by Ka Hancock
The room was still and seemed to hold a palpable breath as I imagined one thought filling every mind: poor Mickey. I stood there and did my best to not fall apart, but I had to look down at the floor before I could speak. When I looked up, I lifted my glass. “What would I do without my friends? Thank you. Thank you for all of this. And thank you on behalf of Lucy. You know she loved sharing this night with you.”
As if on cue, Abby let out a burp that shattered the awkward silence and effectively dissolved the tension. I actually laughed. “That’s my girl. Now are we going to eat or what? I’m starved.”
After that, the party got back on track as everyone lined up to serve themselves. People sat down wherever they could, including the stairs and the floor. I looked around and marveled. If I lived another hundred years, I could never thank them enough.
Nor could I begin to repay the kindness wrapped in the crowning jewel of the evening, which was when Oscar Levine took hold of my hand and said, “A few of us put together a little Christmas present for you, Mic. Why don’t you come on upstairs and take a look.”
I followed Oscar up and faltered just a bit at the top of the stairs as I glanced into my bedroom. I would surely cry there. But it would be later, alone. Not now. Oblivious to this emotional stumble, Oscar led me to Priscilla’s old bedroom and turned on the light. I heard a sound come out of me, a moan that was partly heartbreak and partly awe, but it pretty much conveyed my feeling. I was looking at a beautiful nursery. My friends had picked up where Lucy and I had left off and transformed this room into something from a storybook. It was painted the soft warm pink Lucy had picked out, and all the soft things, the curtains and pillows and blankets, were in pastel greens and yellows. Lucy would have loved it.
I walked in and sat down on the newly upholstered window seat and took in the room. It could be in a magazine, it was that pretty. Of course, Lucy’s fingerprints were everywhere. It was just as she’d dreamed it, I was sure, but the final product was beyond anything I could have imagined. “Who did this?”
“We all did,” Oscar answered. “Treig and I painted, Ron finished the floor, Earl and Chad redid the window seat.”
“And the rocker is a gift from Lucy,” Treig said, smiling sadly. “She bought it from me last summer. Thought it would fit you perfectly, and I have to agree.”
I shook my head as an ache filled my chest.
“Jan, of course, painted the mural, and the gals did all the frilly stuff,” Oscar said quickly in an attempt to distract me.
Jan’s mural spanned one entire wall. In a forest of lush greenery a beam of sunlight shone down on three little, green-eyed girls having a tea party on the stump of a tree. They looked remarkably similar to the princesses in the book Lily had left for me at the hospital. When I recognized my wife as a child, I gave in to tears that had been threatening me all night. Jan walked over and kissed my forehead. “I couldn’t resist. I hope it’s okay.”
“It’s phenomenal.”
Jan’s work had the same effect on Priscilla, who was holding tight to Lily’s hand and crying. Her mouth was open but no words were coming out.
Ron walked in with Abby. “What do you think, Mic? Pretty nice, huh?”
“Way beyond,” I said, taking my daughter. Abby was wide-awake and looking at the ceiling, calm and pleasant and completely unaware that all this was for her. I kissed her head. “This is your new room,” I whispered in her hair. Or at least it was the room she would use when I tended her. The thought pinched my heart.
After all the oohs and aahs had been expressed, people began drifting back downstairs, where dessert had been laid out. Soon it was just Lily, Priscilla, and me. Seen in this light, Lucy’s sisters looked young and vulnerable. Priscilla looked almost shell-shocked and was becoming more emotional by the second. Big tears were running down her cheeks, so I walked over and put my free arm around her shoulder. “Hey, you’re going to ruin your face,” I said, trying not to let on that it was too late. She cried harder, even snorted a couple of times, but she looked at me, unembarrassed, her makeup smeared and her nose running, and said, “I got it so wrong, Mickey. I’m such a fool. And I’m so, so sorry.”
“About what?
