“I think he needed me.”
“Luanne, we don’t really know if Alexander even called for you that night.”
“I …I think he did. I think he did …I didn’t go …I was too damned selfish.”
“Luanne, please listen. Even if you were too exhausted to get up, it’s not your fault. You couldn’t have done it differently.”
“If he choked or something …I could have saved him.”
“Did he choke?”
“I don’t think so …he looked peaceful …I guess that’s what I’m afraid of …afraid he choked.” I blow my nose. “How do people survive this? Can some people do this? …mothers …who can handle this?”
“No, Luanne, nobody handles this. But they do survive it.”
“I got mad at him that afternoon.”
“You’re just a woman, Luanne, not a saint.”
“He wanted beans.”
“Go on.”
“He wouldn’t eat and …anything he wanted …Campbell’s pork and beans …My hopes were up …maybe beans would be it …he’d eat. I heated them up …then he said no …he didn’t want them …I …” I can’t stand the shame, I sob, hide behind my hands.
“It’s okay, Luanne.”
“No, let me finish …I dumped the beans out on the table …I …oh my god …how could I have treated him like that …getting mad, for Christ’s sake.”
“What happened?”
“My voice was all crabby …told him to make up his mind …he looked so hurt.” I want to escape the memory. I grab my head, drop my elbows to my lap, pull at my hair. “What kind of mother does that …Jesus.”
“You need to forgive yourself for not being perfect.” Dr. Murray touches my hand.
“Then he up and died that night.” I snapped my head up. “I didn’t have time to make it up to him. He died!”
Chapter 49
I jump to my feet. “Heidi, where were you? I barely slept a wink last night.”
“Sorry. I should have told you, but I was afraid you’d try to talk me out of it.”
“Where did you go?”
“Let’s sit down,” Dr. Murray says. “Heidi?”
“I hitched to a bar last night. Big mistake. I got plastered and ended up having sex, passed out …Goddamn it.”
I’m so relieved Heidi is back, I come over to her and kiss the top of her head. “I’m so glad you’re back. You did the right thing.”
“Heidi, we need to hear in detail what happened last night.” Dr. Murray seems extra serious.
“I hitched to a bar outside of town called The Buck Snort. It’s on highway 115 just two miles west of Mesick.”
“Not that kind of detail, Heidi. Start with why you snuck out of the hospital and went to this bar.”
“I’m not really sure. I overheard some attendants talkin’. They said the bar would be burstin’ at the seams last night. I guess November fourteenth is the eve of huntin’ season. I snuck out, hitched a ride with a trucker. As we pull up, a hundred fifty or so pickups fill the parking lot and spill down both sides of the road. The semi kicks up gravel as the tires hit the soft shoulder. Thanks for the ride, I holler up to the driver. Be careful, little lady, he says as he waves to me. The guy was really nice.
“The Buck Snort was somethin’ else. Big door in the front with deer carved in it, antler door handle. A cloud of sweaty smoke smacks into me as I step inside the entry. I pretend to be reading some of the ads posted on the bulletin board so I can get up the courage to go in. I hear loud voices and laughter just beyond the inside door. I pause at the cigarette machine, look at the neat rows of colorful packs, bend over the glass, try to look like I’m pickin’ out a pack while I study the place. The Buck Snort has a lot of deer stuff in it.”
“That figures, Heidi,” Autumn says.
“I never seen a deer as big as the one they have in there. His mangled head’s hangin’ there with a big sign next to it Smuck the Buck. Sign says ‘Take a drink, ring the bell.’ The glass eyes stare from crumbled eye sockets. Antlers are decorated with key chains, necklaces, motel keys, and other doodads, one ear’s pierced with tons of women’s earrings, the other one’s gone completely, the nose bent off at a forty-five degree angle, the fur rubbed off the face. All kinds of shit covered the walls and the ceiling, animals and guns and stuff.”
“That’s enough about the décor, Heidi. Tell us how you were feeling.”
“Well, I was nervous, but I kinda sauntered up to the bar, pulled out a cigarette, and held it out to a red-faced man with a couple of day’s stubble, wearing a red and black plaid hunting jacket. Got a light? I says.
