A Mother's Goodbye

by Kate Hewitt

  ‘Okay… but where’s my mom?’

  ‘Sleeping.’ And right then it catches me in the throat, makes me breathless. The grief this little boy is going to experience. The pain he doesn’t know is barreling right toward him, and so soon. He’s only seven. He’s too young. Grace is too young. It’s so awful and unfair and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. ‘Come on,’ I clear my throat, force the tears back for Isaac’s sake, ‘let’s set the table.’

  We set the table for three, although when I check on Grace, she’s still asleep, and so Isaac and I eat alone, and then we play a couple of games of Hungry Hippos before it’s time to get ready for bed.

  To my surprise he’s up for a story; for the last two nights he’s politely refused my offer of bedtime reading, choosing instead to study his big solar system book by himself. Tonight, however, he picks a storybook that looks as if it is for much younger children and even lets me sit on the bed next to him, my arm around his shoulders as I read. My heart sings and aches at the same time. None of this feels fair or right, and yet I savor these moments so much, even if it feels a little bit as if I am stealing them from Grace.

  After I’ve tucked Isaac in, I brace myself for a call home. I’ve only talked to Kev once since coming here, to check in on the girls. I’ve been gone for three days, three summer days, with the girls home all day while he works shifts and tries to manage meals and bedtime. I know Emma will do most of the work, but still… It’s a lot.

  The phone switches to voicemail and I’m glad. I’m not ready to talk to Kev; I feel too uncertain and raw. I need to think, and yet I don’t want to think. I’m afraid and hopeful and overwhelmed and sad all at once.

  I check on Grace again, and she is awake, easing up in bed. Her expression turns a little guarded when she sees me.

  ‘Hey,’ I say softly. ‘Just wanted to check on you. Is there anything you need?’

  ‘My Vicodin. It’s in my bag.’

  ‘Okay.’ I find the pills and bring them with a glass of water. Grace swallows them silently, her eyes closed. ‘I’ll sleep on the sofa,’ I venture. ‘And leave tomorrow, if you’re feeling better…’ I know I need to get back. And Grace probably wants me gone. I can’t blame her for that; she wants to be alone with her son.

  ‘I’ll be better.’ Grace sounds determined. ‘I’ve got to be.’

  I spend an uncomfortable night on the sofa, and finally drift off to sleep, my mind still full of barely formed thoughts, only to be woken up in the middle of the night by the sound of weeping. I stiffen, and then roll off the sofa bed and tiptoe toward the bedrooms. The crying is so soft and small that I think it must be Isaac, but when I get closer, I realize it isn’t. It’s Grace.

  I stand there for a moment, my hand hovering by the door knob, wondering if I should go in and then knowing I shouldn’t. Grace wouldn’t want me to see her looking so vulnerable and emotional, and yet the sound of her weeping claws at me. It’s a sound of such unending despair, soft, hopeless sobs that make my eyes sting as an answering grief rises within me. After a few minutes I tiptoe back to the sofa, and it takes me a long time to get back to sleep.

  The next morning Grace is up before I am, standing by the kitchen counter, sipping a cup of tea. She’s showered and changed her clothes, and her wig is in place. She looks a thousand times better than yesterday, and yet there is still something defeated about her. Perhaps there always will be.

  ‘Hi,’ I offer. ‘You look good.’ She gives me a strained smile.

  ‘Hi.’ She sounds falsely bright. ‘I’m feeling a lot better. Thank you so much for everything you’ve done, Heather. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it all.’ There is a note of farewell in her voice, and I understand why; she needs to be alone with Isaac. Of course she does.

  ‘I’ll just gather my things…’

  ‘Have some coffee first.’ She nods toward the chrome pot on the counter, and I smile my thanks. We drink in silence for a few minutes, and then I murmur something about getting back home by lunchtime. Fifteen minutes later I’m walking out of the apartment, still feeling dazed by everything.

  When I walk into my house, I am hit by the sheer chaos of it all. The living room is a bomb site, with Lucy having taken all the pillows off the sofa and put them on the floor. She’s sprawled on top of them, watching TV at full volume to compete with the noise of the techno pop music blaring from Amy’s room. There is an old smell of fried food hanging in the air, along with an underlying note of something sour, and as I come in, Lucy scrambles up, squealing, and runs at me at top speed, barreling into my stomach.