“Everything. You. Lucy. Especially this angel,” she said, stealing Abby from me. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“Well”—I gulped—“you and me both,” I said, suddenly aware, too, of what I had insisted my wife do. I watched as Priscilla nuzzled Abby into her neck; the look on her face was one of profound regret, and one I completely understood.
Priss walked Abby over to the wall and bent close to the tea party, taking in each little girl. Throughout all of this, Lily had kept her distance. She seemed enthralled, not so much by the room, or even Priscilla’s breakdown, but by me. She’d been staring at me as if something important was on her mind.
“You okay, Lil?” I said.
She nodded almost imperceptibly and shifted her attention to the ruffles in the crib. “It’s all so lovely, isn’t it?” she said with a little shake in her voice.
“It’s absolutely enchanting,” Priscilla blubbered, distracting me from Lily. “Jan has completely captured the three of us. It’s unbelievable.”
I nodded and turned back to Lily, but she was gone.
An hour or so later, I’m sure it was more than obvious to my friends that they were welcome to stay as long as they wanted. All night. All winter. But I was gracious when each said his or her goodbye and each one offered to feed me the next day. I didn’t decline or accept any invitation. I just thanked them for thinking of me and stacked up my options. Wanda Murphy placed both of her cold hands on my face and pulled me down to her eye level. “God love ya, Mickey, and God love that little girl,” she said, and kissed me on the nose. Gleason’s concern touched me to the core when he offered to keep his cell phone on throughout the holiday. I hugged him harder than I’d planned to.
“You’ll be okay,” he reassured me. “Eventually. For now, just know it’s gonna take some time. And call if you need me.”
“I will.”
Ron had Abby bundled and belted in her car seat. She had on a tiny hat pulled almost to her eyes, which were wide-open and, I swear, looking right at me. I bent down to kiss her and willed myself not to break down. Everyone would be gone in five minutes. I could wait that long.
Ron placed a hand on my shoulder. “You all right, Mic?”
I stood and nodded, not speaking until I could trust myself. Finally I said, “I’m good. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Lily had busied herself zipping Abby’s assorted paraphernalia into the enormous bag she brought with her wherever she went. Besides Lily, Harry and Jan were the last ones in my house. Jan was giving me an inventory of all the food that was left when Lily squeezed past me. She would have slid out the door without a word if I hadn’t grabbed her arm. “Lil?”
She turned. “Yeah?”
I opened my mouth. I guess I thought I had things to say, but none of them surfaced. Instead I tried for a smile and told her thanks for everything. She looked as if she might cry when she leaned up to kiss my cheek. “We’ll see you in the morning, Mic.”
“Okay.”
“You know if this is too hard, you can still come back home with us.”
“I’ll be okay, Lil. But thanks.”
I walked out with them and stood there as Ron buckled Abby in the backseat. He waved as they pulled out of my driveway.
Jan kissed my cheek. “I’ll leave the back door unlocked, in case you need my couch,” she said.
I watched Harry slip his arm through his wife’s as the two of them trudged through my snowy front yard. I stood on the front porch for a few more minutes watching my friends drift away. Then I walked back inside.
thirty-six
I locked the door and stood stone still listening for an echo of the sound that had filled my home only minutes before. Nothing. I was alone. As I absorbed my solitude, I was surprised and a little pleased at m
y nonreaction. I wandered into my kitchen for some water. But it didn’t look like my kitchen. Jan and her crew had left it spit-shined—not one tiny thing out of place. The table that had held all the food earlier was now covered with a tartan cloth and a basket of pinecones was sitting dead center that I did not recognize as ours. The chairs were tucked in uniformly, the counters spotless, the sink gleaming.
It bothered me. It was too straight. Too orderly. I took three spoons and a knife out of the drawer and tossed them on the counter. Then I took an apple out of the fridge and rolled it across the table. It stopped just short of the edge, but if it had fallen off, I would not have picked it up. I turned on the water and filled a glass, but I didn’t drink it, I left it on the counter. On my way out I turned a chair a few inches to the left. I felt a little less anxious when I turned off the light. But not much.
