All the Good Parts

by Loretta Nyhan

  I wanted to hug him. He looked so fragile, so I settled for patting his good arm. “You don’t think it’s a mistake?”

  “More babies have been born from mistakes than not, I’d guess,” he said, his smile wavering. “The world’s probably better for it.”

  I thought about Maura and silently agreed. Jerry held on to me as we walked to the bedroom.

  Professor Larmon had discussed fading in the elderly, that time when the body, previously getting along just fine, begins to break down all at once, in small but significant ways. At only sixty-eight, I worried that Jerry’s state of mind acted as an accelerator, his depression dousing his joints and heart and bones like gasoline. His memories were like candles flickering throughout the house, dangerous but alluring, a disaster waiting to happen.

  It was also possible Jerry’s sleepiness was a side effect of his meds. I had mixed feelings about pills—I’d watched my father pop them like candy near the end, praying the nausea and dizziness were small prices to pay for relief. Nothing came without a cost, and never was that so clear as when treating someone very sick.

  Once I tucked Jerry in, I said, “I need to check your medicine cabinet. Is that okay with you?”

  Paul never allowed his father the basic right of dignity. I hadn’t either, and that needed to change.

  Jerry stared at the ceiling for a moment. “Knock yourself out. Paul wants a full report?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Asshole.”

  “He cares about you.”

  “That might be true, too. One doesn’t make a difference to the other.”

  “Close your eyes,” I said. “Dream of ice cream.”

  The bathroom appeared the same, maybe a little dingier. The medicine in the cabinet was pushed to the side like before, and I paused before grabbing the bottle of antidepressants, feeling a little guilty about what I had to do. I shook the pills onto my palm, counted, and made a quick notation in a notebook Paul had left on the back of the toilet. Then I replaced the pills and returned the bottle to the exact spot where I’d found it. I was quiet leaving the bathroom, expecting Jerry to be sound asleep, but he was still in the same position, cradling his stump and staring at nothing.

  “You okay?”

  “My body is tired, but my mind won’t give up the ghost. Talk to me for a minute?”

  “Sure,” I said, sitting at the edge of the bed.

  “I don’t want to talk about medicine or Paul or anything like that.”

  “That’s fine.”

  “Got any more stories about those nieces and nephews? That crazy sister of yours or her husband? What’s his name again? Donald?”

  “Donal.” Stalling, I adjusted the covers around his middle. I could spend the rest of the night telling him things I was worried about, but I’d already told him about the baby dilemma, which was unprofessional at best, and I worried about cracking open my life further, and dragging him into my abyss. Maybe what I really worried about was that I’d just miss him too much when I left.

  “Start talking,” he said. “I don’t care what you say. Tell me something.”

  I told him about Donal and his possible deportation. It all came tumbling out in a rush, and at some point Jerry’s hand found mine, and held it tightly.

  “Don’t getting married take care of that problem?” he said, his voice muted, when I was done.

  I sighed. “Not anymore. 9/11 changed things.”

  “Oh.” He nodded knowingly. “Yeah.”

  We were quiet for a moment. It was tranquil in Jerry’s room, the welcome sound of his steady breathing so soothing to my jittery thoughts. I didn’t want to move, to wreck the fragile peace I knew was only temporary.

  Jerry gave my hand a quick squeeze. “I know what’s bothering you, and I told you before, it’s okay to fight loneliness with whatever you’ve got.”

  “That’s not sitting right with me. With them gone, it makes even less sense for me to have a child, from a purely practical point of view. I really will be on my own, and subjecting a baby to all the challenges that come with living that way is unconscionable.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “I don’t know if it is.”

  “No matter what, you’ll put everything you have into that kid, won’t you? You can think about it that way. Better than a lot of kids get,” Jerry said. “And you know it.”

  The familiar doubts crept back in. “Maybe a baby deserves more than that? There are things I can’t give, things I don’t know I’ll ever be able to give.”

