The Things We Wish Were True

by Marybeth Mayhew Whalen

  “I think we should take her to the hospital,” she said, willing her voice to sound calm and relaxed. She was almost certain the little girl had broken something, and the cut on her leg that was the source of all the blood was of concern as well. It was deep and jagged, lying open like a yawning mouth. Zell tried to brush some of the dirt from it, but Lilah went crazy trying to get away from her touch. Zell extracted the shoelaces from the chain and scooped up Lilah, carrying her as she ordered the uncertain Debra to grab Alec and follow her to her car. They settled Debra and Lilah in the backseat, with Alec tucked in, too, and set off.

  Zell sat in the waiting room and entertained Alec while they waited for Lilah to be stitched up. Lance showed up and offered to take care of him, but Zell sent him into the exam room to be with his wife and child, magnanimously staying put, her arm around Alec. “You go,” she said, and waved him away. “Lilah will want to see you.”

  Lance had looked skeptical, glancing at Alec, who was intent on finishing a drawing Zell had started out of desperation. She’d meant it to be a dog, but he’d turned it into a cat, his lips pursed in concentration as he applied the whiskers to the face. “He’s fine,” she said, her voice assuring. She waited for him to say that she was a lifesaver, but he didn’t. Instead, he ruffled his son’s hair and trotted off down the hall. He disappeared into the room they’d had Lilah and Debra in for hours.

  Lilah had to have stitches in her leg, and she had a broken collarbone, which required a sling. Eventually Lance took Alec home, and Zell, uncertain what to do without the child to mind, decided to go home, too. She knocked tentatively at the door she’d seen Lance disappear into and heard a weak “Come in” in response.

  She poked her head inside the room to see Lilah asleep, her arm bound to her side, her leg resting atop a pillow. Debra was slouched in a chair beside her bed, staring vacantly at a TV with the sound turned off. “I was just going to go home. Unless there’s anything else I could do?” she said.

  Debra shook her head. “They’re about to release us.” Debra covered her eyes with her hands, like Ty used to do when he was very small and thought that if he couldn’t see her, she couldn’t see him. She heard small sobbing sounds and waited politely for Debra to collect herself, wondering if she should just back out of the room or wait to be dismissed. She moved inside the room and let the door swing shut behind her.

  Finally Debra spoke. “I’m sorry for crying.” She swiped at her eyes, embarrassed.

  “It’s OK. You’ve been through a lot.”

  “You know what I was thinking just before this happened?” Debra asked, picking at a cuticle instead of looking at Zell. She went on with her story before Zell could admit that she had no idea what the younger woman was thinking moments before her daughter had a bike accident. Before Zell had heard the screaming, she hadn’t thought of Debra at all.

  Debra answered her own question, her answer coming out in a rush of words. “I was thinking that this isn’t so bad. The kids are starting to get older, and Alec will go to kindergarten in the fall and I won’t be so tied down. They can play outside without me helping them or watching their every move, and maybe, just maybe, I might end up like the others.” She finished speaking, lifted her finger to her mouth, and began to chew at a piece of stray skin on her cuticle.

  Zell’s daughter had a nasty habit of doing the same thing. Her fingers were a mess. She thought about lecturing Debra the same way she lectured Melanie but decided against it. She was not this girl’s mother. “The others?” she asked gently.

  Debra still didn’t meet her gaze. She continued to nibble at the skin on her cuticle for a moment, then spat out the piece of skin she’d been trying to chew away. “The other mothers. The ones who seem to actually enjoy this gig.” Her finger began to bleed, and she put it back in her mouth, sucking the blood away. Zell was repulsed but tried not to show it.

  She spoke quietly, cautiously, the way one might speak to a child. “I’m not sure any one of us is enjoying all of it fully—not the way you might think.”

  Debra’s laugh was a scoff. “That’s easy for you to say.” Finally she raised her eyes. “You’re already past the worst part. You’re home free.”

