by Ann Tatlock
The next moment was pandemonium. Mom’s cry of “Tom!” collided with Tillie’s howl of “Merciful heavens!” just as the fork fell out of my hand and landed with a clatter on the floor. I jumped from the table, ran to my room, and threw myself on my bed. I couldn’t hold back the tears as I looked at the clock and considered what was coming. By this time tomorrow night, my surgery would be over, my tonsils would be out, and I might very well be dead. Now there, mind you, was something to be angry about.
chapter
23
“Tillie?”
“Yes, child?”
I shifted my weight on the stretcher, trying to still the butterflies beating against the lining of my empty stomach. I hadn’t slept well, wasn’t allowed to eat breakfast, and was about to be wheeled into the unknown. I was certain the Grim Reaper was waiting for me in the operating room at Riverside Hospital, waiting to slash me right into the kingdom of unlucky statistics. I would be one of the few who died while getting her tonsils out. Too much anesthesia, a slip of the knife, an allergic reaction – the reasons were endless, the possibility of death just around the corner and moving closer by the minute.
“Tillie?”
“Yes, Roz. What is it?”
I found little comfort in the grip of her hand. It would be my last human contact before . . .
“You’ve been sedated, child. Just close your eyes and relax.”
“But, Tillie?”
She sighed.
My mouth felt dry and hollow, a barren cave. I gritted my teeth and tried to work up some spit, then moistened my lips with the tip of my tongue. Finally I managed to ask, “How do you know if you’re going to end up in heaven or . . . you know . . . the other place?”
Her hand came up and gently pushed my hair off my forehead. “Well now,” she said with a smile, “as my dear mother always said, that all depends on who your father is.”
“Who your father is?” The butterflies threw themselves against my stomach wall in one huge rebellion. I was certain I was going to be sick.
“Tillie,” Mom said, suddenly there, “the nurse says they’re ready to take her now.”
“But – ”
Tillie patted my shoulder. “I’m glad you asked, Roz, but we’ll talk more about all that later.”
Mom kissed my forehead. “I love you, Roz. I’ll be here when you wake up.”
And then I was being wheeled down a long lifeless corridor by wordless people wearing white. I stifled a scream as the foot of the stretcher bumped up against a pair of double doors, pushing them open and letting me in to what I could only imagine was the gateway to death itself. If my getting into heaven depended on Daddy, I didn’t have a chance. He had promised to change, to stop drinking, to be a good person, but he wasn’t all those things yet – probably wasn’t even close, and I was the one who was going to have to pay for it.
My mouth hung open in silent protest, and the room went blurry as my eyes glazed over, but at the same time a kind voice above me said, “There, there, don’t cry. We’re going to take very good care of you.”
I recognized the nurse who had been with me from the beginning, her matronly face so serene I wanted to dive into that peacefulness and have it swallow me up. She dabbed at my eyes with the edge of the sheet and murmured soothing words, and that was the last thing I remember before I fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.
The canopy of black was pierced by soft, disembodied voices floating somewhere near my bed.
“How’s she doing?” That was Grandpa. I’d know his voice anywhere.
“She’s fine. She came through the surgery like a trouper.” Mom’s hand came to rest on my shoulder. “They moved her out of recovery about a half hour ago. She’s been slowly waking up for a while now.”
“Good, good. Listen, don’t worry about any medical expenses. Everything will be taken care of.”
“But, Dad – ”
“Don’t argue with me, Janis. I know what Marie is paying you at the store, and I know the hospital bill might add up to be a pretty penny. You just leave that for your old man to settle, all right?”
A slight pause, then, “All right, Dad. Thanks. Honestly, I don’t know where I’d be without you.”
They were quiet a moment, and I felt Mom withdraw her hand from my shoulder. Then I heard gentle footfalls move across the room and out into the hall.
Groggily, I opened my eyes. The metallic taste of blood was on my tongue, and something large and painful filled my throat, threatening to gag me. I moaned, and when I did, the placid face – the last one I had seen before the surgery – appeared above me, speaking softly. “Are you waking up, Rosalind? That’s a good girl. Here, I have some ice chips for you to suck on.”
Something cold slipped through my parched lips, and my mouth welcomed the soothing chill. I savored the ice chip as it melted and mingled with my saliva, but when I swallowed I squirmed against the pain.
“That’s right,” the nurse said kindly. “I know your throat hurts and the uvula is swollen – that’s what you’re feeling at the back of your throat. But you’ll feel better soon.”
I managed to smile at her and offer a small nod of thanks. The surgery was over, my tonsils were out, and I was alive.
At home, Tillie fed me Jell-O, Popsicles, ice cream, and cold Cream of Wheat. She doled out my pain medication, kept me supplied with water and fruit juice, and checked me routinely for any symptoms of infection. She nursed me around the clock, even sleeping in the twin bed in my room in case I needed anything in the night.
Mom helped too, of course, but left much of the nursing up to Tillie while she went back to work. “I wish I could be here with you like a proper mother,” she told me on Monday morning. “But as long as I have to work, I can’t be here. So thank heavens for Tillie.”
