Oh well, I suppose we will talk more when I get home.
We will be staying at a hostel tonight after our volunteer work at the orphanage, and then we will head up the coast and spend time on a beach. I am looking forward to that.
I settled into the room quickly, kicking off my shoes to relieve my feet. Once I hit terra firma and gulped the gigantic, cold coke, my nausea had subsided. I reread mother’s entry and set the journal down. I ran a bath in the jacuzzi tub and immersed myself for almost an hour. I realized how hungry I had become. Refreshed, I decided to head downstairs. I put the ‘do not disturb’ sign on the door and made for the bar first.
I love bars. Any kind of bar. Hotel bars, airport bars, dive bars . . . it didn’t matter, because they were always a fabulous place to people watch. The more people drank, the more they seemed to relax and reveal themselves. I pulled up a stool and ordered a Margarita on the rocks. Mexico, Tequila? What else would I drink?
I scanned the room and noticed an older couple eating at a two top. They didn’t look up from their plates. They weren’t speaking at all to one another. It was sad that after many years together, they had run out of things to say. At the other end of the bar, a man sat staring at the flat screen television watching a soccer game while his inebriated date’s face was inches away from the granite bar. Sitting a few chairs from me was a young woman, who was constantly applying make-up—obviously a hooker.
I opened my mother’s journal again and flipped through it. I had been reading it to her while she was hospitalized in hopes that it would trigger memories and help in her recovery. I don’t think a lot of what I had read to her had completely sunk in for me. Rereading her words was like seeing through different eyes this go round. The pages were filled with so many things that I never knew about my parents.
September, 1970
Jack didn’t know that I had seen him with Jocelyn. Although I had confronted him about their relationship before, he denied any wrongdoing. Our marriage had reached a point at which I should expect Jack would move from one woman to another. It didn’t really matter to me. But Jocelyn? Sarah’s best friend’s mother? Why would he bring it into our backyard?
I had asked mother about this entry, but she had no recollection about the incident or that she had written this entry. It did make me wonder if Marie may have known about our parents and I debated asking her.
Now that she was happily shacked up with Sybil in a gurus love nest in India, she was impossible to reach.
It wasn’t as if I didn’t know about my father’s propensity toward the opposite sex. Before he died, I forgave him that. The fact that he told me on his death bed that he only loved my Mother calmed the sting . . . and I believed him.
SUMMER 1953
I wasn’t sure what to say to Manuel when he asked me to go to the beach alone. We weren’t really supposed to leave the group. I had already spent time meeting his parents at their hotel. We agreed that we would meet after everyone went to bed. How scandalous, I thought. Veronica said that she would cover for me . . . whatever that meant, I didn’t care. I had huge butterflies in my stomach at the thought of doing something so risky. I couldn’t eat supper tonight. What is the worst thing that could happen? If I were caught maybe they would suspend me from school. So what? I am an excellent student . . . I would just say I was influenced by the wonders of what Mexico had to offer!
So I sit here, in the dark, with my flashlight waiting to climb out of my window to the boy waiting below.
What if he doesn’t show? I hadn’t thought of that. We only met a couple of days ago. What if he changes his mind, and I am standing alone in the dark of night for hours?
What am I doing? What is it about this boy?
After reading Mother’s and Manuel’s letters and her journal, it was obvious that Mother loved Manuel more than she loved my father. I often wondered how all our lives would have been if Rachel hadn’t died. Would mother have crossed that line with Manuel as easily as she did? Would my Father have strayed so much? Losing a child will do one of three things. It will either rip a couple apart, pull them closer together, or they will stay together although they are emotionally apart.
Mother was seventeen when she met Manuel and was already engaged to my father. At eighteen, Manuel planned to dedicate his life to the church. They didn’t stand a chance back then. I closed the journal and sipped my drink. I wasn’t all that hungry anymore.