  Jerry’s blue eyes met mine. “That kid would be lucky to have you.” He pushed himself up, waving me off when I tried to help, and then brought two fingers to his mouth, kissed them, and pressed the kiss to Anna’s photograph before turning it facedown. “Look, I changed my mind about what I said back in the living room. I want to give you that baby. It might take a couple of those little blue pills and a shot of vodka, but I want to help you get what you want. You want a baby? I’m your guy. What Anna doesn’t know isn’t gonna hurt her, and anyway, I’d think she’d approve.”

  Such a rare thing, to be offered true kindness.

  This is a beautiful moment in your life, idiot, remember it.

  I thought about that empty side of the medicine cabinet, the smiling woman on the nightstand next to his head, and the sacrifice he was willing to make for me. I wanted to say something, to say no, to thank him for even thinking it, but the emotion stopped up my throat, and tears filled my eyes.

  “Don’t cry,” he said, distressed. “I don’t want to make you cry.” And then his good arm pulled me in for a hug, which I welcomed, sobbing on his flannel shirt, wetting it with tears cried for so many reasons.

  “Leona,” said a voice, but it wasn’t Jerry’s. I leaped off him, turning to see Paul, his body filling the door frame, his face frozen in disgust. “Can I speak with you in the kitchen?”

  “Paul—” Jerry said, half warning, half plea.

  “Let’s talk now,” Paul said brusquely, and I followed him, head down, wondering just how long he’d been standing there, listening.

  “You’re fired.”

  Long enough, apparently.

  “It wasn’t what you thought,” I said. “Wait . . . what exactly do you think?”

  A red flush crawled up Paul’s cheeks, the warning clouds of an encroaching storm. “I’m wondering just how far you’d go to insinuate yourself into my father’s life. I don’t know what kind of scam you’ve got going, but it’s not getting any further than what happened today.”

  “You’re letting me go without talking to Jerry?”

  “I think you’ve manipulated him emotionally.”

  “I would never manipulate your father.”

  “I was standing there awhile, Ms. Accorsi. I know I don’t understand the whole story, but I heard enough to know whatever is going on between you two is inappropriate at best.”

  “There’s nothing going on,” I said, my voice getting desperate. “He’s a good man is all.”

  “You don’t think I know that?” he retorted. One large hand grasped the back of his neck, and he pushed at the muscles there. “He’s not well. That makes him vulnerable. You are taking advantage of that.”

  Every part of me wanted to protest, but the look he gave me was completely closed off. He was done. Mind made up.

  It felt cowardly when I asked, “What will you say to Home Health?”

  He thought for a minute, torturing me. “Not much. I’ll tell them my father’s circumstances have changed.”

  I squeaked out a thank-you.

  “I’m not doing it out of the kindness of my heart,” he retorted, and I wanted to tell him his heart was deficient, that his father got all the kindness and unfortunately didn’t pass any along. “That mirror you brought over. It’s been helpful. I figure I owe you for that.”

  Jerry called from his bedroom, the word muffled and indistinct. We both froze.

  “This isn’t right,” I said. �
��I should go in there.”

  Paul stood his ground. “I don’t think it was your name he called.”

  “Even if that’s true, won’t you at least let me say goodbye to him?”

  A flash of pity sparked in his eyes, but just as quickly, it was gone. “Be honest. Would you allow it if he was your father?”

  I thought of how fiercely I’d protected my dad when he was at his most vulnerable. I’d built a wall around him more massive and powerful than the man standing in front of me. “No,” I admitted. “I guess not.”

  I heard her careful footsteps on the basement stairs, the small click in her right knee as she bent next to my bed. Carly’s presence shifted the energy in a room—she was like a really intense Reiki practitioner. “I know you’re there,” I whispered. “You smell like Play-Doh.”

  “Homemade Play-Doh,” she said, dropping her butt at the edge of the bed. “Temporary insanity brought on by Pinterest exposure. There are little balls of dough stuck into the living room rug, probably permanently.”

