Maybe You

by Marie Landry

  Mom smiles sweetly when she sees me and beckons me forward. “Look, look.” Even her voice is different—higher, thinner. We both peer at the bundle in her arms; it takes my brain a moment to compute the fact it’s a life-like baby doll swaddled in a pink crocheted blanket. My baby blanket—the one Mom made after I was born. “Look at this sweet little bundle of love. This is my baby girl. My Meredith.”

  My knees start shaking again. I drop down to the floor beside her, clutching the arm of her wheelchair. She looks at me expectantly, so I peer at the doll, forcing a smile onto my face. “She’s lovely,” I croak.

  “She is lovely. And so good. Such a little love.” She raises the doll and kisses its face tenderly. “I chose her, you know. From the moment she was born, I felt like she was meant to be mine. I wanted her to be able to stay with her real mama, but she wasn’t able to take care of her, so I did everything I could to make her mine. Now it’s just us against the world. Me and my sweet little sunshine girl.”

  Something in me breaks. There’s a pain in the center of my chest so sharp I feel like my heart has actually cracked open. Mom looks at me when I let out an involuntary gasp, and her eyes flood with sympathy and…recognition?

  “I know you, don’t I?” she asks, narrowing her eyes.

  “Yes. Yes! It’s me, Mom. It’s Meredith.”

  “Meredith.” She lets out a little giggle and looks back at the doll in her arms. “You have the same name as my baby girl. Isn’t that funny. You work here, right?”

  Disappointment sinks like a boulder in my gut. I manage a choked ‘Mmhmm’, unable to open my mouth for fear I’ll start wailing. I remain on my knees beside her wheelchair, watching her coo and fuss over the ‘baby’. The baby she thinks is me, thirty years ago. Tears fill my eyes and I can’t hold them back. I’m just about to push to my feet when she looks at me again.

  Her mild expression turns to one of confusion. “What’s the matter? Why are you crying? Who are you?” She jerks away from me, shielding the bundle in her arms. “Who are you? Get out of my room right now! Nurse. Nurse!”

  I jump to my feet, trying to shush her and reassure her everything is okay. When she continues to holler for the nurse, I dash from her room, crashing directly into the head nurse.

  She grips my arms to steady me. Sympathy floods her expression when she realizes what must have happened. “Oh, Meredith.”

  I can’t stand the pity in her eyes. I can’t stand the way Mom is still yelling for the nurse, over and over until her voice is hoarse.

  I wrench free from the nurse’s grasp and run. She calls after me, but I keep running. Everything around me blurs until all I’m aware of is my pumping legs, my gasping breaths, and the sharp ache in my heart.

  *****

  “Meredith? Mer?”

  I startle awake. A nightmare. It was all a nightmare.

  “Meredith? Are you in—” Kieran’s words cut off when he sees me lying on the bed. I try to push myself into a sitting position, but I feel as weak as a newborn kitten. Newborn. The image of my mother cradling the doll flashes into my mind, and a sob rips out of my throat.

  Arms wrap around me and Kieran’s familiar scent floods my senses. I have no idea how I got back to the house or how much time has passed. I vaguely remember my phone ringing over and over again until I finally shut it off and put it…somewhere. The pillow under my head is soaked and my throat hurts from sobbing, but I can’t stop.

  “Oh, love,” Kieran murmurs, holding me close and rocking me. For some reason, that makes me cry even harder. He doesn’t try to quiet me and he doesn’t say anything else. He just rocks me and kisses my forehead and cheeks until I fall asleep again.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Through swollen eyes blurred with tears, I watch Kieran pack our things. When I woke up twenty minutes ago, he was still holding me, and when I gathered the energy to raise my head, his hopeless expression made my insides twist even tighter. I expected him to ask what happened or if I wanted to talk, but he simply asked what he could do for me. I could only shake my head as tears continued to fall.

  Now he’s taken matters into his own hands. He’s been on the phone a few times, carrying on hushed conversations as he packs his own bag and then mine.

