The Opposite of Never

by Mary Kathleen Mehuron

  “My neck’s stiff, and my bones feel rattled, but I don’t think I hit my head.”

  “That’s an enormous relief to me. I wouldn’t want you to suffer the way . . .”

  “. . . Spencer did.” Zelda finished the sentiment for her.

  “Oh, Zelda, I’m not trying to start that all up again. I was worried about you.”

  “It’s nice to have someone to talk to honestly. I feel like I’ve been weighing everything I say for a few years now, afraid to offend anyone, except when I was in rehab. The one good thing about that was I really could be myself. No one judges in that kind of situation. Yvonne, you should know that when you said you didn’t want me to be part of your family, I wasn’t surprised. I understood what you meant. I haven’t been a very good person.”

  “I was so unfair to you. I didn’t consider all you have overcome. The thing is, I was far from being perfect myself when I was young. I’m sorry about your mother dying, I bet she was spectacular. I’m sorry too you didn’t have a father to step in and help you along the way.”

  Zelda whispered, “I had Kenny.”

  “Thank the Lord. What I meant was I’m sorry your biological father abandoned you. You deserved much better. You deserve better now.” Yvonne looked down at her clasped hands and said, “Spencer explained to me that he fell in love with you the moment he laid eyes on you. He said you two have a strong connection, and if I gave you a chance I’d see it for myself. He said the car accident and all the fallout from it has only strengthened that bond, like two people who have been in the same battle in a war. He said you’re bonded by the experience, and he feels very lucky to have you; that you two understand each other and the trauma, the pain, and the resolve to live your new life to the fullest.”

  Zelda’s eyes were streaming. She asked Yvonne to get some Kleenex.

  As she looked around for the box Yvonne told her, “That’s enough serious talk. Having you cry can’t be helpful right now.”

  “Just tell me one more time about Spencer. Did he really say all that? I’m so happy he feels the same way I do.”

  The corners of Yvonne’s mouth went up as she joked, “Then, of course, he pulled out a sure thing. The clincher. He told me he wants you to have his children. Not right away, but he definitely wanted me to know he’d like to marry you one day. Now he has me thinking about grandchildren.

  “I’m so sorry about the things I said that night at your house. If Spencer is sure about you, Zelda, then I am too. You don’t ever have to worry again that I’m judging you. I am going to promise you today that if I have any issues, I will come right to you and discuss them. We’ll talk them over together.”

  Zelda whispered, “It would be nice to someday have a mom again, even if I were just a daughter-in-law.”

  “How nice that would be for me, too. I never had a daughter. Oh, what I would give to have someone to go shopping with.”

  Zelda grabbed her gut, groaned, and curled into a fetal position. Even though an audible alarm sounded, Yvonne ran out into the hall to make sure that the staff was aware that Zelda was suffering. Seconds later a nurse walked in holding up a syringe, “Excuse me. Sorry to bust in like this, but the doctor has ordered something for your pain.”

  “No. Uh, I’m a recovering addict. I’ve been clean for a year, but I still think it’s too soon for . . .” Zelda looked pointedly at the hypodermic needle.

  The nurse stopped short and seemed flustered. “Gosh, I’m not sure what to do. If you don’t medicate pain, it’s very hard to get under control. They already gave you morphine when you came in. You must have realized you were on something.”

  Zelda, who was still curled into a ball, let out a surprised yelp. “Noooo. I can’t go back to that.”

  “I have an idea,” Yvonne said as she grabbed her cell phone out of her purse. She explained to the nurse, “Linda and Peter Kingsley are dear friends and are helping us as liaisons to Zelda’s medical team. I’m going to text them right now. They will reach out to the best people in the country to learn more about addiction and how to proceed from here. Nurse, would you recommend she take the medication?”

  “Yes, I would, she’s obviously in agony. She needs to sleep. If you don’t sleep, you can’t heal.”

  Zelda was grimacing, and the stabbing sensation inside of her was wearing her out. She was fading with exhaustion. She put her head back on her pillow and closed her eyes again. They rolled back into her head and her eyelids quivered.

