Waiting to Believe

by Sandra Bloom

  Mary Leo rose and began to pace, slowly. She stopped from time to time, running her fingers over objects on the mantle. “You feel you are without a voice. That’s perhaps true at this point in your life, Sister, though I doubt you are without an opinion.” Mary Leo’s expression softened. “You are not the same young woman who joined us six years ago. You’ve grown. Whether you see it or not, your faith in God has grown.”

  Kacey watched her teacher carefully and then, in a husky voice, said the words that were so difficult to speak. “Again, I must respectfully disagree, Sister. I think it’s just the opposite. My faith has not grown. I don’t know that I could make my final vows and maintain my integrity. I want to, but I have too many doubts.”

  “It’s understandable to have some doubts as you approach final vows. But there is a place for you within this community. A place for you to do good for the rest of your life.”

  Kacey lowered her eyes. Tears threatened, but she held them back. “I’m not sure I can make that commitment for the rest of my life.”

  The older nun sat down again, across from Kacey. She stared into Kacey’s anguished face and said gently, “Then make it for today. Just today.”

  59

  “Kenneth.” From a deep sleep, Kenneth heard Rose’s voice. Then again, louder, “Kenneth!” Her fingernails dug into his shoulder. He sat up, switching on the bedside lamp.

  “Rose? What is it?” Struggling to adjust to the light, he turned to her lying beside him, her face white, covered in sweat.

  “Sick. I’m so sick!” She reached up, clutching his arm in a tight grip. “Help me, Kenneth.”

  “Rosie, Rosie,” he crooned. “I’ll take care of you,” he said as he reached for the phone.

  It happens so fast. The ambulance ride. The rush through the emergency room. The questions. The doctors. The machines being put into play. The waiting as he hovers.

  A hospital chaplain Kenneth does not know enters the room, slips on his purple stole, and bends down to Rose, uttering timeless words as he dabs her head with oil: “Through this holy anointing may the Lord in his love and mercy help you with the grace of the Holy Spirit.” Kenneth watches. The young priest takes Rose’s hands, anointing her palms, “May the Lord who frees you from your sins save you and raise you up.” Kenneth does not move.

  The priest packs up his oils, turns to Kenneth. “May your belief in the Resurrection and the life everlasting comfort you and give you peace, Mr.—” He stumbles for a moment, to pull up Kenneth’s name. “Mr. Doyle.” He reaches out to shake Kenneth’s hand and leaves the room.

  Kenneth sits next to Rose’s bed, his eyes fixed on her face, relaxed now, in death.

  “I’m very sorry, Mr. Doyle.” The polite voice seems to come from far away. From a world he does not know.

  “Oh, Rosie, Rosie! Forgive me.. Forgive me for failing you . . .”

  The early-morning skies were heavy as Kacey stepped onto the back porch of Blessed Sacrament. In the distance, she heard the faint rumble of thunder. The hint of rain did not displease her. She felt rested and hopeful. Her time with Mary Leo had allowed her heart “to sit down,” an old African saying she had learned from a friend.

  She had slipped away from the breakfast table with a cup of coffee to sit outside and listen to the jabbering of birds. What a happy sound.

  Mother Mary Bernard came through the back door, a shadow crossing her face as she said, “We’ve been looking for you. Go to Mother Mary Agnes’s office right away. You have a phone call.”

  60

  Kacey checked her mirrors, put the wagon in gear, and pulled out of the drive, heading for home. She wished for a radio. Anything to break the silence. Lisa sat at her side.

  Mother Mary Agnes had not been pleased that it was Lisa whom Kacey had chosen to accompany her for the three-day trip to bury her mother. But it was Kacey’s right to choose. For once, Kacey was grateful for the rule that sisters could not travel alone. It was comforting to have her friend with her.

  Lisa had been in the library when Kacey came to her with the news. They packed small overnight bags and left immediately. After a few miles, Kacey said, “This is surreal.”

  “I can’t imagine what you’re going through,” Lisa acknowledged.

  “It’s like this must be happening to someone else, and I’m just along for the ride.”

  Lisa looked at her friend. “It was so sudden. That’s the thing.”

