“You won’t hurt me, Jessie. Grab ahold.”
“You know my name?” she asked, lip trembling.
“Why, of course I know your name. And hers and hers and hers,” Janelle pointed. “Caroline, Ruth, and Lily.”
“What’s our dog’s name?” she pressed.
“You don’t have a dog.” She smiled for their benefit. “Any other questions on today’s quiz?”
“What’s your name?”
“Janelle Eileen Clayton,” she said.
“Then why didn’t you know your name before?” Lily asked. “That’s bad, right?”
“When you get overheated, your brain can start to act funny,” she said, turning to face each of them in turn. “It’s easy to get confused. But there’s no need to worry now. I’m all better.”
Her family took no solace in a lighthearted explanation of something that could have turned out much worse. Yet, how could Janelle add more chaos to their lives? Richard dead, Cissy at a psychiatric hospital, all of them trying to figure out how to live in an alternative universe where the bizarre is expected and pain commonplace.
“You’ve been in and out of consciousness for a whole day, Mother. Just how exactly should we feel? Relieved that you know our names?” Caroline moved to the window, her rigid back to the others.
“Actually, yes. Be relieved I know my name because I obviously didn’t at one point,” Janelle said, biting back.
“You’re infuriating,” Caroline mumbled loud enough for them all to hear.
“Ruth, please take the girls to the hospital cafeteria,” Janelle said. “I bet you can find some custard or tapioca.” Ruth set her jaw and looked unwilling to budge. The girls’ grip on her hands didn’t lessen. “Go now. I need to talk to your mother.”
Heads down, the girls followed Ruth reluctantly. Janelle asked Caroline to pull up a chair next to the bed and she complied. Her daughter looked exhausted. Her matted hair and wrinkled blouse told Janelle she’d slept in the hospital room last night.
“Caroline, those girls can’t take any more upheaval in their lives. For their sake, let’s try to keep conversations about my health between the two of us.”
“I don’t think I can take any more, Mother.” Caroline rested her head against the metal bed railing.
“You bear so much every day, both in your waking hours and nightmares. I’m sorry this episode adds more pain.”
“Episode? You call a stroke an episode?” Caroline’s eyes mirrored the panic and anger in her voice. “You could have died if that girl hadn’t seen you on the side of the road.”
“What would you have me do? Stay at home? Quit driving just in case something might happen to me?” Janelle felt attacked and loved in the same moment and struggled to reconcile the turmoil she’d caused in everyone’s lives.
“Actually, yes. Stay at home. Don’t drive around Biloxi. Don’t drive to Meridian!”
Caroline’s objection to the visit with Cissy last week crept into the light, ready to take form. Janelle reminded her they were talking about her health; that she’d not entertain Caroline’s annoyance over the trip to inspect the psychiatric hospital.
“I’m not talking about Cissy. I’m saying you could’ve had the stroke on the highway,” she said.
Caroline was right. Janelle could have caused an accident had she been driving. She could’ve hurt others. Being pulled over for speeding probably saved her life because she fainted while the car engine was off.
Oh, how she wished Caroline would just leave. Her body longed to relinquish gravity’s hold and drift unencumbered. She was only seventy-two. She shouldn’t feel this way. Yet, Beau died of a heart attack at seventy. From the bench, he witnessed atrocities beyond comprehension. Perhaps the day he died, Beau felt as she did right now; that nothing felt as right as giving up. Death didn’t frighten her. She’d be with Beau again. One last obligation tied her to this world, though: Cissy. What would become of her if Janelle died? She closed her eyes, summoning memories to help her fight the urge to give up.
“Mother, what’s wrong?” Caroline touched Janelle’s forehead and she opened her eyes.
“I’m tired,” she said. “I didn’t mean to alarm you.”
“Oh, Mother, it’s not your fault. We’re just so worried.” Caroline traced her finger over the tape that held the IV needle.
“Are you counting my age spots?”
“I guess I never noticed them before,” Caroline said in a faraway voice. “They’re the perfect caramel color, larger versions of freckles almost.”