  “Honey, please take the pain meds. They will put the needle in your intravenous tube, right into the plastic, and you won’t feel a thing. You’ll fall asleep again and I will be right here. I’ll stay until your dad comes in the morning.” Just as Yvonne finished speaking, lights started to flash and beeping sounds grew into more alarms. Within a few minutes, a triage team of three burst into the room. Two of them were wearing green scrubs and the third one pink. They told Yvonne to leave.

  “Should I call her father?” Yvonne asked them. “I have his cell phone number.”

  The nurse in pink broke away from their circle around Zelda to speak to Yvonne. She grabbed both of her forearms and looked her directly in the eye, “Sure, that would be great. Please go out into the hallway to call him. Tell her dad to wait in the room next to intensive care. A bed opened up about an hour ago and we are going to move her down there.”

  Twenty-One

  “Rest and be thankful.”

  —William Wordsworth

  About ten minutes before Zelda’s injury reached crisis point, Georgia delivered a home-cooked meal to Kenny. She hadn’t planned on staying for dinner, thinking instead he would want some time alone after all that had happened, but he insisted. “Please sit with me and talk for a while. I want to feel normal for a few minutes.”

  He poured them each a glass of wine and lit the candles on his dining room table. While he busied himself, she went into the kitchen and found place settings and serving spoons. She had brought three dishes in separate containers, so she removed the tops and stuck a spoon in each one. Kenny appeared and carried two of the Pyrex casseroles out to the table. She took the third one and joined him.

  Obviously curious, he asked, “What have we got here?”

  “Comfort food. Fried chicken, local green beans from the Gaylord Farm with butter from Bragg Farm, and roasted potatoes.”

  “It smells delicious. I didn’t even know I was hungry until this very minute. Yum . . . Hey, you have a funny look on your face. What’s going on?”

  “I was thinking about Yvonne.”

  Kenny nodded. “What about her, specifically?”

  “She won’t forget your kindness toward her today because she feels intensely guilty about what happened. You could have chosen to blame her. No one would have criticized you for that. Instead you took the high road, and she will be grateful until the end of her days. Yvonne has always been loyal in that regard.”

  “Well, there’s no use turning on each other when things are bad enough already. We should try to start fresh when Zelda gets well.”

  “Kenny, I want to say something to you. Our discussions about your building lot started because the baby was coming and you were concerned about money. Now that Zelda’s lost him, maybe we should shelve the matter for a while. If you decide you don’t want to subdivide, I understand completely.”

  Their eyes interlocked although they continued to eat. Kenny grappled with the way he wanted to respond to Georgia. “You know, you are one of the most stand-up people I have ever known in my life. You’re ethical, empathetic; sweet . . . you’re a peach. Really.”

  “Oh. Thank you.”

  “Has it ever occurred to you I’m looking forward to having you as my neighbor? No? You think I’m doing you some big favor. The truth is I’m going to make a lot of money and get to spend more time with you. I’m the fortunate one.”

  In addition to the two flickering candles, Kenny had lowered the dimmer for the hanging light fixture over the table. The room w
as cast in an orange light that made both of them appear twenty years younger. Georgia was at ease as she glanced around the room and enjoyed her dinner. In response to him, she joked, “Well, I do make a mean fried chicken.” He let out a laugh.

  The dining room was nearly open to the living room. Only a wide archway of antique timber separated them. Both rooms were comfortable and a little short of neat. The items strewn about revealed some things about the inhabitants. Three remote controls were lined up on the coffee table in front of a big screen television. “Do you watch a lot of sports, Kenny?”

  “Every chance I get. You?”

  “Well, I have this weird thing. I like to watch shows about sports. If a game is on, I only pay attention to the human-interest pieces about the athletes. Honestly, I don’t even know all the rules for baseball, basketball, and football. When my husband was watching ESPN, I’d read a book, although I found the sounds of the games comforting. Isn’t that funny?”

