by Ka Hancock
“Lucy . . .”
I pushed the tears off my face. “This sacrifice he wants to make—this distance he wants from his daughter—that’s Mic at his best and most rational. You get that, don’t you?”
It took a long time for my brother-in-law to speak. “I get it. But no man should have to lose his wife and his child. What will that do to him?” Ron settled his gaze on my parents’ headstones, and I watched his jaw tremble. “This just isn’t right, Lucy.”
“I know. But at least this way he’ll get to know her. She’ll get to know him. And she’ll be safe and loved by all of you.”
He turned back to face me.
“Ron, I want you and Lily to have my baby because I know you’ll let Mickey in. I know you’ll let him be part of her life.”
“That goes without saying. We’ll do whatever you want us to do, Lucy. But isn’t this all just a little premature? How about Lil and I just take care of the baby while you’re recovering? Let’s just go that far since we don’t know what’s going to happen.”
“That’s a good idea,” I said, indulging him. “But when what’s going to happen actually does happen, will you adopt her?”
Tears and anguish filled his eyes.
“Will you do it?”
He nodded.
There was so much more to say, but I was too tired. Ron turned and gently pulled my face into his chest. “Ah, Lucy.” He held me for a moment, and when I quieted, he lifted my chin. “You know we’ll love her like she’s ours. But I promise you, she’ll always know who her parents are.”
It was all my heart needed to hear. I knew my sister and Ron would make it work. No woman had ever wanted to be a mother more than Lily. Now I could give her this. She would love my baby for me. And she would take care of my Mickey. She’d let him love his child and never be threatened by it. But beyond that, Lily would protect her if she ever needed it. And she would make sure my daughter knew how much I loved her.
“Will you talk to Lily?” I whispered. “Will you tell her this is what I want?”
My dear brother-in-law cleared his throat, but I still heard the sob he tried to swallow as he nodded.
“Thank you, Ron. Thank you.”
There was nothing else to say. I rubbed my belly and my baby responded by kicking me. She was healthy and strong, of that I had no doubt. I picked up Ron’s hand and placed it on my stomach. She kicked again, and a tear rolled down Ron’s cheek.
Later that evening, I was trying to stay awake as I waited up for Mickey. He had reluctantly gone over to Partners when his bartender called from the emergency room, where his little girl was getting stitches in her head. Mickey promised he’d be back as soon as he could. That was two hours ago and I was dozing to Conan when Lily knocked and let herself in. She’d been crying like the world would end. Her nose was bright red, her eyes swollen beyond what seemed possible. She walked over to where I was sitting, new tears brimming, and knelt down in front of me. Her pain was palpable, and I could see that she had finally accepted the immediacy of what was happening. I ran my hand over her short hair.
“Lucy,” she whimpered. “Please don’t die.”
“Okay,” I whimpered back.
Then neither of us spoke for a while. As I looked into her eyes, I could not imagine who I would have been if she had not been my sister, and I couldn’t imagine who I was going to be without her. Lily had been the keeper of my secrets and the holder of my dreams since we were little girls. We were supposed to grow old together.
Lily shook her head, fighting more tears. “I don’t think I can be in this place,” she said, her lip trembling.
“What place, Lil?”
“The place where I can finally have a baby . . . but only if I lose my sister.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Are you sure this is what you want?”
“I can’t have what I want, Lil. So, it’s up to you. You’ll be a wonderful mother.” I cupped her chin, catching her tears.
She leaned into my hand. “I don’t know what I’ll do without you. I’ve never known.”
“I was just thinking the same thing.”
“Lu, do you remember when you got stuck in that tree?”
“I got stuck in a tree?”
Lily nodded. “It was in the park. There were lots of people, but I can’t remember the occasion, maybe the Shad Bake. I was seven, I think I was seven. You were little and there were lots of kids and we were all playing and I lost track of you. And when I realized it, I panicked. I looked for you everywhere, and when I couldn’t find you, my heart started to hurt. Somehow I was able to eke it out to Dad, who got scared and started yelling for you. Then Mom yelled for you. Everyone was looking for you. Then for some reason I looked up. And there you were, up in the tree, just looking down at me, at all of us. I remember I started to cry with the relief of it,” Lily rasped.
She shook her head. “You weren’t gone and I could breathe again,” she whispered. “Nobody could figure out how you got up there, and it was a miracle that you didn’t fall and break something. When Dad got you down, he swatted your bum, of course, because you’d scared him and he didn’t know where you’d gone. You just looked at him and said with all the wisdom of a three-year-old, ‘I wasn’t gone, you just couldn’t see me.’”
I nodded, vaguely remembering this.
“I’ll never forget that,” Lily said. “You weren’t gone, we just couldn’t see you. That’s the way I’m going to survive this, Lucy; you just won’t be gone.”
“I won’t be gone,” I echoed.
twenty-nine
NOVEMBER 17, 2011
I now know the difference between sadness and depression. Clinical depression has no source from which it springs—it just is. Intractable sadness has nothing to do with synapses, or brain chemistry, or essential salts, it’s born of something. It’s the product of injustice and helplessness. It can be anesthetized, I suppose, but it’s there, unaltered, when the medication wears off, like an intruder who has broken into your house and is still there every morning when you wake up.
