Luanne Rice

by Summer's Child

  Then she picked up The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. It was her and Rose’s favorite book. She loved it for its magic, secrets, evil, and, especially, goodness. She thought probably Rose loved it for the same reasons, but in the way of newly nine-year-old girls, they had never talked about it.

  Looking through the book—a hardcover edition her aunt Sam had bought her for Christmas two years ago—she found a picture of Aslan, the kind, wise lion. Jessica stared into his sad, knowing eyes and felt her heart tapping in her chest. She touched his picture and thought of Rose needing help and said, “Daddy.”

  In the book, Aslan let himself be attacked and killed, so the children and all the inhabitants of Narnia—the magical, secret world on the other side of the wardrobe door—could live free. When he rose from the stone table and came back to life, Jessica always felt chills and a little rush of tears—as if she couldn’t believe that something so brave and true could happen.

  Before Ted, Jessica had believed in brave and true. Her own father was like Aslan. He had died, and the last thing he said to Jessica was, “I’ll be looking down from heaven, taking care of you and your mother. I’ll never really be gone, sweetheart. I’ll be looking over you. Call me when you need me.” Jessica had held on to his hand as long as she could, till the doctor and her mother had pried her away. Then her mother had had some private time with him, and then he died.

  Ted came along right after that. Well, maybe almost a year after that—but to Jessica, it had seemed fast. She could still smell her father in his closet, she knew that. She could stand in the dark, with her head in his suits, with her eyes closed, and bring him back. The smell of his sweat and cigarettes and just him was all around her. She would stand there and remember what he had told her: I’ll never really be gone… . I’ll be looking over you and your mother… .

  And Jessica would breathe in his scent and know that he had spoken the truth. He was right there with her, protecting her. She liked the door to be partly closed, so no one would see her in the closet; it was her time alone with him. She would stand in a different spot each day. Although the closet was quite small, it seemed like a whole world—just like the wardrobe in the book.

  Jessica would go through her father’s pockets, one suit at a time. He had been a businessman who valued looking good. So he had seven suits and five sports coats, with lots of slacks. His pockets were like treasure to her. At first, before she had gone through them all, the things she found were thrilling and magical. A few coins, a business card, his tarnished silver Saint Christopher medal, a stray Rolaid, torn bits of foil from a pack of cigarettes, his mother’s mass card.

  After a time, some of the magic began to wear off. She would look in the left pocket of his glen plaid suit and know that she would find his money clip, matches, and appointment calendar. Or she would reach into the back pocket of his green golf pants and there would be a grass-stained tee and a short yellow pencil for keeping score. Standing on tiptoes to feel inside the breast pocket of his summer-weight blue blazer, she would find her kindergarten school picture and a pocket rosary.

  Even without the excitement and anticipation of not knowing what she would find, spending time in her father’s suits was the happiest Jessica felt during that time. She could smell her father’s smell and know that he had been here, on this earth. That he wasn’t just an angel or ghost looking down from heaven—but that he had walked and talked and saved her kindergarten picture and worn nice suits and sometimes forgotten to empty his pockets. Sometimes she’d stand there in the crush of wool blend and summer cotton and tell him about her day, and she would hear him talk back.

  Once her mother opened the closet door while Jessica was in there. Jessica had held her breath, so her mother wouldn’t see her there. Not because she’d thought her mother would be mad, but because she thought she might be sad—even at seven, Jessica had known how bad her mother would feel to see her there among her father’s suits. But she needn’t have worried; her mother had just stood there for a few minutes, and then she’d closed the door and walked away.

  Maybe her mother liked to do the same thing, Jessica had thought—go back in time and remember how happy they had all once been, when he was still alive to wear all those beautiful suits. Maybe being near his suits made her mother able to hear his voice, just like Jessica did.

  Then Ted had come.