  “But, you like shows about the sports?”

  “Yes, maybe because they talk about athletes as people and they explain everything so well.”

  “What do you prefer to watch over sports?”

  “Movies and the kind of television you can binge watch. You know—Netflix, HBO, and Showtime. Hey, I notice a black journal over there. Is that yours or Zelda’s?”

  “You have an eagle eye. I’ll have to remember that. It’s mine. I like to make notes in it every day. Just one of my quirks.”

  When Kenny’s cell phone vibrated they both heard the sound immediately. By the time he’d pulled it out of his pants pocket, Georgia’s had gone off, too. They were being asked to come back to the hospital. On both their small screens they were informed that Zelda has taken a turn for the worse.

  “Kenny, you look drained. Can I drive you to the hospital?”

  “I’m a little shaken, but I’m sure that I can drive.”

  She stared at him for a few seconds trying to determine if she believed him. “I’ll clean up here and meet you there.”

  He appeared relieved that she had taken charge. Kenny wiped his mouth with his napkin and was gone like a shot. As Georgia was rinsing the dishes, she admired a three-shelved antique hutch. Every square inch was lined with family photographs in frames large and small. His wife was beautiful, she thought. Then, there were also pictures where Sharon was no longer included in the family’s events. In one it was just Zelda and Kenny in front of a Christmas tree, and in another the two of them clearly on vacation near a beach that looked like the Caribbean. Georgia had always believed that Kenny was very kind to take such an interest in Zelda and to have a sense of obligation to her. After all, she wasn’t his biological child, and she still had a father out there somewhere. It was only now she realized with a start that Zelda was the only family Kenny had.

  Twenty-Two

  “Grief and woe are the cost for having loved with your whole heart.”

  —Mary Kathleen Mehuron

  Two weeks had passed since Zelda lost her baby. His body had been preserved by a funeral home until she was well enough to tolerate the physical and emotional demands of a funeral. Given the premature age of the child, Zelda wanted only the people who had been present for them at the hospital to attend. She also requested that the ceremony be short and run completely by her friends and her father on the land he owned overlooking Millhouse Pond.

  Behind Kenny’s house, if you climbed a short way up an obvious and well-worn path, was an ancient graveyard. It still had an ornate, if now rusty, iron fence and gate around it. You could barely read the headstones because they had been weathered over the past two centuries. Peter and Rolland took charge of clearing any legal obstacles to getting permission to bury the infant there. Together, they went to the town clerk’s office, called selectmen, and made an appointment to visit the statehouse and ensure they could dig a new grave. It wasn’t that anyone really objected, but no one had been buried in the graveyard for over seventy years. Officials weren’t clear about how to sanction such a thing. Peter and Rolland were advised the matter probably could be sorted out, but it might take a long time for their request to work its way through the proper channels. In the end, the town clerk took them aside and whispered, “No one is going to know that this funeral is happening. Rolland, you have heavy equipment. Dig the grave and bury that poor little baby yourselves.”

  The six friends, Zelda, and Spencer now stood surrounding the tiny gravesite. The grave was only four feet deep; at the bottom of it was the smallest cement vault they could find. A Victorian style preemie casket was mounted on a stand next to the grave. It measured only fourteen inches long, but the workmanship was exquisite. The mahogany box was carved and shone with a glossy, rosewood-stained piano finish. There were four handles, two on each of the longest sides, and they were plated with gold.

  Kenny looked across the rectangular hole in the ground and nodded to Georgia definitively. She understood this meant he wanted her to begin speaking. “Thank you, everyone for coming. I am so grateful the sun is shining today. The beautiful weather enables us to take our time out here and show Zelda our support and love. She wants you to know she didn’t even realize premature babies have funerals, so she has no preconceived notion about how this should go. She made it clear to me that she just feels lucky to have you all here. It would also be a good time to announce that after the burial, lunch will be served in the house.”