Given the choice, I would rather be depressed. I’ve come back from depression.
Priscilla came to town for the meeting with Harry and informed me that she was staying with us for a few days. That’s what she said, anyway—just a few days. It was too cold to stay on the boat, and rather than take up residence in the guest room she always had access to at Lily’s, she’d chosen to hover over me. But I was too tired to mind. And besides, the arrangement proved to be a good distraction for Mickey, who sorely needed one.
Somehow, the current state of my health made it possible for Priss and Mickey to rise above their low opinions of each other. And it helped that Priscilla was just plain different these days. Softer. Some of it was naturally obligatory because I was sick. But some of it, I was sure, came from a deeper source. It seemed to me she was just sick and tired of carrying around all that wrath. I hoped I wouldn’t reverse that when I told her why I’d asked her to come to Brinley tonight. I figured it was better to explain why we were meeting with Harry before he showed up in his official capacity, with papers for us all to sign. So I got up and brushed my teeth, but then I went back to bed. It had been a rough day, and at two thirty in the afternoon I still wasn’t dressed. Priscilla was checking on me every few minutes, and when she came in for the third time, I finally managed to sit up and tell her I wanted to talk. Now she was sitting at the foot of the bed waiting for me to quit coughing. Needless to say, the delivery of my message became utilitarian at best. Not at all how I’d planned to tell her I was giving my baby to Lily.
“To Lily? You’re giving your baby to Lily?”
“Yes.”
Priss looked up at the ceiling. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Say you’ll be a good aunt.”
“I’d be a good mom, you know.”
“I’m sure you would,” I said, pleased that I had sounded like I meant it.
Her upturned f
ace crumpled, and I could see she was truly hurt. “Did you even think of me?” When I didn’t answer, she leveled her gaze on me.
I didn’t know what to say. If I’d done as my sister had insisted, my baby wouldn’t even be here. But I couldn’t remind her of that when she had tears in her eyes. “It boiled down to Brinley,” I said. “You know I love it here, and this is where I want her to grow up.”
After a few heartbeats of tension, Priss’s hurt dissolved in a slump of her shoulders. “Lily will be a great mom,” she admitted grudgingly.
“She will. But it’s more than that. I want Mickey to be very involved, and the two of you couldn’t pull that off. Besides, I need you to rescue them from each other when they need it. And, you know, Priss, this way she will just have one aunt. Do you realize you are the only one who can officially spoil her? It’s a very distinguished role you’re walking into.”
She nodded, preoccupied. “I guess that’s all true.” She stared hard at me. “But I want to ask you something.”
“Okay.”
“I want the truth, Lucy.”
“I’m listening.”
“If you’d known then how things were going to turn out, would you have had the abortion?”
“No,” I said without hesitation. “Even if I’d had it, I’d still have ended up right where I am now, and with nothing to leave behind. I couldn’t have done that to Mickey. And just because I don’t get to know my daughter right now doesn’t necessarily mean I’ll never get to know her.”
“What are you talking about?”
I started coughing and waved away her question. “I have no regrets,” I managed to push out.
Priscilla poured me some water, and when I stopped hacking, she touched my cheek and said, “I knew you would say that. I just wanted to hear it, to make sure.”
“Hear what?” Mickey said, walking into the bedroom.
“I think I’ll go find us something to eat,” Priscilla said, scooting off the bed.
“The Dunleavys just brought over a big pot of soup and some hot bread,” Mickey said. “I came up to see if you were hungry.”
I patted his hand. “I’ll have some later.”
Mickey kissed my forehead, and as he lingered there for a moment too long, I felt him start to tremble. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Priscilla pull her hand to her mouth and leave the room. I wished I could do something to alleviate this landslide of raw emotion, but I was just too tired. Mickey slid down next to me and nuzzled his face into my neck.
“I love you, baby,” I whispered, stroking his bristly chin.
I woke up a couple of hours later and Priscilla was sitting in the chair by the bed reading my baby book. She told me Mickey had gone to see Gleason, which surprised me since I knew he didn’t have an appointment.
“Good,” I said. “This has to be getting old, watching me . . . do what I’m doing.”
“I brought you some apple juice,” Priss said, holding the cup to my lips. It tasted delicious and I drank quite a bit before I fell back on the pillow. Then I asked my sister to run me a bath. I wanted to surprise Mickey with a fresh wife and clean sheets, which was about as much as I could manage today. I had almost three hours before Harry would be here.
Priss took great pains to set the perfect temperature, and the water felt glorious against my sad skin. When I laid my head back into the suds, my whole body felt like it was being cradled in a soapy palm. After I’d been in there a while, Priss knocked on the door and poked her head in. “Do I need to worry about you?”
“I think I’m doing fine.”
“Is your oxygen on?”
“Yes.”
“Do you need your back scrubbed?”
“Oh, that would be lovely,” I moaned.
Priscilla soaped up a washcloth and positioned herself on the ledge of the tub. I leaned up and gave her my back and heard a tiny gasp that Priss tried to hide in a cough.
