When You Go Away

by Jessica Barksdale Inclan

  "So, Ryan, you're going to sleep in the foldout in my study, and Carly, you're in the guest room. Let's get the sheets and make up the beds."

  Grandpa Carl pulled a stack of sheets from the hallway closet, handing some to Ryan and walking with her into the guestroom with the rest. The room was neat as everything was, a double bed, a nightstand with a brass lamp and alarm clock, and a picture of an old western town hanging over the dresser. Carly looked at her grandpa as he pulled off the bedspread. Who had been a guest here? What was this room for? Maybe he'd hoped that they would come to visit, but they hadn't, their mother not even mentioning it as an option. When Carly stayed at her Grandma MacKenzie's old house in Piedmont, she always slept in her father's old bedroom. The old, brownish wallpaper had cowboys on it. When she was really little, she named the different men--the one waving his hat was Jed, the one asleep on his horse, Buster. She could see them even when the lights were out.

  There were no family memories in Grandpa Carl's house. When they were at their Grandmother's, she would say things like, "Your father used to slide down those steps on a towel, as if he were tobogganing." Grandma would point to the giant oak tree in the backyard and laugh, shaking her head, "He scared me so much! Climbing almost to the top. And then one day he really did it fall and break his arm! Can you imagine?" But their mother had never lived in this house, Grandpa having moved here when she was in college. All the furniture, all the plants, and the books belonged only to him.

  Carly grabbed one end of a sheet and tucked it into a corner and pulled up the blanket. Her grandfather bent over his task, whisking the top of the bed with his palms. Her mother told her he was in the army before he married Grandma Janice. Maybe that was why he was so neat. But really, she didn't know anything about him except castles and cigars and kitchen cleaners, and as she shook a pillow into a pillowcase, she heard herself ask, "Why does Mom hate you so much?"

  Grandpa Carl stood up straight, sliding a hand over his white hair. He looked the same way he had pushed open the door of their apartment, surprised and pale. Then he sighed and sat down on the bed he'd just smoothed tight. "It's about the divorce."

  "Why would she be mad at you over that? It was Dad's idea."

  "Not that divorce."

  "Oh."

  Carly looked down at her shoes, the same ones she'd put on that morning, all the way back in the time when she was responsible for everything. She thought about her dad, the way she wanted to see him so bad and the way she wanted to yell at him. At night sometimes when she lay awake listening to her mother's and her sister's breathing, one steady, one erratic and thick, she imagined visiting him in Phoenix, walking up to the woman he'd left Mom for and slapping her. She'd practiced it again and again in her mind until she could feel her hand tingling. Maybe, she thought now, I really want to slap him. That's how her Mom must have felt toward Grandpa Carl all these years.

  "Your mom and I never really talked about why I left your Grandma Janice. Peri was younger than you when it all happened, and I'm sure she didn't understand. It wasn't like these days where she would have gone to therapy or something."

  "We didn't go to therapy," Carly said. The only person who went anywhere for treatment was Brooke. She was the one who needed it the most, and lately, even she hadn't gotten any.

  Grandpa Carl shook his head. "I know. But it will be different now. I promise."

  "Will it be different for Mom?"

  He stood up and walked over to her, pulling her close. As she felt his warmth, tears in her eyes again, she knew why Ryan had cried. The relief of finally feeling a big adult body taking charge, giving them what they had been missing for so long, was too much to contain.

  SIX

  Peri woke up tangled in the sheet, her heart pounding, her hair in front of her eyes. She tried to swallow, clearing her throat of sleep. The baby wasn't here, the crying further and further away, but Peri knew she had to keep moving.

  Last night, she'd made it to the outskirts of Phoenix, parking the Honda in front of what she thought was a Motel 6, only realizing after she held the key in her hand that the blinking sign read only "Motel." All night long, Peri had heard the sounds of bodies slapping together, beds pounding against the walls, loud cries of laughter and a few, piercing screams. But her head was a twirl of knots, the extra sound didn’t bother her, and she slept without dreaming.