  “Consider them fossils. Fossils of your children at play. That’s nice, right?”

  “No, that’s depressing.” She shifted forward, her warm hand on my arm. “So are you. You’ve been walking around in this constant state of mild despair. What is it, Lee? I’ve tried not to push, but that’s what I do best, so I’m pushing.”

  You might be leaving me. You won’t have much say in the matter and it will kill you in a million different ways and you’ll pretend that it doesn’t and we will both lose something valuable from deep inside and it will hurt, hurt, hurt.

  “Is it the baby? Is that what’s messing with your head?”

  “Paul Pietrowski fired me.”

  “What? He really is an asshole, then. Why would he fire you?”

  “Jerry and I were talking about the baby thing and he overheard some of it and misunderstood. I couldn’t explain because he didn’t want to hear it. And, to be honest, I kind of didn’t want to explain to him. I didn’t want his judgment.”

  Carly was silent for a moment. “What did Jerry say about the baby thing?”

  “He offered to help me out.”

  “Did you say yes?”

  “No! How could I? I wasn’t serious when I put his name on the list. I wanted someone like him, but not him. He’s a good person, and I think I added something to his life, which makes me feel terrible about how things ended like they did. I didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye.”

  “You need the hours,” she said, her mouth grim. “Why were you talking about the baby with Jerry in the first place?”

  I shrugged. “Because he listens.”

  “Wasn’t that kind of unprofessional?”

  “And just when I feel I’ve hit bottom, you somehow manage to dig out another foot or two.”

  “I’m sorry, Lee.” Carly threw her arm over my shoulders in an awkward embrace-apology. “But sometimes I feel like I have to put sandbags around your spine to keep it from spilling out your back. You let Paul do that to you. Why didn’t you at least insist he let you stay?”

  It was a fair question, but thinking about it made me feel like I ate a brick. Why hadn’t I sat down at Jerry’s kitchen table and refused to leave? I forced myself to answer the question honestly—I didn’t think enough of myself to fight. I didn’t think I had it in me.

  Carly kicked her slippers off and stretched out next to me on the bed. She took my hand, threading her fingers through mine. “I’ve got to say something, and I want you to listen.”

  “Do I ever have a choice?”

  “No, I mean really listen,” she said, and her voice was so serious the brick in my stomach sank further. She took a breath. “You know I love you, right?”

  “Nothing good ever follows that question. Something good should come, but it never does.”

  “I’m establishing a baseline.”

  “For the uncertainty that is to come.”

  “Look, I’m trying to tell you something.”

  “Then tell it.”

  “You’ve never been a fighter. You’ve been an accepter, and that takes a certain kind of strength, but not the kind you need right now.”

  “Accepter is not a word.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Explain it to me.” I did know, but I wanted someone else to say it. I wanted her to create a map of all my faults and bad decisions so we could study it in an academic way. Maybe I had miraculously grown strong enough to hear the truth. Then again, maybe it was simply a need to distance myself from my problems.

  “You went to school for art but accepted it when your grant ran out and you had to leave school early. Then, you couldn’t find a job at first and accepted every mediocre admin or temp job that came your way. You accepted Andrew’s assessment of your relationship—”

  “Because he was right.”

  “But you should have been the one to figure it out. You should have had the chance to do that, to grow from it.”

  “Go on . . .”

  She hesitated, and in that split second I knew where she was going.

  “I said go on.”

  “You accepted your job as Dad’s nurse without a fight. You gave up two years of your life.”

  “Wait a minute. You weren’t exactly offering. You said it was the logical thing to do. The way I remember it is you had the husband and three kids and couldn’t manage. I didn’t have a choice.”

  “You didn’t allow yourself to live for two years. You should have demanded a choice. You should have kicked my butt a little.”

