Little Mercies

by Heather Gudenkauf

  Behind me I hear the scrape of chair legs against the floor and understand that Dr. Campbell has gotten to his feet, signaling that my time with Avery has come to an end. I don’t move until Dr. Campbell clears his throat and Adam places a gentle hand on my elbow. I nearly double over from the pain of stepping away from Avery, like a piece of my soul has been ripped from within me.

  A birdlike scream emerges from the crib and I turn back to see Avery’s eyelids flutter violently.

  “What’s happening?” I ask desperately as Dr. Campbell brushes past me.

  “Seizure,” he says shortly.

  Avery’s hands clench into tight fists and her little body begins to rhythmically spasm, the IV in her knee swaying with each shudder. “Do something,” I beg as Dr. Campbell calmly looks at his watch. Saliva bubbles at Avery’s lips and trickles down her chin. “Please,” I say, but the doctor remains maddeningly still, clinically looking down at my daughter.

  “Please,” I plead again, this time to Adam, who steps forward and reaches into the crib to lift Avery into his arms.

  “No!” Dr. Campbell says sharply. “That could do more harm.” Adam freezes, then brings his hands up to his face, covering his eyes. Though I want to do the same, I am transfixed, can’t pull my gaze away from the unmistakable fear in Avery’s glassy stare until her taut muscles seem to relax.

  “Seventy-three seconds,” Dr. Campbell announces. “This one didn’t last as long as the ones in the ambulance and in the E.R.” Avery begins to cry, great gasping breaths, and I have to ball my hands together to keep from snatching her up.

  “Is she going to be okay? Is she in pain?” I ask, my own breath coming out in sharp, hitching gulps.

  “It’s concerning, but not uncommon,” Dr. Campbell answers. “We’ll watch her closely, adjust her medication. It can take some time to get it just right. Seizures can be exhausting. She will most likely sleep now.” He gestures toward the door and looks expectantly at me.

  “What?” I squawk in disbelief. “I can’t leave her like this.” I am vaguely aware that Adam has backed up against the far wall of the hospital room and that I am crying again.

  “I’m sorry,” Dr. Campbell says. The clinical tone of his voice has fallen away and all I hear is sympathy. “We have to follow the court order.”

  “Please,” I cry. “I can’t leave. Please don’t make me leave,” I am begging now, tugging on the sleeve of Dr. Campbell’s lab coat.

  Hearing the desperation in my voice, Adam comes to me, enclosing his arms around me. “It’s okay, El,” he says, trying to reassure me, but I hear the tremor in his voice. “I’ll call you if anything happens,” Adam promises, trying to hold back his own tears. “I love you.” He leans over and kisses me.

  “Love you,” I manage to say. I nod at Dr. Campbell in gratitude for this time with my daughter. He nods back and I think I see tears glistening in his own eyes.

  I step out of Avery’s room, dazed, not sure what to do next. The PICU is a buzz of activity. Doctors and nurses move in purposeful strides, parents in various stages of disbelief and grief are trying to hold back their own tears. I need to go to Leah and Lucas but feel incapable of offering them one single thing. Blindly I make my way out of the unit and wander the halls until I find a public bathroom. I go inside, lock the door behind me, sit on the floor and cry. I do my best to keep my sobs quiet, but they come from a place that I didn’t know existed and I’m sure the sounds of my cries slip out beneath the door and into the hallway. I cry until there are no more tears, vomit into the toilet, stand on shaky legs, wash my hands and face, step out into the hall.

  I know I need to go to my other children, but I find I can’t leave the hospital. I need to at least be in the same building as Avery. I walk back toward the PICU, stop outside the entrance and then turn back around. Taking a deep breath, I begin walking, counting each step on the way to five hundred. Five hundred feet, the protective order says. The distance of one-and-a-half football fields, the height of a five-story building, one tenth of a mile. Five hundred feet will keep my child safe. Four hundred ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine, five hundred. I find myself next to a sunny bank of windows near some elevators. There are no chairs or couches, but it doesn’t matter. I find a corner away from foot traffic and slide to the floor, my back resting against the wall, and wait. Five hundred feet and no more.

  Chapter 18

  Jenny lagged behind as she helped Maudene, Leah and Lucas begin to unload the bags of groceries, some of the frozen items already a melted mess.

  “Whew,” Jenny exclaimed with false cheer as she set the bags on the table in the breakfast nook, trying to mask the disappointment of believing that she had a grandmother only to learn that she had died before she ever got the chance to meet her. “These are heavy!” Dolly approached on arthritic knees and sniffed at the bags curiously. “No, no!” Jenny scolded. “You get!”