I looked around the bar again and noticed the hooker was now talking to a man sitting next to her. She flipped her hair several times and threw her head back as she laughed. The couple I had pitied earlier for their silent meal had finished and were signing to one another. They were deaf! So much for my powers of observation.
As for the other couple, the inebriated woman was still face down on the bar while her date dove into his chips and guacamole, oblivious that she was unconscious.
“Miss Sarah?”
I turned to see a handsome man in a suit and tie. I nodded, and he introduced himself as Michael Hernandez, the general manager of the hotel and Manuel’s son.
“Oh! Hello,” I said, beginning to stand.
“Please don’t get up,” he gestured for me to stay on my bar stool. “I wanted to make sure you were here safely and that you have everything you need.”
“Everything is perfect, thank you. How’s your father?” I asked.
“He is anxious to see you . . . You did bring your mother, no?”
“Of course. I promised.”
He took out his business card and handed it to me. “We will drive to my father’s home tomorrow morning. It will only take a little under an hour. If you need anything before that, this is my number. You can call me anytime.” He handed me the card. As I took it, he kissed the back of my hand gently. “It is good to meet you, at last, Miss Sarah.”
I felt my face flush a little. An overwhelming sadness swept over me. Here were two children of two people who had a great love. I wondered if I would ever find such devotion in my life time. I watched Michael walk away and finished the remains of my drink. My stomach was beginning to rumble, so I decided to go back to the room and sleep. It was going to be an emotional day tomorrow. I hadn’t seen Manuel for a month, and here I was in his homeland with family members I had only heard about.
The cramps and nausea hit around midnight. I started to sweat profusely and then felt as though I was freezing to death. I began panting like a dog, trying to will away what I knew was about to happen. As I streaked across the hotel floor toward the bathroom, I knew the war inside had won its battle with me. I couldn’t understand how it had happened. I was extremely careful. I only drank bottled water on the plane and I kept hand sanitizer on hand at all times. Oh . . . wait . . . the oversized coke with tons of ice. Dammit . . . that was probably it! So much for settling my stomach.
I sat atop the porcelain praying to God to take me now. I have never been so sick. It occurred to me that I wouldn’t be able to take Mother tomorrow if I was still feeling this way. I couldn’t think of anything else to do. I called Michael.
He was at my door almost immediately. He looked so handsome in his tee shirt and jeans, his hair slightly ruffled from bed covers. My hair was plastered to my face, and I must have looked like an anemic reptile. Michael stepped into the room carrying a plastic bag with miracle pills and bottled water. He sat on my bed and fed me the pills and gave me fresh water. “It will take a couple of hours to work,” he said, “but it will work, I promise.”
He stayed next to me the rest of the night. I found myself curled up in this stranger’s arms, feeling safer than I had ever felt. Mind you, I was delirious and probably would have curled up in Hannibal Lecter’s arms just knowing someone was taking care of me. I guess in some ways we weren’t really strangers. Both of our parents were so connected I figured Michael and I must be even if by osmosis. I was certainly grateful to have someone taking care of me not just because I was so acutely ill and probably delirious, but because these
last few months were traumatic and I had had to deal with most of it alone. It was finally catching up with me.
Chapter Eleven
What Ever Happened To Baby Jane?
Just the names of those places freaked me out. Sunrise Living, Happy Home, Upward Bound. If I was taken to any one of these places, I would know that was it for me just from the names alone. I would know I was a goner. These badly named places came highly recommended by Dr. Dreayer and Mother’s attending physician at the hospital. After a week stay, Mother was well enough to come home. I had already been to visit these facilities. The decision we faced was whether she should be kept in the assisted living quarters or with patients suffering from Alzheimer’s, or to come home. We unanimously chose the last option.
