I brought his fingers to my lips and pressed against them. “I’m sure she has forgiven you.”
“I don’t...know.”
A fit of coughing overtook him. I waited. Helpless.
The episode left him exhausted. I returned to the kitchen to retrieve his glass. After he took a sip, he yielded to the fatigue. His head lolled to the left, and he fell asleep. For the next hour, I sat on the chair next to his bed and watched him sleep. Every now and then I’d glance toward the letter. It drew me. This letter could answer my most burning questions. What had happened? Who was she?
But I resisted. The story was his to tell.
After a while, I walked on legs of gelatin into the kitchen, sat at the table, lowered my head onto my folded arms and sobbed.
Vingt-Trois
With Mr. Bojangles at my feet, I walked into Mama’s house.
Mama and Aunt Mel sat at the counter.
Mama met my questioning gaze with red puffy eyes. Her look matched how I felt. Worn.
She stood and reached for my hand. “Come. I want to show you something.”
I glanced at my aunt. “Go. I’ll entertain my favorite canine friend.” She reached for Mr. Bojangles’ leash.
Mama led me back to the guest bedroom. Several letters were unfolded on top the flowered bedspread.
I lifted one of the envelopes and read the return address. The letters were from C. Perlouix and addressed to Lady S. My legs quivered, and I plopped onto the bed.
Proof. What I’d wanted to know for so long. What I’d strongly suspected—Mawmaw was Lady S.
One burning question answered.
“Look at these letters. She had a whole life she never said anything about. What do you make of this?” Mama’s arched eyebrow and piercing eyes begged for answers. Ones I couldn’t give.
“I’m not sure.” I rifled through the letters looking at the postmarks. I found the latest and glanced at the signature. It was signed, Carlton. My heart hurt.
Mawmaw had loved my dying patient.
I reached for Mama’s hand and guided her to sit next to me. I inhaled deeply and let the words flow. With each part of the story I revealed, her eyes widened, and she squeezed my hand tighter and tighter until I finally had to pry her fingers from around mine. Once I told her all that I knew, her tear-filled eyes met mine. All color had been leached from her face except for the red rimming her eyes.
“You know this man?”
“Yes. I do.”
“How?”
“I can’t tell you how.”
“He’s a patient, isn’t he?”
I diverted my gaze and picked up one of the letters.
With shaking fingers, she handed me another one of the letters. “Read this one. It’s really the one that tells the most.”
I found the date in the top right corner in small print: June 23, 1954. It would have been one of the last letters. With trembling hands, I unfolded the pages and then glanced toward Mama. Through the window, rays of late afternoon sun streamed in. The sunshine illuminated the letter in my hand.
All this time, I’d craved the truth. Now that I came so close, it scared me. I didn’t want to read the words. Things would be different after this letter. Somehow, I knew this letter would rip open past wounds that should remained scarred. Carlton’s words from earlier struck hard. But could I really let sleeping dogs lie?
Mawmaw was Lady S.
I’d never imagined this possibility the day I’d read the first letter. When Carlton had trusted me to share his past, had he known who I was?
Guilt nudged as I scanned the words—a voyeur who traveled back in time. Despite all my doubt and fear, I couldn’t not read this letter. I had to know.
My Dear Lady S,
I know I don’t deserve any forgiveness, but I want you to know how sorry I am. I will obey your wishes and not be part of your life or our child’s. I so wish things were different and we could be the family that you deserve. I know your father will never forgive me and would probably kill me if I return to Bijou Bayou. So I’ll find a new place to live. Please know that if you or the child ever need anything, don’t hesitate to call me. I will be whatever you want or need me to be. Otherwise, I’ll stay out of your life. I beg you to forgive me, but I understand if you can’t. I don’t understand how it happened or why, but I do know I will love you until the day I die. And I’ll go to my grave with hurting you as my deepest regret.
Yours always,
Carlton
My gaze met Mama’s as I glanced up from the letter. She leaned in next to me and her eyes filled with confusion.