“Sure ‘nough. He jumps like somebody goosed him and smiles so wide he flashes his gums where his back molars used to be. Buy you a drink? He steps off his stool, motions for me to sit down.
“To tell you the truth, that was the moment I’ve been waiting for, praying for. After Beth died, the guilt got to me so bad I just wanted it to stop. I started thinking about drinking and drugging, talking to myself like it’s so romantic, the highlight of my life and all. By the time Estee got transferred to Creedmoor, the craving for alcohol is all I can think about.”
“Why didn’t you talk to me about it, Heidi?” I’m thinking we talk about almost everything.
“I told ya. I didn’t want you talkin’ me out of it. Anyway, the bartend asks what I want. Whiskey and water, straight up. The first gulp rushes down my throat like hot heaven, sends a shiver through my body, forces my lips back over my teeth. From then on, I just keep ordering ‘em.
“I try to talk to the guy who’s buyin’ me drinks so he won’t stop. Crowded, heh?
“Deer hunters. Won’t end ‘til after Thanksgiving.
“Thought I’d been caught in a time warp when I walked in—all that junk up above. I wave my hand toward the ceiling.
“Owner got a lot of this stuff when the old Spikehorn Museum outside of Grayling closed. It’s kinda like a bar-museum combo. We can swig back a beer and look up, take in Michigan history while we drink.
“I didn’t waste no time gettin’ drunk. I have to admit, I hung all over the guy, whispering sex talk in his ear. I know when I have a live one.
“I got grass in the truck, he says.
“This was better’n I expected. Far out. We head out into the parking lot, hangin’ on to each other and stumblin’ over the gravel like contestants in a three-legged race. He opens the passenger side of the truck and boosts me up by my ass. He punches open the glove box and pulls out a lump wrapped in saran wrap. He fumbles a joint from the plastic, lights up, takes a long hit, and passes it to me.
“Man, this is good stuff.” His voice raises a couple of octaves as he exhales his words.
“Hell, it’s home grown shit, full of stems and seeds, poppin’ and sparkin’. I toke on the soggy tip, and that’s all I remember. I wake up in the cold truck, naked, covered with an old blanket, smellin’ like wet dog. When I sit up and look out at the full parking lot, lights roll from the windows of the bar, music pounds. I couldn’t have been out that long, but my buzz wore off, my eyes burn, head feels fuzzy. I dress and stumble across the parking lot to the bar.”
“Back into the bar?” I can’t believe it.
“Where else was I gonna go?”
I just shrug my shoulders, shake my head.
“Yeah, so I go back in, wash my face, try to touch up my eyebrows. Then I feel this hand on my arm, Dance? He’s a gangly guy, a checked shirt tucked neatly into his wide belt with a large metal buckle, dark jeans with a perfect crease, cowboy boots. I’m about to dance with Howdy Doody.”
Everybody smiled at that one. Everybody but Dr. Murray.
“The floor was hip to hip—Howdy struggled with the fast dances, but he pulled me close for the ballads at the end of the set and came alive, swayin’ and dippin’ like an Arthur Murray graduate. He invites me to sit with him at his table, pulls out the chair for me, and this time I order a screwdriver and sip it.
“Mr. Doody
is a nice guy, lives with his parents in Buckley, just outside Traverse City. His real name is Kurt, nineteen, a couple years older than me. He graduated from Buckley High in the spring and works as a carpenter’s apprentice. We talk and dance until last call.
“Need a ride home?
“My plan was to run away, hitch downstate, probably latch on to some guy, and become invisible. But now I’m thinkin’ nothin’will change. I’ll still be a drunk and a loser, and a fugitive. The ol’ shame just washes over me. This is the moment of reckoning, I can stick with my original plan, have Kurt drop me off at some made-up place, the next town, Mesick, up the road. Before I know it, my mouth opens and I say, I do need a ride …back to Traverse City. I tell him the whole story, and he listens, noddin’ as I talk. He asks if he can visit me in the hospital. I don’t know if he’ll actually show up, but I said yes. Maybe I’ll have my first visitor.”