  She gestured to Zell. “And look at you. You’re wearing a white shirt, and there isn’t a speck of ketchup or grease or a child’s lip print or dirt on it. And I bet you’re what—a size four?” Zell had almost corrected her—she was a size two then—but decided it was better to keep that detail to herself. Debra gestured at her own stomach, pooching onto her lap. “I’ve been trying to get the baby weight off since Alec was born!”

  When her voice raised at the end, Lilah started to stir. She blanched and went back to speaking in an emphatic whisper. “You might be ‘just trying to survive’”—she held her hands up to make air quotes—“but your survival and mine are light-years apart.” Her voice got softer and her eyes flickered away again, this time toward the window.

  “I watch you go running every day, and I think, ‘I wish I could do that. Just run away like that.’ The difference is, I’m not sure I’d come back like you do.” She glanced back over toward Zell, her expression caught somewhere between shame and surrender. She shrugged her shoulders as if it were nothing and straightened her back. “Thanks for helping out today. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you there. And I’m sorry for falling apart in front of you.”

  “You’ve been through a traumatic experience,” Zell said. “You’re entitled to fall apart.”

  A little burst of laughter escaped Debra’s lips. “Tell that to my family,” she said.

  Zell was about to speak again, to say something—anything—to put Debra’s mind at ease. She wanted to tell her that she knew exactly how she felt and that it would get better. The kids would stop needing her quite the way they needed her now. The intensity would ebb, at least. She wanted to tell her that there would come a day when she could go for a run uninhibited, when she could run away, as she put it. She wanted to tell her that this reality wasn’t the only one there was, forever. That nothing stayed the same.

  But just as she opened her mouth to speak, the nurse bustled in with the discharge papers, speaking loudly enough to rouse Lilah and giving Zell a pointed look that told her it was time to vacate the premises. She mumbled something about getting out of their way, but no one heard her. She slipped out, feeling vaguely guilty, as though she’d done something wrong, seen something she shouldn’t have.

  She stopped and picked up Chinese takeout for dinner, then at the last minute went ahead and picked up some entrées for Debra’s family, too. It wasn’t a homemade meal—she’d see to that tomorrow—but it was food, and it was, after all, dinnertime. She sent John next door with the neighbors’ food, put some out for her own hungry brood, then made it to book club and kept up with the discussion even though she never did finish the book. She sipped wine and made small talk with the other women, all the while thinking about what Debra had said and wondering just what she could do about it. Should she invite her to book club? Offer to keep the kids for her?

  It wasn’t until she was doing her stretches before bed that she hit upon an idea. Years later she could still feel the little zing of inspiration that traveled up her spine at the moment she thought of it. She pictured Debra gesturing to her stomach, pointing at Zell’s smaller body. Everything that happened after came from that one idea, which came from that strange encounter in the hospital room when a woman she barely knew bared her soul, admitting something Zell felt quite sure Debra had admitted aloud to no one else. Her confession left Zell feeling responsible. She had never been able to turn away from another person’s pain.

  CAILEY

  I asked Zell what hurt and she said, “Everything.” I tried to help out, bringing her aspirin and fixing her a Coke in the same blue cup she’d given me that first day. I even remembered a coaster. When Zell got sick, I knew that my days were numbered and I better do everything I had a mind to do right quick. I’d alrea
dy been on borrowed time ever since Cutter woke up. Mama agreeing to let me stay with Zell those extra days had been nothing short of a miracle, and I wasn’t one to ignore miracles. Zell called those extra days “bonus time.” I didn’t say so, but I liked it that she felt that way. My eyes got all watery when I thought of having to say goodbye. But neither one of us wanted to talk about that yet.

  We worked hard to get the yard ready to be approved as a wildlife habitat, finishing up the last items on the punch list, as Zell called it. Truth is, I was sure it was all that working outside in the heat that made Zell sick. I felt bad about it, even though she told me not to give it a minute’s thought. She took the aspirin and drank a little bit of the Coke; then she fell sound asleep, which was my chance.