  “Mom’s always seemed fragile, but you know, that’s just how it was. Nothing ever really changed with her,” Kacey said in a soft voice. “She was the same last time I talked to her as she was when I was a kid.”

  “When was the last time?”

  “Oh, let’s see. I got that package early in June. With the cookies. Remember?”

  Lisa smiled wryly. “Oh, I remember the cookies.”

  “But then she called not long after that. She wasn’t sure of the date for final vows. Wanted to get it on the calendar.”

  “How’d she sound?”

  “Like Mom. Complaining about Joey. Wanting something from Dad. I don’t remember what we said before we hung up.” Kacey was silent for a moment. “Well, she said she loved me, and I s’pose I said it back, but, you know . . .” Her voice trailed off. She swallowed. “You know, it was the kind of ‘love you’ that gets said at the end of a conversation. Just another way of saying good-bye.”

  “Even so, you know she meant it, Kacey. And you did, too.”

  “Yeah, I did.” Kacey wiped away a single tear. “I just never dreamed it’d be the last time I’d talk to her.” She tightened her grip on the steering wheel. “I can’t imagine walking into the house without her there.”

  Lisa wished she could comfort her friend. “Well, in spite of everything, there’s a lot of love in that house. It’s still there.”

  “I wonder,” Kacey mused. “I’m afraid I’ll feel like I don’t belong there anymore.”

  “You’ll always belong there, Kace. Don’t ever doubt that.” Lisa responded.

  Kacey watched familiar landmarks come into sight, taking on new meaning. She would never view things the same way again. “Not far now,” she said.

  “Kacey?”

  “What?”

  “I’m nervous.”

  “About what?”

  “Oh, that your family will resent me being here. They don’t know me.”

  “They’ve all met you.”

  “Yeah, in the middle of a hundred penguins! We all look alike, you know. I doubt that one of your family could pick me out in a crowd.”

  “So what?”

  “Well, I’m glad it was me you wanted, but I don’t want them to resent my coming.”

  “Lisa, my folks—” Kacey caught herself. “My dad knows the rules. He understands that I wouldn’t be allowed to travel alone. The kids’ll get it, too. Just be yourself.”

  Now the long driveway was ahead of them. Kacey’s hands tightened on the wheel as she turned in. The apple trees on either side were brilliant in the summer sunshine. And then they were at the house. The broad front porch was empty. She drove past it and pulled up by the back door.

  Lisa reached out, touching Kacey’s knee. Kacey smiled at her. “Here we are,” she said. “Let’s do it.” But she felt alone as she climbed from the car.

  Bridget saw them and burst through the kitchen door, rushing into Kacey’s arms and holding on. When Kacey looked up, Maureen was standing in the doorway, waiting her turn. Kacey took one arm away from Bridget and motioned Maureen to come. The three sisters stood in a wordless circle.

  Kacey finally broke the moment. “Where’s Dad?”

  “He and Annie are at the funeral home,” Bridget told her.

  “Annie’s here already?”

  “She just flew in. We’re all here now.”

  Kacey remembered Lisa, who still st
ood by the car, and gave her a wave. “C’mon,” she called. “You remember Bridget and Maureen.” She turned to her sisters. “This is Lisa. Well, Sister Mary John, but really Lisa. I think you’ve met her.”

  “I’m so sorry for your loss,” Lisa murmured. But it seemed hollow to her, like what the TV detectives always say to the family of victims. They nodded but did not speak, smiling politely, instead. They understood Lisa’s role. She was Kacey’s “chaperone.”

  Kacey stepped into the kitchen and looked around. Everything was the same, except that her mother wasn’t there. A copy of Good Housekeeping lay on the counter, open to a crossword puzzle, her mother’s printing on the nearly completed puzzle, her pencil still there. Then the tears came, and Kacey wept for her mother.

  Bridget and Maureen stood by the refrigerator. Neither could remember the last time they had seen her cry.

  It was Lisa who went to Kacey then, placing an arm around her shoulder. “Okay,” Kacey said as she wiped away tears. “I’ve got that out of my system now.” She had to move on.

  They all sat at the table, unsure what to do next. Maureen still sniffled. “I just can’t believe it,” she murmured. “She’s only forty-four. How can she have a heart attack at forty-four?”