Tests revealed she was suffering from congestive heart failure, and her cancer had spread. Basically, it was count down time. She seemed lucid in the hospital and was only disoriented a few times. Once home, she withdrew into herself more and more. Everyone else had gone back to his or her own life. Phoebe stayed the longest, but headed back to culinary school the day we checked Mother out of hospital. Terry went with her. He said he wanted to make sure she settled back into her routine. We all knew he was smitten. Brad had wanted to stay, but I insisted he go home and stay out of my hair. Soon after he got home, the house we had shared together sold, and he and Barbie got back together. He assured me that he would handle everything so I could concentrate on taking care of Mother. Lily went back to school, and Henry went home to his patients and family. Dwight was calling almost every day, which was sweet, but I really didn’t have a lot to say to him. He mentioned he was going to take a trip, and I encouraged him. All decisions were left up to me and Manuel. Marie and Sybil were meditating in India. Oy vay! I never saw that one coming. All the while, I tried not to feel too alone. Of course I knew I wasn’t completely alone. Manuel was still in the rocket ship. It never occurred to him to leave.
After a month at home, Mother’s lungs began to fill up with fluid, and she had to be readmitted into the hospital. They drained 12cc’s from her chest cavity, a significant amount, I was told. Everything seemed to be going on fast forward. I wasn’t sure I could keep up with the waves of emotion. Although I had hoped we could watch her peacefully fade at home, I was much more secure having her in a hospital environment. She had a series of minor strokes that caused her to aspirate. Her body began to fail. A feeding tube was surgically inserted into her stomach. For a woman who attempted so many times to end her life, she now seemed determined to live. She would develop a raging fever and could barely open her eyes or lift her head. I would walk in, and she would look like she wasn’t breathing. I was told to prepare myself. Then she would rally. Her fever would disappear, and she would be sitting up watching a soap opera the next time I walked in. Her mind was fading rapidly, which seemed a blessing to me. She wasn’t completely aware of all the things shutting down in her body. As always, Manuel was a constant, calming, presence. He was never obtrusive, always careful to put family first. He seemed to know when it was appropriate to give me a breather. I would find him, sitting at her bedside all hours of the day or night, holding her hand or rubbing her forehead.
Sometimes she screamed unintelligible things at imaginary people. She talked of a man in a sweater who would fly around her room or sit on her bed. I wondered if she was seeing my father. Sometimes, I found myself sitting in the hospital chapel actually praying, which surprised me. I figured it couldn’t hurt, and I wanted the final transition to be easy. I had saved her life so often, but I couldn’t save her now. Family did trickle in, here and there, but no one stayed very long. It was difficult for everyone to get on planes, or drive such long distances. When they could, they would come even if only for a day. My girls were terrific. We communicated once a day in some form or fashion. I showed up one rainy day to find Manuel already at her side. Mother was in one of her more lucid moments.
“Sarah!” She looked right at me in full recognition, “Do you have any make-up?”
I told her I had a little blush and some lipstick in my bag.
“Let me have it!” she said and held out her hand.
I rummaged quickly through my handbag, finding the items requested, and placed them into her open hand. She looked down at the treasures and smiled like a kid at Christmas. “Make-up!!” She sighed. “Put it on me!”
Make-up for Mother was only applied for special events. She wasn’t the kind of lady who wore it every day. A little lipstick was all she used on a daily basis. If she had a special engagement, she would go to the department store and have someone at the make-up counter apply it for her.
Heeding her request, I began applying what make-up I had to her sallow skin. She looked at herself in a mirror I held up for her. She turned her head from side to side, checking out the various angles of her face and smiled. I had sent Manuel down to the shop in the lobby for an eyebrow pencil and nail polish. We played dress up, and she was happy. I painted her fingernails, Manuel did her toes. She was almost all there with us. Then I caught her staring at me
“Are you a part of me?” she asked with her head tilted to the side.
“Yes, Mother . . . I am your daughter . . . Sarah. I am definitely a part of you. And you are a part of me.”
She took my hands in hers and kissed them over and over. As if some kind of switch was flipped, her eyes went blank. The woman who was so connected a few seconds ago, slipped away. All expression was totally erased from her face. She lay her body back down on her bed complete with made up face, fingers and toes. She never spoke to either of us again.