  After a shower, she sat on the bed looking at map of Phoenix and its surrounding suburbs. With Graham's address in one hand, she followed the squares and twists of roads and streets, red and blue like veins in a flat body, until she found where he lived. She grabbed her purse and closed the door behind her. Outside, she blinked, the morning dry and warm, mountains rising out of the flats of the city like dinosaur bones. She'd never been to Phoenix before, but already she hated it, the air empty, too able to carry the sounds of the baby to her, no Bay Area fog to muffle the sounds.

  "Hey, baby," a man said from an open window, a can of beer in his hand.

  "The baby's at home," Peri said, putting on her sunglasses, and sliding the motel key into her pocket, her jeans three-days worn and soft with dirt.

  "Whatever. You know where I am." He smiled, his two front teeth missing.

  Peri opened the Honda door, pushing aside the Burger King wrappers, and sat down, ignoring the man who continued to smile at her, raising his can in a toast as she drove away. As she waited at a light, she flattened the map on the passenger's seat, following the grids. Phoenix was easier to follow than San Francisco with it turns and streets that suddenly changed names. But even with the carefully planned blocks and well-placed street signs, it was as if Graham was calling her, his bad deeds leaving a trail she could navigate by. And within a half-hour, she was parked in front of a brand-new beige stucco house. She sat with her hands still on the steering wheel and stared. A green lawn spread out from the house like a thick, emerald robe, a brick and metal fence surrounded the entire yard, and a closed electric gate guarded the driveway.

  Peri felt bile rise in her. The lawn alone could have purchased the baby her wheelchair and the three-car garage the van she would need soon. Without knowing it, she was crying, and she bit her tongue and hit the steering wheel with the heels of her hands, wanting the feeling to stop, knowing that this was the thing inside her that would explode and hurt people. That mustn’t happen. It couldn't. The baby needed her. All she had to do was talk to Graham. She would tell the woman who had picked out this house about the baby and her curved body. They had to give her back what she’d lost, or the feeling would take over and something terrible would happen.

  Getting out of the car, Peri smoothed her clothes, tucking in her blouse and adjusting the drooping waist of her pants. She would be calm at first, she promised herself. Calm. That's what she'd do. She'd simply ask for and then take what she needed. Then she would get back into the Honda and drive home. And everything would be better. No one would even have noticed she was gone. She swallowed and pressed on her chest, containing the feeling into a small square under her breastbone. Stay down, she thought. Please.

  At the gate, she pressed on the intercom button, once, twice. As she stood waiting, she looked around the neighborhood. If the air were different, and the mountains disappeared, this could be Monte Veda, the same huge houses, the same expensive cars, everything that she and the kids and the baby had given up so that Graham could what? Come and live here in an Arizona neighborhood so much like his old one, but with one major difference. He couldn’t hear the baby and her crying. Peri swallowed again, but the balloon inside her grew. She breathed in lightly and glanced at the houses. There were women inside staring at her. She licked her lips and tucked her hair behind her ears so the women would know she was one of them, a mother of three children, a housewife with 2500 square feet to care for. But she couldn't fool herself--she knew a baby like hers wasn't in any of these houses. The women staring at her could tell that, couldn't they? No matter how she looked, the baby was always there, pulling on her,
stopping her from being normal, like all these people on this street. Like everyone else.

  Peri pulled on her hair, trying to stop the air that was pushing up and up from inside her, but then there was a woman's voice on the speaker.

  "Yes?"

  "I need to talk to Graham."

  "Who are you?"

  She looked up at the house. Like her neighbors, this woman was spying on her, too. "I'm an old friend of Graham's."

  "Graham is out of town."

  "I need to see him right away."

  "He's not here. Give me your name, and I can tell him you came by."

