Admissions

by Jennifer Sowle

  “I hope they like me,” Heidi says.

  “They will.”

  We pull into the driveway of Mom’s house about eleven o’clock. It’s snowed, and the streets in Saginaw are slushy. We take off our wet shoes on the front porch, walk into the living room in our stocking feet.

  “Smells good in here,” Phil slips off his coat, tosses it on the chair. Kids run through the house, hollering at each other as they thunder down the basement stairs.

  “Happy Thanksgiving,” Mom says. “Come on in, we’re just sitting around drinking coffee. Welcome Heidi.”

  I walk into the kitchen to say hi to everyone and introduce Heidi.

  “Heidi, where are you from?” Charlene asks.

  “Benton Harbor,” Heidi answers. “Thank you all for having me for the holiday.”

  “What time is Joe’s flight coming in?” Margo asks.

  “One fifteen,” Harry says. “I’m leaving at noon to pick him up.”

  “Dinner’s at two. Will that work?” Mom asks.

  “Should.”

  At precisely two o’clock, Mom brings the turkey to the table. “Joe, you carve,” Mom hands Joe the knife.

  I turn to Heidi as she passes the gravy. “Think we’ve got enough food?”

  “Wait ‘til you see the desserts, Heidi. They come later,” Charlene says.

  Small talk gives way to the sound of forks clicking on plates, water glasses being lifted and thumping back on the table.

  “Luanne, I heard a rumor about Jeff.”

  “Molly, I told you not to bring that up,” Mom says.

  “I know, but Luanne has a right to the information, if she wants it.”

  “Go ahead. What?”

  “Jeff’s getting married.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Phil says.

  “Married? Are you two even divorced yet?” Margo asks me.

  “The divorce will be final soon. Who told you that, Molly?”

  “I ran into Jeff’s sister, Laura, at The Chicken Coop. She asked about you, so I thought I should ask about Jeff. That’s when she told me.”

  “I …I guess I want to know that. It’s pretty fast, I guess.” I move my mashed potatoes around on my plate, make a crater with my fork, pooling the gravy in the middle.

  “We brought that boy into our family,” Mom says.

  “You think you know somebody, but I guess not,” Charlene says. “What a creep.”

  “It’s okay, really.” I take a drink of water.

  At the end of the meal, the women get up to clear the table. We return with mincemeat, apple, pumpkin, pecan pie, chocolate cake, and lemon bars.

  Harry says, “Phil, remember that time when you fell off the bridge?”

  “Yup.” Phil shoves a large bite of pie into his mouth.

  “When did he fall off a bridge?” Molly asks.

  “The river broke up. We were on the bridge poking icebergs with long sticks. I heard a splash. Phil went in. Man, talk about cold, we both had on our winter coats, hats, mittens and boots.”

  “Oh no,” Molly says.

  “I pulled him out. We knew we were in big trouble. We snuck in the back door and headed down the basement. Mom demanded we come to the stairway where she could see us. She says, Phil, you’re all wet. What happened? Phil lied, said he got wet playing in the snow. You didn’t get that wet in the snow.”

  “I’m not as dumb as I look,” Mom laughs.

  “What about the time Luanne fell from Lawson’s garage loft,” Margo says.

  “I did?”

  “Yeah, you fell onto the cement floor. Margo looked at me and I looked at her. I remember her saying, I think we probably should get Mom,” Charlene says, snickering.

  “Gee, thanks,” I smile.

  “Now that was scary,” Mom says. “Your dad was home from work for some reason. He picked you up, Luanne, and we rushed you to the hospital.”

  “Was I okay?”

  “Hardheaded, even then,” Margo says.

  “Hardheaded and stubborn,” Charlene added.

  “Not really.” I eye Heidi, who’s giggling behind her hands.

  “No? What about the time Mom told you to go to bed, and you kept watching TV. She shut it off, and there you sat, watching a blank screen for about an hour.”

  “It wasn’t that long.”

  “Joe got mad at me for something,” Harry says. “I can’t remember what, but boy was he mad. He started chasing me down the hill toward the river. I ran the railroad tracks, came up by the mill, and hid out in the woods. Talk about a rock and a hard place. I couldn’t stay there all night, but he was mad enough to beat me up.”