“I rarely pay them any mind,” Janelle lied. Vanity, maybe the fear of lost youth, had her wearing gloves most of the time in recent years, even in summer. The sun only darkened the spotting.
“They’re kind of lovely.” Caroline kissed the top of Janelle’s hand and then pulled away, robbing her of the chance to savor the intimacy.
“Please take the girls home, Caroline,” she said, hoping to clear the room of their awkward emotions. “I’m sure I’ll be released tomorrow. Get some rest. Just remember to tell Jessie and Lily I’m okay.”
Her daughter wiped her face with the back of a shirt sleeve and smoothed her tangled hair. She stopped at the door, head bowed.
“I love you, Mother,” she said, keeping her back to the bed.
“I know.”
* * *
Unable to sleep, Janelle pulled herself inside out wondering why she hadn’t told Caroline she loved her. In truth, Janelle and Caroline rarely said the words aloud. When had Janelle stopped thinking it was important? She always assumed Caroline knew. But Janelle couldn’t deny the jealousy she felt when Caroline, as a toddler, would call their housekeeper “Mama Ruth.” As Caroline grew older, Janelle spanked her whenever she used the term of endearment. Years later, she’d overhear Caroline say the hushed words to Ruth when they thought Janelle was not around.
Today, by looking at her complicated feelings for her daughter, Janelle skirted a truth she’d hidden since the day Cissy killed her daddy. For a while she’d convinced herself that Caroline’s refusal to comfort her own daughter, to believe her when it counted the most, triggered Janelle’s anger.
Alone, in a dark hospital room, she couldn’t hide from the truth. She blamed Caroline for not knowing about the abuse, for not stopping it. She blamed her for every single day, week, month, and year Cissy kept her father’s dirty little secret to protect her sisters. Janelle allowed Caroline to become the target of all the emotion she could no longer contain, the horrors she could no longer allow to live within her. She couldn’t attack a dead man, but she could hate Caroline. Janelle hugged her chest to stop it from bursting.
“Ma’am, are you in pain?” A nurse had entered the room unnoticed. She adjusted the IV and then refilled Janelle’s water cup.
“No pain,” she lied, and took the straw placed near her parched lips.
“You’re soaked,” the nurse said, wiping her brow. “I’ll change your sheets and pillowcase. You’ll feel refreshed. Let me help you sit up a while.”
Janelle shook her head, certain that a simple change in position would bring on an exhaustion from which she’d never recover.
“I need to see the doctor,” Janelle said.
“Ma’am, he’s not making rounds until later. Is there something I can get you?”
“You can get me the doctor. I want to see a doctor!” The order didn’t come out as the powerful shout Janelle intended.
The well-meaning shushes for Janelle to relax just spurred her to fight harder. She pulled the IV from her hand and blood trickled down onto the sheet. When she tried to get out of bed, the nurse pressed her shoulders back onto the sheets, holding her down for a few seconds.
“I’ll get the doctor if you promise to calm down.”
Janelle nodded her agreement and the nurse left her, IV unhooked and bedding disheveled. A half hour passed before an older man knocked and then entered the room. Janelle didn’t recognize him. The last doctor she had seen didn’
t look a day over twelve years old. This man’s maturity gave her some comfort.
“I’m Dr. Stone, Mrs. Clayton.” He moved the chair down toward the foot of the bed so she wouldn’t have to strain sideways to look in his face. “I’m an oncologist.”
“Ah . . . Not a stroke, then.”
“Not in the technical sense. You had a pretty severe bout of heat stroke and you’re slightly anemic,” he said. “However, we detected some abnormalities in your blood panel. I’m recommending we proceed with tests right away. Shouldn’t take more than a couple of days.”
“Cancer.”
“We don’t know with certainty.”
His jaw sported a day’s growth of white bristles, but everything else about him appeared impeccably groomed, laundered, and detached. In contrast, Janelle felt unkempt and soiled and unprepared for this conversation.
“No tests,” she muttered.