I nodded, reluctant still to speak. My throat felt better, but I had a ways to go before I was back to normal. I lay in bed wondering about how far I was falling behind in school and what Mara was doing and whether Daddy knew I was all right.
On Monday evening I was propped up on pillows reading when Mom came to my room and sat on the edge of the bed.
“How are you feeling?” she asked.
“Okay,” I said, mouthing the word.
“Better?”
I nodded.
“Can I get you anything else to eat or drink?”
I shook my head no.
She smiled at me, but I didn’t like the way she was squeezing her hands together in her lap. “Roz,” she said, “I need to talk with you about something. It’s about your father.”
My eyes grew wide and my breath caught in my swollen throat. She knew! Mom knew Daddy was there in Mills River and that he had spoken to me! Closing my book and putting it aside, I slid down in the bed until my chin met the covers. I looked at Mom and waited.
A heavy frown weighed down her brow, and she seemed reluctant to speak. Finally she said, “Did you know you were calling for him when you were waking up in the hospital?”
I had no idea. I couldn’t remember much at all about waking up after the surgery. Shaking my head, I pointed to my throat.
“Yes,” Mom said, understanding. “You weren’t exactly calling out, but you were mouthing the word, and it was clear what you were saying.”
I shrugged, trying hard to look innocent.
“Listen, Roz, I know a person can’t help what she says when she’s coming out of anesthesia. And I’m not mad at you for asking for your father, but . . . well, I’m worried. I know our leaving him and coming here has been hard for you, but I did it because it needed to be done. I did it to keep you safe.”
I went on staring at her and waiting.
“I want you to put that part of your life behind you,” she said. “We’re a different family now, and your father isn’t part of it. But you have to believe me when I say it’s better this way. I think, Roz . . . I think you know what I’m talking about, don’t you?”
I hesitated before lifting
my chin in a small nod.
Mom raised a hand and caressed my cheek with the back of her fingers. “Honey, I want you to be happy. Safe and happy, and that’s why we’re here. Do you think you can put the past behind you and we can all move forward together?”
She gave me a moment to think. But I wasn’t thinking about her question; I was thinking about Dad’s promise to change, to bring us all back together as a family. I couldn’t tell Mom about that. . . . I didn’t dare tell her. But one day she would see . . . she would see that Daddy could be part of the family and everything would be all right.
“Mom?” I whispered.
“Yes, honey?”
I moistened my lips to buy a few moments in which to work up my courage. Then I asked, “Did you ever love Daddy the way you loved Wally’s father?”
Mom’s eyes darted from mine, and her hands found each other again. She tightened her jaw and lifted her chin. “I suppose I did, once.”
“Well . . .” I paused, wincing from the pain in my throat. “Could you love him again?”
The butterflies were back, beating against my stomach. In the next moment Mom would make or break my hope. All I hoped for was a father like she had in Grandpa, one who would love me and take care of me. That was all.
Slowly Mom shook her head. “Of course not, Roz. I could never – ”
“But what if he changes? You know, stops drinking and all?”
She looked at me hard, making sure my eyes were locked onto hers. “Roz,” she said, “that’s what you have to understand. Your father will never change. Never. Do you hear me?”
I wanted to put my hands over my ears, to shake my head wildly, to cry out, “Yes he will! He promised!”
I turned my face away from Mom and shut my eyes.
“Roz, someday you’ll understand, and you’ll forgive me for leaving him.”
She kissed my cheek, rose from the bed, and left me to ponder what I was sure I would never understand.
chapter
24
Halloween night was cold but clear. In the early evening Mom bundled Valerie up, strapped a dime-store Cinderella mask over her face, and told Wally to keep an eye on her as she went around trick-or-treating. To everyone’s surprise Wally didn’t complain about taking a two-year-old up and down the streets of our neighborhood. My guess was that he wanted some of her candy at the end of the night. So did I, and I hoped she would share, as I wouldn’t be getting any of my own.
Wrapped in a blanket on the couch in the living room, I watched my brother and little sister walk hand in hand down our driveway toward the street. I sucked on a Popsicle to soothe my sore throat, but even more painful was the wedge of self-pity caught in my chest. If only I’d gotten my tonsils out after Halloween, I could have been the one trick-or-treating with Valerie.
They turned left at the sidewalk, and in another moment they were gone. I was just on the edge of crying over the unfairness of it all when I saw Mara turn up the walkway to our house. Mom met her at the door and let her in.
“Hi, Mara,” Mom said. “Where’s your costume and goody bag? Aren’t you out trick-or-treating?”
“Oh no, Mrs. Anthony. I’m not doing that this year. I’ve come over to be with Roz because I know she can’t go out.”
“How sweet of you. Come on in. She’s resting on the couch.”
When Mara stepped into the living room, her eyes shone, and she offered me a wide toothy smile. She looked like she had a secret she wanted to tell me before she burst.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” I said.
She shrugged and sat down beside me. “Why not?”
“Don’t you want to go out trick-or-treating?”
“Naw, not really.”
Mom, who’d followed Mara into the room, asked, “Can I get you something to drink, Mara? A soda or something?”
