by Roy, Deanna
No matter what happened with the test, I would have to help them. For all I knew, Rosa would be out on the streets after taking her son back. The image of the woman sitting on the curb with the child clutching her was still very much on my mind. Tijuana was not kind to its poor.
Rosa seemed to be in some sort of a trance, and I figured it was what Mario had said — she had some sort of attachment to me I would have to deal with. That didn’t matter. I had Corabelle and that was that. But I could help them. I had to do that much.
I turned to Corabelle, who looked even more frail and sick than she had coming down. “We have to get her back to the room,” I said.
Tina stepped up, missing nothing. “I’m going to take her up. You still have to do your swab.”
She shook Corabelle’s arm. “Let’s get you back up.” Corabelle just sort of obeyed, not really looking at anyone directly.
I didn’t want to leave her, but Tina squeezed by me, and I stepped out of her way. As Corabelle came through, I pulled her to me, her head against my chest. “I’ll be right there,” I said. “I promise.”
She nodded against my shirt, and I let her go. Something wasn’t right with her, but I’d be there in just a minute, away from all this drama. We’d fix whatever it was. This meeting couldn’t have been easy for her.
Rosa looked at me uncertainly. “Gavin? We come here tomorrow? For answer?”
“Yes, back here. I think we have to wait for afternoon.”
“So, three? Three o’clock?”
The door behind us whooshed open. “Gavin?” It was the lab woman, Kelly. “You need to come back for your swab.”
Rosa moved away. “See you tomorrow, Gavin.”
I turned back to the lab. I needed to get this swab done and be back upstairs. Corabelle was more important. Rosa had already proven she could handle herself.
I turned back to get my first, and surely my only, paternity test.
28: Corabelle
The elevator trundled up, but when the doors opened to my floor, I didn’t want to go. “Can we go to the art room instead? Don’t you have class?”
“Not right now. I arranged all this around my schedule.” Tina held the doors. “I really think you should rest a bit. That wasn’t an easy scene.”
I backed farther into the corner. “I’ll go to the cafeteria then. I don’t want to see my parents.” I hesitated. “Or Gavin right now.”
Tina pulled her hand in and let the doors close. “All right.” She pressed another button.
“I like what you said to Albert yesterday, about the light in the window.”
Tina tucked a loose bit of hair into her pigtail. “I was blowing smoke, mainly.”
“No, it was exactly right. No matter how hard things get, we have to find some tiny space for happiness. We have to light a lamp.”
Tina leaned against the rail, holding on to the bar. “Well, that’s the only way it worked for me. The one time I let it all get snuffed, I wound up in the hospital with Frankenstein arms.”
“That woman is in love with Gavin.”
“I saw that.”
“So clearly whatever’s been going on has been going on for a long time.”
The doors opened again, and Tina led us out into the hall. “Let me tell you what I saw. A woman in a very dire situation, desperately hoping that she can be saved. Maybe she loves him. Maybe it’s just that he’s the only thing in her life that gives her hope.”
This stopped me cold. “So Gavin is her light.”
I could tell Tina hadn’t intended that conclusion. Her tiny pale eyebrows shot up her forehead. “No, no. The boy is that. She just has to find a way to keep him. Gavin is her way.”
“What if it’s his?”
“Then she’ll get help.”
I kept walking. Tina opened her classroom, and I breathed in the lingering scent of clay, paint, and cleaners. I had gotten so accustomed to the antiseptic medicinal smell of my room that only when I went somewhere else did I remember that the rest of the world was still out there with its variety of sights, sounds, and smells.
I sat in a small chair, bracing my elbows on the table. I felt fine, actually, no cough, just the lingering heaviness in my chest and the pressure in my head. Nothing I couldn’t manage. I should probably go back to the room just to make sure I wasn’t being told to go home.
Maybe in a minute. I needed to figure this out.
