“Jesus Christ!” For a split second, Dad ducked, and then he jumped out of his seat, his eyes large as quarters. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“I hate you!” I screamed.
“What are you talking about, you hate me? What did I do?”
“Nothing!” I shrieked. “That’s the problem! You never do anything!”
“About what?”
“About Mom! About us! About anything!” I could feel the rage in me ebbing as I spoke, as if making room for the grief, and it came all at once, a hurricane of trembling and tears. I hung on to the counter so I wouldn’t fall over.
“What do you mean, about Mom? You want to talk about Mom right now, Marin? Is that it?”
Oh my God. I hated him so much. Why couldn’t he just take me into his lap and hold me and tell me that he knew what I was feeling, that things would take a while but that they would get better? They would, they would, they would. I stared at him, willing him to see what I needed, daring him to give it to me. But he only shook his head at my silence, then leaned down and picked up the frying pan. “Do you know what could have happened if this thing had hit me?”
“I wasn’t aiming for your head.”
“Oh.” He nodded, sputtering. “Well, I guess that makes it okay, then.”
“Do you want to know the only person I hate right now more than you?”
He shrugged, placing the frying pan back in the sink. “Sure. Why not?”
“God.”
I could tell by the look in his eyes that my answer was unexpected. Maybe he thought I would say no one. Or Cassie. Or even Sister Paulina. He walked back over to the table and pulled out a chair. Sat down. He set his elbows on the table and linked his fingers together. Then he looked up at me. “It’s not God’s fault that Mom did what she did.”
No. It was mine.
“I didn’t say it was God’s fault.” The words felt like marbles in my throat. “I just said I hated Him.”
“Because of Mom.”
“Yes, because of Mom, okay? What kind of God lets someone suffer like that and not do anything to help them? Nan’s always saying that God can do anything, that He even knows what we’re thinking. So what am I supposed to think of someone who lets a person kill herself?”
He sat back in his chair, regarding me for a moment.
“You don’t know, do you?” I pushed myself away from the counter, crossing my arms over my chest. “You don’t have an answer.”
“People have choices, Marin. They make up their own minds.”
“He could have changed hers!”
“How? How could God have changed Mom’s mind?”
“I don’t know! He’s supposed to be able to do anything, isn’t He? She was one single person in the whole world! It wouldn’t have taken Him more than three seconds to help her start thinking differently. Why couldn’t He do that? Why couldn’t He do that one single thing for her?”
“I don’t …” He stopped, bringing his hands to his forehead. His fingers clutched at the hair on top, rooting for something, and then released it again. “Jesus, Marin.”
“Yeah, Jesus.” I kicked a cupboard door. Behind it, a pot rattled. “That’s always what people say when they don’t have anything else to say. You just don’t have an answer.” I walked out of the room. “No one does.”
I could feel his eyes on me as I pushed through the back door, could feel the weight of them along the length of my shoulders as I ducked my head and started walking. It was still cool enough to make me shiver, and my wet hair didn’t help matters. I wrapped my arms around myself, moving in an unknown direction, and then stopped when I reached the garden, regarding the edge I had kicked to pieces just two days before. What a mess. All of it. Such a frigging, goddamned mess. And yet, I didn’t want to go, didn’t want to turn my back on it just yet.
I walked to the middle of the plot instead and lay down. Above me, the sky was a robin’s egg blue, the smooth curve of it dropping off in the horizon. I could smell the loamy scent of dirt as it pushed into my hair, could feel the coldness of it as it pressed against my back. She was just one person, one single person. He could have helped her. It wouldn’t have killed Him to help her. But that’s what we all were, weren’t we? Just one single person. Why was one of us more important than the other? Who was to say that Mom’s needs were any more pressing than someone else’s?
I stretched out my arms, grabbing handfuls of the moist earth, and squeezed it hard inside my fingers. What did any of it matter, really, if we all ended up back here, buried in the ground, disintegrating into nothing? What was the purpose of any of it if that was what we had to look forward to? Where was the hope, if such a thing even existed? Where was hope when Mom had needed it? When I did?
I paused as my fingers came into contact with something hard. I picked at it distractedly, unearthing a rock, I guessed, or a root. It came out all at once, with a faint ripping sensation, and I brought it into my line of vision. It was dry and bumpy, like a tiny potato. I sat up. It was the rhizome root I had pushed down into the dirt a few days ago, the rotted one, covered with fungus. And yet unbelievably, little white roots, delicate as tendrils, had begun to sprout out of the bottom, where they had anchored themselves deep into the earth, ready to grow again.
I positioned myself on my hands and knees, pushing the rhizome back into the soil, tamping it down with my fingers. It would take another year probably, maybe even two, but I would have bet anything at that point that it would push its way back out of the earth again. Maybe even bloom.
I sat back on my heels, watching an ant as it raced along a mound of dirt. It had something in its mouth, a seed maybe, or even an egg, and it barely hesitated as it made its way to a tiny hole off to one side and then disappeared down into it.
There was a whole world under there. An entire living world that breathed and grew and then died again.…
I stood up so fast that something in my knee cracked.
An invisible trinity.