Mawmaw had been pregnant, and Carlton was the father.
“So what do you think?” Mama reached for the letter.
“I don’t know what to think.” I drummed my fingers on my lips.
“Cheryl, this man could be my father.”
Could Carlton be my mother’s father? “Wait, Mama we need to talk to Mawmaw. She may have miscarried during the first pregnancy.”
Mama nodded. “Maybe you’re right. But look at the date of the letter. The timing is right. I don’t look anything like Papa or Melanie.”
I didn’t know what to tell her. She didn’t. And when I looked at her now, all that glared back at me were her large, violet-blue eyes. The same eyes I had looked into earlier today. Why had I not seen it before? But I couldn’t tell her that. Not now.
“Maybe we should talk to Mawmaw before we jump to any conclusions. I know this is a shock, but she may be able to explain this.”
“Cheryl, what’s he like?”
I stared at her and saw the uncertainty she didn’t bother to hide. Her anxiety level increased in the last half hour, and I didn’t want to be responsible for causing an attack that would set her back. “Mama, let’s not go there right now.” I curled my fingers around hers and stood. “C’mon. Let’s get something to drink.”
I led her into the kitchen.
Aunt Melanie had already filled three glasses with ice cubes and a freshly brewed pitcher of tea sat on the counter waiting for us.
Mr. Bojangles lapped noisily from a small bowl she’d placed on the kitchen floor.
As we sat at the table, she filled the glasses. She remained silent as she handed the glass to me. I met her gaze. “Thank you.”
The coolness of the tea soothed my parched throat. What had Carlton done to make my pregnant grandmother not want to have anything to do with him—the man she loved and intended to marry?
I sat at the kitchen table next to Mama while Aunt Melanie took the chair on the other side and gently placed her hand over Mama’s.
“Do you want to go to Mawmaw’s tonight? I’ll go with you,” I said.
We both glanced at the clock on the oven. “It’s getting late, and she’s probably already in bed.”
“How about first thing in the morning? I’ll go with you if you want me to.”
She glanced toward Aunt Melanie and then back to me. “Maybe we should all go.”
Vingt-Quatre
On the drive home unwelcomed thoughts rattled my brain. Surely, there had to be an explanation. Raindrops beat softly on the roof of my car.
Could my mother be Carlton’s child?
And if so...
My grandfather?
The steering wheel resisted my possessive grip. As I turned onto my street, a piercing siren invaded the night’s quiet. Blurred red lights flashed through my rear window. An ambulance rushed passed me. Please, Lord, be with whomever they’re going to and their family.
I followed behind until the lights dimmed in the distance. As I approached my driveway, I noticed the flashing disappeared. The ambulance had turned left into a driveway a few blocks from mine.
Mawmaw?
No.
Sweat poured from my palms as I shifted my car into reverse and backed into the street. Please don’t be at her house.
As I approached Mawmaw’s house, my heart battered my chest. Parked in her driveway with its lights f
lashing—the ambulance. I parked in front of her house, and ventured through the rain, willing my numb legs to carry me to her house. The grass, wet from the rain, sank under my leaden feet.
Her partially opened door seemed miles away. As I trudged forward, it seemed to move farther and farther away. When I finally climbed the two steps to enter through the side door, voices drifted from the bedroom.
Deep authoritative voices. Command-giving voices.
I froze.
That’s when the shivering started. Drenched from the rain, I garnered all the strength I could collect and darted down the small hallway to Mawmaw’s bedroom. Two paramedics knelt on the floor next to my grandmother’s sprawled body. Her small, still body.
“Mawmaw!” I heard the word but didn’t recognize my own voice.
The paramedic farthest away glanced toward me. “Are you a relative?”
“Yes, she’s my grandmother. She had a slight CVA a few months ago.”
“That’s good to know.”
“Is she...?”
“She’s alive. We’re stabilizing her for transport.”
“Who called you?” The doorframe supported my weary body as I watched their life-saving measures.