  “She’s not hurting anything,” Leah said hotly, settling her parcels next to Jenny’s.

  Jenny looked skeptically down at the dog.

  “Dolly’s a good dog.” Lucas came to the dog’s defense. “Right, Grandma?”

  “Wes trained Dolly very well,” Maudene agreed. “She’d no sooner eat something off a counter than bite someone.”

  “Who’s Wes?” asked Jenny, digging through the plastic bags, pulling out the frozen items and placing them in a neat pile.

  “Our grandpa,” Leah said derisively.

  Jenny felt her face burn. “Well, how would I know that? I just got here.”

  “Now, now,” Maudene said soothingly. “Jenny, why don’t you help me unpack the groceries, and Leah and Lucas, you go get settled in.”

  “Where are we going to sleep?” Leah asked, casting a disdainful look at Jenny.

  “Well, there are a few options,” Maudene said as she opened the refrigerator and stowed away the gallon of milk and a carton of orange juice. “If Jenny ends up staying the night, you and Jenny could share your mom’s old room and Lucas can have the boys’ old room. There’s just one bed in there. Or Leah and Lucas can have your mom’s old room and Jenny can go into the boys’ room. Whatever you decide.”

  “Lucas and me get the pink room,” Leah said with finality. She hoisted her bag on her shoulder and moved toward the stairs. “Come on, Lucas.”

  “Hey,” Jenny said, worriedly thinking of her father’s t-shirt that she left behind on the bed upstairs in the pink bedroom. “My stuff is already up there!” She dropped the loaf of bread she was holding and scrambled after Leah and Lucas, who had started running up the steps. Bolstered by the excitement, Dolly gave a low-throated bark and joined the fracas, her nails clacking against the hardwood floors. Hearing the dog’s approach, Jenny shrieked in fear, overtook and squeezed past Leah and Lucas on the stairs. Jenny bolted down the hallway, up the two flights of stairs and reached the pink bedroom first, flung open the door, stepped inside and slammed the door shut. She searched wildly for a lock and, after finding none, slid down to the floor with her back pressed against the door.

  She heard the footfalls of Leah and Lucas, but it was the clicking of Dolly’s paws scrabbling hurriedly through the hallway that brought the tears.

  “Open up!” Leah called through the doorway and turned the knob. Jenny could feel Leah and Lucas knocking and pushing against the wooden door, forcing it open an inch. Jenny pushed back, pressing her feet into the floor trying to maintain her footing. “Open up!” Leah shouted again. “This is where Lucas and I are staying! It’s not your house!” In the small opening that Leah and Lucas had established, Dolly inserted her snout, her nose brushing against Jenny’s elbow. Jenny fell away from the door as if bitten, clutched her arm and scuttled on her knees across the bedroom floor. With mouths agape, Leah and Lucas watched the unkempt girl cowering in fear beneath the whitewashed desk where their mother, as a ch
ild, did her homework. Dolly, exhausted by the to-do, climbed creakily up onto the bed, curled up into a small ball and closed her eyes. In shame, Jenny laid her head against her knees and covered her head with her hands and tried to calm her breathing.

  “What in the world?” Maudene exclaimed as she stepped into the room and surveyed the scene. “What happened?”

  “She’s crazy,” Leah said just loud enough for Jenny to hear her.

  “I am not!” Jenny protested. “That dog bit me!”

  “Oh my goodness,” Maudene said, rushing over to Jenny. “Let me see.” Jenny gingerly showed Maudene her arm, offering it with marked difficulty so that Maudene could inspect the injury.

  “Dolly didn’t bite her,” Lucas said, sitting down on the bed next to an oblivious Dolly. “She’s making that up.”

  “I am not,” Jenny said woefully. “She attacked me.”

  “Now, now,” Maudene said, gently examining Jenny’s elbow. “Leah and Lucas, you take Dolly on downstairs and finish putting the groceries away. We’ll be down in a little bit.” With a sniff, Leah eased Dolly down off the bed by her collar and the three exited the room, letting the door shut behind them with a satisfying slam. “Let’s get you out from there and I can take a better look at your arm,” Maudene urged.

  After making sure all was safe, Jenny unfolded herself from her crouched position and emerged from beneath the desk. “I’m sorry I made a mess,” Jenny said contritely, taking in the knocked-over desk lamp and scattered pencils and markers that were stored in a whimsically decorated coffee can.