“Mrs. Clayton, I advise you to rethink your decision,” he said. “Treatment can extend life for some months, even with the most aggressive blood cancers.”
The abnormalities he’d found must have told a more complete story than he chose to share at the beginning of their conversation. Perhaps too much for an old woman with heat stroke to absorb.
“Months, huh,” she said. “My family isn’t to know.”
“But, Mrs. Clayton . . .”
“It’s my right.”
Fatigue softened his hard features, or maybe she wanted to imagine he was concerned.
“Yes, it’s absolutely your right, as is your decision to refuse treatment,” he said. “I’m going to leave my card with you just in case. We can schedule the tests anytime.”
He placed the business card under the edge of the water pitcher and bid her good afternoon. She managed a weak smile of thanks.
The card he left, bright white with raised dark blue lettering, had absorbed moisture from the pitcher. She didn’t bother to read it before tearing it in two and dropping the pieces to the floor. Janelle pushed the call button to get the nurse’s attention. Tapioca sounded good for supper. Or maybe even chocolate ice cream, if they had it.
Chapter 11
Caroline found Lily and Jessie in the hospital’s almost empty cafeteria, running from table to table, removing napkins from their dispensers and then stuffing them back in again. She didn’t bother reprimanding her daughters. The interaction with her mother earlier left her raw. She feared any admonishment of her own girls would come out too harsh or too loud. The fact that they could laugh and play just minutes after being so frightened for their grandmother’s health made Caroline jealous.
Ruth waved her over to a table in the corner. Caroline sat down gingerly. Spending all night in a hospital room chair created aches a woman her age shouldn’t be feeling yet. “You’re letting them run wild. What would Mother think?”
“I let you run wild and you turned out okay.” Ruth reached over and patted Caroline’s hand.
Ruth’s words and touch ignited emotion that Caroline refused to give into. What made Ruth think she had turned out okay? Caroline had a dead husband with a reputation tarnished beyond repair, a daughter locked away in a psychiatric ward for killing him, a town that treated her with contempt, and a mother who blamed her for it all.
“Woman, don’t make me cry in a public cafeteria.” She glanced at the elderly couple in the far corner of the room. They were deep in conversation and not paying a lick of attention to the girls, or Ruth and Caroline’s conversation.
“Stop worrying what folks think of you,” Ruth said. “Besides, there’s a lot of heartache in a place like this. Perhaps if you need a big cry, this is exactly where you should be doing it.”
“Crying won’t help anybody or change anything,” Caroline said. She pointed at the can of Tab on the table. “Is that for me?”
Ruth nodded. “I should have bought you a milkshake. You’re skinnier than the bony teenager I used to try to fatten up. You don’t want to end up in the hospital yourself. Serve you right if they put you in the same room as your mama.”
Jessie’s and Lily’s shrieks rang out in the cavernous room. Caroline and Ruth turned simultaneously and shushed them. The elderly couple looked up and glared before leaving.
“Is your mama sleeping now?” Ruth took her spoon and finished up the last couple of bites of ice cream the girls had left. Her eyes were red. From lack of sleep or crying, Caroline didn’t know. Surely she felt the strain as acutely as they all did. She was part of the family.
“Mother asked me to take the girls home and to tell you to head on out as well.”
“Just like that ornery woman to think she can boss me around,” Ruth said. “Well, she’s in no position to do so today. I plan on sitting with her for a spell once you leave. Whenever I read Bible verses to her, she gets all uppity and it gives us both a good laugh.”
Caroline caught her reflection in the window behind Ruth and grimaced. Last night, she hadn’t slept a wink, but instead listened to the steady beeps of the machines and the ever-constant noises in the hallway. She desperately needed a change of clothes. At the very least, her hair needed brushing.
“I’ve been pretty angry at Bess,” Caroline admitted.
“She said as much.”
It shouldn’t have surprised her that Bess and Ruth confided in each other, but Caroline suddenly felt like an object of gossip. “So, she ran to you to tattle on her mean employer?”
“Oh, girl. It’s not like that.”
Ruth’s heavy sigh made Caroline feel even worse. “What’s it like, then?”