The younger of the paramedics with dark curly hair lifted the alert button Mawmaw wore around her neck. “Can you gather her medications?”
She’d used the button. Thank you. I marched to the kitchen. Having a task to perform triggered something inside that made me move, made me forget for an instant my grandmother lay on the floor fighting for her life. This was all I could do to help her. Lord, help her. Save her.
I knew my prayer was one He’d heard a million times, and it was a selfish prayer. I wanted her on this earth for my purposes. I needed her. She was my rock. But, after this evening’s revelation, had I really known her? Had her stubborn independence caused years of pain?
Her medications sat in a small basket on her counter. I swept each bottle into a large plastic bag, zipped the top, and found a black marker to label the bag. As I turned, the paramedics rolled her out into the hallway.
“She’s stable.”
“Are you taking her to St. Martin’s?”
“Yes.”
The pills in the bottles rattled. My hand shook, causing the noise.
The taller of the two paramedics, a young man with dark hair and even darker eyes, gently retrieved the bag from my white-knuckled grip.
“Miss, is there someone you can call?”
I nodded. My shoulders bore the weight of my head—dense, heavy, and inanimate. I couldn’t think. Feel. I watched the scene as though from underwater. Everyone moved in slow robotic motions and the surroundings blurred. On frozen legs, I stood and watched them load her into the ambulance.
The curly haired paramedic approached. “We’re taking her now. Is there someone we can call for you?” The red lights highlighted the concern etched on his face.
I shook my head. “No. I’ll call.”
He nodded and squeezed my shoulder.
Mama. I needed to call Mama.
I picked up my frightened and doused Schnauzer. I hadn’t realized he’d slipped from my car and followed me into the house. He licked the side of my face.
As they drove off, sirens blaring, I knew our family would be different after tonight. After today. This would change so much of who we were as a family. As individuals. And I wondered for a brief moment if the truth would or could ever be told. I also wondered if I could continue to nurse a man who had abandoned my pregnant grandmother.
****
Mama and I sat in the familiar waiting room chairs. She examined her index finger nail with the intensity of an archaeologist. Her bare face and sunken eyes betrayed her inner turmoil. If what I imagined to be the truth, we would all be laid bare to sins of the past and secrets that had been kept for far too long.
“Cheryl, what’s taking so long? We should have heard something by now. It’s been almost an hour.”
“I’ll check.” I squeezed her hand as I started for the nurse’s station.
A dark-haired lady with sharp features sat behind a computer screen. Her fingers raced over the keyboard. I stood for a few moments to let her finish the sentence she typed. When she glanced toward me, I asked about Mawmaw.
Her tired green eyes radiated compassion. “It has been a while, hasn’t it?”
I nodded.
Her lips spread into a gentle smile. “I’ll check for you.”
I wrapped my arms around my waist and waited. Forever. The second hand of the clock above my head seemed to gong each passing moment. Its chant—taunting and annoying. I knew the longer without any word, the less likelihood of good news.
Mama and Aunt Melanie stepped up beside me.
“Miss Broussard?” A young woman wearing scrubs walked into the waiting area, hand extended. “I’m Dr. Lejeune.”
I shook the doctor’s hand and introduced Mama and my aunt.
“How is she?” Both Mama and I spoke at the same time.
Dr. Lejeune guided us to a small room off the hallway. She sat on the edge of the desk and pointed toward the chairs. Mama slumped into the farthest chair, followed by Mel, who sat in the one closest to the door. I remained standing in the doorway awaiting her response.
“Mrs. Clement has suffered a major stroke. The bleeding is in the left hemisphere of her brain near what is known as Broca’s area. The MRI shows the damage quite clearly. She’s a strong fighter. The next twenty-four hours will tell us more. But for now, she’s stabilized, and we have been able to administer the necessary medications to help prevent further damage.”
The left side. “Will she be able to speak?”
“Her speech may be affected. The odds are not in her favor. We’ll know more when she awakens.”