  “She had some pretty hard years,” Kacey said in a near whisper.

  “But there was no warning,” Bridget said. “We didn’t know she had heart trouble. I don’t think she even knew.”

  “She didn’t take care of herself. I wonder when she saw a doctor last,” Maureen added.

  Kacey smiled. “Probably when Joey was born.” They all chuckled.

  The girls had grown into beautiful young women. It was obvious that Maureen, at twenty, took after their mother in the stylish way she dressed. Her auburn curls were long and meticulously tousled, her makeup more subtle now than when she was a teenager.

  Bridget, one year older, was more casual. Almost careless. No makeup on her freckled cheeks. Her hair was strawberry, like Kacey’s. Shaggy. Her frame was still too thin, Kacey thought. But her smile was the smile of the child Kacey had loved so dearly.

  “Where are the boys?” she asked.

  “They’re working. Dad said they should go. Joe’s got a summer job at McDonald’s on Riverton Road, and Gerald’s working at Smithson’s Hardware till he figures out what to do with his life,” Maureen said with a hint of sarcasm.

  “I think it’s hardest on Joey,” Bridget said. “The two of them had supper together last night before he went out with the guys. I don’t know where Dad was, but that was it. Mom and Joe ate, and within hours, she was dead.”

  Kacey tried envisioning a supper table with only her mother and Joey. Her mind traveled back to the raucous evening meals with the family around the big round table: Gerald with his relentless teasing. Joseph, his incessant questions. Annie, sitting like a princess, above the fray. The little girls, so dear. Swept away in memories, Kacey’s tears came again.

  Still they sat. There seemed little more to say. They were awkward in their togetherness.

  61

  Kacey heard her father’s car in the driveway. She went to the kitchen window, watching Kenneth and Annie make their way up the sidewalk. For all his height, her father suddenly looked small, almost shrunken. Annie walked beside him, their shoulders brushing. It was Annie who saw Kacey first. She broke into a sad smile at her younger sister, standing in the doorway. Kacey raised her hand in greeting.

  Annie was still in her travel clothes, an ankle-length black skirt and beige linen blouse. She was thinner than when Kacey had last seen her. Her brown hair was long, straight, falling in her eyes. No makeup. She looked older than her twenty-five years.

  Kacey went out to them as they climbed the porch steps. Kenneth’s face was seared with pain. Kacey swept them in an embrace. Kenneth grimaced and shook his head slowly, side to side. His fingers dug deeply into Kacey’s shoulders.

  Finally, Annie kissed Kacey’s cheek. “Good to see you, Sis.” They broke apart and entered the kitchen. Lisa stood by the sink, trying to be inconspicuous, but Kacey pulled her forward. “Dad, Annie, I think you’ve met Sister Mary John.” The words sounded so formal. “Well, she’s Lisa to me.”

  Again Lisa murmured, “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  Kenneth’s face was blank as he reached out to shake her hand. “Thank you for making the trip with Kacey.”

  “Yes, thanks,” Annie responded as she shook Lisa’s hand.

  Lisa saw herself as an intruder. After a moment, she turned to Kacey. “I’ll put our stuff away.”

  Kacey walked her to the stairs door. “It’s the third door on the left.” She knew Lisa was glad to escape.

  Kenneth went to the cupboard and took out a bottle of Jameson. He held it up to his daughters, and they all nodded. Placing four glasses on the table, he poured liberally. “To your mother,” he whispered, lifting his glass.

  “To Mom.”

  Seated, Kenneth began to tell the story. Within minutes of arriving at the hospital, she was gone, her face a pale mask of the captivating girl he had loved as a nineteen-year-old.

  His eyes were watery. The lines, the hollows in his cheeks had deepened overnight. Kacey covered his hands with her own. He glanced up at her but then pulled them away and reached for his glass. It was too much to bear. He took a deep swallow.

  Once again, silence settled over the table, and Kacey struggled with an urge to bolt. She stood on shaky legs. “I’d better go up and help Lisa put our things away,” she said lamely.

  It was a relief to leave her father and her sisters. She wanted to be in her own room again, surrounded by her own things. As she walked the upper hallway, her foot fell on the one floorboard that always creaked.