“Tina, what was your worst moment? Rock bottom? I keep thinking that it was when Finn died, or when Gavin left, or when I got kicked out of school, but then these things keep happening. And I think there is still something worse. I don’t want things to keep getting worse.”
She unlocked a drawer and began pulling out boxes of markers. “Peanut dying actually wasn’t the worst. That was peaceful. And the hospital after I cut my wrists was bad, but the crap was all spread out then. No one part stood out. I had some bad times going back to the high school.” She held the boxes against her chest. “I got called ‘Baby Killer’ because no one knew what had happened.”
“Oh my God, Tina!”
She spread the boxes across the surface of the table. “Not a fab time of my life, for sure.” She sat in the chair opposite me. “I guess if I had to pick a moment, it was when I got home from the hospital, after they stitched me up, and I realized I had no one. My boyfriend had ditched me. My parents were totally freaked and couldn’t even look at me. I’d had to leave the school for pregnant teens since, you know, my baby was dead.”
She drew lazy circles across the table with her fingers. “So yeah, it was walking into my place and realizing I was completely on my own.”
“I’ve had that moment,” I said. “Twice.” My head felt heavy and I rested it in my palm. “After the funeral, when I realized Gavin was gone. Then when I had to pack up my dorm room and get in my car with no idea where I’d settle down again. When I got to San Diego, I didn’t even have a reservation at a hotel.”
“Starting over is hard. But it’s sort of freeing too, isn’t it? No ties. No history. You can be whoever you want to be.”
“But you’re still the same old you, underneath.”
“True.” Tina reached to one end of the table for a stack of construction-paper packages. She dragged the top one in front of her and tore open the plastic wrap. “I never could manage to get away from myself.”
“Whatever happened to that boy, the baby’s father?”
“Beats me. He got some other girlfriend before I had the bandages off.”
“So you didn’t feel any connection to him?”
Tina laid out pieces of paper in front of each chair. “Sure. I actually tried to get him back. Didn’t realize he was poking some other hole.”
“And now?”
“None. It’s like Peanut was an immaculate conception. Mine and only mine.”
“Maybe that would be easier.”
“Maybe. It’s hard to let go of that feeling that you were the only two who ever really knew the baby. I guess when it comes right down to it, maybe only the mother really gets it. We carried them all that time, after all.”
I idly turned the page in front of me in circles. “Gavin was connected. He was always very into the pregnancy, and feeling Finn kick, and decorating the room. I took it for granted.”
“You were lucky then.”
“Really? Because when he left, it all felt like a lie.”
“I think the people who feel the most also blow the hardest.”
“Well, he feels something toward that boy.”
Tina reached across the table to still my paper. “Let’s see how tomorrow goes. If he’s not the father, I really think Rosa is going to disappear completely, looking for another way out.”
I hoped she was right.
The door swung open, startling us both. A head popped in, dark haired, immaculate, and masculine in a way you normally see on a movie screen. “Oh, sorry, I was looking for—” he consulted a piece of paper. “Tina? The art teacher?”
Tina stood up. “That’s me.”
The rest of him came through the door, traditional in a white coat, striding in with a confident air. He definitely noticed Tina. She stood a little on the defiant side, arms crossed, pigtails straight out on either side of her head. She couldn’t have been more different from him in striped stockings, a little knit skirt, and a knotted-up sweater adorned with splatters of paint.
He paused a moment, taking her in, and the spark that flew out of him couldn’t have been more obvious if it had lit up the room. Tina saw it, one eyebrow going up, her mouth quirked in amusement. She was going to chew him up and spit him out.
“I — uh, well, hello.” He extended a hand. I had a feeling he wasn’t often at a loss for words. “I’m Dr. Marks — uh, Darion. Call me Darion.”
“Okay, Dr. Darion. Nice to meet you.” Tina shook his hand exceedingly briefly, dropping it like it was foul. “Can I help you with something?”
