Forgiveness Road

by Mandy Mikulencak

  When Janelle entered the large recreational room where several girls watched television, Cissy sprinted to her side.

  “Grandmother, I’m so happy you’re here! Everyone, this is my grandmother!” she called out to the other patients in the room. They ignored Cissy’s jubilant introduction.

  “I promised I’d come. After all, I want to be sure you’re being treated well.”

  “I’m fine, Grandmother.” Cissy held both of Janelle’s hands in hers. “I’m making friends and I see a doctor every day. He’s from New York and sort of odd, but I like him.”

  Dr. Guttman. Janelle had enjoyed her calls with him to check on Cissy’s progress. Something in his words gave her great comfort, as if he cared personally for her granddaughter.

  “And how is the food?” Janelle asked.

  Cissy frowned and rolled her eyes. “I’m sure they do the best they can, but most meals would benefit from a splash or two of Tabasco.”

  Sensing Mr. Carnell wanted to continue, Janelle assured Cissy she’d be back to visit on her way out.

  “Please don’t go yet!”

  “I must finish the tour.” She moved her arms to unlock Cissy’s embrace.

  “You’re not missing much,” she said, and pouted.

  “Cissy, please go sit down.” Janelle hadn’t known her to be a petulant child, but perhaps the rushed visit had pushed her limits.

  Mr. Carnell managed a weak smile at the exchange before leading Janelle toward the sleeping rooms. The hospital prided itself on offering private rooms on this particular ward, but pride wasn’t warranted in her opinion. While she could see a benefit to having some privacy, there wasn’t much else the room offered. The space, devoid of color and light, seemed severe compared to someone as colorful as Cissy.

  “Can the patients have personal items in their rooms? A picture frame, a stuffed animal perhaps?” Janelle already knew the answer from the barren rooms they’d passed.

  “We like to limit personal items because we don’t have the staff to ensure dangerous items aren’t accidentally sent to a patient. We also can’t be held responsible for theft among the young women.” The administrator seemed frustrated, as if he’d answered that question a hundred times.

  “I am going to bring Cissy some art paper and pastels the next time I’m here,” she said. “Please inform the staff of the exception. And let them know I might need to visit outside of the scheduled visiting hours and days. I don’t want there to be a scene.”

  Janelle turned away from Mr. Carnell to deny him an opportunity to answer. He had to scurry behind her to catch up to her efficient gait. When they reached the shared bathroom facility, he called out from the doorway to ensure no patients were inside.

  After entering the cavernous space, Janelle was startled by the distorted image of herself in the stainless-steel rectangles impersonating as mirrors.

  “For safety reasons,” Mr. Carnell said. His tinny voice ricocheted off the porcelain and tile, magnifying in sound and intensity.

  “Of course,” she whispered, her heart as hollow as the bathroom’s acoustics.

  Rust stains marred the sinks and bathtubs, and she tried to ignore the steady drip from a leaky faucet.

  “Why are there no stalls for the commodes?” She shuddered to think of Cissy’s embarrassment, or any of the young women for that matter.

  “Mrs. Clayton, the hospital wards are designed with the safety of the patients in mind,” he said, and patted her forearm. “Believe me, they get used to the informality of a shared bathroom quite quickly. And even if we wanted to, the hospital has very limited resources that can be better spent elsewhere.”

  His condescension infuriated her. “How much do you need?” She withdrew a checkbook from her handbag.

  “I . . . I don’t know what you mean,” he stuttered.

  “I’m going to write you a check for whatever amount you deem necessary to have stalls built around the commodes. I will also hire the contractor myself if you don’t believe you can make this a priority.”

  She and Mr. Carnell stood almost eye to eye. His beet-red face gave away his embarrassment but not his next move. Janelle braced for what she suspected would be the first of many battles with the man, and she expected to win them all.

  “As you wish, Mrs. Clayton. Shall we look at the cafeteria now?” he asked, pointing to the door. She followed him out, grateful that he’d apparently given up any pretense of argument.