“No thanks, Mrs. Anthony. I’m fine.”
“All right – oh, there goes the doorbell. The ghosts and goblins are starting to make the rounds.” She gave a small laugh as she headed back to the door.
Mara drew her long legs up on the couch. By now I’d finished my Popsicle and laid the stick on a napkin on the coffee table. Pulling the blanket more tightly around me, I leaned toward her and said, “So what’s up? You look like you just won a million dollars or something.”
She glanced toward the hallway, then back at me. Quietly she said, “It’s Daddy.”
“Yeah? What about him?”
“On Sunday night’s show, he signed off with a different message.”
“He did?”
“Yeah. This time, instead of saying ‘Sweet dreams’ like he always does, he said ‘Good night, Beatrice. May all your dreams come true.’ ”
She gave me a long knowing look, as though I should understand what this change meant. “Well . . .” I began, uncertain how to go on.
“May all your dreams come true,” Mara repeated. “Don’t you get it?”
“Not really.”
She frowned at me then, like she was a teacher and I was a dimwitted student. “Think about it, Roz. What’s my biggest dream?”
“To be a writer?”
“I mean, besides that.”
“To meet your father.”
“Yup, that’s it!” She nodded, finally looking satisfied.
I was still confused. “So?”
“Well, don’t you get it, dummy? He wants to meet me too, and he’s telling me now’s the time.”
“He is?”
Mara nodded once more. “My mama promised me – ”
“Which mama?”
“My real mama.”
“Your sister?”
“Yeah, my sister Celia, my real mother.”
“All right.”
“She promised me one day I’d meet my daddy. She said the last thing they did was make a pledge about it. They promised each other I’d meet him when the time was right.”
“And you think now’s the time?”
“Yeah, I do. Celia always told me that when I was old enough, I could meet him. Next month I’ll be twelve. That’s old enough.”
“And you think he wants to meet you now? You think that’s what he was trying to tell you?”
“I’m sure of it.” Mara hugged her knees and looked dreamy. “I can feel it in my bones.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“I’m going to ask Celia if she can arrange it.”
“What if she says no?”
“She won’t. I know she won’t.”
I leaned back against the couch cushions, trying to take it all in. I was happy for Mara, but at the same time the lump of self-pity in my chest grew larger. I envied Mara. We had only just made our Daddy Deal, and already fate seemed to be acting in her favor.
“When do you think you’ll see him?” I asked.
“I don’t know. Celia will have to make all the plans.”
“Will she go with you?”
“No, she can’t. Not with the new baby. And anyway – ” she paused, dropping her gaze to her knees – “she said she didn’t think she could ever see William Remmick again. Not because she’s mad at him but because . . . well, you know, sometimes it’s hard to forget.”
I thought about that for a moment. Then I asked, “Because she still loves him?”
Mara nodded silently.
“What about her husband?”
“She says she loves him too, but it’s not the same. So she can’t ever see my daddy again.”
I pressed my lips together and looked out the window at the darkening night. “I think that’s the saddest thing I ever heard,” I whispered.
“Me too.”
“Why can’t people just fall in love and be together?”
“I don’t know,” Mara said. “I hope I never know what it’s like.” She lifted a hand and held out her pinkie toward me. “Listen, Roz, promise me you’ll pray every day that I can see my daddy soon. Not just soon, but I mean, before the end of the year.”
The doorbell rang again, and trick-or-treaters came and went while Mara and I talked together on the couch. Tillie came and brought us root beer floats and asked after the Nightingales and Willie and Hester’s new little grandson – whom Tillie called Mara’s nephew, though he was really her half brother. Mara took the confusion of her family life in stride and was able to remember who was what without a hitch. Though I envied Mara because she might get to meet her daddy, I was glad that the woman I called Mom was in fact my mother and not my grandmother, who, incidentally, was already dead. At least the people in my life were who they said they were, and that made everything far more simple.
After a time Mara said quietly, “Have you heard anything else from your daddy?”
I shook my head. “Nothing since Hot Diggity Dog.”
“Does he know you had your tonsils out?”
“Yeah. He knows. I told him when I saw him at the café.”
“I thought maybe he’d send you a get-well card or something.”
I shrugged. “I don’t know how he’d get it to me. I’ve been here at home ever since I got out of the hospital.”
“Oh yeah. I guess he can’t exactly show up at your house and give you a card.”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “If he did that and Wally was home, Wally would kill him.”
“Really? Wally would kill him?”
“That’s what he said.”
“He hates your daddy that much?”
“Yeah. Well, like I told you before, he’s not Wally’s father. He’s Wally’s stepfather. I bet Wally hated him even before he married Mom. Most kids hate their stepparents, you know, just because they’re not their real parents.”
Mara stared at me while loudly slurping the last of the root beer at the bottom of her glass. Then she said, “Aunt Josie came over the other day to visit with Mama – ”
“Your grandma?”
She nodded. “And Aunt Josie started talking about some girl she works with and how she thinks the girl has found herself a sugar daddy.” She stopped and frowned at me.
I waited. Then I said, “So?”