  The door was ajar, and Kacey pushed it open. Lisa sat in a bentwood rocker, the newest Time magazine in her lap. Kacey let out a faint gasp. It was no longer her room. Gone was her bed, her dressing table, and mirror with pictures of Greg taped around the edges. Gone her desk and her Junior Titlist golf trophy. Gone, too, was the RCA hi-fi and the rack holding Bobby Darin, Neil Sedaka, Chubby Checker LPs. All the leftovers of her youth gone.

  In their place sat a Singer sewing machine and a dresser, drawers pulled open and overflowing with bric-a-brac, ribbon, and pieces of fabric. A cardtable held scissors, a tape measure, chalk, and several Vogue dress patterns. A stenographer’s notebook, a couple of pens, and the cloudy remains of a drink sat on a small desk.

  Her mother had turned Kacey’s bedroom into a sewing room. And Kacey had never known it.

  “I thought you said this was your room, so I just waited,” Lisa said.

  The door swung open abruptly, and Kenneth poked his head in. “Kacey, I should have mentioned. Your mother—”

  “It’s okay, Dad. We’ll sleep in the guest room.” She smiled at him and added, “If it’s still there!”

  “It’s still there.” He tried to return her smile, but the effort made him look even more tired. He headed back downstairs.

  “How foolish of me,” Kacey said to Lisa, “to think my room would remain untouched in a house that still held four kids.”

  “Oh, Kacey,” Lisa began but then stopped.

  “Ya know, I just always pictured it the way I left it. Gerald and Joey together, and Bridget and Maureen.” Her voice drifted off, caught up in memories. Where did they put my things? The knot in her stomach tightened.

  She picked up the stenographer’s notebook and absently flipped it open. There was her mother’s handwriting:

  Dear Kacey,

  I’d like to make you something for final vows, but what could it be? I wonder if the robe I made you is still in good shape. I don’t imagine you’re very hard on it. I could make you a new one, though. Would you like that? Or something else? Let me know right away so I have enough time.

  Enough time. The letter was dated May
13. Kacey lay the notebook down. “C’mon,” she said to Lisa, “let’s leave this room to Mom.”

  The two unpacked their overnight bags in silence. Moving from the closet, Kacey passed the window and saw a beat-up Chevy Impala chug to a stop by the kitchen door. She pulled the curtain back. Gerald and Joseph. Joseph had graduated from high school only weeks earlier. She had missed another big day. Her heart ached at all she had missed. “The boys are home,” she said to Lisa. “I’ve gotta go downstairs.”

  Gerald was opening a Grain Belt. “Hey, sis. They turned you loose, huh?” He reached out his arm and threw it around her shoulder.

  “Of course they did.” She had to reach to touch his cheek with her lips. He stood a foot above her, his face thin, with a rusty stubble that tickled her. His voice was raspy, and he looked weary. At nineteen, he had grown into a man.

  “Where’s your bodyguard? I s’pose you’ve got one.” He held out his beer to her.

  “Gerald! She’s not a bodyguard!” She took a sip and handed it back. “She’s a friend. Her name’s Lisa.”

  “Well, this is the shits, isn’t it?” He folded his slender frame onto a kitchen chair.

  “Yep, this is the shits.” She looked around the room. “Where’s Joseph?”

  “He stayed out on the porch. Take him a beer.”

  But Kacey shook her head. “Not yet.” She opened the screen door. Joseph was sitting on the porch swing, elbows on his knees, his hands folded. Had she not known better, she could think he was praying.

  “Joey,” Kacey whispered. He stood and held out his arms to her. Now seventeen, like Gerald, he had grown a foot since she had last seen him.

  “Kacey,” was all he could say. She turned her face up to him and tucked it into his shoulder. He kissed her cheek.

  “Sit with me,” he said, and they moved to the swing.

  “Can you talk about it with me, Joey?”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t even know what to say, ya know? We had a couple burgers and some fries together around seven. I brought them home from work ’cuz I knew she wouldn’t have cooked anything. She had a drink with hers. Maybe two. But she seemed fine. I don’t know where Dad was.”