I continued to read aloud from different sections of her journal and various correspondences between her and Manuel.
SEPTEMBER 1960
I was totally prepared to tell Jack that I couldn’t marry him. I was willing to incur the wrath of my parents even. But I was pregnant. How could I explain that? Jack and I had only kissed. I couldn’t even tell Manuel. He was already preaching in the local church. So tomorrow I shall take my vows and marry Jack. I wonder if I will ever experience that kind of excitement for Jack that I had felt in such a brief time with Manny.
Manuel told me that mother had miscarried that baby two weeks after her wedding to my Father. I wondered if that was true, or whether, knowing my mother, if she might have done something to make herself abort. I never got to ask her, but I am sure, it was a blessing it turned out that way.
When I awoke the morning after being so sick, my first night in Mexico, Michael had already left. I felt so much better. Whatever he had given me had allowed me to have a good night’s sleep. He left a note saying he would meet me in the lobby at noon, and we would all drive to his father’s house together.
We drove with Mother in the back seat. It all felt very strange—as if I was watching myself from above. The trip took a little less than an hour. We drove on a road that overlooked the ocean. Michael pointed out historical landmarks along the way. He spoke about his family. I heard things about Manuel that I never knew. Manuel’s parents had emigrated from Spain and had opened a very successful small restaurant, which expanded into a small hotel. The popularity of this quaint seaside vacation spot grew, and they decided to open another. Before long, they had several elegant boutique hotels. They purchased a vineyard and the hotel I had just stayed in. Manuel had married soon after meeting my mother and had children of his own. Michael never knew his mother, but he did know that his father had never stopped loving mine.
We turned off of the main street and headed up a long narrow hill.
“Almost there.” Michael said.
A magnificent villa was perched at the top of the hill. This was another piece of his life Manuel had kept to himself. After another sharp curve, we were at imposing iron gates. The wrought iron letters that adorned the gates, read, Vista Linda.
“It means beautiful view.” Michael said.
“Indeed.”
Michael pushed a code into the box in front of the gate
, and the gates swung open. We drove up a tree-lined drive to the beautiful house. Large trellises and arbors were dripping with grapevines that climbed toward the sky. There were horses in a paddock and a small pond peeked out from behind a well-trimmed hedge. I stared in awe at the magnificent Mediterranean home before me.
“Wow. Your father is filled with surprises!”
I saw Michael smile out of the corner of my eye.
“Mom,” I said, looking into the back seat. “You are finally back where you wanted to be!”
When the car stopped Manuel appeared at the top of the marble steps that lead to the massive wooden front door. His smile was warm and familiar. Michael got out of the car and opened my door for me, a courtesy I wasn’t accustomed to. I reached into the back seat and picked up mother’s urn from the box she had been traveling in. I held it tightly as I looked at Manuel. Neither of us spoke as I put the urn into his hands. He looked down at the remains of my mother and smiled again.
“Gracias, Miss Sarah. She is home now.”
I knew what he meant.
• • •
It had been a beautiful day. I had gone into mother’s garden and cut an array of various flowers to take to her in the hospital. Manuel offered to drive me as I was a little shaky. It wasn’t as if I hadn’t prepared for this day for several months. I actually think I had prepared my whole life for this day. So many times I had been told to brace myself for my Mother’s not coming home. I tried to recall how many actual suicide attempts she had made, but there were too many. Henry had flown in the night before and was already in Mother’s room when Manuel and I arrived.
She looked so small in the bed. I felt that in the last week I had actually seen her shrink before my eyes. Once she had stopped talking, everything went fairly fast. Her kidneys began shutting down, and she had suffered a heart attack. I was originally disturbed that the doctors had intubated her, but it all happened so quickly. By the time I got to the hospital, it was too late to do anything. One week later, we were about to make a critical decision.
When Angels Cry Page 17