by Sandi Ward
This goes on and on for a good three minutes.
“Okay, seriously, I love you, good-bye.” He hangs up. And then pretends to rest his head down on me, as if I am a big pillow. He doesn’t put all of his weight on me though.
I ignore him. Because if I didn’t ignore him, I’d have to swat him. And my paw might get stuck in his big mop of messy, black hair.
That would be a total disaster.
* * *
The next morning when Mary leaves for school, she gives Finn an extra hug and tells Father good luck. Father gets Finn dressed in a nice outfit, and Jimmy carries Finn out to the car. I assume they are headed for that hospital Jimmy mentioned.
I have a rare few hours when no humans are here at all. I listen to the dishwasher cycling, water splashing and draining. It’s very calming.
I feel bad Finn will never get to hear the wonderful, comforting sound of a dishwasher gently splashing and draining.
When they come home, Finn is fussy. He cries and cries. The poor thing has little, plastic blue things behind each ear, and they are clipped to his shirt by strings. Finn pulls the blue things off his ears repeatedly, and Father and Jimmy struggle to get them back on him. They sit Finn down on the living room rug and try to distract him.
“Hey, buddy!” Jimmy tries with an expressive face. Finn’s little hand moves up to paw at his ear. “No, look here. Here!” But Finn isn’t having any of it. No matter how many times Jimmy puts the blue things back on his ears, Finn pulls them off.
“Maybe it’s feedback?” Jimmy asks. “Or maybe he’s actually hearing something and he’s not used to it, so he doesn’t like it?”
Father shakes his head. He’s not sure. He reminds Jimmy that the doctor said these “hearing aids” might not help Finn at all. Father is worried that maybe these aids are just going to drive Finn crazy and make him uncomfortable for nothing.
Jimmy leans forward and gives Finn a hug. “Pops, we gotta talk more to him. The doctor said it’s okay to talk to him. He said all parents should talk to their deaf baby.” Jimmy pauses. “You know, Ma talked to Finn the whole weekend.”
I can tell Father finds this interesting by the way he tips his head.
“Wait,” says Jimmy, “I’ve got an idea.” He stands and hustles up the stairs. When he comes back down, he’s got the little B cap in his hand. Jimmy carefully puts the aids back on Finn’s ears and then sticks the hat on Finn’s head.
This time, Finn’s hand moves slowly up to his head. And when his hand finds the cap, he is distracted. His blue eyes light up with amazement. I imagine Finn is remembering how happy Mother was to put that cap on his little head.
And his hand drops.
Father grins at Jimmy.
“Yeah, I knew it.” Jimmy takes all the credit, as he should. “Yeah, that just happened. I outsmarted my baby brother. Deal with it.”
I feel my purr increase to full blast. I can’t help it. Jimmy beams like Mother used to when she was proud of herself.
Later, I follow Jimmy up to his room and we sit on his bed. I admire my big brother. He is an amazing human. Unlike Mary and Father, he is always cheerful. I can’t believe I never appreciated this about him before Mother left.
It is like realizing that something I have been searching for has been right beside me all along.
My bond with Mother blinded me to the possibility of connection with other humans. Mother was the one who met all my needs, as powerful as the sun that warms me through the window. I took her presence here for granted. Jimmy and Mary were just other warm bodies circling Mother. We competed for her attention.
Jimmy is not exactly like Mother, but he has the same dark eyes, the same quick laugh. More than that, he is patient and brave. I think he has a good soul.
There is a photo of Mother on his bedside table, and it’s one where she’s cradling me in her arms. At one time, this was my favorite photo. Not anymore.
I slink onto the dusty table, which is covered in papers and cards and pens and electronics, all kinds of human junk. I purposely rub up against the framed photo, so hard that it falls off the table. Good riddance.
Jimmy turns at hearing the thunk and immediately reaches down to pick up the photo. He looks it over a number of times. I track his eye movements. I wonder how his weekend really went. I wonder how badly he misses Mother. I wonder if it was amazing to see her, or painful. Perhaps it was both.