It felt better in the living room; more relaxed. The afghan on the back of the couch was crooked and a pillow was on the floor. I left them. I had always liked this room. It was cozy, and most nights when I came home late, I would find Lucy curled up in the chair in the corner, reading, or sleeping with an open book on her chest. I tried to remember what book she was in the middle of when she . . . If I could find it, I would read it. I had to find it. Where was it?
I felt a little shiver just before I started to tremble, and I leaned against the wall to steady myself. Only jitters at first, but soon my heart was a racing hammer and my whole body was quaking. I slid down the wall until I felt the floor beneath me, then I buried my head in my knees. I knew what panic was and I wasn’t sure this was it, but whatever it was, I hoped it would soon pass. It didn’t. It took quite a while, and I guess that was okay. There was no one here to judge me, no one I had to protect from my drama. I kept telling myself as soothingly as I could manage, “I can do this. I know I can do this.” Just as Gleason had repeatedly told me, there was no way through it but through it, so there I sat, waves of sadness and fear and dreadful anxiety rolling over me.
I don’t know how long I sat there, but when I could finally stand, I breathed deep and wandered like a drunk back into my kitchen and drank the water I’d left on the counter. I also put the apple back in the fridge.
I found my duffel bag in the closet where Ron had put it and headed slowly up the stairs. It was so quiet, but it was the loud kind of quiet that comes from listening hard to unwelcome silence. It almost hurt my ears. I looked around and tried to conjure some of the noise that had filled this hall, this house. As I concentrated, the deafening silence blessedly became a mosaic of words and remembered conversations with my wife. Don’t you dare leave without kissing me. Will you grab some milk on your way home, and some small black pantyhose? Please? I’ll love you forever. Have you seen the checkbook? Have you taken your pills? Don’t talk to me right now, I’m in a mad mood at you. I rented Weekend at Bernie’s again. Not again! Yes, again, we’re going for one hundred times and we’re only at forty-one. I love you, Mic. I love you, Mickey. I love you, Michael. I was calmed by the free-flowing recollections and decided that I would probably self-destruct the moment I could no longer hear her voice in my head. I also decided I could never again watch Weekend at Bernie’s or French Kiss or Waking Ned Devine. Or maybe I would watch them one right after the other for the rest of my life.
I pushed open the door to my bedroom and turned on the lamp. It was spotless in here as well. The vacuum tracks in the rug were sad evidence that someone had sucked up all the footprints. Lucy’s footprints. I sighed and walked into the bathroom. No evidence of her was in here either, and I didn’t know which was worse: finding traces of her everywhere or nowhere.
I emptied my bag onto the floor and fished around for my seven prescription bottles. When I found them, I lined them up on the back of the toilet in their usual place. The three I took in the morning separated slightly from the two I took at night, separated slightly from the ones I only took when I needed them. One of those was for anxiety, and I opened that bottle and dumped two orange pills in my hand. But I stared at the little Ativans so long they blurred in my palm. I put them back in the bottle. The sane guy inside me who had been on hiatus for a while was with me tonight. I heard him tell me clearly that if I started taking pills to feel better about Lucy, I’d never stop.
I took a shower instead, and under the scalding water I decided to not get out until I was done bawling. But after nearly a half hour, the water had turned cold. I ran my hands over my face. My head was pounding, and standing there dripping and shaking, I could see myself in the mirror and my heart hurt for the man I saw there. He looked ruined beyond repair.
I stepped out and wrapped a towel around my waist. I took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. I could shave, I needed to, but my hands were not yet that steady. I rubbed them over my face again and back through my hair and ground my fingers into my eyes, took another deep breath, and thought I had made some progress. A bit later, dressed in sweats, I stared down at my crisp and perfectly made bed. I was exhausted and my head hurt, but I knew I was simply not strong enough to crawl in there yet.