  ‘Oof!’ I step back to take the impact as I put my arms around my daughter.

  ‘I missed you, Mom.’ Lucy tilts her head to look up at me; her face is dirty and I don’t think her teeth or hair have been brushed since I left, but in that moment I don’t care. I don’t care that the house is a mess, that Amy is probably throwing a fit or that it looks like Kev isn’t even here. This is my home, my family, and I am so grateful for it – for them. I remember seven years ago Grace telling me how lucky I am, and right then I know absolutely that I am. Lucky. Blessed.

  ‘You’re back.’ Emma emerges from the kitchen with a gusty sigh. ‘Finally.’

  ‘Sorry.’ I’m not really sure what I’m apologizing for, but I say it anyway. ‘Where’s Dad?’

  Emma rolls her eyes. ‘Probably buying cigarettes at CVS.’

  ‘That bad, huh?’ I say lightly. Kev hasn’t smoked in years. At least, not when I’m around.

  ‘He was a little stressed.’ We share a tired and complicit smile. ‘Aunt Stacy brought dinner over last night, mac and cheese.’

  ‘That was nice.’

  ‘And she washed the kitchen floor.’

  ‘That sounds like Aunt Stacy.’ Determined to do something nice while making me feel inferior for having needed to do it. I unwrap Lucy’s arms from around me and take her by the hand toward the kitchen.

  ‘What about Amy?’

  This elicits another eye roll from Emma. ‘What about her?’

  ‘Dad got really mad at her,’ Lucy chimes in. ‘He found something in the trash.’

  ‘Don’t, Lucy.’ Emma silences her with a particularly dark look, and I feel a tremor of foreboding. What on earth could Kev have found in the trash? Drugs? Birth control? I picture dirty syringes and condom wrappers, and suppress a shudder. I can’t think about that now.

  ‘Let me sit down,’ I say. My gratitude is slipping away, replaced by sheer exhaustion. I think of the quiet, elegant oasis of Grace’s apartment, how simple Isaac’s needs were, how pleasurable it was for me to meet them, and I feel a pang of longing and homesickness. Resolutely I push it all away.

  I sink onto the sofa and Lucy settles in next to me, her elbow burrowing into my stomach as she tries to get closer. I wince as I put my arm around her. Then Kev comes through the door, stopping short when he sees me.

  ‘Okay?’ he asks. He looks utterly exhausted, his hair rumpled, his t-shirt stained, purple smudges under his eyes.

  ‘Okay,’ I say. I rise from the sofa and go to hug him; his arms close around me in surprise. I breathe in the scent of him – Old Spice and cigarettes. I don’t mind.

  The gratitude rushes through me again, reminds me of how much I have. Our marriage hasn’t always been easy, and me being pregnant seven years ago was one of the hardest things to hit us, but we survived. We got stronger, and I’ve never doubted that Kev will be there for me, as best as he can. Always.

  He rests one hand on my back as he pulls me closer. ‘Are you okay?’ I ask.

  He mutters in my ear, ‘We’ll talk later.’ I know it must be about Amy.

  The rest of the day passes in a haze of activity – laundry, grocery shopping, housework. Stacy might have mopped the floor last night but the rest of the house is a mess. Amy stays in her room and Lucy picks a fight with Emma, and it shows how tired Emma is that she responds in kind. I force Amy out of her room for dinner, and she sits at the table, arm
s folded, a scowl permanently etched into her face, and doesn’t eat a bite. Dread seeps into me.

  By eleven o’clock Kev and I are in our bedroom, and I’m so tired I can barely peel the clothes from my body. He sits on the edge of the bed, looking just as exhausted as I am.

  ‘So,’ he says heavily, ‘how did Grace’s surgery go?’ I know he’s asking for my sake. I doubt he really wants to know at this moment.

  ‘Not well.’ I take a deep breath. I debated whether I should tell Kev about Grace now, when he’s tired and with this unknown thing about Amy heavy between us, but now that we’re finally alone I can’t not say it. ‘The cancer’s spread. The doctor saw it when she did the surgery.’

  Kev looks up, a flicker of something in his eyes. ‘How bad is it?’

  ‘They gave her three months to live, Kev.’ I stare at him, my heart beating so hard it hurts. He stares back at me, his expression unchanging and impassive.

