Simple Gifts

by Lori Copeland

  I tapped on the door.

  The vacuum hummed. I knew my timid knock wouldn’t be heard above the noise. I stepped inside the room and rapped on the door facing. Still no response. Beyond the sitting room, I spotted a second room. Strip away the cold metal hospital bed in the middle of the floor, and the room would be a tastefully accentuated bedroom with three long floor-length windows on the east. Front row seats when Christ came again.

  “May I help you?”

  I jerked around and faced a housekeeper carrying a load of fresh linens.

  “Ms. Parish? Is she accepting visitors?”

  “Lexy? Sure, she’s in here.”

  I trailed the young woman into the bedroom, my meticulously thought-out speech gone, my mind as empty as a pawnshop pistol.

  My eyes focused on the woman sitting in a high-backed, damask floral-covered chair facing the window embankment. For a moment I thought Ann Parish was visiting and I panicked. What would I say to the elder Parish? How would I explain my impulsive visit?

  How did I explain it to myself? I’d woken this morning with an insane urge to see my mother before I left. Not once in fortythree years had I experienced this drive, but suddenly it was imperative that I meet the woman who’d given birth to me. The woman Herman had loved and thought he’d married.

  Now I was standing in the same room as my mother. The foreign sensation took my breath.

  “Lexy? You have an early visitor today.” The maid carried the linens to the bathroom as the woman in the chair turned to look at me—and I realized Ann Parish was right. My mother and I had the same warm, liquid eyes.

  “Who are you?” Her voice was high-pitched, childish, the words slightly slurred.

  Who was I? I didn’t know if she knew that she even had a daughter. Summoning a smile, I stepped forward. “How are you today, Lexy?”

  A smile lit the corners of her eyes. She was exquisite. Makeup impeccably applied even at this early hour. Thick, dark braided hair. She wore a simple band on her right hand. Even as I drew closer, I recognized the ring—the twin was wrapped in white tissue in the bottom of Herman’s cigar box.

  She reached out for my hand. I caught hers, and for a split second we embraced. “Lexy. My name is Lexy. What’s your name?”

  “Marlene.” She didn’t know me, and I didn’t know her. I didn’t feel any sudden rush of emotion—tears of a long-anticipated sentimentality. A basic twinge, maybe, curious definitely. This lovely woman looked nothing like I had expected. Maybe I’d expected a monster—some hideous-looking thing that drooled. As a health professional I should have known better. But for all of my training and experience, I hadn’t ever been able to rid myself of those childhood fears. Those images that haunted me.

  Now, as I looked at my mother, I saw how wrong those ideas were. Other than the surroundings, and a certain hint of something not quite right in her eyes, the woman sitting before me looked like any other woman her age.

  “Marlene.” She smiled. “I like that name. Wanna sit beside me?” She patted a seat beside her and I sat down, my gaze roaming the row of silver-plated picture frames on the table beside her. I recognized Grayson and Ann Parish. There was a picture of an older couple, perhaps my great-grandparents, standing beside a porch rail trailing red roses.

  I nodded toward the mementos. “Is that your family?”

  Her eyes switched to the frames. “Uh-huh. My momma…and my papa. Grandma…and grandpa.” The words were slow, halting.

  “Yes. Very nice.” I returned her smile, and then fumbled for the shopping bag. “I have something for you.”

  “For me?” Childlike anticipation lit her eyes.

  Why didn’t I bring flowers? A simple bouquet of spring flowers instead of a stuffed toy. I almost didn’t pull the bear out of the sack until she dipped her head to see around me. “Oh! A bear!”

  I drew the toy out of the bag and gave it to her. You’d have thought I’d given her the Hope diamond. Her eyes misted. She tugged at the blue and green plaid shirt and jaunty hat, grinning. “For me? I like bears.” She hugged it to her.

  Herman liked bears too. He carried some kind of stuffed animal everywhere he went—including my prom.

  “I hoped you might.” I took out the chocolate kisses and again she was thrilled and offered me one. We sat in the tasteful bedroom and sucked on chocolate pieces. It was nice; a good daughter-mother thing we could share.