“It’s not her fault,” he says softly, and I guess he is talking to me, but also maybe to himself. “It’s not her fault she’s sick.”
I look away, pretending something outside the window interests me. I know now that Mother’s actions were not normal at times, that she was full of too much energy and had some strange ideas. But sick?
I don’t care if Mother is ill. I don’t want to hear excuses for her bad behavior.
I turn back and give Jimmy a yeow! He needs to snap out of it.
But when I crane my neck to look up at him, Jimmy just glances at me and then stares down at the photo again. “You don’t get it. She had to go,” he continues, his voice barely a whisper. “Robert told me she had to go, to save her own life. He reached a helping hand out to her, and she took it. That’s all. She just couldn’t live here anymore.” He sighs. “She misses you something awful, Boo. Believe me.”
My fur bristles at this. Jimmy can tell himself anything he wants.
I am more worried about Jimmy now than I am about Mother. Those who are left behind need love too. Perhaps in some way we failed to take care of Mother. Perhaps Mother did have to go. But I feel betrayed and rejected. Now we need to take care of ourselves.
“Boo,” Jimmy mumbles. “My stomach hurts.”
I turn back to Jimmy and climb up into his lap. Snuggling down, I rest my full weight on him. I will take care of him. I love my family. I don’t want us to hurt anymore.
When I look up, I see tears starting to pool in Jimmy’s eyes, but none run down his face. He is close to some sort of understanding, but not quite there yet. When he leans over and smothers me, putting his face right down into my fur, I allow it. I try to relax, feeling his breath hot on my back. I’m happy to help. My brother needs me.
22
Snap
The days keep getting a little longer. The sun feels warm through the glass panes of the old windows. I stretch out on the floor right in a square of direct light, feeling good.
I am being fed on a regular basis. I settle down at Father’s feet every night, where I am welcome. So I can’t complain.
But these have been a difficult couple of days for Father.
One night, he talks to Jimmy and Mary about Charlotte’s visit, sitting with them on the stairs, where Mary paused to say hello to me. I like to sit on the middle stair to keep track of comings and goings.
Father clearly feels awkward, tapping his hand on his knee, stumbling on his words. My siblings are supportive and tell him they are okay with it. Father appreciates what they have to say, but at night he tosses and turns.
I think he is unsure about it.
But at the same time, now that Charlotte has gone home and he is alone in his bed, he aches for her. He stares at the wall, lost in his memories. Then he turns to grab the pillow she used and hugs it to his chest.
It’s funny to think about Father being lonely in this house full of people and pets, but I know he has been. I understand.
As soon as Father falls asleep, Finn starts screaming and doesn’t stop, all night. Father needs Mary’s help to give Finn medicine. Father flips on the bathroom light, and it is so bright it blinds them. They can’t figure out what is wrong. Finn grabs his ear. The hearing aids are off, but he still cries and pulls at his neck.
In the morning, my siblings have to go to school, but Father stays home. A trip to the doctor is fruitless, and there are twenty-four more hours of frustration and pain and crying and comforting and nonstop care. Father looks in his books but cannot find an answer.
I hear Father calling the
doctor in the wee morning hours of the next day. “But he’s still screaming. His fever is so high. I don’t know what to do. You have to see him again.” Father is very upset, pressing the phone to his ear. “No, something is wrong with him. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. Please, we have to come back in.”
By the time they go back to the doctor, Father is exhausted and angry and at the end of his rope. I think he is ready to throw his crutches out the window.
He finally comes home with a new kind of medicine, but it takes another full day before Finn feels better.
Mahmee, while waiting for Father to return from the doctor, calls Charlotte to cancel her appointment, telling Charlotte that she doesn’t need to come. Father, upon returning and hearing that news, is momentarily stunned.
He hasn’t told his mother how he feels about Charlotte yet. So Mahmee didn’t know Father might want to see Charlotte even though Finn is sick.