Aunt Melanie asked a few questions, none that the doctor could accurately answer. I listened to the words as though through a veil. Everything clouded.
Today’s revealed secret and my grandmother’s stroke proved to be the earthquake that further crumbled my world. The world I knew and accepted all these years had disappeared.
Despite what I thought about my family at times, I loved them. Even Mama with all her theatrics and past history. I loved her. And seeing her now tore my senses to bits. Her world had surely been shattered as well. The mother she knew. The man she knew as her father. All different than what she’d been led to believe. She sat next to a sister who could be a half-sister. Would they feel the same closeness as before?
Her world now teetered on falsehoods. Would she ever learn the truth? I reached for her hand, gently wrapped my fingers around hers, and squeezed.
“Can we see her?” she asked.
“They’re moving her to the intensive care unit. Check upstairs for visiting hours. Once she’s settled, they may let you see her for a moment.” The doctor rose from the desk.
Mama and Aunt Melanie stood also, and I backed out into the hallway. The doctor returned to the exam room while the three of us headed for the elevators.
“Do you think Mama knew we’d found out?” Mama turned to me.
I shook my head and pushed the floor button for the elevator. “I don’t think so.”
I knew where Mama was going with this, and I refused to let her go there and take me with her. “Mama, it’s not your fault or mine. As you know, secrets have a way of coming out. She couldn’t have known we’d read those letters. Besides, maybe she wanted us to know. She didn’t have any problem with me going through the trunks.”
The ding sounded at the elevator arrival, and we stepped inside. Aunt Melanie pushed the button for the fifth floor. “I think she forgot they were in there.”
Could my grandmother have forgotten those letters? After reading her letters to Carlton, I found it hard to believe she would have forgotten him and the letters. Something terrible must have happened to keep them apart. I couldn’t image what it was, and now I wondered if I’d ever know.
Poor Mama. Her eyes droo
ped on the corners and the lines in her forehead deepened. “I can’t imagine her forgetting those. She kept them after all these years.”
“Yes, I know. This Carlton must have been someone special to her,” Mel said.
As the elevator doors opened, I slid my hand around Mama’s elbow and guided her into the hallway of the intensive care unit. “Yep, I’d say he was.”
Vingt-Cinq
“Here, I brought fresh coffee from home.” Aunt Melanie poured steaming brown liquid into designer foam cups. Leave it to Aunt Melanie to make even sitting in an ICU waiting room as comfortable as possible.
“Any word?” Anthony rushed into the waiting room.
He sat next to Mama as she gave him the latest update. Her straight back and calm demeanor belied the thoughts I knew had to be going through her brain. Anthony placed a hand on her knee. Mama looked up at Aunt Melanie who sat in the opposite chair. “The nurses say she’s resting. Which they tell me is a good sign.”
“Have you seen her yet?” Anthony asked.
“Just briefly. Melanie and I went in for a moment. She didn’t know we were in the room. They won’t let us see her again until visiting hours later this morning.”
I sipped Aunt Melanie’s rich coffee and let the warmth blanket my mouth. The bold flavor settled deep, but as much as I willed it to, it didn’t warm the parts of me that remained chilled, afraid, and confused. I prayed Mawmaw would have time to talk and Mama would get answers. Lord, please keep Mawmaw alive until all is forgiven.
After a few grueling hours, I glanced through the window on the far side of the waiting room.
Streaks of bright orange, brilliant yellow and riveting red decorated the eastern sky. The large branches of the oak in the adjacent field shadowed the rising sun. Dawn’s promise of a glorious new day intruded into the dim lighting. Its presence seemed an injustice with such uncertainty in our family.
****
Standing at the entrance to Mawmaw’s room, I debated on whether or not to go to her bedside. The features of her face were exaggerated and swollen beyond recognition. Her body formed a tiny lump in the hospital bed. Had it not been for the familiar locks of silver spread out on her pillow, I wouldn’t have known she was the same firecracker I knew as Mawmaw. A pillow propped her puffy right hand.
The Vigil Page 17