This seemed to snap him out of his confusion. “Yes, I have a patient, a girl, Cynthia.” He passed a paper to her. “She’ll be coming in to see you. She’s, well, maybe we should talk about her.” He glanced at me. “When you have a chance.”
I stood up. “Don’t mind me. Just was getting my own friendly therapy chat.”
“No, no, I have rounds. I’ll stop by later.” Darion moved to the door. “You’ll see her at the end of the day. Review the notes. Then we can talk.” He paused, as if sensing he was not extending all the courtesy he should. “What time is convenient for you?”
Tina glanced at the page. “She’s coming in at four, so maybe three-thirty?”
Darion nodded. “Yes. Great. I’ll come by again then.” He seemed to have an inspiration. “Unless you’d like to go down for some coffee.”
“I don’t drink coffee,” Tina said. “And you probably shouldn’t either.” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “My doctor said it’s bad for me.”
“Yes, of course.” He straightened his tie. “Here, then. Three-thirty.”
“Sharp,” Tina said. “My time is valuable.”
I hid a smile behind my hand. Tina was a real piece of work.
Darion nodded again. “Yes. Will do. Thank you.” He opened the door and disappeared.
When it was closed, I burst out, “Tina! Did that hot doctor just ask you to coffee?”
She shrugged. “Doctors. Lawyers. Musicians. Day workers. People are people.”
“You’re not interested?”
She folded up the note he’d given her and stuck it in her skirt pocket. “I might do him. Once. Twice if he is worth it.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s about as far as it goes with me.”
“Since the baby.” I got that. I hadn’t dated either until Gavin returned.
“Since forever. I was screwed up before, and I’m more screwed up now.” She picked up the stacks of paper and moved them to the counter. “Some therapist, eh? Or ‘art teacher,’ I guess.”
“He insulted you.”
“He called it like he saw it. I’m not exactly more than a glorified babysitter.”
“You seriously think so? I saw you with Albert. You were brilliant.”
“So I have a few moments. I’m not going to interest Dr. Darion any longer than anyone else.” She came around the table. “Anyway, time to get you back. You ready? Gavin’s probably already tearing the hospital apart looking for you.”
“You don’t have to take me up.”
Tina came up and threaded her arm through mine. “Of course I do. Because if Gavin isn’t behaving, I’m the only one scrappy enough to actually make a dent in that pretty face.”
We headed back down the halls, past the cheerful paintings and rooms full of critically ill children, and once again I remembered that we all had our difficulties, our challenges, our heartaches, and our tragedies. The most important thing was letting people in, allowing others to be there for you, and no matter how dark things got, to harbor that one last light.
29: Corabelle
“There she is!” My mom’s voice carried over the general hubbub in my room as Tina dropped me off at the door.
Inside, my parents, Jenny, Gavin, and a nurse waited.
“Go on another jaunt?” the nurse asked, leading me back to the bed to sit down so she could strap the blood pressure cuff on my arm.
“I’m feeling fine,” I said.
“Your last X-ray looked very good,” the nurse said. “I think we’re going to send you home with the last round of antibiotics. We’ll want you to follow up with your regular doctor in three days.”
“Okay.” The cuff swelled against my arm. I felt surrounded by people. I looked over the nurse at Gavin, standing in the corner, his face unreadable, his arms crossed.
Jenny bounced around the room, picking up books, gathering the trinkets and gifts that had accumulated. “I guess we didn’t have to do much packing after all!”
“I loved your little apartment,” Mom said. “So cozy.”
The nurse released the cuff.
“Can I go back to class tomorrow?” I asked.
“I’d hold off a couple more days. We can get a letter for you.”
“She’s not going to obey you,” Jenny said. “That girl’s got a hard-on for school.” She clapped her hands over her mouth, eyes like saucers as she stared at my parents. “I mean, she loves class.”
“Then you make sure she wears one of these,” the nurse said, tugging another hideous blue surgical mask from a box under the sink. “I leave it to you to make sure it happens.”