  Her father had known him from golf. Ted became his stockbroker, and he did a good job investing some of her family’s money. Jessica remembered hearing her parents talking about Ted so often—“We couldn’t do it without Ted,” her father had said again and again about his business expansion. “He’s a godsend,” her mother had said. Oh, Ted had sounded like the family miracle. He had helped her father afford a new office for his title search company in downtown Boston—instead of out of the way, in Dorchester. The money had helped buy a new computer system, hire more people, and provide health insurance.

  Jessica remembered wondering about Ted, before she met him. How did stocks work? Why would the family pick someone they barely knew and give him their money to grow? It had seemed almost unbelievably wonderful and benevolent. Could someone’s job really be to oversee a family’s savings and help them earn more? She asked her father once, and he told her, “He’s a smart man, honey. He went to the best schools to learn business, and he only chooses stocks that he thinks will make money.”

  “But he’s nice, right?” she had asked, unable to conceive of Ted’s role in their lives any other way.

  Her father had laughed. “Yes, he’s a great guy. Everyone likes Ted. He has a lot of friends, and he’s the vice president of the Rotary Club in the town where he lives.”

  Jessica didn’t know what the Rotary Club was, but she thought it sounded very exciting. Her father’s words made sense to Jessica. Ted had to be a great guy. Money was hard to come by—her parents worried about things like their mortgage, and car bills, building the business, and a college education for her when the time came. If they trusted Ted with their savings, then Jessica trusted him too. Her father once said that he was “as generous as they come,” because of his volunteer work with poor kids.

  Now, staring at the lion’s sad face in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, Jessica took a deep breath. She wished Aslan could come out of the book and talk to her. She wished her father would come down from heaven and tell her what to do. If Ted was “as generous as they come,” Jessica wasn’t sure she should try to raise money for Rose. She didn’t want to be anything like Ted.

  The problem was, she knew her father couldn’t talk to her anymore. Not since that day, right after Ted had moved in. Jessica had come home from school and gone to the closet—not because she was upset or anything about Ted. Maybe just a little upset—but mainly, she just wanted to talk to her father the way she always did. It was spring, and she had caught a fly ball in baseball.

  She had the baseball with her. Her mother and Ted were in the kitchen. She could have showed it to them, but instead she ran by, up the stairs, to her father’s closet. And she opened the door, and—

  All his suits were gone.

  Instead, Ted’s clothes were in there. Suits and jackets and pants and coats and his robe. Even now, remembering that moment, Jessica felt her chest cave in. She touched her heart and sat down on the bed. Staring at Aslan’s face, she sobbed silently. Mary, Jesus, God … Seeing Rose turn blue and fly away to the hospital had brought it all back. People she loved going away. Her father, Rose … Her father had never really gone away, not until the day Ted and her mother threw his suits out.

  “Tell me what to do,” she whispered now, getting onto her knees.

  Outside, the owls were hunting and calling. She had heard them every night since the snow melted. Sometimes she listened extra hard—as if she might be able to understand what they were saying. She stared at the picture in her favorite book, and listened for the owls, and she was sort of praying, but she was really asking her father.

  If eve
r there was a day for him to come back to her, it was now: her real birthday.

  Ted had chased him away. And because of Ted, she now had a pretend name, a pretend birthday, and a pretend story. Only her father knew who she really was. Only he could handle her huge requests. Her mother had once been able to, but those days had ended. Her mother was just a ghost now—a skinny, scared, scarred ghost left behind by Ted. She and Jessica were just bones spit out by the wild animal they had let into their lives.

  Ted had often seemed so angry. Then he had killed her puppy, Tally. Jessica had thought he wanted to kill her and her mother too. He wasn’t generous at all. Her father hadn’t been wrong about much, but he had been wrong about that. That was Jessica’s first request tonight:

  “Daddy, don’t be mad, but you were wrong. Ted wasn’t generous. He came to hurt us; that’s all he wanted. He took everything we had. Well, almost.”

  An owl called out in the woods, and Jessica smiled—her father answering her.