“Sorry, I should have warned you. It’s not a pretty sight.”
“Lucy, how can you be this thin?” Awe was in her voice. Then I heard her sniff and knew she was crying.
“Are you going to scrub my back or what?”
Priscilla ran the washcloth over my spine so gently I told her it didn’t count. “Scrub! You’re not going to hurt me.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
It felt delicious when she finally got serious. When she was done, Priss poured water over my back, then unpinned my hair and poured more over my head. I hadn’t asked her to wash my hair, but I didn’t argue. In fact I nearly melted as her long fingers gently scrubbed my scalp. Her sweetness, the indulgence of this kindness, made me weep, and I let my tears run freely down my wet face and didn’t apologize.
After she wrapped a towel around my head I took her hand and kissed it. Priss was crying, too.
I leaned back into the water and pulled the suds over me. Even so, my belly protruded like a slippery island. Priss smiled sadly. She wasn’t wearing any makeup and her hair was pulled back in a clip.
“It’s going to be okay, Priscilla,” I said softly.
Her eyes filled with tears again, but she didn’t look away. “I should be telling you that. Don’t you ever get tired of taking care of all of us, Lucy? Don’t you ever get mad?”
“All the time, lately. I’m especially mad at the timing of this little dilemma.”
“Only you would call this a little dilemma.”
I shook my head. “I’m not ready, Priss.”
“None of us are, sweetie.”
After a moment of heavy silence, I said, “Mom wasn’t ready either, and I think I understand how she felt. She wasn’t done. She had important things she wanted to finish.”
“Like what?”
“She wanted to finish raising me. Get Lily and Ron married. And she really wanted to make up with you.”
“What?”
“Did you think it didn’t matter to her?” I asked. “How things were between you? You know she loved you, Priscilla.”
“I don’t know how she could. I was so unbelievably horrible.”
“Well, that’s true,” I said wickedly. “But even so.”
Priss pulled herself up in a little girl’s shrug. “I did something awful and Mom never forgave me for it.”
“I’m sure you’re wrong.”
“I got pregnant.” Her words hung in the air for a few heartbeats.
“I know.”
“How did you know? Did she tell you?”
“No. I just figured it out when I got old enough. Did you have an abortion? Is that why you think Mom never forgave you?”
“No. I wanted the baby. Trent and I—it was Trent’s—we were going to get married. We were seventeen, and we knew everything. But then I lost it. After that, everything fell apart. I was so angry. At everything and everyone. I know Mom died hating me.”
“How can you be so smart and so dumb at the same time?”
Priss shook her head. “I was so screwed up, Lucy. But I know that’s the reason I’ve never dared hold on to anything. There was no point. I’d just lose it.”
“What are you talking about?”
“When I was a kid, I just never understood how God could take Grandma from me—from us. Then Dad. Then my baby. By the time Mom got sick, I already pretty much hated the idea of God.” Priscilla covered her face with her hands and for a moment she didn’t speak. “When I found that lump all those years ago at the same time Kenny Boatwright went back to his wife, I just gave up.”
“Oh, honey.”
A single tear dripped down my sister’s cheek. “I’ve been so careful not to lose anything that I’ve got nothing.” She sighed. “And here I am facing another loss, with absolutely no control.”
“We never had control, Priscilla. Neither did Mom.”
My sister looked through me. “You may not believe this, and in another mood I probably wouldn’t admit it, but I always felt bad about being such a pain in the ass.”
“You should.”
“I do!”
“Mom knew that anyway. She was worried about you because she knew how tender you were. The tenderest of us all, she said.”
“She did not.”
“Yeah. She said you were the sensitive one, and Lily was the one with the sweetest disposition.”
“What were you?”
“I don’t remember, I think she thought I was strong.”
Priss ran her hand under her nose and didn’t say anything.
“She knew you, Priss. Probably better than you ever knew yourself. She used to say it was going to take someone very patient a very long time to dig to the center of you.”
“She did not say that,” Priss said softly and without conviction.
“Yes, she did. And she said when he found it, he’d be the luckiest man in the world.”
My sister started to weep. “I don’t believe Mom ever said that about me.”
“Well, you should. She knew all the important things moms know. She even knew you and I would have this conversation someday.”
“Right.”
“She did! She was so sick—it was just a few days before she died—and she was telling me all the things she was going to miss. And she said, ‘Someday Priss will want to talk about me, Lucy, and you tell her I never stopped loving her and I never believed she stopped loving me.’” I tried to glare at Priss for emphasis, but I couldn’t pull it off. “So there you go.”
Priscilla pulled her knees up to her chin and folded herself nearly in half. She looked like a little girl, vulnerable and hopeful. “She really said that?”
“Every word.”
Priscilla stared at the floor, and for a long time we didn’t speak. I thought of those last terrible days when my mother was in so much pain, but still holding on. She wasn’t finished. I knew exactly how she felt. Even when Death had been ready for her, the ghostly presence in her room undeniable, my mother would think of something else to tell me; some nonsense that bubbled out of her pallid delirium like last-minute instructions. None of it rational—except the last thing.