Drenched in Light

by Lisa Wingate

  Both Karen and Dell smiled, and Karen said, “Come back anytime.” She glanced toward the cafeteria, where the two elderly women who’d cleaned the tables earlier were now helping kids finish their journals. “Volunteers are always welcome.”

  “I’ll see what I can do about getting some student volunteers, and I’ll definitely come back myself.” I stretched my back from side to side. “Mrs. Mindia gives quite a workout. Tomorrow morning I’m going to wake up realizing how out of shape I am.”

  Karen, James, and Dell all looked at me in unison, thinking, no doubt, She’s thin as a rail; how could she possibly be out of shape?

  I was suddenly uncomfortable. The scent of food, the discussion of where I lived, their bemused expressions had knocked me off balance. Under their scrutiny, I felt like an actor in a counselor costume. “Well, thanks again. It was fun. You three have a great weekend.”

  “You, too, Ms. Costell,” Dell said. “Thanks for coming. See you Monday.”

  “See you Monday. Nice meeting all of you.” Waving good-bye, I headed down the hall without looking back, or forward, right, or left. My mind filled with a swirl of thoughts from the day—Dell and her foster family, Harrington, instrument donations, student volunteers, Mrs. Morris, Mrs. Mindia and the Jumpkids, Shamika, who said Harrington kids went by the “buzz bomb” stand to score some “bolt”, Red Instead Day, the girl in the river sitting with her baby brother beneath the trees. My sister’s wedding. Was it going to be indoors or outdoors? Day or evening? Long dresses or tea length?

  Bett was getting married and moving away.

  It didn’t seem real. I couldn’t frame the picture any more than I could imagine kids from Harrington High School hopping in their Beemers and Mustangs and making a buy on the way home. Yet Shamika seemed to know what she was talking about. She’d mentioned weed, buzz bomb, bolt—marijuana, nitrous oxide-filled balloons, and methamphetamine—three common drugs of choice for high school kids. Inexpensive, readily available, easy to use, easy to conceal. Deadly.

  It was a difficult reality to reconcile, but during my time at St. Francis, I’d learned that accepting reality is important. Trying to run from it is like sprinting on water. No matter how much perpetual motion you generate, you eventually sink. I had to deal with this new reality, but what I really wanted to do was point the car in some direction, any direction, and just drive, and drive, and drive, until I’d left it all behind. I wanted to travel back to my life, my real life—the one in which I was living in my own apartment near the KC Metro studio, dancing, not dealing with my sister getting married and having a baby, or me living with my parents, or a school full of kids with potential drug problems.

  But the car, of course, went home on autopilot. When I walked in the door, Mom was waiting with bridal magazines and a weddingplanner book from Dillards. Dad had disappeared upstairs to watch “one of those silly basketball games,” according to Mom. No doubt, she had booted him out so we could talk. He was probably also in trouble for letting me go AWOL this evening.

  Mom would want to know exactly where I’d been and what I’d been doing. Her first question: “Hi, sweetheart. Have you eaten?”

  I realized I hadn’t had anything since the salad at noon in the staff lounge. “Yes,” I answered. “Barbecue. I told Dad I was going to eat with the kids at the after-school program.” I glanced at the clock. Almost seven thirty. Surely, they’d eaten by now. “You didn’t wait supper, did you?”

  “Oh, no, of course not.” Mom dismissed the question with a backhanded wave. Psshaw. We’re not waiting around to monitor your meals, Julia. We trust you. Honestly, we do. “We ate takeout Chinese with Bethany and Jason over at their place. I took a bunch of bridal magazines over to Bett. There’s some leftover in the fridge, if you’d like it.”

  “Bridal magazines?”

  “No—Chinese food. Very funny.” She didn’t laugh, as she normally would have. In fact, she looked exhausted. “I’ll fix a plate for you.”

  Slicing my hands back and forth in the air, I backed away. “No, no, don’t get up. I can fix myself something.” With a suspicious frown, she braced a hand on the sofa arm to pull herself up, so I added, “I’ll bring it back in here and we can look at the bridal magazines while I eat.”

