The Quilt

by Carlton, Rochelle

  I wake up to find rays of sun are casting thin glowing lines across the floor. During the night Paul has put my pathetic two suitcases and one cardboard box into the room. He has closed the door I had left open and pulled the curtains. I find fresh juice in the fridge and a pile of flaky croissants and strawberry jam on the bench.

  I read the short note that tells me Paul is in the boatshed if I need him. For the second time I look at his handwriting and wonder how a man of his build could have such dexterity.

  In the bottom of one suitcase I locate a pair of denim cut off shorts and pull on an old yellow tee shirt. I cover my hair with a bandana and for a moment I am transported to another life. A life of sweeping sea birds, jewel-coloured islands, a tiny wooden boat and an eccentric redheaded friend called Sandy.

  “It needs red.”

  Paul looks up and smiles at me with enough voltage to light up a small city. He indicates to an unopened can of paint.

  “You slept well.”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  I pick up a paint brush and begin to bring to life someone else’s memories.

  It is four o’clock when my phone rings. Paul and I look at each other and he moves close to me.

  “Joanne, it’s your father here.”

  He sounds exhausted; his voice has no expression.

  “How is she? Have you visited and has she said anything?”

  “Are you alone Joanne or is there someone with you?”

  “There is someone here. But I wish you would stop asking me that.”

  Paul puts his arm around my shoulders.

  “It isn’t good news. I have spoken to the specialist team responsible for her care today. Your mother has sustained serious, very serious, head injuries. She has numerous internal injuries and they are particularly concerned by the damage to her spleen and liver.”

  He breathes deeply and I lean into the strong arm that is around me. I will myself to gain strength from him. My father continues.

  “Both her neck and back have multiple fractures. It really is a miracle that she has survived so far.”

  Again he hesitates and his voice is no longer selected from his repertoire of rehearsed court deliveries.

  “If she was to recover she would certainly be a quadriplegic. The extent of her head injuries alone is horrific. They couldn’t offer any positive prognosis to give us hope.”

  “I should come over.”

  “Joanne, I really question the point of you doing that. There is no easy way of telling you this but I don’t think she would even know if you were here or not. She is attached to machines and those machines are doing everything for her.”

  I sob and collapse into Paul’s chest.

  “You have given up your right to make decisions for my mother!”

  My voice is pitched high and verging on hysterical.

  Paul takes the phone from my hand and shakes his head.

  “That won’t help.”

  “Mr Kyle?”

  “Who is this?”

  Randal Kyle conveys his disapproval in an abrupt and unfriendly voice.

  “Paul Clarke.”

  “Have we spoken before?”

  “Yes, but this probably isn’t the time to explain.”

  There was a moment’s silence. Instinct told Paul that the incredibly efficient and sharp mind attached to the other end of this call was dredging through his neatly filed memories. Paul waited patiently. He understood the information they were about to discuss was highly personal.

  “Ah, yes, I remember. Is Joanne alright?”

  “No, this has obviously been a shock.”

  “For us all. Unfortunately, that isn’t the worst of it and Joanne will need to be told at an appropriate time. Natalie won’t recover from these injuries. The specialists have advised her life support be removed.”

  Randal Kyle sighed heavily.

  “If there was any hope of recovery, any at all. But I think she has already gone. All that is left is a corpse attached to the lights and machines that are keeping her going. I believe there is no point in Joanne coming over. She has been through enough hell and letting her see what I saw today isn’t going to achieve anything.”

  “I think Joanne needs the time to make that choice. She may need to come over, if not for her mother then for herself.”

  “I truly believe you should convince her otherwise. I don’t see any point whatsoever in prolonging this decision and my advice would be to let Natalie go as soon as possible. Preferably today.”

  “Give Joanne a little time to think things through. She has every right to be involved.”

  “I can’t stay up here indefinitely. I realize it has only been a day. But with things as grim as they are a day is enough. Please get back to me as soon as possible. It’s only fair that someone is with Natalie when...”

  He broke off the conversation as if trying to find the right words.

  “You know what I mean. She shouldn’t be alone when she is disconnected. So I will wait for your call.”

  He could have been discussing the future of his share portfolio for all the emotion his comments had carried. Maybe the practiced coolness required for his high profile his court appearances offered him the protection he needed today. Paul imagined talking to a complete stranger about ending a wife and mother’s life would be difficult for anyone.

  “Warm type of person, isn’t he?”

  Joanne managed a weak smile.

  “Warm is not a word I would ever use when describing my father.”

  “Can I come in?”

  Sean looked nervous as he walked across to the table and settled himself in a chair.

  “I don’t want either of you to think I am trying to interfere.”

  Paul glanced over but didn’t say anything. Joanne was sitting in front of him on the floor her head resting on the edge of the couch. Her eyes were red rimmed and her complexion pale.