Jenny accepted the mask by the string, holding it like it was a dead rat. “Whatever you say, nurse-lady.” She turned it around. “Maybe I could break out my BeDazzler. It could use a few accessories.”
My father harrumphed and even the nurse barely held in her laugh. “We’ll be back with some papers and discharge instructions.”
I nodded. “Thank you.”
The room felt more manageable when she left. My father clapped his hands. “So, a celebratory dinner?”
My mom hopped up from the sofa. “Arthur, she can’t be out in public. The germs!”
“So, celebratory takeout at your apartment?” Dad amended.
“You want me to go get your car?” Gavin asked.
“I have mine!” Jenny said. “And Gavin has his Harley.”
“His what?” My dad’s voice echoed off the walls.
“Uh-oh,” Jenny said. “Sorry.”
Mom passed Dad a duffel bag. “Arthur, leave it be. Hold this while I pack Corabelle’s things.” She began taking the items Jenny had collected and stuffing them in the bag.
I stood up and walked over to Gavin, both wanting him alone and not wanting the bustle to end, an easy distraction from the difficult morning. I felt better than I had walking out of the lab waiting room. Between Tina and Dr. Darion, and Jenny’s flubs, I could see life was moving on, going forward. It never did completely stop, no matter what was happening, what life drama was unfolding.
He held on to me as we watched my parents and Jenny pack, his arms tight on my waist, my head tucked under his chin. I was surrounded by people who cared. We created this web, interweaving, and somehow I had to trust that it would not let me fall.
30: Gavin
Corabelle paused on the last few steps of the stairwell, holding her chest. I stood behind her, pretty pissed at myself for letting her talk me into this.
“There will be about ten people lined up to kill me if anyone knows I let you come here,” I told her, my hand pressed against her back. “And I’m not sure who would make it more painful — your dad or Jenny.”
“I’m fine,” she said. “I just get winded sort of easily.” She reached for my hand and squeezed it. “It makes me happy just knowing we get to go up here.”
“If it’s cold and windy up there, we’re not staying,” I said. “Deal?”
“Deal.” She pulled on the lever to the door to the roof.
Amy, the TA, stood over a shop light, handing out assignments to the other students. When she saw us, she waved. “You’re back!”
The roof was littered with students staring at the sky. The city twinkled beyond the ledge until the light ended in the Pacific, roiling like a black menace in the pale glow of the moon. I thought of how easily it could have swallowed Corabelle up and shuddered.
“What have you got for us?” Corabelle asked, taking a sheet from Amy.
“Pretty easy. Find the Cepheus constellation, locate the Delta star, and estimate its brightness based on the known magnitude of Zeta and Epsilon.”
Corabelle turned to me. “I hope you’ve been paying attention.”
Amy laughed. “I wouldn’t bet on that. But it’s all on the sheet. Let me know if you need help.”
“Kiddie astronomy,” I said. “Magnitude is just how bright the star is.” I took the page from her. “Easy stuff.”
“Good. I need easy.” Corabelle took my hand and we wound our way through the sprawled legs and discarded backpacks of other students to find our spot on the back side.
“You cold?” I asked her.
“Not yet,” she said, sitting down on the concrete.
“I should have brought a blanket.” I knelt beside her. “Should I spread my coat down?”
“I’ve got you.” She peered at the page. “Let’s get this done.”
I pulled out a little flashlight to shine on the assignment. It seemed pretty easy. Locate the star. Find companion stars. Compare brightness and estimate the magnitude.
Corabelle looked up. “You see Cepheus?”
I stared at the stars. “Says here it’s only the size of a fist. Five stars in the shape of a house.”
“There’s the North Star,” Corabelle said. “Is it close to that?”
“Between it and Cassiopeia.”
She held up her arms. “Okay, I think I’ve got it. Do you see?”
I couldn’t take my eyes off her, the coal-black hair streaming down her back, her pale face turned up to the sky. Just seeing her someplace other than a hospital bed was a miracle.