Father sulks and snaps at Mahmee whenever she tries to talk to him. He hunches over on the couch, massaging his temples, too tired to even raise his head. Father worries about Finn so much. I think his heart is heavy with it all the time, even when the baby is well. So having Finn in pain is too much to bear. He complains to Mahmee about how hard it is to raise a baby without Mother.
“Ah, c’mon, Tommy. Carrie’s leaving was a blessing in disguise,” Mahmee says, obviously frustrated. “She was more of a burden than a help to you.”
Now Father’s head whips up.
Mahmee shrugs. “What if she wasn’t well and Finn was here alone with her? He wouldn’t be able to tell you something was wrong, like Jimmy did. You wouldn’t want that.”
This doesn’t sit well with Father. His face darkens. His hands clench into fists.
“OUT,” he directs her, pointing toward the door. “Just get out, Ma. Go home. You’re not helping me.”
Mahmee is taken aback, but she sighs (just like Father does) and gets up to gather her things.
Father runs a hand over his face. “Don’t talk about Carrie. You don’t know what she went through as a kid, Ma.”
“Like what?”
Father ignores this question. “She never . . . she never really hurt Jimmy,” he continues quietly. “Nothing too bad. He’s always fine. She just gets agitated. And scared. Carrie’s much more likely to hurt herself than someone else.”
“Maybe physically,” Mahmee mutters, digging in her purse for her keys.
“What?”
“I said, maybe she never really hurt him too badly physically, Tommy. Although I never liked her laying a hand on him, for any reason. But you don’t think she’s hurt him emotionally?” She shrugs. “Forget it. I guess you wouldn’t know about that, would you? God help you. You keep yourself shut up so tight, you wouldn’t know how that kid feels. As for me, I’m glad she’s gone.”
Father’s face goes pale. He looks stunned. Before Mahmee can turn to go, Father snaps.
He grabs one crutch and stands up, yelling at the top of his lungs. “JESUS CHRIST, MA. Carrie is still the kids’ mother. If it was up to me, she’d still be here.”
And: “It isn’t Carrie’s fault that she’s bipolar.” I listen carefully, because these are the same words Jimmy said, that something is not Mother’s fault. Perhaps Jimmy heard these words from Father.
And also: “Ma, you never made an effort to understand it, or help my wife, or help me deal with it. So you can just knock it off with that crap.”
I don’t think I’ve seen him this upset in a long time. His eyes are red, and he is shaking.
Mahmee has her coat in her hand, and she stares at the floor. “She should have told you she was sick before you married her. It isn’t right what she did to you, not telling you.”
Father just shakes his head. He says it wouldn’t have mattered, and Carrie didn’t know it herself.
I am confused. I have never heard them say things like this about Mother before, and I don’t know what they are talking about.
“You don’t understand. I don’t think of her as sick. She just has a problem. We all have problems. You never talked to me about it. You never asked me about it. I would have married her anyway. I love her, Ma. It’s not a blessing that she left.”
He demands to know what kind of blessing it could be to leave a baby—a little, helpless, deaf baby—without his mother.
And, he asks, didn’t he try to protect Jimmy? Wouldn’t it be worse to have no mother? Isn’t this worse for Finn, to be stuck with no mother and a father who doesn’t know what he’s doing?
And Father says, “Don’t you understand it’s my fault she left? I have so much guilt. I don’t know if I can live with myself.”
Mahmee is badly shaken, and she says she doesn’t understand. Trembling, she swears she doesn’t understand it at all.
“Why would you say those things about yourself?” she wants to know. “You’re a good father. What did you do wrong? You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“There’s more I could have done,” he says. “There’s more you could have done too. But it’s between her and me now. It’s too late for you.”
Clutching her purse, on the edge of tears, Mahmee looks at her son.
“I’m glad she’s gone and I’m not sorry to say it. Goddamn it, Tommy. You’re better off. Why can’t you see that?”
Father will not talk about it anymore and insists that Mahmee leave. Which she does.
I don’t worry about Mahmee coming back tomorrow. She will. She loves Finn. As I mentioned, my siblings are her only grandchildren. Father gets into his moods, and she understands that.