  I’d been meaning to get back over to Mr. Doyle’s house ever since he’d given me that Popsicle, but I swear it wasn’t to see him. I wanted to visit his mama, because he told me she’d been feeling bad. He said that she was getting weaker and weaker and he thought she might die. I drew her a picture I thought might make her happy, and I intended to take it over to her before I left. When Zell asked me about it, I told her it was for Cutter, which she said was really sweet. It was just a little lie.

  I opened the door really quietly, but it still made a click when I shut it, so I stood there on the stoop for a few minutes to see if it woke Zell up. I watched her but she didn’t move. I hoped she felt better when she got up. One good thing was that she didn’t have to cook dinner for me that night, as Mama and the Ambulance Guy were taking me out. Just me. The thought of their four eyes staring at me while I ate made my stomach feel quivery, so I tried not to think about it. I didn’t see how I was going to get a bite of food down.

  I looked down at the picture in my hands as I walked. I’d drawn a rainbow and a sun and some birds. I didn’t think about it till I was already across the street, but the picture was all things in the sky, which I guessed was where Mr. Doyle’s mama was headed to soon. Up to the sky, with God. I didn’t know if that was the right or wrong thing to draw. Does a person who’s getting ready to go up to heaven want to think about it? Maybe she didn’t.

  I had just about convinced myself to go back to Zell’s and draw another picture entirely when Mr. Doyle came out on his front porch and called my name. He yelled it kind of loud, and I was worried somehow Zell would hear and come running outside to shoo me back into her house and get that worried look she got whenever Mr. Doyle’s name came up. Then I remembered how still she was on her couch, her chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm. I looked back at her house, saw no sign of her, turned back, and waved hello.

  He said, “Well, Cailey, tell me what brings you this way?” He had a funny smile on his face, like he knew the answer to a riddle I didn’t know.

  I held up the picture. “I drew it,” I said. “For your mama.”

  He peered at the picture, his glasses sliding down slightly when he did. His mouth was open, and I could smell the coffee he’d been drinking. I had to work hard to keep from wrinkling my nose from the smell. He looked from the picture to me and back again. “You’re a very good artist, Cailey. I think my mother is going to be very pleased to receive this.” He started to reach for it, but I pulled it away. “I—uh—wanted to give it to her myself.” I looked at his face, to see if he was mad. I’d never been inside his house before. I didn’t think anyone had in years except Mr. Doyle, his mother, and Jesse. When I’d eaten the Popsicle, he’d seemed to want to stay outside.

  He got that look on his face again, that “answer to the riddle” look, and gave me a little smile. He reached out and ruffled my hair. “Well, sure, Cailey,” he said. “You can come in and give my mother your picture.” He kept his hand on my head, and it felt heavy and warm. He didn’t seem to mind that my head was all sweaty. “You’re a thoughtful girl,” he said. “You don’t see that too much in this world.”

  He beckoned me into the house, and I followed him in through the front door, which led into a front room that had a couple of couches and a big TV turned on loud to cartoons, though no one was watching it. I assumed Jesse, who was kind of like an overgrown boy, had been watching it but lost interest. Cutter did that sometimes and he never remembered to turn it off. I had to do that or else my mother lectured us about the cost of electricity and threatened to put the TV in the closet. She’d done it once before so we knew she was serious.

  I followed Mr. Doyle back toward the kitchen, still holding my picture. We passed a door that was padlocked. I looked at the lock, then back at him. There must’ve been a funny look on my face because he rushed to explain. “There’s stairs leading down to the basement on the other side of that door. My mother fell down them so I had to lock it up. I can’t always be here, you know.” He waved me on toward the kitchen, and I moved with him, away from the locked door. I’d heard of childproofing but not adult-proofing. I thought about saying that to him, but then wondered if he’d think it was funny. He might not.

  The smell from the kitchen hit my nose before we rounded the corner—a mixture of rotting food and burned coffee. I walked in and tried to keep the shocked expression from showing up on my face, but I don’t think I did a very good job because he laughed. “Guess I need to hire a housekeeper, huh?” He gestured to the mess. “Like I said, I can’t always be here.” Dishes with food still stuck to them were piled in the sink and overflowed down the counters. A puddle of something was in the middle of the floor. Trash was spilling out of the trash can, and other full trash bags, loosely tied off, were lined up down the wall. Once I got inside the room, the smell burned my nose, and I had to breathe out of my mouth to keep from gagging.