  While the hospital was austere, it was far better than Janelle’s nightmares. She couldn’t deny that her granddaughter received adequate care. After the tour, she backtracked to the recreation room to find Cissy pacing near the far wall. Eyes down, lips moving, Cissy had turned to a counting game to pass the time until Janelle returned.

  “You came back!” A wide smile overtook her face.

  “Don’t be silly, child. Of course I came back. I promised I would.” She hadn’t meant the words to sound harsh, but her mood had soured thinking of the tedious drive back to Biloxi. Plus, she felt flushed and slightly nauseated.

  Disappointed that Janelle couldn’t stay for supper, Cissy insisted on showing her all the books in the makeshift library in one corner of the recreation room. In just one week, she’d crafted a reading schedule, anticipating when she’d finish reading what was available. Apparently, Cissy already thought of her stay as long term. She’d even asked for school books so she wouldn’t get behind in her studies in the fall.

  Cissy prolonged their goodbye until Janelle shared her fear of driving on the highway after dark. She didn’t turn around after she gave Cissy a last hug and kiss. At least Cissy was safe, but was that enough? Janelle thought of a brightly colored song bird locked away in a cage, a sheet draped over it to conceal all light.

  * * *

  “How did she look? What was her frame of mind?” Caroline’s questions peppered Janelle the minute she entered the house.

  “May I please have a chance to remove my gloves and have a drink before the inquisition?” she answered, weary from the return trip from Meridian.

  Caroline followed a few steps behind her, imploring her to pay attention.

  “Just stop already!” The vitriol in Janelle’s voice startled them both. She was on edge from the long drive, exhausted by the monotonous landscape, drained by the effort it took to leave Cissy. The court had required that someone from the sheriff’s office deposit Cissy at the hospital, sparing them the pain they’d feel leaving her there without family or friends or hope. Today, Janelle’s heart had screamed for mercy when she loosened the girl’s grip and said she had to leave.

  Cissy had said she understood and quickly wiped a stray tear. She’d bucked up as she’d been instructed countless times by her parents and grandparents when something was difficult to bear. Janelle cringed remembering the number of times she’d told Caroline the same thing. Don’t show your emotion; it’s not becoming of a lady.

  Immersed in her own hypocrisy, Janelle had wept with abandon as she pulled the car past the hospital’s stone entrance. Blinded by the rainstorm of heartache, she had stayed on the side of the road until she could safely get back on the highway.

  “Mother, you needn’t bite my head off,” Caroline admonished. “I’m just worried about Cissy.”

  “Are you? Really? You’re worried about a lying bitch?” She flung her daughter’s previous accusations at her.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Caroline wailed. “Why would you bring that up? We all said things that day we shouldn’t have.”

  Janelle’s hand began to shake so mightily that the stiff drink she’d just poured sloshed about in the heavy lead crystal highball glass. She set it on the coffee table with a loud clank and slumped into the sofa. Anger nipped at every nerve ending in her body. She had done nothing; nothing to spare her granddaughter the horrors at her daddy’s hand, and now a different kind of horror, institutionalized with the feeble-minded and insane. Why had Janelle agreed to a psychiatric hospital? Perhaps Cissy could ha
ve won a jury trial. Then she’d be home with all of them. And if Caroline wouldn’t have her, Cissy could have stayed with Janelle.

  “What happened today, Mother?” Caroline sat on the sofa, holding her mother’s hand even though she tried to pull away.

  “She’s well. She’s taken care of. Where are Lily and Jessie?”

  “They’re with Ruth out back at the picnic table having supper. Tell me about the hospital. Please.” Caroline’s voice softened. Janelle guessed they were both trying to calm themselves.

  “The hospital is fine. It’s clean. The staff seems very professional,” Janelle said. The balls of her feet burned with exhaustion. She removed her shoes and rubbed her swollen feet against the tight nap of the rug.

  “And Cissy?”

  “I don’t know. Content, I guess. She was happy to see me and wished I could stay longer. She asked about you and the girls.”

  “Is she eating well?” Caroline asked, chewing the corner of her thumbnail.

  Janelle relayed how Cissy had joked about the blandness of the food in front of the head administrator, and that brought a shadow of a smile to Caroline’s face. Janelle worried more about Caroline’s lack of appetite. She’d lost so much weight that her pants hung low on her hips, slack and awkward like a child in a grown woman’s clothes.