  “All right.” She scooted back into her seat, satisfied with the idea of watching me eat Chinese while perusing the pages of Perfect Bride.

  I hoped I could stomach both.

  “I don’t know how we’re going to plan a wedding less than in a month,” she muttered as I left the room.

  I wasn’t sure whether she was talking to herself or to me, but I answered anyway. “Don’t worry about it, Mom. Between the three of us, we’ll get it done.”

  “I can’t convince Bethany to settle on anything,” Mom called as I opened the fridge and took out a half dozen full containers of takeout Chinese. Clearly, Mom had overordered to make sure I’d have plenty of choices. “She hasn’t even picked out dresses.”

  She just told us she was getting married yesterday. “I assumed she was going to wear your dress.” Ever since she was little, Bett had been pulling Mom’s dress from the linen closet, putting it on, and dreaming of the day.

  “Oh, that old thing?” Mom was coming down the hall. “It’s in such bad shape—stained, and there’s a tear under the arm. Some of the lace is moth-eaten and the seed pearls are God knows where. We’d never get it in shape in time.”

  Investigating the food containers, I selected fried rice and a fortune cookie before Mom could fill my plate with wontons and sweet-and-sour pork. Wa-a-ay too fattening.

  “I think we could get the dress ready,” I said, putting away the extra food, and quickly turning the conversation back to wedding details. “There’s a cleaner downtown that specializes in restorations and alterations. I noticed it today, when I was driving to the after-school program. I could take the dress by there Monday morning, and see what they can do.”

  “I don’t know that it’s worth it.” Mom eagle-eyed my plate as I stuck it in the microwave.

  “Of course it is. It’s your dress. It’s special. It has history.” It bothered me to hear her call the dress she had worn when she married my dad, the dress she had designed and sewn herself in the wardrobe studio where she worked, “that old thing.” Was that what she was thinking the day she wore it—that it was nothing special, that the day was nothing special? Was she merely doing something she felt she had to do, because of me? Where was I at the time? There were no pictures of Mom in the dress, Dad in the suit, and me. There were no dates on any of the photographs, and in the album the wedding came first, and then my baby pictures. But if you looked closely enough, you could see that my baby pictures weren’t taken at Mom and Dad’s first house over on Hollyhock Drive. In the pictures of the day she brought me home Mom’s hair was long. Long blond hair, flowing over her bare shoulders in a flowered summer maternity dress. Her hair was short in the pictures of my first Christmas, then longer again on my first Easter, then short in the wedding photos and in my first birthday pictures, where suddenly my dad was at the party, standing with me and his new wife.

  Hair does not grow long and short and long and short again that quickly. Apparently, Mom never thought of that when she arranged the album into a format that would look proper for guests, neighbors, and other people who did not know our family secret… .

  I realized I was standing there, staring at Mom. Stopping the microwave, I pulled out my plate, and we sat down at the breakfast table in the kitchen. “So, let me take the dress to the cleaner downtown on Monday,” I said, stirring up the rice. “It isn’t even out of the way. Just a few blocks from Harrington, right next to the school I was at this afternoon.”

  “Oh, it’s all right.” Mom watched the food travel from the plate to my mouth, and then somberly waited until I swallowed, as if talking might distract me from taking in calories. “I’ll find a cleaner here, if that’s what Bethany wants.”

  “Mom, please. Let me …
I can handle this, all right?” I set down the fork, and she focused on it with foreboding, no doubt thinking that the pressure of dealing with Bethany’s wedding dress might cause me to relapse. “You have enough to do.”

  Putting on her Polly Sunshine face, Mom batted her lashes, like she couldn’t imagine what I meant. “Oh, goodness, no. I’m fine. Everything’s under control.” Her voice cracked on the last word, and she offered a pasted-on smile, trying to sell me her fineness like swampland.

  “You’re about to have a nervous breakdown,” I countered, grabbing the fork and holding it up, so that she would focus on me instead of the food. “Just relax, Mom. Everything’s going to be fine.”