  ‘Three months.’ He rakes a hand through his hair. ‘That’s tough.’

  ‘Yes…’

  He shakes his head slowly. ‘Don’t go there, Heather.’

  ‘Go where?’

  ‘You know, Isaac.’ He sighs, a long, low release of breath. ‘Has Grace said anything?’

  ‘No.’ I think of the way she covered her face, her refusal to talk about it any more. ‘Not exactly.’

  Kev just shakes his head again. I haven’t even said anything yet, and already I feel like I’ve demanded too much. Already he’s disappointed me. ‘Kev,’ I whisper, ‘he’s our son.’

  ‘Do you really think, after seven years, we can just take him back?’

  ‘The situation has changed.’

  ‘For Grace, yeah, I get that. But don’t you think she has someone in mind already to be his guardian or whatever? Someone suitable? She has friends, Heather.’

  The assumption being that we’re not suitable? I swallow the words. ‘I don’t think she has someone in mind yet.’ Although of course I don’t actually know. ‘She asked me to help this time, and before, too, when Isaac needed to be picked up from school… she doesn’t have any relatives – her parents are dead, no brothers or sisters.’

  ‘So you’re the obvious choice.’ He sounds sarcastic, but I don’t care.

  ‘We are, Kev.’ I hear the throb of urgency in my voice. I haven’t let myself think this far, hope this much, until now. Until Kev put it into words, and I start tumbling headlong into a fantasy that could finally become real.

  But he just shakes his head. Again. ‘How would it work?’ he asks me tiredly. He sounds defeated. ‘How the hell would it work?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Isaac comes and lives with us here? Goes to school with our kids?’

  ‘He’s in elementary. He’d go to the same one Lucy—’

  Kev snorts. ‘He’d fit right in there, wouldn’t he, huh? Grace would love having him there. Half the kids are on free lunches, and even more than that speak Spanish at home.’

  ‘Kev…’

  ‘What? You turning into the PC police? It’s true, Grace would hate having Isaac at a place like that.’ Before I can draw a breath he continues, relentless now. ‘And where would he sleep? Share with Lucy?’

  I try not to flinch or fidget. He’s throwing up roadblocks left and right and I don’t have the energy to dodge them. ‘We’d work it all out.’

  ‘Yeah, how’s that going to happen, exactly? Because Isaac doesn’t belong here, Heather. He’d hate it, and so would Grace. She can barely stand to be here for three hours on a Saturday. You think she wants her son – yeah, her son – living here?’

  I blink, absorbing all his words. The terrible truth of them. But I’m not going to just roll over. I can’t. ‘She has money,’ I say. ‘I’m sure she’s got life insurance or whatever…’

  Kev’s lip curls. ‘So what are you saying?’

  ‘Isaac could go to private school, and her money could pay for it.’

  ‘And what else would her money pay for?’ Kev demands. ‘Isaac gets new clothes while our kids, the rest of our kids, go in rags?’

  ‘You’re exaggerating. It wouldn’t be like that—’

  ‘Then how would it be? Because I sure as hell can’t see it.’ He shakes his head. ‘You even think there’s a school out here, a private school, that Grace would like?’

  I fold my arms. ‘Maybe she can’t have everything, then.’

  ‘And maybe you can’t.’ We stare at each other: a standoff.

  ‘Don’t you want him, Kev? Our son?’ I whisper. ‘How can you not want him back?’

  Kev stares at me for another few taut seconds, unspeaking. ‘You think that’s what this is about?’ he finally demands in a low voice. ‘You think this is about wanting or not wanting my own son?’

  ‘Well, you’re sure acting like you don’t want him,’ I snap. I want to hurt him as he is hurting me because damn it, this isn’t fair. I’m so close, we’re all so close, to being a family again. It’s all I’ve ever wanted, even if I’ve never let myself dream of it, six of us under one roof, together. And now it’s here, I can practically touch it, and Kev is refusing to go along?

  Kev rakes both his hands through his hair, shaking his head as he looks at me with a mixture of resignation and scorn. ‘We gave him away seven years ago, Heather. I wish to God things could have been different back then. I wish I’d never hurt my damn back, I wish we hadn’t been so damn broke. But that’s the way it was and we can’t make up for it. I let you have your afternoons because I knew how important they were to you, but hell, if I’m going to let you wreck our family forever because of him. I won’t.’ His expression settles into something hard and unyielding, something I don’t like. ‘I swear to you I won’t.’