  Before Caroline could ask another question, the screen door to the kitchen swung open and Lily and Jessie raced into the living room. Sweaty ginger curls framed their sunburned faces and grape soda stains ringed their lips. When they saw Janelle, Lily jerked to a stop, then grabbed her sister by the collar to stop her dead in her tracks.

  “Grandmother, you’re home,” Lily said, catching her breath. “We didn’t mean to run in the house.”

  Her apologetic tone shouldn’t have surprised Janelle. For most of the girls’ lives, their grandmother had been more likely to give a reprimand than a hug or kiss. She had always kept them at arm’s length, thinking she was just respecting Caroline’s place as their mother. The truth was that interacting with her granddaughters scared her. They were blank slates, impressionable. Janelle worried her hardness would affect them the way it had affected Caroline.

  “Girls, why don’t you give your grandmother a hug?” Caroline’s request caught all three of them off guard. After a split second of hesitation, Lily and Jessie squeezed themselves between the coffee table and sofa and leaned down tentatively, not quite sure where to put their arms. They smelled of sunshine and perspiration. Janelle pulled them closer and lifted their blouses to tickle their rib cages.

  A child’s unbridled joy was a heady perfume, one now filling the entire room, pushing out the fear Janelle and Caroline had talked around. She wanted to bottle that laughter, to save it for the deepest part of night when black melancholy made its rounds.

  “Tell me about your day,” Janelle instructed. The uncharacteristic hug had put them at ease and they leaned against her sides, arms draped around her neck. There had been snail races, which were boring, and Ruth catching a dish rag on fire near the stove, which was exciting. They’d collected bouquets of dandelions in mason jars and lined the front stoop to welcome Janelle home. They saved her two chicken wings because Ruth told them those were her favorite.

  “Miss Ruth said you went to visit Cissy,” Jessie said.

  Lily leaned across and pinched her sister so roughly, Jessie let out a yowl.

  “Shut up, stupid! Mama said we’re not supposed to talk about Cissy,” Lily warned.

  Caroline’s eyes brimmed. Maybe she regretted the harsh mandate she’d given the girls. Janelle suspected she’d not known how to hold on to her anger at Cissy while the girls loved her so. Erasing Cissy from their conversations might have seemed the only answer a month ago. Two weeks ago, Janelle had asked Ruth to ask Bess how Caroline had been treating the girls. Ruth suggested she visit them more often to find out firsthand rather than enlisting Bess’s help as a spy. Plus, Bess would have reported the request to Caroline and it would have been still another reason for conflict.

  “Oh, girls, that’s not exactly what your mama meant when she said not to talk about Cissy,” Janelle said. “She’s very sad about your sister and thought you’d all be less sad if you didn’t say her name out loud.”

  “I don’t know why Cissy would kill Daddy,” Jessie said. “She was his favorite.”

  Caroline bristled visibly.

  “Why do you say that?” Janelle asked.

  “Daddy used to play chess with Cissy sometimes late at night,” Jessie said, her tongue working to erase the sticky purple ring around her lips.

  “What do you mean, Jessie?” Caroline spoke cautiously, as if her eagerness for an answer would render the child mute.

  “I went to potty one night and saw Daddy coming from Cissy’s room. I asked him what he was doing and he said Cissy and him were playing chess.”

  “Go on,” Janelle urged. Jessie furrowed her brow, obviously confused by their interest.

  “I asked if he’d play with me and he said Cissy was special because she was the oldest and that chess was their special time,” Jessie said. “He said it was a secret and asked if I was a big girl who could keep secrets.”

  Caroline jumped up from the armchair, banging her shin against the coffee table before bolting out the front door. The screen door swung wide before slapping against the jamb.

  Jessie’s eyes opened wide to take in the scene. Her chest rose and fell, slowly at first, then faster until she was crying and hiccupping all at once.

  “Shush now, girl. You’ll make yourself sick,” Janelle crooned into her ear. “What’s wrong?”

  “I made Mama mad because I didn’t keep Daddy’s secret,” Jessie cried into her shoulder. “I am a big girl, I promise I am.”