Why had I made it so complicated?
It was so simple.
And it had been right under my nose the whole time.
Eighteen
The call came ten minutes later. Nan was stirring; she would probably wake soon. I got back in the car with Dad and stared out the window as he drove to the hospital. It would have been nice to tell him about the rhizome, nicer still if we’d been able to have a conversation about it. But it wouldn’t happen. Aside from throwing a frying pan across the room, there were too many other things hanging in the air, too much hurt. And so neither of us said anything.
At first glance, it seemed that nothing had changed. Nan was still flat on her back, the same tubes in her nose, her mouth agape. The wound inside her chest was pulsing a faint purple color, but it looked stronger, too, maybe even stronger than before. Sharon was standing next to her bed, folding a blanket. She smiled as we came in. “She must have heard you come in the building,” she said. “She just this moment opened her eyes.”
I flew to the bedside. Nan’s eyes were open, but barely, small slits from which tiny slivers of blue looked out. “Oh, Nan,” I whispered, taking her hand. “Nanny, I’m here.”
Dad moved in next to me, gripping the side rails with both hands.
Nan did not move her head, but her hand closed around mine. It was as weak as a child’s, no strength at all. A noise came out of her mouth, something between a cough and a gasp. Dad spun around, looking for the nurse. “Is she okay? I don’t know if she’s choking.”
Sharon moved to the other side of the bed and leaned in. The blue shape in her thumb pulsed. “No, no, she’s okay,” she said. “Her throat is just very dry. And she won’t be able to move her head for a little while, since everything is so sore. But you can feed her ice chips if you want.” She handed me a cup filled with shaved ice. A tiny spoon jutted out from the side, like a shovel buried in snow. “Just little amounts. You can slide it right down her throat. Good, good, that’s it. Perfect.”
Nan made another grunting sound, and Sharon nodded, smiling. “See? She wants more. Go ahead, you can give her a little more. Uh, uh, uh! Just a little! That’s it. Just a few at a time.”
I fought back tears as Nan’s lips closed around the spoon and then lingered, looking for more; she was desperate for water, dying of thirst. The color was still in her cheeks, but I had never seen her so helpless. So feeble.
“Dr. Andrews ran a few tests while you were gone,” Sharon said, busying herself with an untouched food tray. “I think he might have some good news for you.”
“Like what?” My head whipped around. “What did he say?”
“Don’t worry; he’ll tell you.” She headed for the door. “He should be here any—oops!” Sharon sidestepped Dr. Andrews by inches, laughing. “Almost got you on that one, Doctor!”
He laughed, too, showing a mouthful of crooked teeth. For a moment, I wasn’t sure it was the same person I had seen last night. This guy was dressed in a blue suit, complete with a jacket, shiny brown shoes, and a tie. A gold tiepin accentuated the middle of the silk fabric, and his hair, or what was left of it, had been slicked back neatly. Even the purple orb behind his ear looked smaller, as if it had rested too.
“Good morning!” he said.
“Doctor.” Dad extended his hand. “How is she?”
“She’s doing unbelievably well.” Dr. Andrews took a stethoscope out from his jacket pocket and inserted it in his ears. Pressing it against Nan’s chest, he listened for a moment. Beneath her hospital robe, I could see the purple shape vibrating, keeping perfect time with her heart. Dr. Andrews stood back up and shook his head.
I felt something clutch inside. “What? What is it?”
“It’s borderline surreal, is what it is.” He folded his stethoscope and reached for the chart on the wall behind Nan’s bed.
“Surreal?” Dad repeated. “Why? What do you mean?”
We waited as he scribbled something in the chart. The yellow orb simmered in his mouth. Snapping the file shut, he looked first at me and then at Dad. “What’s happened here is impossible.” He shook his head again. “Almost to the point of ridiculousness. I’ve never seen anything like it in my life. Certainly never during my time in the medical profession.”
“Like what?” Dad pressed. “What is it?”
“I don’t mean to frighten you, but this woman should have died last night.” He held up his hands, as if surrendering, and then dropped them. “For all intents and purposes, she was more than halfway there. Between her age, the condition her arteries were in, and the attack she suffered as a result, her heart had almost completely stopped. I did everything I could last night in surgery, but there’s only so much we can do. I was almost certain that when I came in this morning, I was going to be signing a death certificate. Her heart was hanging on by a thread. A thread that I’ve seen hundreds of times over in surgery patients who end up dying the next day.” He took a breath. “I know it’s hard to hear, but there’s no medical reason why your mother is still alive, Mr. Winters. Or at least none that I know of.”
“Then maybe we should find someone who does.” It came out before I could stop it. But why was he being so negative? Why was he being such a jerk about it?
“Marin.” Dad’s voice was sharp.
Dr. Andrews smiled. “Maybe you should. And please be sure to bring that person here when you do. Because whoever can explain to me how your grandmother’s heart was able to withstand not only the stress of a quadruple bypass operation on an already massively weakened organ, but also somehow repair itself by almost forty percent overnight is definitely someone I want to meet. Someone a lot of people in the medical community would like to meet.”
I glowered at him, not sure if he was mocking me.