“Heidi, you have to forgive yourself for the past,” Dr. Murray says. “All of it. Your dad’s drug addiction, your mother walking out.”
“How?”
“Most of all, forgive yourself for all the things you did out of self hatred. It’s time to move on.”
“I know, I know …I keep screwing up.”
“It’s the shame.”
“Shame?”
“When you feel shame, you not only feel your behavior is bad, you believe you are bad. But you’re not bad, Heidi.”
“Yeah, I guess.” She brings her hands to her face and cries. “Kleenex?” She sticks her hand out toward me, open palm. I slap a tissue into it.
“You going to protection?” Autumn asks.
Heidi lowers her hands, looks at Dr. Murray. “I don’t think so.”
“No, she’s not going to protection. She will lose privileges, but no protection room,” Dr. Murray says.
“Can I get off the hot seat? I need time to think,” Heidi says.
“She’ll still be rooming with me, won’t she?” I ask.
“There’s no need to change Heidi’s room,” Dr. Murray says. “And I have something to tell you, Autumn.”
“Yeah?”
“You are going to be transferred to Cottage 21 before Christmas.”
“Mary, Joseph, and the little baby Jesus. Thank you,” Autumn says, clasping her hands in front of her.
“That’s great,” I say. “We’ll be in the same dining hall, right, Dr. Murray?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“I always dreamed of the day Estee and I …we would leave Building 50 …Now, I’m going, which is wonderful, don’t get me wrong …any word from her?”
“Autumn, we won’t be getting any reports on Estee. She’s at Creedmoor State Hospital in Queens, near her family. She’ll be hospitalized for awhile. The State of Michigan could no longer fund her treatment. She’s actually a resident of New York. I can get an address for you if you want to write to her.”
“I just can’t believe she’s gone,” Autumn says. “Yeah, I’ll take that address.”
There’s a heavy silence in the room.
“We have time left—Anybody?” Dr. Murray asks.
“When I went home …to my Mom’s …on leave, I had a really rough time.”
“Your family?” Autumn asks.
“Yes …well, two things. I had a meltdown about Alexander …I’ve been working on that with Dr. Murray …I really need my mom, but she …doesn’t get it.”
“What do you need from her, Luanne?” Dr. Murray asks.
“Support, understanding. She thinks I’m a weakling …She wants me to just snap out of it …”
“What do you need?”
“I …I want her to tell me she loves me no matter what.”
“She’s never said she loves you?” Autumn asks.
“No …Well, she said it at Alexander’s funeral. My little boy had to die first. That’s pretty damn pathetic.”
“Your mom has trouble expressing her love,” Dr. Murray says. “Do you believe she loves you?”
“Yes. I know she loves me. But she can be tough. I’ve always thought she expects me to be perfect. Even with Alexander’s illness, I had to handle it, buck up …seems crazy now.”
“Yes it does,” Dr. Murray says.
“I couldn’t do what you had to do,” Heidi says.
“Thanks.”
“I can’t even think about losing one of my kids,” Autumn says. “There were times I wished I didn’t have kids. I felt helpless. I couldn’t keep them safe. I just wanted to run away and hide.”
“I miss Isabel,” I say. “With Isabel, I always know where I stand. She always makes me feel better.”
“It’s hard to let people go,” Dr. Murray says.
“Monday was the anniversary of Alexander’s death.”
“You okay?” Heidi asks.
“I think so.”
“He’s in heaven,” Autumn says.
“Yeah.” I wipe my nose. “I’m going to go ahead and sign the divorce papers. I can’t control what Jeff’s doing. No point in trying to punish him.”
“You’re moving on,” Dr. Murray says.
“Thanks. It scares me, but I’ve been thinking about getting out of here.”
Chapter 50
I settle into my chair.
“Coffee or water?” Dr. Murray asks.
“Nothing, thanks.”
“Okay, then. Let’s get started. How are you doing?”
“I had another one of those nightmares.”