  After a while, I noticed she seemed tired. When I attempted to take the bear, she drew the gift to her chest, holding tightly to the treasure. “My bear.”

  “Yes, he’s yours. Would you like for me to help you back into bed?”

  “Uh-huh. Can I keep my bear? No take-backs?”

  “He’s yours to keep.” I slipped my arm around her waist and helped her into the bed. Out of habit, I straightened her pillow, put her call button close to her hand, and then tucked a blanket securely around the mattress. She clutched the bear to her chest.

  “Will you come back and see me?”

  “Of course I will. I had a lovely time. Thank you for sharing the chocolate.”

  She chuckled, a soft, whispery sound. “I like chocolate.”

  Yeah, Mom. A girl can never get enough chocolate.

  I left the room a better person. Lexy Parish had no idea she’d just spent a few minutes with her daughter. I didn’t know if she even understood that she had a daughter. The Parishes seemed to think that a statue of Herman in a town an hour away would be detrimental to their daughter’s happiness, but I now knew that was propaganda—the protective parent kind. The statue would be detrimental to Grayson and Ann’s happiness; Lexy wouldn’t know or care.

  But I did. I knew and I cared. The Parishes, by all appearances, were good people. The past should remain just that: the past.

  I pushed the elevator button feeling better about myself and my past. I’d met my mother. Something I’d needed to do a long time ago. All my fear was for nothing. Sara was healthy—my mom wasn’t the monster I’d pictured her to be. Dad was even turning out to be an okay guy.

  The elevator doors opened, and I walked straight into Grayson and Ann Parish.

  “Oh!” I stepped back quickly. “Oh!” I met my grandparents’ startled faces. What did I say? How could I explain my appearance?

  “Marlene?” Grayson was the first to recover. The door began to shut. He stuck out a hand and blocked the motion. Ann slipped out, and he followed. When the door closed, the three of us stared at each other. Then we all spoke at the same time.

  “You must be wondering why—”

  “Marlene?”

  “How did you know where she was?”

  “How? Joe told me. Joe Brewster.”

  Grayson took my arm and led me to one of the benches. A tearful Ann followed.

  “I’m sorry. I know I have no right to be here, but I’m leaving town soon and I just thought since I’d never be back…I just thought…” The last thing I wanted was a scene. I just thought—that was my problem. If I wouldn’t act on my impulsive thoughts, I’d be in better shape.

  “No.” Grayson’s stern voice corrected me. “You have every right to be here.”

  “Grayson!”

  “No, Ann. Enough is enough. Regardless of the circumstances, Marlene is Lexy’s daughter. She has every right to meet her mother.”

  Ann sat down beside me, fumbling in her handbag for a tissue. I located one first and handed it over. “This is awkward. So terribly awkward.”

  She delicately blew her nose. “Grayson is right. Did you tell Lexy…?”

  “No! No. I didn’t say a word.” I searched my grandfather’s eyes. “I didn’t. She asked who I was, and when I changed the subject, she never mentioned it again.”

  The three of us sat in silence. Birds darted overhead. Everything seemed so normal yet our worlds had just collided.

  Ann cleared her throat. “Why did you come?”

  “I don’t know. Until this business about Herman and the statue, I’d never thou
ght much about her—Lexy. This morning I woke before dawn with this sudden need to see her. So I got Joe out of bed, stopped by Walgreens and purchased a teddy bear and a bag of Hershey’s Kisses, and made the hour’s drive here.” I paused and drew a heavy breath. “She’s very pretty.” I looked at Ann. “She looks like you.”

  Nodding, she wiped her nose. “And you look so much like her when she was your age. She named you, you know.”

  “No.” I didn’t know anything about my parents, not really. I leaned over and touched her arm. This had to be so hard on her. “I’m so sorry that Herman—”

  “No.” Grayson corrected me a second time. “Not Herman. Herman and Lexy. Both were responsible. We’ve skirted around the fact for years, and it’s high time Lexy shared the responsibility.”

  “But—”

  “Ann.” Grayson quieted his wife. “Our daughter is not normal; she has many problems, but you and I both know the truth. What happened fortythree years ago resulted from an act carried out by two consenting parties.”