  Her pale blue eyes met mine—my eyes, my color. The same eyebrows, the same hair. The same need to keep things under control. Everything wasn’t fine with you, her gaze said. You fell off a cliff, and I wasn’t there to catch you until it was almost too late. “Things have been a little off keel lately, that’s all.” It was a surprisingly honest admission, for Mom. Eyes glittering with moisture, she focused out the window. “Too many … unexpected changes, all at once.”

  Patting her hand, I took another bite of food, because I knew it would make her happy. “We’ll muddle through.” That was Grandma Rice’s famous quote. Anything she didn’t like, she muddled through. “Tell you what: I’ll call Bethany in the morning, and we’ll take her out shopping. We’ll do the mall, look for bridesmaids’ dresses, go by the flower shop—all that stuff.” The idea settled in my mind, painted with a watercolor wash of dread. “We’ll get everything picked out in one day—like a marathon. We’ll tell her she can’t go home to Jason until we do the whole checklist.” Raking up another bite of rice, I stuffed it into my mouth, even though it tasted old and I didn’t feel like eating anything else. “Gosh, I’m starving. This is good Chinese.”

  Mom was pleased. Resting her chin on her hand, she smiled and said, “I told Bethany and Dad you’d need something by the time you got home. No sense going hungry.”

  The comment pinched, because, unless she could monitor my eating, she was convinced that I was starving myself. I pretended to concentrate on finishing the rice. Nice to know everyone was talking about me while they were supposed to be planning Bethany’s wedding.”

  Drumming her fingers on her chin, Mom toyed with the corner of a napkin. “So, where was it that you went this afternoon? Dad said you were working late at school? You had a barbecue there?”

  My chest convulsed in an involuntary chuckle, and I snorted up rice, then coughed and grabbed a glass of water. A barbecue at school? Sometimes, I had a feeling Mom heard only half of what we said; then she filled in the blanks like pieces of a crossword puzzle. “I went by an after-school arts program at an elementary school near Harrington. One of the students I’ve been counseling invited me. It was nice—I ended up having a really good time. This Jumpkids program is something special, amazing really. They serve some of the most underprivileged children in the city, and they do fantastic things with them. The kids are grateful for the opportunity—not like the students at Harrington, who take it for granted that everything is going to be handed to them. It’s …”

  I stopped talking, and Mom never even noticed. She was glassed-over. “That’s nice,” she said, when she realized the conversational ball was back in her court. “Do you think it’s safe to be hanging around that part of town at night?”

  “It’s fine,” I muttered.

  “Maybe we should do silk flowers …” Mom mused, squinting at a basket of fake roses on the cornice above the kitchen cabinets.

  Joujou scratched at the patio door, and Mom didn’t react. I glanced over, surprised. Joujou was out in the backyard alone. At risk of kidnapping and attack by giant rodents. What was going on?

  “Joujou’s outside.” I waved my hand in front of Mom’s face. “Joujou’s outside.”

  Jerking upright, Mom came back to earth. Slowly rolling her attention to the sliding glass door, she walked over to let Joujou in. “Oh, I know. She’s fine out there. This morning, she kept scratching at the door, and I was busy trying to book the country club for Bethany and Jason, so I just let her go out.”

  “This morning?” I gaped toward the door. Even though sun had come out in the afternoon, I couldn’t believe Mom had left her baby on the patio so long—especially now that it was dark, and getting nippy again. “She’s been out there all day?”

  Mom lifted her hands helplessly. “I had so much to do. This way, she’s not underfoot. She has water, food, and her house out there. The sunshine is good for her.”

  Wonders never cease. Mom had finally lightened up on Joujou. Maybe there was hope for the rest of us. Slipping the remaining rice into the trash while Mom was busy asking the dog about her day, I broke my fortune cookie in half and unrolled the paper slip, first looking at the Chinese characters in red ink, then turning it over so I could read the English side.

  A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.

  —CHINESE PROVERB

  Chapter 8

  In the morning, Mom was at my bedroom door with Bett on the phone and breakfast ready downstairs. I blinked at the ceiling, waiting for the day to come into focus. Ever since my stay at St. Francis, my dreams were sensory and tactile, more vivid than real life.