  How could I have found time for an ass kicking when I spent my days worrying about the correct dosages of a million different cancer drugs, frantically Googling the latest therapies, and trying to predict my dad’s needs before he called out his suffering? My anger ignited, blasting into fury. “So not only am I a pathetic loser, but you’re absolving yourself of any responsibility. Fuck you, Carly.”

  “Yeah, fuck me three ways to Sunday,” she said, nodding her head encouragingly. “That’s the spirit! Fuck what I wanted or what Dad needed. You never did that! Never stood up for yourself. You were never even a little bit selfish, and that might qualify you for sainthood, but it also leaves you living in my basement, like you’re halfway in the ground already. You’ve been living a passive life, Lee.”

  “I’m helping you raise your family,” I countered. “Last time I checked, that required a lot of activity. Do you think I’m wasting my time?”

  Carly took a moment before saying, “I’m thankful for everything you do. I really am. But that doesn’t make me wonder any less if you have what it takes to fight for the life you want. I think the whole idea of this baby is a distraction, one more way to put off really, truly living the life you’re meant to live.”

  “Do you consider your kids a distraction?”

  “Of course not,” she scoffed.

  “Then why are you so insistent that my goals should differ from yours?” Carly loved her family with everything she had—why would she criticize my desire for the same?

  “Because we’re different,” she said softly. “Can’t you see that’s what I’m trying to say?”

  Was this her truth . . . that I wasn’t up to the task? I didn’t know how to defend myself against her disappointment in me, but I had to try. “When Dad got sick, I did what was necessary to help him fight the cancer. It never occurred to me to say no. I made my decision based on what I felt was the right thing to do, regardless of what I wanted or needed. Isn’t that what being a mother is all about?”

  She stood up and tucked the covers back around me. “Maybe, but it’s also the definition of a martyr. I want better for you. Isn’t that what being a sister is all about?” Then she kissed my cheek and went back upstairs to join her family.

  Nursing 320 (Online): Community Health

  Private Message—Leona A to Darryl K

  Leona A: You up? Can’t sleep.

  Darryl K: Insomnia is the first refuge of th
e brokenhearted.

  Leona A: Ha. Yes. Probably true.

  Darryl K: Leona? Are you still there? I was just kidding.

  Leona A: I’m fine. Okay, I finished up that paragraph about subsidized day care. I’d like to look over it a few more times before I send it to you. Add it to the section on social services for single mothers.

  Darryl K: Great.

  Darryl K: But that’s not really why you’re messaging me at 3 a.m.

  Leona A: I had a fight with my sister. Well, I guess you could call it a fight. Mostly what happened is she told me what was wrong with me and I tried to defend myself by turning those things into positives.

  Darryl K: Is she right?

  Leona A: Maybe.

  Darryl K: If she is, does it change anything? Will acknowledging it change you?

  Darryl K: ?????

  Leona A: Still thinking. Or hoping the question goes away. Or I suddenly develop narcolepsy.

  Darryl K: Because you’re afraid what she’s saying is true?

  Leona A: Because I’m afraid I might never know.

  CHAPTER 15

  “Why couldn’t we take him to the mall?” Maura said under her breath.

  I ignored her question, hoping she’d understand that my glare meant please stop talking, I’ll explain later. Garrett sat silent in the cramped backseat, though I didn’t know if he could get anything out with his knees hitting his jaw.

  The Goodwill was crowded for a weekday. I’d pushed Garrett to make this visit, so worried was I that someone would contact him for an interview and he’d show up in dirty jeans and a shirt advertising the company that fired him. If we had more money, I would have taken him to the mall, but as it was, Goodwill was all either of us could afford. Though I still had other clients, the loss of Jerry meant six to eight hours less pay every week. The need for home-health aides slowed down as the holidays approached. My service said I could most likely pick up a new patient in January, but that meant over two months of reduced pay, and with the holidays coming up, secondhand was all I could manage.

  “I haven’t gotten any responses yet,” Garrett squeaked from the backseat. “Shouldn’t we cancel?”