  My mind flew to the cigar box and the ring. “Are you aware that Herman and Lexy believed they were married?”

  Ann looked up, her forehead creased.

  “It’s true.” I told them about the cigar box, and the matching rings. Herman believed he had married his friend, Lexy.

  “Lexy’s worn that ring ever since.” Ann’s eyes met Grayson’s. “She insisted they were married.”

  “And we never believed her.”

  “They couldn’t have married. There was no ceremony.”

  “No formal ceremony.” I took Ann’s hand. “But one from the heart. Herman knew and believed in God. Ingrid made sure he understood. He knew, in his simple way, that there was a God.”

  Grayson sat down. “She’d never say where the ring came from. We thought she’d gotten it out of a cereal box.”

  “Herman probably did. He ate enough cold cereal in his lifetime to start a chain of trinket jewelry stores—a cerealbox jewelry chain, but a jewelry chain.”

  My offhand observation broke the tension. Grayson and Ann chuckled.

  “My goodness,” Ann whispered. “Those two thought they were actually married.”

  We sat talking—my grandparents and me, for the better part of the day and even had lunch together in the facility’s cafeteria. I told them about my life—the honest truth. About Sara, and my fears when I carried her.

  “It’s odd, you know. When I took the pregnancy test, I was terrified it would be positive—then terrified it would be negative. I love children, and I would have had several if…”

  Grayson smiled. “If.”

  Ann bit her lip. “We have no idea why Lexy is the way she is. It’s one of those unexplainable things. It just happened. We started noticing she wasn’t developing properly around seven, and she got steadily worse. She’s been institutionalized since she was fourteen. When she met Herman there a couple years later, she fell in love. It was impossible for us to make her understand that neither she nor Herman was normal—that they couldn’t fall in love and marry like others.”

  “Lexy’s an only child?”

  “Oh, yes. The doctor said the chances of her condition being repeated with other children were slim, but like you, Grayson and I wouldn’t consider having more, though we love Lexy dearly. We were afraid to risk it.” She dabbed her nose. “But, oh! We’ve longed for grandchildren…”

  I smiled. “Well, you have a granddaughter. And a greatgranddaughter and two great-great-grandchildren, one four years old, and one two. And one more on the way.”

  Ann gasped.

  Cringing, I realized that I made her sound ancient since Sara was very young to have two children. “You’re more than welcome to spoil them shamelessly—there’s only one of me, and I’m doing a fair job, but I can always use help.”

  Then the emotion kicked in. Everything I should have experienced in Lexy’s room but didn’t. The love. The longing to be a family. The need to hug Pops and Grams and never let go.

  Next thing I knew, I was weeping.

  Grayson enfolded me, and then Ann. We stood in the quiet, curative foyer and hugged and cried.

  “You don’t know how much we wanted to claim you,” Ann whispered. “We have relived our hateful words about considering you dead a million times—praying that we could someday retract and make up for what we said. We were so frightened. Can you understand? We felt we couldn’t cope with two mentally challenged children—we didn’t know what to do, so we lashed out at Ingrid and Beth. Thank God they insisted on keeping you in their family.” Her hand tightened on mine. “We have scrapbook upon scrapbook of your pictures when you were growing up. Every week Grayson would drive by Beth’s house and catch you in the front yard playing. Or he’d sit in the audience at school plays or music recitals and take pictures. He even caught you quite by accident the night of your prom. He was on his way to the drugstore and happened to see you and your date drive by. He wheeled around and snapped a picture as you walked into the gym.”

  Grayson smiled. “Today I would be arrested for stalking, or at least for suspicious behavior.”

  “How did Herman and Lexy meet? How…?” I left the obvious question unspoken: how did they manage to be alone long enough to conceive a child?

  “Herman came into the facility a few years after Lexy. They drew to one another instantly—they were seldom apart. They ate their meals together, did crafts together. We don’t know how the pregnancy happened—the nursing facilities do the best they can, but sometimes—” Anne paused. “Later, Herman tried to be a man, tried to take responsibility for his actions, but of course, he was a child with a man’s body.”