  Clenching her fists and jamming them in her pockets, she pressed her knuckles hard against her thighs. The pain forced her to be calm, be good, make this work for the baby. Peri was lying with her fake smile and still body. Just as Graham did when he promised he’d love her forever, as her mother had when she was a child, whispering, “Honey, I’m here. I’ll be here for you always.” She was lying like her father did each time he smiled at her, trying to make up for everything.

  Peri tucked her hair behind her ears, trying to speak slowly. "I want to see him now please. Tell him to come out and talk to me please. He can't hide in there."

  "Graham's not here. Now, give me your name and then go away. I don't want to call the police."

  Turning her head, Peri could see that there really were women in the windows, one in the house right next to Graham's, her hand at her mouth. The woman can see the baby, Peri thought. That's why she looks so afraid. She’s staring at Brooke's poor twisted body, the way her arms flail, the holes in her stomach and throat. Inside her, the balloon grew and grew, the heat and pressure unbearable. Peri tore off her sunglasses and dropped her purse, unable to force her body into deception any longer. "You know who I am. I'm Graham's real wife. I'm the mother of his children. The one he said he would love forever. You don't know what he did to us. If you came out here, you would see her. Can't you see the baby? Can't you see her now? He doesn't send money. He doesn't call me. She has a hole in her stomach."

  "Go away. I’m calling the police right now," the woman yelled, but Peri was climbing up the brick, holding onto the steel fence rails, pulling herself over, landing solidly on her feet, running up the driveway to the front door. She slammed against it, hitting the wood with her palms over and over again. "I know you're in there, Graham. Come out here and see her. Come out and see the baby. Look what you've done to us!"

  Pushing herself back, she saw her colored, rippled reflection in the two stained glass windows in the center of the oak door, and she curled a fist and broke her way into his new life. It was so cool, perfect, and normal, no powdery formula, no holes in soft skin, no sad eyes following her everywhere. Peri closed her eyes, wanting to stay there, hooked up to what she might have had in another life.

  The woman inside, the cool and perfect and normal wife, screamed, and Peri reached down the inside of the door for the doorknob, but she couldn't reach it, her fingernails clicking on brass. Her hand felt wet and hot, and she leaned against the door and slid to the welcome mat, her elbow holding her on the broken window, blood pouring down to her shoulder. All the pounding and breaking had forced the balloon out of her, but the only thing that had exploded was this door, and she smiled, wanting to laugh. At least the children were safe. Before the world faded to gritty black, for a clear moment, she heard nothing. No crying. Not the baby. Not one single sound.

  Peri swam in a calm white light. There was motion and sound over her, people and machines, but she was separate from it, tucked deep inside her body. Time spun out in a comfortable fuzzy line, and she floated with her eyes closed, listening to the silence from back home. The baby was quiet and the balloon gone. For the first time in months, she could feel her whole chest, and she wondered if she was dead. Or maybe she was happy, smiling. Was she smiling? But it didn't matter because her body curved and sailed like a smile, and she remembered being a child, long before the divorce, sleeping in a sun spot on the couch, stretching into the light.

  The woman's shirt had little cats all over it. Peri blinked, her lids heavy, and she swallowed, her throat rough and dry.

  "Here's some water." The woman pushed a button that raised her bed and then filled a cup from a blue pitcher on a tray.

  Peri tried to reach for it and then felt something holding her arm down. She was about to complain, and then realized the woman was going to hold the cup for her. Grabbing the straw with her lips, she sucked down the cool water, tasting ice on her tongue.

  "What--why do I have these?" Peri asked, looking down at the restraints. She wanted to wipe the water from her lips.

  "You were a bit out-of-control when they first brought you in yesterday."

  "Yesterday?"

  The woman nodded, writing something down on her chart. "You've been asleep for about eighteen hours."

  "I have?"

  "We've been giving you medicine that made you sleepy. But I need to ask you some questions, okay?"

  Peri closed her eyes and relaxed against the pillow. The past four days unwound like a terrible movie. The baby. Brooke. Carly. Ryan. The apartment. The formula. She sat up, her arms stuck behind her, the muscles in her chest tight against her heart. "Oh my God. My children. I--I just left them."

