broken bones. You just lie down beside her and talk to her.”

  Spencer let out an anguished sob.

  “Spencer! You are a strong man. Look at all you’ve accomplished in the last five years. If you want Zelda to get through this, you have to draw on that strength right now.”

  As if a switch had been flipped inside him he took hold and answered, “I’m fine, Mom.” And Spencer kneeled down next to the woman he loved.

  Rolland and Yvonne ran out of the barn toward the dirt road in front of their stone entry columns, which held up an arched sign reading OLD CARPENTER FARM. Both sets of eyes were trained down toward the intersection where they expected to see flashing lights at any second. Yvonne confided to her husband, “It’s my fault. I got so wound up about everything that I went in there hollering for Spencer.”

  “It was an accident. Darling, it’s nobody’s fault.”

  “That’s sweet of you to say, honey, but I know the truth. If I get a chance to make it up to her, you better believe I am going to do it. Rolland . . .” Her husband turned to her and held both of her hands as he listened carefully, “I’ve been so judgmental. So high and mighty. Good Lord! It’s not like I never made mistakes when I was young. I was never some perfect little princess.”

  He was alarmed by the emotion he saw tear across his wife’s face. He put his arms around her, held on tight and said, “You’re still my princess, baby. All the more so because you know you’re human.” They stood together like that in a terror-filled silence until, over the rise of their dirt road, came the screaming sound of a siren.

  Eighteen

  “Have patience with everything that remains unsolved in your heart. . . . live in the question.”

  —Rainer Maria Rilke

  Georgia’s three children—Christopher, Margot, and Sebastian—were seated with her around a restaurant table. She had called them and asked them to lunch. It wasn’t unusual for her to miss her kids and set up an event to get together. They joked that their mother had a two-week time limit. If she hadn’t seen one of her children for a couple weeks, she called to start planning something.

  Any excuse to connect was fine with her. She was completely open to the various ways that they could spend some time. Georgia was as content helping Christopher paint his split rail fence as she was taking Margot shopping. Except for holidays and birthdays, she tended to see them one at a time or her two boys together. Sebastian and Christian were very close despite a five-year age difference. If she invited Sebastian out to dinner, he was likely to say, “Let’s see what Chris is doing.” So, though this lunch wasn’t completely out of the ordinary, they were curious why she had asked them all to attend.

  They circled around her, each scooting their chairs in a bit closer. Georgia was sure they were waiting to find out what she had on her mind. After the minimum amount of polite small talk required in such moments, Chris and Sebastian, with their golden brown hair and eyes, stared in her direction. Margot’s topknot was much lighter than her brothers’ hair, a shade somewhere between honey and strawberry blond. Her curly tendrils framed her light aquamarine gaze when she directly asked, “Mom, what’s up?”

  A tightening in Georgia’s gut made her realize she was suddenly nervous. “Kids, I have mentioned to each of you that money has been a bit tricky to figure out. So I consulted four different professionals, and they were unanimous in their opinions. I can’t afford to stay in our house.”

  Christopher’s head snapped forward and a question burst from his lips. “Is there a way we can help, Mom? After the closing of the camp, we’ll all have some money. Should we pool it together to help out? None of us wants to lose our family’s home.”

  Margot was obviously furious at her brother for saying such a thing. She barked out a guttural noise and let some air out between her teeth. “Grrrrunt, sssssss, uh-uh, no way.” She shook her head negatively in disbelief and disgust, but she didn’t say anything further.

  Margot was more than capable of making you forget what a beauty she was. Georgia ignored her daughter’s rudeness and fought an intense desire to describe to her how unbecoming her behavior was.
She chose instead to address the distress of her oldest son. “Thank you for such a generous offer, sweetheart. I totally understand your initial reaction to this problem. Really, I do. At first, when they told me I had to downsize, I was crushed. You all know exactly what I mean. I’d already lost your dad. This was another loss to grieve over.”

  Margot sniped at her, “I think you are overreacting, Mom. It’s not like there’s no money. Those advisors are looking at the worst case scenario, like if you live to be a hundred.”

  “Actually, I consider living into a ripe old age as the best case scenario, Margot. If I live to be ninety, do you want me moving in with you?”

  Margot rolled her eyes. “I’m sure there’s government money to take care of the elderly. We can figure it out when the time comes.”

  “That’s your solution? Will you put me in a state-run nursing home? The future requires more planning, dear.”

  Sebastian was silent, disturbingly so. He looked down at his hands.

  “What is it, Sebastian?”

  After several attempts to speak he managed to get out. “All of our memories are in that house. I lived there my whole life. Even though I have my own apartment now, I always know my old room is waiting if I need it. It’s . . . reassuring.”

  His voice cracked with emotion and Christopher patted him on the shoulder. “It’s all right, bud. We’re all going to be fine. Mom’s going to figure it out.” The touching interchange between her boys brought Georgia to tears. She lifted her cloth napkin to her eyes and shifted her gaze to her daughter.

  Margot was unmoved. “I think you are being hasty, Mother.”

  Mother? This was new. Margot had never called her anything but Mom.