  She reached out and tentatively smoothed a stray hair from my forehead. Up close, I could see the years. She had to be near eighty. “I know you won’t understand, but we thought it best Beth raise you, and for us to stay out of your life. We realized too late how foolish we’d been, but by then you were in your teens, and we couldn’t bring ourselves to reopen the painful past. Then suddenly you were gone, married. We knew we would never see you again, and our hearts ached.”

  I embraced her. There’d been a lot of mistakes in the past. Mine as well as theirs. But this was one family legacy that would stop. Here and now.

  We returned to my mother’s room and spent the day with her. We played games and sang songs. She seemed content—-happy with her new friend.

  Until that day my past hadn’t been important to me, but this afternoon had changed everything. I carried the thought with me as I left the building and checked the time. Four thirty. I’d promised Ingrid to be home in plenty of time for the town council meeting at seven. I’d have to hurry.

  But now, facing tonight’s chaos didn’t seem so insurmountable.

  I’d state my position, once and for all, and it would be over. I’d go home, to Glen Ellyn where I belonged.

  A new beginning. Grayson and Ann could come and visit Sara and the children. Life would be different. I’d have family now, close family, except for one notable exception. The past between Vic and me was still unresolved.

  I had to find him and talk to him. Now.

  Thunder shook the ground as I got into the car. A hot wind buffeted the car; thick storm clouds built in the west. I took a second to change my cell so Vic’s ring tone was “Amazing Grace.” I wanted to be sure that if Vic did call to talk, the credit went to the proper source.

  Fourteen

  Hail bombarded the car as I turned out of Woodlands. Peasized, and then nugget-sized chunks pelted the hood. An ugly gray-green cloud hung overhead as I swerved off the outer road and onto the highway. More rain? Spring was indeed fickle. Two ducks flew by, moving with the wind. Concerned about the worsening weather, I flipped on the radio and tuned in to a local station as the tornado sirens went off.

  A chunk of hail the size of a baseball hit the windshield, shattering the safety glass. I yelped and jerked the wheel, careening toward the shoulder. The hail suddenly stopped and a de
ad calm settled over the area.

  Stunned by the onslaught and terrified to drive any farther, I sat parked by the side of the road, the motor idling. The entire sky to the left, southward, was a pleasant, warm blue with golden sunlight. Everything to the north was a roiling, pitch-black cloud. I rolled down the window and craned my neck, staring at the cloud. I could make out a distinct clock-wise rotation taking shape.

  Tornado. My breath caught in my throat.

  Warning sirens wailed. Motorists flashed by me, some screeching to a stop under a nearby underpass. I glanced to my right and left. No ditches in which to take cover. A gust of wind rocked the car. I slid the transmission into gear, deciding to make a run for cover.

  Wheeling back onto the highway, I floored the gas pedal. The car fishtailed before rubber gained traction. The overhead underpass quickly filled with panicked drivers. I spotted an empty space that I could wedge into and mashed harder on the gas, fear rushing my throat. Then I heard it. A grinding sound, like a huge cement truck backing toward the highway. Huge, sucking, coming right at me.

  I’d been in one other tornado in my life. Aunt Beth had pulled me from bed one August night, wrapped me in a blanket, and carried me to Aunt Ingrid’s root cellar. The storm had destroyed half of Parnass Springs and claimed three lives.

  Violent wind rocked the car; I kept one eye on the underpass and another on the ominous-looking cloud that was quickly closing in. Suddenly I knew I was about to face death.

  Please God, please God. Let me make it to the underpass.

  I was almost there, but the funnel was moving unbelievably fast. The apocalyptic black curtain cut off the sky, whipping round and round, snapping trees in half. My ears started popping. Wind rocked the car, dust blinded me. A bush, broken off at the roots, rocketed past, and I involuntarily ducked. Then it happened.

  The car lifted—I felt it leave the pavement. Everything tilted, turned upside down. Wind shrieked past the windows. I gripped the steering wheel, holding tight. Only the seatbelt held me in place.

  The compact tumbled over and over, like a child’s toy. My eardrums ached, threatening to burst from pressure.