  “I can’t drive.” It takes me three tries to get the words out of my dry throat.

  Kieran immediately stops what he’s doing and sits on the edge of the bed, clasping my hand tightly. “I know. I’m going to follow the back roads we used to get here. It’ll be okay.”

  It feels like nothing is ever going to be okay again, but I nod anyway.

  I try to stay alert on the way home since Kieran isn’t familiar with these back roads and he’s never driven in Canada. I can’t seem to keep my eyes open, though. I drift in and out, startling awake a few times. It seems like no time at all has passed before we’re pulling into my driveway. Kieran leaves our bags in the car and helps me inside the house. Celia—who hates showing affection and will literally leave a room to avoid being hugged—appears from the living room and wraps her arms around me in a long, tight embrace. Which, of course, only makes me cry harder. When I let out a sob, she releases me like I’m suddenly on fire, shooting a distressed look at Kieran. He murmurs something to her before guiding me to my bedroom, helping me into my pajamas, and putting me to bed.

  *****

  Time has become meaningless. I’ve been in this bed for so long—days? Weeks? Years?—that it and I are now one. I keep trying to summon the energy to get up, but sleep calls to me like a siren, pulling me under every time I’m about to break the surface. At least when I’m sleeping, the ache in my heart doesn’t feel like it’s going to consume me.

  Quiet voices filter down the hall. I think Kieran, Ivy, Hugh, and Celia have been having one never-ending emergency meeting, trying to figure out what to do with me. I don’t even know what to do with me, so I can’t expect them to figure it out.

  I should get up and tell them I’m okay. Except I’m not okay. I don’t know if I’ll ever be okay again. Seeing my mother, seeing how she’s changed, seeing that flash of what I thought was recognition followed so closely by fear…I gasp for breath, clutching at my chest.

  There’s a difference between knowing something intellectually and experiencing it firsthand. I knew Mom wouldn’t recognize me and I knew the disease would have caused changes in her, but I wasn’t expecting the complete stranger sitting in that wheelchair. Mom knew that’s what would happen, though. Now I understand why she didn’t want me to see her in that state. Why she insisted I stay away. And yet I, having regained some of my former strength and hope, thought I could handle it. I thought even if she didn’t remember me, seeing her as she was would be better than not seeing her at all. But I was wrong. So wrong. I wish I’d stayed away. Preserved her memory. Maybe now I wouldn’t be lying here, broken.

  My eyelids grow heavy. I should get up. I should, I should, I should. But I can’t. And I don’t. Sleep calls to me again and I answer willingly, gladly.

  *****

  I dream about Ivy. I can’t see her, but I can smell her shampoo and hear her voice. Her presence is comforting. When I open my eyes, she’s lying next to me, and I wonder if I’m still dreaming. But no, she’s really here, propped up in bed beside me, reading.

  She glances over and when she sees my eyes are open, she sets the book aside and slides down to lie beside me. “Hi.”

  My face feels numb, so I blink at her. My own version of Morse code. We stare at each other for several long moments. She looks so sad. I hate that I’m the reason she’s sad. I hate that I can’t get it together. They say misery loves company, but not like this. I don’t want the people I love to share in my misery.

  “What if I can’t put the pieces back together?” My words are slurred. I barely understand them myself, so I doubt Ivy will. They’re the first words I’ve spoken in…I don’t even know how long. Ivy probably wonders if I’ve secretly been drowning my sorrows in a hidden bottle of liquor
when they’re not looking. The thought makes me want to laugh, except I don’t have the energy.

  She pushes my tangled hair away from my face. “You will. There might be some cracks and it might be fragile and tender for a while like a bruise, but you’ll do it. And we’ll help you.”

  My eyes sting, but for once no tears come. “I’m so tired, Ivy. I don’t want to feel like this anymore.”

  “I know it doesn’t seem like it right now, but it’ll get better. I promise. For now, you just stay here as long as you need. We’re here. We’re not going anywhere.”