  He pulled a chair out from the rickety table in the corner of the room, sidestepping the spill as he did so I could sit. He waved his hand over it like a waiter in a fancy restaurant and said, “Have a seat, madame,” like he was trying to be French. I sat down and started to lay my picture on the table but then thought better of it, fearing I’d lay it in some sticky patch and ruin it. “Let me just see if my mother’s awake,” he said, and left the room. I just sat there waiting for my nose to adjust and hoping he didn’t leave me long.

  I listened to his footsteps fade away and looked around the room at the mess. Part of me thought maybe I should get up and wash the dishes or do something to help. I thought of Zell’s perfectly clean house across the street. You could practically eat off her floors. And in that moment, I wished I could teleport myself back there, back to the place I’d just slipped away from. I thought of Zell, obliviously sleeping away. What if she woke up and I was gone? Would she even guess where I was? My stomach clenched with guilt and, deeper, something else I couldn’t name.

  I looked around for a clock so I could keep an eye on the time and not be gone too long. There was a clock on the wall, a round black-and-white one, the kind they had in every school I’d ever been to. But it had stopped, its hands frozen at ten and two. I looked at the microwave, but the readout said “:34,” like someone had been cooking something and stopped the process before the timer ran out. I got up and moved over to the microwave to clear the readout so I could see the actual time. It was 2:22. If I hurried, I could get back before Zell woke and she’d never know the difference.

  I spotted a small white bag on top of the microwave, with the letters CVS stamped in red on the outside. I could hear my mother’s voice in my head telling me not to snoop. But I couldn’t help being curious, and there was nothing else to do while I waited except look around. So I peeked inside.

  My eyes took a few seconds to register what I saw inside the bag. I looked at the items, trying to make the things I saw in the bag fit with where I was. Inside the bag was a small box of tampons, a bag of Sour Patch Kids candy, and purple nail polish. I tried to think which one of the three people who lived there would have use for those items. Maybe Jesse liked sour candy. But I doubted any of the three of them had use for tampons or purple nail polish. I knew that women don’t get their periods anymore after
they get old, and I would think that a dying old woman wasn’t going to be painting her nails. And she wouldn’t be painting them purple if she did.

  I heard a door close in the back of the house and the sound of feet walking back toward the kitchen. I hurried back to the table and sat down as if I’d never moved, my heart pounding like I’d just run a marathon. I was sitting there, holding my picture, trying not to look rattled, when he came back in. “I’m sorry,” he said. “My mother’s asleep.” He held his hand out. “But I’ll take that pretty picture of yours and give it to her just as soon as she wakes up. How’s that?”

  I nodded, suddenly mute and wishing I’d never gone into Mr. Doyle’s house. The air seemed to have changed, as if it were polluted by the dirty kitchen, or something else. I didn’t dare let my eyes stray to that little bag on top of the microwave, lest I give myself away. I handed over my picture, and he stared down at it for a few seconds before putting it under a magnet on the gold refrigerator.

  Satisfied with where he’d placed it, he turned back. “Would you like a Popsicle?” His eyes looked eager as he spoke, and I knew saying no would disappoint him, but I couldn’t stop thinking about the bag on the microwave, and how strange I felt there all of a sudden. I thought about how upset Zell had been the last time I’d gone over, the look she had in her eyes when she warned me about Mr. Doyle. I probably should’ve listened to her.

  I stood up. “I should get back. Zell was asleep when I left, and I don’t want her to worry.”

  Mr. Doyle nodded, his lips pursed as he looked at me. Then he smiled and put his arm around me. I could smell the sweat under his arms, the oil from his pores, the coffee on his breath.

  “Let me walk you out,” he said. We stopped in the doorway. “I don’t suppose you’d like to help me build one of those ponds like you and Zell built? I was thinking I’d do that for my mother. Then maybe she could sit outside by it in the fall when the weather gets cooler.”