  “Help me to help Rose—please, Dad? I don’t want her to go to heaven yet. Help me, Dad. I want to keep her with me. I want her to live.” She pictured her father standing in heaven with Saint Agatha and Saint Agnes and Joan of Arc.

  And the owl screeched again, and a branch crashed to the ground, and Jessica knew: she had her inspiration. When the sun came up, she would go into the woods. And she would come out with secret treasure, to earn money for Rose.

  Chapter 13

  Getting Rose stabilized enough to travel to Boston was the goal, so that was all Lily could think of. Liam had gotten them two rooms at the Holiday Inn on the harbor, just down the hill from the hospital. She told him he should go back home, and he said he would as soon as Rose was out of the ICU. Meanwhile, he had arranged with his friend to keep the car indefinitely. And he could do his monitoring work on his laptop.

  Lily shrugged. She didn’t know what he was hanging around for. She barely even saw him, and because he wasn’t a relative, he wasn’t allowed into the unit to see Rose. She knew she should be appreciative of his support, but honestly—she was so exhausted and ragged by the time she got to her room each night, she barely had the energy to order soup from room service and eat it in front of the TV.

  The first four mornings, she found him in the hotel lobby, waiting to drive her up the hill to Melbourne General. The weather was cool and foggy, with morning mist hovering over the water and town. They took the five-minute ride in silence, with Lily staring over the silver-coated harbor, thinking of questions for Rose’s medical team.

  On the fifth morning, the fog had lifted, and the sun shone brightly. When Lily entered the hotel lobby, Liam rose to greet her. She held up her hand.

  “Look, this is silly,” she said. “It’s nice out. No more fog. I’m going to walk up to the hospital, and I think you should go back to Cape Hawk.”

  “It is a nice morning for a walk,” he agreed.

  “I’m glad you see it my way.”

  “Good. I’ll walk you,” he said.

  “No! Liam,” she said. “You have work to do, back home. The commander needs his car back. Rose is improving.”

  “She’s still in the ICU,” he said.

  “I think they might release her to a regular pediatric floor today,” Lily said. “She’s so much better—the fluid around her heart is almost gone, and her lungs are nearly back to normal size.”

  “The Lasix is working,” he said.

  “Yes,” Lily said, a little surprised by the fact he knew the name of Rose’s diuretic, or even that she was taking one. She hardly ever talked details with anyone not a doctor.

  “So, they might move her to the floor today?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Lily said.

  “Good,” he said. He nodded, smiling. Lily thought she could see the relief in his eyes—his self-imposed burden, whatever it was, had been lifted, and he could go back to the sharks and whales of Cape Hawk. They grinned at each other easily, among the hustle and bustle of the busy hotel lobby. He touched her arm as they walked out into the sunlight.

  “Okay then,” she said. “Thank you—for everything. Will you thank Anne for sending me that bag of my clothes? Tell her the laundry delivery guy was a brilliant idea—he delivered it when he brought the tablecloths to the hotel.”

  “Maybe you should just call her yourself,” Liam said.

  Huh? Lily thought. Was it really too much trouble for him to give his sister-in-law Lily’s message? “No problem,” she said. “I just thought you’d probably see her at the inn.”

  “I will, when I get there. But not today …”

  “But you’re heading home.”

  Liam shook his head. “No,” he said. “Not till Rose is okay.”

  “Liam!”

  “Don’t even argue with me, Lily,” he said. “Like it or not, I’m staying. Come on—if you don’t want a ride, I’ll walk you up to the hospital. Let’s go—I know you want to catch the doctors on their morning rounds.”

  Lily opened her mouth to speak, but instead she just started walking up the steep hill that led to Melbourne General. Liam walked silently by her side. Even in the city, there was no doubt that they were in Nova Scotia. The scent of pine filled the air, and the sound of ship traffic—bells, horns, engines—wafted up from the harbor. Seagulls cried overhead. She thought back nine years, to her first days in Nova Scotia. Liam had been with her then too.