  *****

  How long have I been in this bed? How long have I been wearing these pajamas? When’s the last time I showered?

  It’s a struggle to open my eyes. My eyelashes feel like they’re stuck together with glue. I pry them open and slam them shut almost immediately against the bright light. I try again a minute later, squinting as my eyes adjust. I take mental stock of my body; I feel like I just woke up after sleeping for a hundred years. My mouth and throat are so dry it feels like I swallowed half a desert. The other half is in my eyes, making me blink compulsively against the gritty sensation. I stretch slowly, groaning at how tight my muscles are. This is like the aftermath of the world’s worst flu.

  I’m not sick, though. Just heartsick.

  Movement catches my eye and I jerk my head up off the pillow, flopping back when the room spins.

  “Easy,” Hugh murmurs. The bed dips as he sits on the edge, then lies down next to me. Silence stretches between us as neither of us says a word. I wonder if he, Ivy, Kieran, and Celia have been taking turns watching me. I kept hearing voices, but I wasn’t entirely sure if they were real or if I was dreaming.

  Finally, Hugh turns onto his side to face me. He’s so different from Kieran. Tall and broad to Kieran’s medium build. Mossy colored eyes to Kieran’s blue. Hugh is rugged and manly with that deep Scottish burr, while Kieran has that boyish quality I love so much, paired with his lyrical Irish lilt that still makes my heart race. One way they’re similar, though: they both have hearts of gold.

  “How are you feeling?” Hugh asks.

  I shake my head, unable to find words to articulate the storm of emotions rolling through my mind and heart.

  He gives a small nod. “How long have we known each other, Meredith?”

  The question surprises me. “Four, maybe five years?”

  He nods again. “And how long have we been friends?”

  I hesitate, not because I don’t know the answer, but because I’m uncertain where he’s going with this. “Since day one.”

  The barest hint of a smile lifts his lips. “Since day one. We’ve been through a lot together, yeah? We’re like family, you, me, and Ivy. Kieran now too. Celia, Bridget, David, Piper. You have so many people who love you. Who want the best for you. Who want to help you.”

  My throat tightens. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, my voice shaky as tears start falling. I hate myself for crying. I hate myself for not being able to pull it together. I hate myself for making my friends worry, for being the reason they’re sitting vigil at my side while I fall deeper and deeper into despair.

  “Hey.” Hugh’s rough fingers brush my cheek, wiping away my tears. “Don’t be sorry. You need to stop beating yourself up for being human, Meredith.”

  I have no idea how to respond, so I just hold his hand in place against my cheek, enjoying the warm, comforting contact.

  “I’m not sure you’ll want to hear this, but I think you need to see a professional. Get help dealing with everything you’ve been going through since your mum was diagnosed.”

  With a groan, I close my eyes, squeezing them shut until stars fill the darkness behind my eyelids. “But I have you guys. You just said it yourself. What if I lean on you more? Talk to you about what’s going on, open up and…and…stop bottling everything inside?”

  I peek through my eyelids in time to see him give me a sad smile. “We’re past that point now, don’t you think? There’s no shame in needing help, Meredith. No shame in needing a professional to help you work through the complex maze of emotions you’re feeling.”

  “But you’re a professional. Can’t I just talk to you?”

  He shakes his head. “I’m not licensed in Canada. And even if I were, I’m too close to the situation. Too close to you.”

  My breath hitches as I attempt a deep breath. He’s right and I know it. “I don’t want to go on medication.”

  One side of his mouth quirks. “I knew you’d say that. You don’t even like taking headache tablets. Medication might not be necessary, though. A professional will work with you, assess where you’re at, and make suggestions from there. I’ve a feeling therapy will be a good fit for you at this point. Maybe a few changes in lifestyle. Leaning on your friends, as you said. Starting with letting me help you financially.”

  “What? No, Hugh. I can handle this.” The words fall flat between us. He has the grace to keep his expression neutral, but he can’t quite hide the sympathy in his eyes. Clearly I can’t handle this or we wouldn’t be lying here in my bed having this conversation.