  “Your mama isn’t mad.” Janelle looked up to see Ruth standing in the doorway to the dining room, a lemon meringue pie in one hand and a knife in the other. She’d heard the conversation and tears cut silver lines down her face. She looked at each of them in turn. Her lips parted, but she seemed to think twice about speaking. Janelle clung to Jessie even tighter.

  “Lily, why don’t you go help Ruth cut the pie and pour everyone a glass of cold milk,” she suggested. “We’ll let your mama go on home and you girls can sleep over.”

  Janelle heard Caroline’s car start down the driveway. She’d already had the same idea. Janelle regretted she’d not run after her, offered some solace. Jessie’s revelation stunned them all, but it had cut Caroline the deepest. As the weeks wore on, Janelle suspected clues like these chipped away at Caroline’s tenuous belief in her husband’s innocence.

  * * *

  “Grandmother, wake up.”

  Janelle felt hot breath on her face, then a gentle push on her shoulder.

  “Caroline, go back to bed. You’ve just had a bad dream.” She wanted to stay in the deep place she’d drifted off to after fitful hours of begging sleep to come. She hid her face under the coverlet.

  “Grandmother, it’s Lily, please wake up.”

  Janelle opened her eyes, but with difficulty. Lily stood illuminated by the moonlight that pierced through the lace curtains, a child specter in a white cotton shirt that swallowed her body.

  “What is it? Is something wrong?” Switching on the lamp, she squinted against its glare, but could still make out Lily’s wet cheeks and crimson eyes. “Did you have a nightmare?”

  “Grandmother, may I please sleep with you?”

  “Oh, honey, I don’t know . . . ” Her immediate resistance had deep roots, seventy-plus years of fears and insecurities twisted and tangled as tightly as her nightgown around her legs. Yet, as Lily stood before her, hopeful and wanting, she relented.

  “Just this once,” Janelle said.

  Instead of going to the other side of the bed, Lily pulled back the coverlet on Janelle’s side, nudging her to the middle. Janelle curved her body around her granddaughter’s and reached over to extinguish the light in their eyes. Her hand stayed lifted in the a
ir just above Lily’s head, unsure or unable to soothe her anxieties and fears. She rested it on her shoulder instead.

  Not expecting the sleepover, the girls had no pajamas and had to make do with cotton dress shirts Janelle had kept even after she’d given most of Beau’s clothing to the church thrift store. She wanted something to remember her husband by and now her grandchild lay next to her, where Beau should be, wearing a shirt she fooled herself still held his scent.

  “I think I know why Cissy killed Daddy,” she whispered deep into the pillow they shared, releasing the secret into the down. Lily’s shoulders, wracked with dry weeping, bumped Janelle’s hand off and she lost her breath as well. She didn’t think she could bear to have this conversation with her twelve-year-old granddaughter.

  Lily told her that the week before, she’d been in the library restroom alone when two teenagers entered and began talking about Cissy. She’d lifted her feet up onto the toilet so they wouldn’t know she was there. “I was so afraid, Grandmother. They said horrible things, but I couldn’t leave or they’d know I was listening,” she said.

  The girls were from Cissy’s class at St. John’s High School and they would have started eleventh grade together this fall. Lily said they’d used some words she didn’t know, but she understood enough to know her daddy had done something bad.

  “They said the F word, Grandmother,” she offered in a tiny voice. “Does that mean Daddy touched her private places?”

  Janelle gasped. The child was too young to have to worry about boys much less incest. She had no comfort to offer Lily and lay in the dark, ashamed.

  “Grandmother, please tell me it’s not true,” she implored.

  “I wish I could, Lily. I wish I could,” she whispered. “None of us can explain why your daddy did the things he did. He was a very sick man.”

  “What do you mean by sick?”

  “Well, sometimes people have a sickness in their mind that makes them not know right from wrong.”

  “But why? Why did she have to shoot him? Why didn’t Cissy tell Mama?”

  “I suspect she was afraid. She didn’t know if she could trust anyone.” Janelle would never tell Lily that Cissy believed her silence was protecting her sisters.