  “What happened?” Charlene asks.

  “I came home late for dinner and Dad gave me a whipping. Later, Joe beat me up.”

  “Where’s the justice?” Margo says.

  “How about the time Sister Richard called Zippy Zielinski and me to the front of the room and made us hit each other with rulers?” Phil says.

  “What?” I haven’t heard this one.

  “Yeah. She got us up in front of the blackboard. Said, If you boys want to fight so bad, go ahead. Go ahead, Phil, hit him. I didn’t know if it was a trap or what, so I gently slapped the ruler against Zip’s arm. No, harder. Hit him harder, she said. Before long we were slapping the snot out of each other with those rulers while she egged us on.”

  “Sister Thaddeus slapped up everybody in our class one year,” I say. “I got beaned for crossing my legs. Nadine Marshall got her French twist smacked loose in front of the entire school assembly.”

  “Remember when Sister Grace made you eat that chipped beef on toast at hot lunch?” Charlene says. “You were out of school sick for a week.”

  “I still cringe at the smell of shit on a shingle. Makes me gag.”

  “They have that a lot at the hospital,” Heidi says, sawing at her pie crust. The room goes silent.

  “Church basement cafeteria, loony bin, not much difference.” I make a face, and the stories roll on.

  “Mom threw all our clothes out on the front lawn one day,” Margo turns toward Heidi.

  “Now, that’s not true,” Mom says. “Well, I guess it is true, but I had Luanne down at the end of the block watching for you two. When she saw you coming, we took the clothes and put them out front. Do you think I wanted the neighbors to see that? They’d think I was crazy.”

  “Here we were, strolling down our block when Charlene grabbed my arm and said, Well, she did it. She points toward home, and that’s when I saw the skirts, sweaters, coats, shoes, scattered across the front yard.”

  “I told you to pick up those clothes,” Mom laughs again.

  I relax in my chair. It feels good to be back.

  By evening, sleepy nieces and nephews wander into the living room in their Doctor Denton’s, the feet of the pajamas flapping as they shuffle along.

  “The kids can sleep in the backseat,” Margo says. “We won’t have to wake them when we get home.”

  The loneliness rolls over me as I hold my little nephew in my lap, cuddly in his jammies. I long for Alexander, for the life I had with Jeff.

  Chapter 52

  My whole body shivers, I take in short jerks of breath through clenched teeth. I lean against the attendant who escorts me into Dr. Murray’s office.

  “Luanne, what is it? Here, sit down.” Dr. Murray helps me to the chair, pours a glass of water, hands it to me. I squeeze the curved wooden arms. “Do you need a sedative?”

  “No. No more sedatives.”

  “Let me know when you’re ready to talk. I’m right here.” Dr. Murray settles back in her seat, sips her coffee until I can speak.

  “Last night I woke up with the terrors, my mattress soaked. Since they cut my night meds again, I’ve been dreaming a lot, waking up.”

  Dr. Murray makes a note on her pad. “We might need to adjust your medications again.”

  “No! I want to be off the medications. My mind is working, I feel human again. It’s just so h
ard …I’m remembering things.”

  “What is it?”

  I take a deep breath, let it out like blowing up a balloon. “I don’t know where to start …I’m having flashbacks, and nightmares. It’s getting so I can’t tell what’s real.”

  “You’re going to be okay. ”

  “I should have gone to Alexander that night.”

  “The night he died?”

  “Yes.” I stare at Dr. Murray.

  “What?”

  “Jeff was the one who went to Alexander that night. I was so exhausted. I fell asleep. I didn’t even hear Jeff come back to bed. I remember I had my first kitten dream that night. I told the dream to Jeff later. It really affected him. He started crying.”

  “Do you remember that dream?”

  “Some of it. I dreamed a kitten had crawled under the porch. He was crying and crying, but I couldn’t reach him. I called to Jeff to help me. He got down on his belly and crawled under the porch. The kitten was whimpering. It sounded so forlorn, so scared. All I could see were Jeff’s legs sticking out from under the porch. He was inching along, trying to reach him. Then the kitten stopped mewing.”