  “Why are you doing this?” she asked.

  “You know why,” he said.

  “It doesn’t make sense. Not after all this time.”

  “It does to me.”

  “Look—I know what you said. I think your words are engraved on my heart. I’ll be forever grateful. But that was a long time ago.”

  “Do you think time invalidates promises?” Liam asked.

  And Lily had no answer for that. At least, not one she felt like saying out loud. The truth was, she did think time—and other things—invalidated promises. The world was full of evidence supporting just that: broken marriages, broken vows, changes of mind, changes of heart. It was easier to break promises than keep them, that was for sure.

  The hill became so steep, her calves began to ache. They passed people walking down the hill, to work. The city park crowned this crest, and they entered between two stone gates. Traffic flowed into Melbourne through the park, coming from points north. As they walked along, they passed a long row of cars. For years now, Lily had been free of the habit of scanning—looking at every face and license plate while trying to keep her own face hidden. She almost wished she’d be seen sometimes—during certain sleepless nights, she actually longed, ached, for a final confrontation.

  They walked briskly along a lane that led through the park’s rose gardens. The air smelled sweetly of flowers and freshly tended earth. Lily thought of her own garden, which was inspired by the roses of her childhood. Rose loved digging, planting, pruning—and sometimes, when Rose was sick, unable to do more than lie in a hospital bed, Lily took comfort in thinking of rosebushes—how they had to stay dormant all winter, in order to bloom in summer. Rose would bloom again too.

  Suddenly she realized that Liam wasn’t walking beside her anymore. She stopped, turned, saw him standing still. Her first instinct was to be impatient—she literally didn’t have time to stop and smell the roses. The doctors were making their rounds now, and she needed to catch them.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, walking back.

  But Liam didn’t reply. He was just standing there, gazing over the roses and through the pine trees, to a pond in the woods. Lily tried to follow his gaze. She saw that the pond was ringed with tall, green marsh grass. The water was dark and appeared greenish-brown in the shadows of tall pines and oaks. At the other end of the pond was the World War I monument. In fact, Lily realized that its reflecting pool must be fed by this wilder, more rustic body of water.

  “Liam, what are you looking at?” she asked.

  “There,” he said, pointing. “You have to
look carefully. She’s hiding in the shadows.”

  It was a blue heron, standing on the very edge of the pond. The bird was tall and almost unimaginably still—it might have been a statue. The morning sun shone through the trees and grass, silhouetting the long legs, long curved neck, sharp bill. The heron’s posture was perfect and vigilant—as if waiting for something more important than anything in the world.

  “She’s so camouflaged,” he said. “She wants to make sure no one sees her till she’s ready.”

  “Why do you say ‘she’?” Lily asked.

  “I don’t know,” Liam said, looking her straight in the eye.

  “It could be a male.”

  “I guess it could.”

  “Liam, there are plenty of herons back home. What’s so special about this one?”

  He gazed down at her. He had dark blue eyes with lines around them that made him look tired and worried. Yet the eyes themselves were bright as a young boy’s, especially in this morning light. Lily blinked and frowned.

  “She’s in the middle of a city park,” he said. “Don’t you think that’s amazing?”

  “A city park in Nova Scotia,” she said, “is not the same as a city park somewhere else. But you’re a scientist,” she continued, and shrugged. “I guess it’s your job to catalogue natural phenomena.”

  “When you put it that way,” he said, staring at her even more intently, “I suppose you’re right.”

  “Come on,” she said impatiently. “Can we hurry up, please?”

  “Natural phenomenon,” he said under his breath.

  Lily felt a breeze swirl up the hill from the harbor. It came across the pond, through the trees, making the boughs and grasses rustle; it ruffled Lily’s hair, and although it was warm, it made her shiver. The heron didn’t stir, and neither did Liam. He was still staring at Lily, and he wouldn’t look away.

  “Come on,” she said again. “I’m late.”