  Spencer had his arm around Zelda, and when she broke down crying, he held her tighter. On her other side, Kenny held her arm. It was as if the two of them were keeping Zelda standing upright. Georgia continued, “We have asked each person present to say something. There is no right or wrong thing to say, as this is uncharted territory for all of us.” It had already been agreed that Yvonne would go first to get the ball rolling. Georgia was being polite when she asked her, “Would you like to begin?”

  Yvonne cleared her throat and read from a slip of paper. “‘To everything there is a season and a time to every purpose under the heaven. A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted; a time to kill . . .” Yvonne’s voice broke and it took several minutes for her to pull herself together and continue, “. . . and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance.’

  “I know you can’t imagine it now, Zelda, but someday you will laugh and dance again, but you can’t rush through grief. The only way through it is right down the middle of the pain. Now is your time to break down and mourn. That is one thing I can share with you. Over the next weeks will be your time to heal, and we are so happy that you are building up your strength day by day.” She put her notes back in her pocket and took a deep breath.

  “I am told that you named your baby boy Carter. Rolland and I have ordered a granite marker with his name on it and the phrase ‘Beloved child of Zelda Simmons.’ We certainly hope that you will accept this gift from us.” Yvonne wiped her tears away as best she could and made a gesture to Georgia that indicated she was done.

  Georgia decided that the simplest thing to do was to continue around their circle clockwise. “Rolland?”

  “I hope this is appropriate. I’ve always liked a particular quote from Winston Churchill. In fact, I keep it hanging on the wall by my desk at work. ‘Death and sorrow will be the companions of our journey; hardship our garment; constancy and valor our only shield. We must be united, we must be undaunted, and we must be inflexible.’ Zelda, we want you to let us be your shield until you feel completely better. There isn’t anything you could ask of me I wouldn’t be happy to do. I know the others feel the same.” Affirmative murmurs went up from the crowd followed by a few silent moments of spontaneous meditation.

  Linda was the next person. Georgia looked evenly at her until she was prompted to speak. “I’d like to sing if that’s all right.” Linda had a rich alto voice, was used to being asked to perform, and more than comf
ortable as she began singing a cappella.

  “Amazing grace, how sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me. I once was lost, but now am found, was blind, but now I see. ‘Twas grace that taught my heart to fear, and grace my fears relieved.

  How precious did that grace appear, the hour I first believed.

  Through many dangers, toils and snares, I have already come, ‘Tis grace has brought me safe thus far, and grace will lead me home.”

  Her performance was heartfelt. By the time she finished, everyone was quietly sniffling.

  It took several minutes before Peter was ready to speak. He seemed flustered when he started. “I’m not a great public speaker, so I went online looking for inspirational ideas and sayings. All the years I had my practice as a doctor, I was mystified by death. Why do some of us get a terrible disease and live? Then, another person gets the same disease and it takes their life. There is no good reason as far as I can see. It strikes me as either completely random or part of a divine plan. I am going to go with tragedy being God’s will. We humans are limited in our ability to see the big picture. So in that light, I would like to read you a quote by the American theologian, Tyron Edwards. ‘We weep over the graves of infants and the little ones taken from us by death, but an early grave may be the shortest way to heaven.’ I am sure Carter is up there waiting for you, Zelda, and you will see each other again.”

  Everyone nodded in solidarity. Georgia waited for a few seconds to pass. She tilted her head up to feel the sunshine on her face before she began. “I would like to read a short passage from Psalms. ‘Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.’ Zelda, I don’t know if you pray, but I want to tell you that meditation can quiet emotional suffering. I don’t know how I would have gotten through the last year without spending a great deal of my time in silent reflection. I hope you give yourself the gift of time. What I’ve learned about grief is you can’t outrun it. You can fly around staying busy, but the second you are alone . . . driving the car . . . in the bathtub . . . wherever . . . grief is waiting. Yvonne was spot on with her advice. The only way out of the pain you feel now is right straight through it. If you let yourself feel it, someday you can heal it. In the meantime, I am going to have a Mass said for your child and pray for your return to good health.”