“Awake or asleep?” Dr. Murray says, as she pours herself a cup of coffee.
“Awake. I walk outside, thinking about something …I don’t know what …just so hard to think about it.” I blink my eyes and look toward the ceiling, trying to keep control. I want to talk about it, but the words refuse to shake loose from my throat. The images haunt me in the quiet moments—before I go to sleep, working in the gardens, walking on the grounds—the horror creeps in and tries to take me over. To invite it in feels like making a deal with the devil. I try to swallow, my tongue so thick, it won’t move. I make a strange sucking sound.
“Are you okay, Luanne? Water?”
“I …just give me a minute.” I try to swallow. Pictures flash in my mind—how the cancer invaded like some kind of alien, its fingers gripping Alexander’s head, transforming his face. The huge purple bulge closing his left eye, then it filled his sinuses and showed up at the back of his throat. My stomach turns. I can actually smell Puffs tissues, the sickening perfume of death. I cry into my Kleenex.
“One of the things I remember is the pain on Jeff’s face, and his parents and my mom and sister. They struggled to keep it together.”
“It’s so hard,” Dr. Murray says.
“Alexander changed …it wasn’t easy to see …I thought it hurt so bad because I missed him so much …so cute and smart …a sweet baby …he wouldn’t have a life.”
“I understand.”
“Now I think it’s that I lost a part of me. The world shining brand new …things would pop out from the drab background of life, light up, become new through the baby’s eyes …I miss that.” I twist the tissue in my hand.
“Of course you do.”
“A nightmare …with no end. The suffering would be over …but …but then my baby would be gone.” I can’t stop crying. Dr. Murray gets up from her chair, kneels down in front of me. “It’s okay.” She takes my hands.
“And the guilt …trying to figure out …if somebody is dead. His eyes …eye …so different …lens like a piece of glass …nothing behind it …just a …blank.”
“I’m so sorry,” Dr. Murray says.
“They show people closing the lids …in movies …Alexander’s eyelid …it wouldn’t move, stiff …wouldn’t close.” I lean forward and wrap my arms around Dr. Murray’s neck. I sob as the doctor holds me. When there are no more tears, I sit back and blow my nose again.
“I …I …can’t think Alexander might have needed me that night …I guess I believe he died peacefully …in his s
leep.”
“It really sounds like that’s what happened, Luanne.”
“Do you think he realized how much I loved him? Can …a child …one so young …understand I lost my temper?”
“Your temper about the beans?”
“Yeah …it sounds crazy when you say it.”
“These are things parents get angry with their children about all the time.”
“Maybe their kids live …so they can apologize, make up for it.”
“Um-humm. I’ve been doing this for a long time, Luanne, and it still amazes me to what lengths loved ones will go in blaming themselves when somebody dies, especially someone they feel responsible for, like a child. You did the best you could under horrific circumstances.”
I nod my head. “Thank you for saying that. The days before Alexander died were all the same, like sliding down a slippery slope. I really wasn’t there at the funeral, I mean, I was there, but it was like watching myself from somewhere else. I saw myself greeting people, being concerned about their grief, cordial, pleasant. I’m not sure I even cried much. Now I know I had a breakdown.”
“You were in shock. Now, these months later, the pain is fresh. And it hurts.”
“When will it stop?”
“Soon now. You can’t go around it; you have to move through it.”
Chapter 51
I wait by the front door of Cottage 23. Heidi runs up beside me. “Sorry I’m late. Couldn’t get my hair right.”
“You look great. Phil isn’t here yet anyway.”
“Am I dressed okay?”
“Heck, yeah. Anything goes. I’m wearing jeans.”
“I can’t believe I’m going home for Thanksgiving. I mean, your home. Thanks.” Heidi gives me a hug.
“I should be thanking you. This is the first time my whole family’s been together since, well, since I flipped out. I’m nervous.”
“Is Phil your youngest brother?”
“Yeah. He’s out on the big boats all year. Now they’re dry-docked for winter. Frankfort isn’t that far from Traverse City, about twenty or thirty miles is all.”
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