  “Let me do this, Meredith. For you and your mum. I’d give anything to have my own parents back, but I can’t imagine going through what you’ve gone through. I can’t imagine the pain of knowing your mum is still alive, but grieving for her as if she’s gone. I can’t take away your pain, but I can ease the financial burden and make life a wee bit easier for you.”

  There’s no sense arguing with him. This is why I never mentioned it to him; I knew he’d insist on helping, and I don’t want a handout. My mom always worked hard and I’ve always worked hard, so that’s all I’ve ever known.

  “It’s not charity,” he says, as if reading my mind. I must look skeptical because he insists, “It’s not. It’s not charity when it’s someone you love. It’s not charity when it means saving your sanity and improving your quality of life. If you don’t let me help you, I’ll just buy the place and let your mum live there for free.”

  I laugh for the first time in what feels like forever. It sounds weak and it hurts my throat, but it also feels like progress. Because the thing is, Hugh could afford to buy Birch Hill. He wouldn’t actually do it, and yet saying it has gotten his point across. Why be stubborn when he’s offering help? He’s right about it having the power to save my sanity and improve my life; I won’t have to scrimp and save anymore or worry myself through sleepless nights about paying my own bills and Mom’s. “I’ll pay you back. Somehow, someway, someday.”

  He lifts one shoulder, completely unconcerned. “Aye, well, we’ll talk about that when someday comes.”

  “I’m still going to pursue the funding options Mr. Lattimer told me about,” I tell him.

  “Go ahead if it makes you feel better. Just know I’ve got it covered for now.” He studies my face as I nod wordlessly. “I’m going to reach out to a few doctors and find you the best help possible, okay? And in the meantime, I’d like to offer you paid leave from work. It’s up to you whether you take it or not. I’m not sure if the time off would help or if you’d rather be busy at work.”

  Being busy at work is tempting. But that’s part of what got me to this point in the first place. Working myself hard so I wouldn’t have a spare moment to examine my feelings or acknowledge the growing cracks in my heart…and in my mind. “Some time off might be good. Just for a little while, though. I love my job and I love working for you and Ivy.”

  “And we love having you work with us. You’re a valuable asset to the Village. But you take as much time as you need without worrying about money or anything else. We’ll discuss you coming back when you’re ready.” He leans in to kiss my forehead, then rolls to the edge of the bed and stands.

  “Hugh?”

  He pauses before he reaches the door.

  “I don’t know how to even begin to thank you.”

  “Just get better, Meredith. Find your way back to yourself and back to us, and that’ll be all
the thanks I need.”

  *****

  I take the longest shower ever. I think I’ve probably used half the water in Bellevue by the time I’ve washed my hair and scrubbed myself clean.

  Kieran is sitting on my bed when I return to my room. He jumps up the moment he sees me and rushes forward. I meet him halfway and we throw our arms around each other, nearly knocking each other over with our momentum. I cling to his shirt, he fists my robe in both hands, and we hang on to each other like our lives depend on it.

  “I’m so sorry,” I murmur against his neck. My voice is shaky, but I refuse to let any more tears fall. At least for now; I know more are inevitable.

  Kieran releases me to cup my face in both hands. His gaze sweeps over my face, taking in every inch before he bends slightly so we’re eye to eye. “You have nothing to be sorry for. Nothing.”

  “I thought I was stronger, Kieran. I thought I was doing better, learning to adjust. But it’s just so unfair and it hurts so much and I’m so fucking angry. I can’t reconcile the person she was with…with the person I saw at Birch Hill. I can’t understand why these things happen and how they could happen to someone like her.”

  So much for not crying anymore. Kieran gathers me close, holding me tightly. His heart beats hard against mine and eventually the feeling calms me enough that I ease my grip on him and we sit on the bed.

  “I feel like I’m broken, Kieran,” I tell him. “I want to feel whole again. You deserve to be with someone who’s whole.”