  The woman wrote some more on her pad and then looked up at her, her eyes soft. "The police found your purse. We've called your brother. Your father has your kids."

  "Brooke?"

  The woman seemed to nod, writing down more words.

  "Where am I?"

  "This is the emergency room at Phoenix General."

  "The police?"

  "You don't remember how you got here?"

  As she sat up, her arms rigid, the drive to Phoenix and then to Graham scratched through her mind: the dirty motel, the street full of big houses, his wife’s scream as she cracked into the house. She closed her eyes and saw her own colored reflection, heard the glass shatter, felt the shards rip into her flesh. Opening her eyes, she turned to her right arm and saw the bandages.

  "Twenty-five stitches," the woman said. "You're lucky she called the police so quickly. You lost a lot of blood."

  Shaking her head back and forth, she longed for her own hands, needing to hide. "So what's wrong with me? Why did I do this?"

  "That's what I need to talk about with you, but we don't have to do it all at once. In a bit, we're going to move you upstairs to another ward, and a doctor will talk with you."

  Peri knew what the woman was saying. She was going up to the psych ward with all the other people who'd lost their minds. "What about my brother?"

  "He's on his way down. He said he'd be here later."

  "What's going to happen to me? Will this happen again? Is this what I’m going to be like forever?"

  The woman stared at her, not unkindly, but just waiting for all of Peri’s questions to come out. “You’re feeling better,” she said. “Aren’t you?”

  Again, Peri missed her hands, wanting to touch this cat lady, take her optimism and press it to her chest where it could steep into her like truth.

  “Yeah. But now what?”

  The woman put down her pad and placed a hand on Peri's arm. "The police have to talk with you. The woman--your ex-husband's wife--may or may not file charges. And then there's what happened with your kids back in California. But you need to work on feeling well. You won't leave until the doctors think you are ready. We're giving you a good medicine that will help you stop feeling bad. And you can deal with what has happened these past few days."

  Leaning back against the pillow, Peri tried to nod, but her eyes felt as heavy as doors, and she closed them. She would never forgive herself, even if the police, her family, and her children did. It didn't matter if Graham had deserted them and neglected to send the alimony. It didn't matter if he'd moved out to live with another woman in a big house with a gate. She'd left. She'd left them--even Brooke --all alone. She wanted to cry, but before she could, she was moving
back into the fuzzy time, carried by hands away from her actions, taking her back and far away.

  SEVEN

  After the kids were asleep, Ryan snoring lightly in the study, Carly curled up on the bed in the guest room, Carl closed the hall door and went to the telephone, punching the button on the answering machine, listening first to Noel and then Garnet, both with a wire of panic in their voices. He picked up the phone and walked to the kitchen counter, leaning on it as he dialed Noel.

  "Dad? What's going on?"

  Carl sighed, the story heavy in his mouth. "It's not good, Noel. Peri left the kids alone. We don't know where she went yet. The cops, they know. And Brooke--Brooke's in the hospital." He heard his son suck in air and then swallow.

  "Oh, God. Is it serious? Is she going to be okay?"

  "I think so. I'm meeting with the doctors at ten tomorrow morning. Carly finally told a neighbor what was happening. A nurse. She saved them."

  "Where are Carly and Ryan? With you?" Carl tried to ignore the surprise in Noel's voice.

  "They're asleep. Wiped out. I don't even want to think what these past three days have been like for them."

  "Did you find Graham?"

  "I tried, but before I could get very far, the woman--Rosie--called, and I was off to Walnut Creek. Garnet called, though. I'll give her a ring after I talk with you."

  "Is Brooke at Mt. Diablo Hospital?"

  "Yeah."

  "I'll be there at ten, too. This isn't good for Peri. She might lose the kids over this. And while a judge might give Carly and Ryan to Graham, it might mean Brooke goes into foster care. You do realize that, don't you?"