  “I don’t normally speak my mind when things are not my concern. Paul has explained some of your situation to me and I hope my experience may help. I don’t know how much you know about our family, Joanne?”

  Sean glanced over but Paul didn’t react and so he continued.

  “My mother Anne, Paul’s grandmother went missing when I was still attending school. It was a long time ago and it would be unrealistic to think that she could still be alive today. But until she is found there will always be unanswered questions. Paul may one day choose to tell you about Anne and her husband.”

  Paul looked up at the reference to Allan Clarke. He knew how difficult it was for Sean to discuss his mother’s disappearance.

  “There was never a body and therefore nothing to bury and nothing to give me closure. I know it is a totally different set of circumstances from that of your mother. But there are similarities. If she passes and you don’t go to her you will always question whether she was aware. Every time there is a documentary about miraculous recoveries and people acknowledging or responding despite being comatose you will wonder and ask yourself what if.”

  Joanne was now looking intently at Sean. A light seemed to be switching on in the depths of her eyes.

  “I can only tell you what I live through each and every day. Whatever the outcome and there is no question it will be difficult, unpleasant and painful, you will have a better chance of repairing if you leave no doubt you did everything possible to make a difference.”

  Paul rested his hand on the top of Joanne’s head.

  “I will come with you.”

  “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

  I meet his eyes and know that is not my choice. I thank Sean and walk to my room. I open the doors and breathe in the smell of salt, frangipani and jasmine. Why is life so unfair?

  “I think it is important that Joanne doesn’t go over by herself. Regardless of the outcome it is going to be a hard few weeks. When things have settled down Jean and I think you should consider some time away together.”

  Paul raises his eyebrow
. Sean continued.

  “It’s probably not the highest priority at the moment I know, but you are in a new relationship and already you have had a lifetime of tragedy and turmoil to deal with. It would be a shame if all your first memories brought pain wouldn’t it?”

  “We are not in a relationship.”

  “Of course, you are! And if you are not then you should be.”

  “I thought you didn’t comment about my personal affairs.”

  “Son I am only stating what should be obvious.”

  Paul smiled and saw his father to the door.

  “Take Jean’s advice, son. Get over to America and sort this mess out. Then don’t leave it too long. If you want a lasting relationship with this woman you will need to create something soft to fall back on in the bad times. Even a long term, established couple would have a difficult time surviving the baggage you two have accumulated.”

  He finds Joanne standing outside looking at the bay. She looks tranquil but doesn’t turn around when Paul enters.

  “I think they have been discussing us.”

  “Do you mind?”

  “Not in the slightest. I think everything he said makes sense. I am surprized he discussed Anne with you though. Her disappearance is not something he likes to talk about.”

  “It makes me realize how little we actually know about each other.”

  Paul pulled at Jess’s soft triangular ears.

  “I think we have enough to deal with right now without adding the Clarke family dramas. Which reminds me have you contacted the firm in Tauranga? You are due to start work tomorrow.”

  My hand covers my mouth.

  “I assume that is a definite no.”

  “Perhaps give them a call and see if there is anyone in the office. I’ll start organizing accommodation and flights and then we had better ring your father to confirm our arrival details.”

  The second partner John Graham picked up the telephone almost immediately. He had obviously been expecting a personal call as his voice was casual and contained no formal introduction.

  “Hello, it is Joanne Kyle speaking.”

  “Joanne hello. I am so sorry to hear about your mother. We were hoping you would call. I think you were due to start work here tomorrow?”

  “How did you know about my mother?”

  “The accident was reported in today’s newspaper. We assumed you would not take up the appointment this week. We are more than happy to hold the position open under the circumstances.”

  “Thank you for that consideration. Unfortunately, I don’t think this will be resolved in the short term. It may be necessary for you to appoint one of the other candidates if there is an alternative.”

  What did my mother say? I need to find balance. I walk into the kitchen and Paul is on the telephone. He looks up and smiles at me but continues to talk.

  “If I understand correctly we can avoid the normal formalities on compassionate grounds?”

  “Thank you. I will ring you back with our passport details. Yes, please confirm those seats.”

  I don’t wait for him to finish his call.

  “Do you get the paper delivered?”

  Paul hesitates and stops talking to the embassy.

  “Yes.”

  “Where is it?”

  He points to a cupboard, finishes his call and follows me.

  “Joanne, I don’t think you should look at the article.”

  I glare at him and focus on the picture. It shows an unrecognisable wreck, the roof has been cut off to release the victims and the body of the car has crumpled like a can up to the firewall. The mangled wreck of a small truck sits near the barrier. Its fluids and my mother’s blood are spewed all over the highway. I read about my mother’s accident below.