“Her heart’s been heavy,” Ruth said. “She’s feeling the same guilt all of us feel. That we let our girl down. I told her there’s no sense in laying blame.”
“But Mother does blame me!”
Lily and Jessie stopped dead in their tracks at the sound of Caroline’s raised voice and the crack of her palms against the table. A familiar dread flooded their sweet faces. Jessie’s bottom lip trembled, and Lily hugged her close. Lily had grown so tall. Almost as tall as Cissy at that age.
Ruth flicked her hands at the girls. “Pay us no mind,” she said. “Go on, now. Those napkins won’t put themselves back.”
Caroline laid her cheek against the tabletop, its surface cooling the heat in her face. Ruth stroked her hair slowly. It reminded Caroline of days long past when she’d confide her worst hurts to Ruth: not making the cheerleading squad as a freshman, a broken heel on a new pair of pumps, a boyfriend who wasn’t paying enough attention. The silly, stupid worries of youth.
“You and your mama have to get right again,” Ruth said. “I’m not saying it will be easy. If you put your energy toward Cissy, that’d be a start.”
Caroline lifted her head. “Were Mother and I ever right?”
“That’s silly talk,” Ruth said. “Your mama loves you. Always has and always will.”
“She’s never shown it,” Caroline said, angrily.
“That’s more silly talk. What did you want? More hugs? More attention? She showed her love in other ways. You always had the finest clothes, a brand-new car when you were just in high school. And that wedding? My Lord.”
“Those are things, Ruth, not love.”
“Jesus, girl, my blood pressure is rising. You wanted those things.”
“I want her to love me the way she loves Cissy,” Caroline said.
Ruth got up and moved to Caroline’s side. She guided Caroline’s head to the warm crook of her neck and held her tight.
“She does, sweet girl. How I wish you knew that,” Ruth cooed. “But Cissy needs our love more than anybody right now.”
“Mother is sick, isn’t she?” Caroline spoke the words softly into Ruth’s chest.
“I expect so.”
Caroline had hoped Ruth would lie and provide words of hope or comfort to avoid worrying her further.
“I’m not ready to lose her in addition to Cissy.”
“Why does everyone keep saying Cissy is lost to us?” Ruth
gently pushed Caroline upright and touched her chin. “Cissy is going to be all right again. Just you see.”
Caroline longed for Ruth’s certainty, or at least faith that her fractured life could be repaired with time.
She kissed Ruth on the cheek and motioned the girls over. It was past time to go home. Bess would have supper ready any minute.
Chapter 12
The recreation room was divided into two unequal sections by a row of tall bookcases. On the larger side, patients played games at tables or watched television. The smaller side was a makeshift library with two worn leather chairs and ottomans reserved for reading only. A sign thumbtacked to the wall on the library side reminded readers to whisper even though the TV was situated just fifteen feet away and was almost always turned up too loud.
At the bottom of one bookcase was a stack of old National Geographic magazines with the mailing labels cut out. Cissy wondered who’d donated them and why they didn’t want patients in a mental hospital to know their address. She’d read through them at least once and some issues more than once. Martha sat next to her with an issue on Antarctica, turning the pages too quickly to read the stories.
“Want to read this next?” Martha pointed to a picture of an iceberg.
Cissy shook her head no. Since she always felt on the cold side, she didn’t like looking at photos of cold places.
“I’m tired of reading,” Martha said. “Want to watch TV?” She got up and left without waiting for an answer.
That’s when Cissy noticed a woman sitting quietly over by the chess board. The bookcases were open on both sides, giving Cissy a good view. Short caramel-colored bangs swept across the woman’s forehead and her tiny nose turned up at its end. She reminded Cissy of Julie Andrews in The Sound of Music, right down to the pale blue-green chiffon dress and flats she wore while dancing an Austrian folk dance with the Captain on the mansion’s patio.
Usually staff introduced new patients. She wondered why Nurse Possum Eyes didn’t this time. And why did they allow this woman to wear street shoes?
Forgiveness Road Page 11