  I always dreamed of dancing—in various locations, but always, I was dancing. This time, I was in the gym at Simmons-Haley Elementary School. The floor was marked with lines for basketball, but around me, the bleachers became rows and rows of theater seats, stretching toward elaborate balconies of intricate fresco and gold leaf. Sister Margaret was in a box seat, clapping and cheering, giving me a standing ovation. From somewhere overhead, in tune with the music, kids were reading aloud the lines from the “In My World” wall.

  In my world, there’s five prizes in every cereal box.

  In my world, it only rains when you’re sleeping.

  In my world, nobody has fights.

  In my world, everyone laughs.

  In my world, everyone is beautiful.

  In my world, everybody dances.

  As they read, the drawings floated down from overhead, and I danced in the bright Crayola world… .

  “Pumpkin, time to get up.” Mom pulled me back as I was drifting into the dream again. “Breakfast is ready. I’ve got Bett on the phone.”

  “Just … just a minute,” I mumbled as the door squeaked open and Joujou rocketed through, launching herself onto my bed.

  “Heeeeere’s Joujou,” Mom announced, like the dog was Johnny Carson and she was Ed McMahon. Joujou started sprinkling while racing around on my bed.

  “Joujou!” Scooping up the dog, I rolled off the mattress and rushed to the bathroom. Joujou yipped happily and wagged her tail as I deposited her in the bathtub, then grabbed a towel and hurried back to wipe the droplets off the comforter.

  “I think Joujou needs to go outside,” I said.

  Mom gasped at the comforter, as though it were a surprise for Joujou to make tinkie where she wasn’t supposed to. “Oh, my.” Handing me the phone, she headed toward the bathroom to have a discussion with the dog, dismissing the comforter with a backhanded wave. “I’ll wash that later. You go ahead and talk to Bett. You two can plan our agenda for the day.”

  Bett was laughing on the other end of the phone. “What’s going on over there?”

  “Joujou watered my bed.”

  Bett laughed harder, and I laughed with her. It was good to hear her sounding like her usual upbeat self. “Hey, at least she missed you this time.”

  “Good point. I think I’m growing on her.”

  “So-o-o …” Bett drew the word out contemplatively. “Mom said you wanted to talk about shopping today.”

  Squinting toward the bathroom door, I cupped a hand over my mouth and the phone receiver. “Actually, I wasn’t even up yet.”

  “Me, either,” Bett admitted. “Jason usually brings me a protein shake in bed, so I can settle my stomach before I
start walking around. Morning sickness.”

  It hit me that Bett really was pregnant. Expecting. In a family way. My little sister. There was a tiny person growing inside her. My niece or nephew. My parents’ first grandchild. A new little someone to be added to our family. Planned or unplanned, it was a miracle.

  Smoothing a hand over my own stomach, sallow and thin beneath my nightgown, I wondered if my body would ever be capable of producing life. Had I sacrificed that potential with the years of bingeing, and purging, and starving my body until the normal female cycles were off schedule, and sometimes nonexistent? The doctors said there was no way to tell. “The body is an amazing machine,” Dr. Leland had told me, “With an incredible capacity to heal itself. But esophageal rupture is extremely serious, as is the depletion of electrolytes in your system. Either can be fatal and can have lasting health implications. Give your body time to recover and regain its balance; then we’ll see what we’re dealing with.”

  At the time, I didn’t want to hear what he was saying. All I cared about was finding a way to explain my absence to the artistic director, so I could regain my spot in Swan Lake.

  Now, thinking about Bett’s baby, I felt the intense burn of guilt and a hollowness over what might never be. “I can’t believe you’re having morning sickness already.”

  Bett sighed, completely unaware of the rush of thoughts in my head. “I know. Mom says she had it right away, too. Especially with you.”

  “I always was trouble,” I joked, but it came out sounding like a whine, and I changed the subject. “So, listen—what about this shopping trip?”

  Bett groaned.

  I glanced toward the bathroom, where Joujou was apparently playing tug-of-war with the shower curtain while my mother tried to catch her. Leaning away from the door, I whispered into the phone, “If we don’t get busy on this wedding business, Mom is going to have a nervous breakdown.”