  I stare at him, my ears ringing with his awful words, his lethal tone. ‘You let me?’ I finally spit. ‘You allowed me? Is that how you’ve seen it—’

  ‘You know what I mean.’

  ‘You think I want to wreck our family?’ I practically shriek, the words scraping my throat raw. ‘That’s not how it is, Kev. Of course that’s not how it is. I want to restore it—’

  ‘No.’ Kev speaks quietly, firmly now. ‘No. This is our family, Heather: you, me, Emma, Amy, Lucy. No more. That’s how it has been for seven years; that was the choice we made, even if you could never see it that way.’

  ‘That’s not true.’ I’m fighting tears, caught between anger and wild grief. ‘That’s not true.’

  ‘It is true. Do you even realize the toll these visits have taken on the kids you do have? Do you ever see it?’ I stare at him, shocked, and he shakes his head. ‘You haven’t even asked about Amy. You know something’s going on but you don’t even care.’

  ‘I was going to ask. But this came up first—’

  ‘It always does.’

  I spin away, the heels of my hands pressed to my eyes. He’s being so unfair. He’s twisting everything, making me feel so selfish, when all I’ve wanted was to do what’s right for my kids, all my kids. Am I the only one who sees that? ‘And what if we are Grace’s only choice, Kev?’ I ask, my hands still pressed to my eyes. ‘Do we walk away from our son then?’

  ‘We can’t be her only choice.’

  ‘You don’t know—’

  ‘Do you? Or are you just seeing what you want to see? There must be someone, Heather. She doesn’t live in some bubble. She has friends.’

  I don’t answer, because I know we’ll just keep going round in circles, neither of us willing to give in. Because I’m not going to give Isaac up that easily – I can’t.

  ‘Do you want to know what I found in the trash?’ Kev asks quietly. ‘About Amy?’

  I drop my hands. I don’t really want to know, but I know I need to. ‘What?’ I ask wearily.

  ‘A pregnancy test.’

  Twenty-Seven

  GRACE

  Pretty soon I discover I can’t live in the ‘I’m-about-to-die’ mode all the time. It’s too exhausting. And so I live day to
day, concentrating on the little things that don’t actually feel so little – taking care of Isaac, recovering from surgery as best as I can, arranging my affairs. The last is a behemoth of a job, and the most important, and I chip away at it slowly.

  I visit Dr. Stein, who takes out the drains, and then the bandages, and then the sutures and steri-strips. The scars are livid and red but they’re smaller than I expected. I don’t look as cut up as I thought I would; really, I just look deflated. And I feel a bit stronger, even as I know I am getting weaker.

  I’m breathless from just getting up from the sofa, and I’m getting more headaches. I’m also numb in my right hand, and sometimes my vision goes blurry. I’m nauseous and I can’t eat much, although I force myself to, at least a little. I told Dr. Stein about the symptoms, and she just nodded, unsurprised. It turns out what I thought was a really bad reaction to the chemo was actually the cancer spreading. Silly me.

  She offered the experimental drugs again, as well as the Kadcyla that might give me symptoms worse than the ones I already have. I say no to it all. I know false hope when I see it. I can read it in Dr. Stein’s eyes. She’s got to offer, and I get to say no.

  Two weeks slip by far too quickly. Heather calls and leaves messages, and I feel guilty for putting her off, but I need to get my head straight first. I can’t just give Isaac to her like a birthday present. I need a plan, a way to ensure his future is secure, that he gets what he needs. I also need to talk to him about the fact that I’m dying, but that is a conversation I’m not ready to have yet, although God knows, I haven’t got that long to prepare myself.

  I do call Stella, because she’s not due back from France for another month and who knows what shape I’ll be in then. I feel guilty for not telling her sooner, for not trusting our friendship or maybe just myself. She responds by bursting into tears on the phone and then booking a flight back the next day. I am relieved, but I am also sad. Why didn’t I tell her sooner? Why didn’t I let her make this journey with me, at least as much as she could? As much as she wanted to? It makes me wonder how many relationships I have consigned to mere acquaintance or colleague when they could have been more if I’d let them. If I’d dared.