  “What was happening with Alexander that week?”

  “He was getting worse and worse. He could barely breathe …I …we wanted to keep him home …but …he had to breathe through his mouth …his throat was so dry. I was so afraid he would choke. I didn’t know what I would do …if he choked …couldn’t breathe. He woke up almost every night, even with the medication.”

  “I don’t know how you did it.”

  “Most of the time, I got up and held him in my lap, rocking him.” I sit back in my chair and close my eyes. “By the fourth or fifth night in a row, I was so tired …that night I called Jeff, and he got up with the baby. I listened for a few minutes, and the baby stopped crying. I don’t know if I dropped off …I was so worn out …or …”

  “Or what?”

  “Or if Jeff did something.”

  “Like . . .”

  “I have this horrible feeling …no, I can’t think that …”

  “What is it, Luanne? Go ahead.”

  “That Jeff …smothered …”

  “Smothered Alexander?”

  “I’m just crazy …”

  “Alexander died that night?”

  “Yes. Jeff said we both came in the room in the morning and he was gone. It’s really foggy. I can’t remember. And when I do, I’m not sure if it’s real.”

  “Do you remember going into Alexander’s room that morning.”

  “No.”

  “Jeff told you that you did, right?”

  “Yes. I remember we didn’t know what to do. I think Jeff called the police. They called the funeral director and he came to the house.”

  “I see.”

  “He told us to stay in our bedroom. The quilt was missing from Alexander’s bed, so I guess he carried him out in that …I guess …I never saw that quilt again …”

  I took a drink of water. “I don’t know …”

  “Go ahead, Luanne.”

  “After the funeral, Jeff had to go back to work. He came into the bedroom, sat on the edge of the bed, rubbed my back. I turned toward him …he was crying. I asked him what was wrong.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Nothing.”

  “He said nothing?”

  “He buried his face in my chest and cried. I held him and told him it was okay …that I understood. I did understand.”

  “What did you understand.”

  “I don’t know. His grief, I guess.”

  “But he never said what, specifically, he was crying about?”

  “He didn’t have to. I felt close to him. We shared the nightmare, we both felt the loss. It was only later when he left for work that I started to blame myself.”

  “For what?”

  “I should have gotten up like I always did and rocked Alexander. I told you, Jeff isn’t strong.” I covered my face, crying loudly. “I feel sick.” I stand up.

  “Use my bathroom,” Dr. Murray says. She stands outside while I vomit.

  Chapter 53

  Carl and I have our Christmas dinner together in the canteen. We eat a big turkey dinner with all the trimmings.

  “You sure look pretty today, little lady.”

  “Thanks, Carl.” I take a sip of coffee. “Carl, I’m leaving here in two weeks …in time for Christmas with my family.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Carl’s voice cracks. “I’ll miss you.”

  “I’ll miss you too, Carl.” I feel like crying, so I try to change the subject. “Did you put up your tree yet?”

  “Well, my sisters ‘bout had a fit, but I can’t put up a tree this year. I don’t know how I’m gonna face Christmas without Judy. The thought of goin’ into the attic for the decorations—forty-six years of memories, boxes of photographs, mementos handed down from our families. And the baby’s things—the bassinette, blankets, clothes, toys.”

  “I’m sorry, Carl.”

  “Thanks, Luanne. I guess I’m gonna have to go through all that stuff sometime. I did find these.” Carl pulls out a stack of small Kodak photo booklets held together by a pink ribbon. He opens each faded gold paper cover, turns the brittle pages, taking care not to detach the glossy prints. Happy faces of Judy and the baby smile up at us, black and white images, notched edges curled.

  “She was so beautiful, Carl.”

  “Yup, yup, she sure was. Tiny little thing. Fragile, like a baby duck.”

  “What happened after Hope died?”

  “Well, it’s no surprise that birth certificate never came. When she died, we had no choice but to bury her on the farm. I wanted to turn Joe Doremire in to the sheriff, but Joe threatened me, forced me to keep my mouth shut. Couldn’t even share our grief with nobody. Family, friends, nobody. It was like Hope never existed.”