  It has been reported that Auckland executive and international CEO Natalie Kyle has been involved in a horrific motor vehicle accident. The accident occurred between John F Kennedy Airport and New York City. It is believed the taxi she was travelling in crossed the medium barrier and collided head on with an oncoming truck. Both drivers were pronounced dead at the scene. Mrs Kyle was transported to New York Central Hospital where her condition is described as critical. It is believed her injuries are considered life threatening. Mrs Kyle is the wife of prominent Auckland Barrister Randal J. Kyle QC and mother of attorney Joanne Kyle. Mr Kyle was in Sydney at the time of his wife’s accident and is reported to have flown to New York to be at her bedside. We have been unable to contact Joanne Kyle for comment.

  I am not sure how Paul has organized it but we are ushered through and board the plane without joining the cue of waiting passengers. I settle into my seat and lean my head against his shoulder.

  “Now that I have you cornered for hours I want you to tell me about the Clarke family.”

  We arrive in New York to a bleak cold day. The buildings loom above us like a concrete forest and my father is there to meet us when we spew into arrivals. He looks tired, stiff and formal. He attempts to put his arms around me. I turn away and he looks relieved. He takes Paul’s hand and assesses him through shrewd eyes. I wonder if he has already run a search for criminal convictions.

  “There is no improvement, Joanne. I really do believe you have made a mistake coming here and I hope you are prepared. I have organized for you to speak to the doctors this afternoon.”

  He glances angrily at Paul who meets his eyes without emotion. I smile, no Randal Kyle, you will not be able to intimidate this man.

  “I have contacted the insurance company and your mothers cover is sufficient to take care of her treatment and her return to New Zealand.”

  He hesitates.

  “Whether that is with a medical team or...”

  He allows his voice to trail off.

  We drive directly to the hospital. We travel in silence and I look at the highway. I wonder if there will be debris, indents, tyre marks, some sign that tells me where my mother’s life was ruined.

  I try to prepare myself. I know I will be the only one in the room with my mother. I know it is relatives only. I cling on to Paul’s arm. He is like a rock, unwavering, solid and in control. I feel weak and pathetic.

  In front of me is a broken creature. A creature that was once beautiful. Now there was little that distinguishes her as the person I know. Her face is distorted and discoloured. Her skull looks misshapen and although her eyes are closed they seem to have retreated into her swollen face. She has the appearance of a child, broken and beaten beyond repair or recognition. Her lips are under a knot of tubes that appear to go into both her mouth and nose. There are tubes that drain fluid and other tubes that run to monitors that blink, suck and record her struggle to die while the machines fight to hold her to life.

  I stand for a moment and allow myself to gain control. There is a hand protruding from the white starchy sheet. I take it. I make sure I leave the wires and clasps that attach her to the blinking sucking machines undisturbed. Her skin feels cool and has the texture of plastic.

  Is this what Sandy had imagined for herself?

  I begin to talk. What I say doesn’t seem important. I tell her about Sandy and Stephen. I look at the monitors and I wait to see a change. Something to tell me she is in this unfamiliar body that lies in this cold impersonal room.

  I tell her about Jean and Sean, Mari and Sid.

  “You told me to find balance in my life. I am not sure if I have found balance but I have found someone that I think could make me happy.”

  I look at the machines. There is no response.

  “His name is Paul. Mum, if he still wants me, I will walk away from my career to live on an island, make wine and run barefoot on the beach. You see, I don’t think it possible for me to have everything if you didn’t manage to.”

  The machines remain the same.

  “He won’t accept part of me. I feel as though we have travelled a journey together even though I hardly know this man.”

  She doesn’t yell or shake her head. The machines
continue to suck in and out surrounding the helpless body on the bed with lights and lines and constant soft regular noise. I tear my eyes away and look around the soulless room. I look back at this broken person, there is no response. My mother is dead.

  I look at the specialist and feel that I have been here before. His name isn’t Doctor Hansen it is Doctor Neal. He is sympathetic and patient. He takes the time to describe her injuries and explain the prognosis. What he doesn’t do is give me any hope.

  “You as a family need to discuss the options and let me know. I can only advise and support your choices. We are here if you have any questions that may help you to make your decision. I wish I could be more positive, but sometimes even advanced medical procedures fall short.”

  Paul is watching me and holding my hand. My father is looking at the ceiling. He is floundering in this emotionally charged room, in a situation that he cannot control.

  “I don’t have any more questions.”

  I gulp and say the hardest words I will ever have to speak.

  “My mother has gone. Please complete the formalities and then turn off those damned machines and let her rest.”

  Natalie Kyle’s life drained away as if absorbed by the monitors. Her face relaxed and set into the final mask of the dead.

  Natalie Kyle 25 September, 1955 – 14th March, 2006

  “We will talk about Natalie’s estate when I get back to Auckland.”

  My father is staying in New York to make arrangements for my mother’s transport home. I stare at him coldly. It is time to leave. Paul and I settle into our seats. We have had to cope with endless delays and tightened airport security due to recent terrorist threats. I know the dam of emotions will break but for now I just feel numb and detached.

  “Do you want to talk?”

  Paul has undone his seat belt and put his arm around me.