The clock radio on the dresser said 10:58. Was almost eleven too late to call and just check on Abby? Probably. I picked up my pillow and walked down the hall to Abby’s room, and there, too, I hesitated, peering in at the dark, little space made for a baby who was not here. Instead of the overhead light, I turned on the lamp that was sitting on the bureau. It cast the softest glow—a whisper of light perfect to check on a sleeping baby without waking her. The room took my breath away all over again. I walked over to the enormous rocking chair Lucy had planned to surprise me with. It had been refinished to match the crib, and I ran my hand over it. Lucy. I sat down in the chair and let it gentle the throbbing places in me. She was right; it fit me perfectly. I looked around. Lucy would adore this room. I could imagine her reaction if Oscar had surprised her with it. She would have giggled and kissed everyone in sight. It was a little paradise. It was the perfect room for a baby girl who lived two streets over.
Eleven fifteen. Lily was probably feeding her.
I closed my eyes and leaned my head back, willing it to stop aching. I never got headaches unless my meds were off, and they were not off according to the labs I’d had drawn two days ago. I just had to get myself settled down and go to sleep. I thought I could actually sleep in here easier than I could in my own room, but in the end I figured I would stay downstairs on the couch by the fire, keep the tree lights on, and maybe watch some TV to distract me.
I was just grabbing a comforter from the hall closet when I thought I heard a knock on the door. At first, I dismissed it, thinking I was imagining noises in my empty house, but then I heard it again. I hurried down the stairs to see who was worried about me and opened the door. There stood Lily in her long coat and a red knit hat. My immediate reaction was alarm, and I had a hard time getting out “What’s the matter, Lil? Is Abby . . .”
Lily shook her head. She was holding the car seat in one hand and juggling the big bag in the other.
“What are you doing, Lil?”
“Can I come in?”
“Of course you can. I’m sorry.”
She moved past me, dropping the bag on the floor as she made her way to the couch. She set Abby down and reached in to loosen her buckles. I looked at her, the angst in me rising. “Lily?”
“Just give me a minute,” she warbled. She didn’t take Abby out of the seat, but she unwrapped her by one blanket. I stayed firmly planted across the room, afraid to ask Lily again what was going on, but good Lord, what was going on? Lily looked up at me and her eyes filled with tears. “Mickey, I . . .”
I moved to the couch. “Lily, what is it? What are you doing?”
She slipped the hat from her head and ran a hand over her short hair. “Sit down.”
I sat, stealing a glance at my sleeping baby. “Lil, do you want to take your coat off?”
“No. I won’t be here that long.”
“Okay . . .”
&
nbsp; Lily turned to face me and took both my hands in her freezing ones. “Mickey . . .”
She breathed deep. “Mickey.”
“Lily, you’re scaring me.”
She shook her head and looked at the floor. “I know. I know.” She took another deep breath. “Okay.” She nodded. “Mickey, I have watched you for the last five weeks like you were a bug under a microscope. I’ve watched you, and at first there was no question in my mind that I was the best choice.” She let go of my hands to push the tears off her face. “But then, dammit, you crawled back from wherever you went. Just like Lucy knew you would. And I thought, ‘Well, so what, he’s still way too fragile and unstable.’ But that wasn’t true either. I thought if I looked hard enough that I could find a reason—and I only needed one—that you should not have your daughter. If I could find it, then I could live happily ever after as her mom.”
“Lily—”
“Shhh. I’m not finished. I tried hard to find some terrible proof that you’re incompetent. I’m ashamed of myself, Mickey. And I’m so, so sorry.” Lily shook her head, her eyes soft and wounded. “But I never found a reason that you shouldn’t have her, Mic. Abby belongs with you. I know it in my heart. And no matter how much I want her—and I so want her—this is where she needs to be.”
“Lily, I don’t understand.”
“Yes, you do. You’re going to be a wonderful father.”
“No. No!” I stood up. “What are you doing?”
Lily took my hand again and pulled me back down beside her. With sudden calm in her voice she said, “I love this baby with every breath, but she’s not mine, and if I kept her, I would always know I had cheated you. And worse, that I had cheated my sister. This is what Lucy wanted. This is all she ever wanted.”