Although this is a worse mood than usual.
I watch as Father sits down again. And rests his head in his hands.
I am not sure what’s wrong. I know there is something he did, or something he didn’t do, that is eating at him. Something to do with Mother. Something that makes him upset. I’m sure he still needs to talk to her, but the opportunity to talk never comes up, and I know she won’t take his phone calls.
It worries me. Like Mahmee, I haven’t seen him do anything wrong.
I keep a close eye on Father all night, curled up behind his back, pressing my backbone against his. Sometimes I wish I could tell my humans that I love them. I can only hope that they feel it as I purr and stretch into them.
Father lies as still as a rock, sleep deprived from the past few nights of being up with Finn. Finally, everyone is sleeping in this house.
* * *
Mahmee comes again the next morning, as I knew she would. She hangs up her coat in the front closet and wanders into the kitchen. She kisses Jimmy and Mary as they take off for school. I walk up to her and rub my wide face against her ankles to show Father the proper way to greet her.
Mahmee is a good woman. She and Father have their fights, but humans do that sometimes.
Father sits at the kitchen table, staring into his coffee. Pale and bleary-eyed, he has both hands wrapped around his mug, and he slumps down in his chair. His crutches lean against the wall.
“I just want you to be nice, Ma,” he says out of the blue.
Mahmee stands there, hands on her hips. She frowns, as if unsure whether to respond.
“I don’t want you saying anything bad about Carrie. Especially in front of the kids. I did promise to take care of her, for better or worse. Remember, Ma? You were there.” He doesn’t sound bitter to me. He just sounds sad.
There is a long pause.
“I’m seeing Charlotte,” he continues. “I mean, we’re already. . . You know.”
Mahmee shakes her head. She turns to pour herself a cup of coffee. I don’t think she’s that surprised. She knows Father very well.
“You’re already what? Finish your sentence.”
“Together, Ma,” he says simply. “We’re already together.”
Mahmee scowls in disgust.
“You’re still married to the first one. You have to jump right from one woman to the next one? You can’t live without
a woman for five minutes?”
He doesn’t respond. He has no answer for that.
Mahmee sighs. She looks tired too, the wrinkles creasing her forehead.
“Don’t even think about asking her to come live with you here in my house,” she warns, as if she still owns the house. And then it occurs to me that even though Mahmee moved out, maybe she does still own this house. “You better start saving for a ring before you think about that.”
Father just stares at his steaming cup of coffee. He doesn’t look at her. “I’m not in a rush to get married again. I don’t have any money for a ring anyway,” he says quietly.
Mahmee takes a long drink of her coffee, standing there in the middle of the kitchen. She looks at Finn, who is quietly sitting in his high chair. The baby seems to feel a little better, because he reaches for a piece of cereal. Walking up to her son and putting her hand on his cheek, Mahmee rubs the short whiskers on his face. Finally, he glances up at her.
“There’s no keeping the women off of you, is there?” She sighs again, studying his face. “Don’t ask me for any more jewelry,” she finally says. “Your grandmother’s ring was buried with Shannon.”
“Make up your mind, Ma. First you tell me to take a break. Now you want me to get married again.” He pauses. “I need Charlotte, Ma. Let me just try this out. See how it goes.”
Mahmee drops her hand. Father takes a drink of the hot coffee, and some color comes back to his face.
“You’ve already got three kids,” Mahmee continues out loud. “You don’t need any more. Make sure you’re careful. We don’t want any surprises again.” She’s thinking it over now, lost in her thoughts, glancing up and out the window of the back door. “I’m getting too old to babysit.”
It occurs to me she may be remembering how quickly Father met Mother and married her and had Jimmy. How it all happened too fast, as I once heard her explain it.
“Don’t you think Charlotte will be good for me, Ma?”
She turns away from him, bringing her coffee over to the refrigerator. Mahmee sets her cup down and opens the refrigerator to take out the milk. “I’ll say this. She is a hard worker. Charlotte does know sign language pretty well. I mean, I’ve seen her. She works hard with that baby.”