“I’ve been a heart specialist for over twenty years. I know how hearts work, what can be done to fix them, and when their limits have been met. I have never, in all my years practicing medicine, seen a case like this. On a scale of one to ten, her heart went from zero to six for no reason whatsoever. Right now, it’s beating with the strength and intensity of a forty-five-year-old runner. That thread it was hanging from? As strong as a rope.” He shrugged. “It’s impossible, but there it is.”
“So now what?” Dad asked. “Can we take her home? Can she—”
“Oh no, she’ll have to stay here for a few more days, at least.” Dr. Andrews smiled. “Her heart may be in decent shape, but the rest of her will have to catch up.”
“Okay.” Dad nodded. “I just … I don’t know how to thank you. Again.”
“Don’t thank me,” Dr. Andrews said. “I didn’t do much. Like I said, whatever reversed that chain of events was … I just don’t know. Maybe we’ll never know.” He looked up as a figure appeared in the doorway. “Looks like you have a visitor. I’ll check back later.”
Father William hobbled into the room, his face drawn and worried. I moved toward him, straining over his shoulder to see if Dr. Andrews was still in sight. “Come in,” I said, pressing the priest’s hand. “I’ll be right back.”
I strode down the hall, gnawing at the edge of my thumb. Dr. Andrews was at the nurses’ station a few yards away, writing inside another chart. “Doctor?”
He glanced at me and then went back to his scribbling. “What can I do for you?”
Behind the counter, two nurses looked over, waiting to hear what I would say. “Can I talk to you real quick?” I gestured toward the opposite wall with my head. “Over there?”
“Sure.” He followed me over to the wall, leaned against it with one hand. A perspiration stain, wide as a fried egg, spread out beneath his arm, and a heavy silver watch slid down his wrist.
I looked down at my shoes, fumbling with my hands.
“I know you want answers about your grandmother,” Dr. Andrews said. “But I don’t have any to give you. Believe me, I wish I did.”
“I know. But do you think …” I hesitated, hoping I didn’t sound crazy. “I mean, do you think something outside of medicine did this?”
His eyes creased, as if I had blurred in his line of vision. He pushed himself off the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. “Are you asking me if I think God did this?”
“Sort of.” I nodded, unable to look at him. “Something like that.”
“Anything’s possible,” he said. “But as a rule, medicine steers clear of using God as an answer for anything, even if we can’t explain it.” He grinned. “We’re a proud group. It goes against the cold hard facts, I guess. But I’d be a fool to tell you that the possibility doesn’t cross my mind from time to time. Especially in situations like this.”
“Really?”
“Really.” He paused, smiling again. “Have you ever heard of Albert Einstein?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“One of the most brilliant scientific minds ever, right? Found the answer to just about every problem he was ever faced with. I have a quote of his in my office, something that my wife gave me when I first started here at the hospital. Do you want to know what it says?”
I nodded.
“It says, ‘Mysteriousness is the true source of all art and all science. He who can no longer pause to wonder and stand rapt in awe, is as good as dead; his eyes are closed.’ ” He paused. “I don’t know if God healed your grandmother last night. We’ll never know, I guess. But I like to hold on to the idea of the mysterious, the way Einstein did. I’m going to stand rapt in awe at this one. I’m okay with that.”
I ducked my head. “Thanks,” I said softly.
He put a hand on my shoulder, the chunky silver watch glimmering. A heavy, spicy scent emanated from his wrist. “You take care of yourself. Get some rest. You’re going to need it, keeping up with that grandmother of yours. I have a feeling when she’s up and around again, she’s going to give all of you a run for your money.”
I watched him walk away and disappear inside an elevator. A few feet away, the nurses bustled behind the counter and a phone rang.
Maybe I was right.
Maybe it did come down to seeing, after all.
Inside my pocket, my phone buzzed. I unlocked the screen.
It was Dominic. How r things with yr Gram?
She’s stable, I texted back. Doing okay.
So glad. I’m right outside. Can you talk?
Right outside? What was he doing right outside?
Give me a minute.
I ambled into Nan’s room, sidling next to the bed. She was asleep again, her mouth parted, breathing in and out. Dried saliva lay in white patches at the corners of her lips, and her tongue looked swollen. Still, she looked like a different person than last night. Alive. Dad and Father William were speaking softly in the corner.
“I’m going to get a snack.” I spoke to Dad in a low voice, not wanting to disturb Nan, not wanting her to hear me lie for the millionth time. “And then check out the gift shop. Is that okay?”
“Yeah, good.” Dad didn’t take his eyes off Father William.
Dominic was outside the emergency room, leaning against the door of his Jeep. His damp hair indicated that he had showered and he had on a clean change of clothes, but the shadows under his eyes were darker, as if they had deepened over the past twelve hours. Could I tell him what I was thinking? Did I dare? What if I was wrong?
“Hey,” he said, pushing himself off the car as I emerged from the electric doors. “How are you?”
“I’m okay. Relieved, mostly.” I fought the urge to fall against him, to let him wrap his arms around me and press me against his chest. “Last night they were saying she wasn’t even going to make it.”
Be Not Afraid Page 18