  “That must’ve been so hard.”

  “When I go, the new owners of the farm might discover the cross, but they’ll figure a family pet is buried there. Hell, once I’m gone, it won’t matter what they think.”

  “You’ll all be together up in heaven. You won’t care.”

  “You’re darn right. And, Luanne, there’s something else I want to tell you. I guess I’m just a selfish old coot tryin’ to get rid of somethin’ weighing on my mind …”

  “No, that’s okay, Carl. I want to hear about it.”

  “It was the winter of ‘47, just after Hope’s death, a patient delivered a stillborn infant in Hall 5. She hemorrhaged and died. The attendant on duty was Doris Doremire. According to the grapevine, the hospital investigated the death. Thought there might be a black market baby mill goin’ on at the hospital. Doris and Joe Doremire were questioned, but nothin’ ever came of it. Word back then was the hospital didn’t want the bad publicity.

  “Joe still worked for me as a farmhand then. Now, this is the hard part, Luanne. I overheard him boasting to Ralph Crown about how he was having sex with patients, gettin’ ‘em pregnant, and selling the babies. So I know for a fact, there was a baby mill right here in the hospital.”

  “Oh my god. What did you hear?”

  “It’s so awful, I can’t repeat Joe’s words, but after he told Ralph, I heard Ralph say, Jesus, Joe. Your wife set it up?

  “Then Joe said, She likes to spend the money, let her earn it. We both live high on the hog …from the fruit of my loins. Then I heard ‘em laughing. I couldn’t stand it, so I called Joe outside.

  “Joe stood in front of me, arms crossed. Boss?

  “I’m turning you in, you son of a bitch.” Excuse the language, Lu, I was boilin’ mad.

  “Oh? Is that right? Joe said back.

  “How low can a man get?

  “Turn me in, might as well convict yourself. Your wife, too. I’m not goin’ alone.

  “We’re the victims here. I told him.

  “I’d like to hear what you tell the cops. About where you thought that baby came from. I’ll tell
them you killed the kid, must’ve buried it around your property somewhere. How you gonna explain that?

  “That was the end of it. I couldn’t discuss it with Judy; it would’ve killed her to know the truth. Joe moved on to other enterprises, and I kept my mouth shut. I feel ashamed of myself. But I just couldn’t hurt Judy. She was already sufferin’. To know our little Hope came from a rape …that would’ve put her in the grave.”

  “You did the right thing, Carl.”

  “Thanks, Luanne. I’m sure gonna miss you.”

  “I’ll miss you too, Carl. You’ve helped me get better. Thank you.”

  “You’ve helped me get better. I got something here for you.” He holds out a package.

  “You didn’t need to.”

  “Go ahead now, open it up.”

  I rip open the package to find a beautifully carved statue of a little boy, kneeling, with a bird on his finger. “Oh, oh …oh.” I hold it up.

  “It’s supposed to be Alexander, solid maple …the bird is a whippoorwill. Hard to tell, though.”

  I throw my arms around Carl, my face against his neck. “It’s so beautiful, Carl. I’ll treasure it always.”

  “I came here to tell you something. Now I guess I’ll have to say goodbye, too.”

  Chapter 54

  I bundle up and step onto the shoveled sidewalk. The air is so crisp, the insides of my nostrils freeze. I squint against the brilliance of sun on snow. Low bushes lining the walkway hold on to white puffs, a corridor of sparkly pussy willows.

  I stomp my boots on the mat inside the administration building and knock on Dr. Murray’s door.

  “Your cheeks are red. Coffee?” Dr. Murray asks. “Couldn’t find an escort through the tunnels?”

  “I wanted to walk today. It’s magical out there. Cold, but magical. Coffee sounds good.” I slip off my coat, sit in my usual seat.

  “This is our last session, Luanne.”

  “Thank you so much for helping me.”

  “You’re welcome. I’ve scheduled your appointment with the psychologist in Saginaw, Dr. Sharon Maddox.” Dr. Murray hands me an appointment card.

  “Thank you.”