  “Nothing that can’t be set right,” Maudene assured her. “Now sit down right here and let me take a look at your arm. I just can’t believe that Dolly would bite you. She doesn’t have a mean bone in her body.”

  Jenny’s face fell. “See, it’s all red.” Jenny rubbed the afflicted area.

  “It is that,” Maudene agreed. “Do you think it might have been an accident? Maybe Dolly thought you were playing a game and she just got a little too excited?”

  Jenny considered this. “Maybe.”

  “Well, at least the skin isn’t broken,” Maudene noted. “No rabies shots for you.” Jenny’s eyes widened in alarm. “I’m just teasing. Dolly definitely doesn’t have rabies. How about I bring you up an ice pack? I bet that will make your arm feel better.” Jenny nodded, wiped at her eyes and sniffled for good measure. “Were you bitten by a dog once?” Maudene asked as they moved from the room. Jenny grabbed her backpack and her father’s t-shirt and glanced back for one last look.

  “No, I just don’t trust them,” Jenny said simply, and Maudene realized that Jenny wasn’t just talking about dogs anymore.

  “Lucas and Leah are nice kids,” Maudene assured her. “They are going through a very difficult time right now, not knowing if their little sister is going to be okay. Try and be patient with them, okay?”

  Jenny didn’t answer but nodded reluctantly. Maudene sighed as they slowly descended the stairs, Jenny’s eyes darting around nervously for any sign of Dolly. “This room is where my sons slept when they were young. My room is right next door if you need anything during the night. Maudene pushed open the door and Jenny was pleasantly surprised. She didn’t think that a room could be more wonderful than the one at the top of the house, but this one was beautiful. Jenny’s bare feet, flip-flops discarded in the Dolly fiasco, sank into the thick cream-colored carpet that ran the full expanse of the room. Through the dim coolness, Jenny could see a large double bed that she figured she would need a chair to climb into. The snow-white comforter hung nearly to the floor and pillows of varying sizes, shapes, textures and shades of white formed an inviting hillock. Folded neatly at the base of the bed was a thick quilt, each patch a different square of white. Some with an intricate swirl of stitched flowers, others as simple as a dish towel. The walls were painted the color of fog.

  “This ain’t a boys’ room.” Jenny whispered because such a room called for hushed tones.

  “No, I guess it isn’t,” Maudene chuckled. “But it sure used to be. Painted blue with posters of football players and filled with baseball cards and smelly socks.”

  “Don’t your boys come home anymore?” Jenny asked, lightly gliding a hand across the quilt.

  “Oh, once in a while. They live in Minnesota.” Jenny’s ears perked up with this information. She had been born in Minnesota, in a town called Blue Earth. Such a pretty name for a town, she thought, like a smooth, bright marble. “They have their own families and work. Busy.” Maudene flipped on a switch and bare branches arranged in a cast-iron vase were draped with fairy lights and twinkled from the corner of the room. “When my husband got sick, he didn’t sleep very well, so I slept in here a lot so he could rest. I got tired of tripping over Craig and Alan’s old LEGO so I decided to redo the room.”

  Jenny nodded. This made sense. “Why was he sick?” Jenny asked, looking around for a place to set down her backpack, which seemed much too grimy for this room.

  “Sometimes people just get sick. We don’t always know why.” Maudene glanced at a framed photo sitting on the bedside table of a young woman dressed in a white wedding gown standing with a man wearing a suit and tie. He had the kind of haircut that looked like you could set a plate on it and it wouldn’t fall off, and he wore black, thick-framed eyeglasses. “Why don’t you get settled in here and I’ll go downstairs and talk to Leah and Lucas. Don’t be too hard on them. They’re just worried about their little sister and their mom and dad. Okay?” Jenny nodded. She certainly understood what it felt like to worry about her parents. She didn’t have a brother or a sister, but she imagined it would feel much the same. Worry was an aching loneliness that you went to bed with each night and woke up with each morning. Maudene turned to leave but stopped short. “Can I call anyone for you, Jenny? I’m sure people are looking for you. Did you run away from home?”

  Jenny shook her head in the negative. Maudene stood there for a moment waiting for Jenny to answer. Jenny offered nothing, just quietly began unpacking her bag, setting each item lovingly on the long low dresser that was set against one wall.

  “Jenny,” Maudene said and Jenny glanced up to see Maudene’s face furrowed with concern. “We really need to talk.”

  Jenny remained silent, feeling the weight of Maudene’s skeptical gaze as she continued to unpack her things, laying out a small black comb, a cell phone and several small plastic Stack figurines, the Happy Pancake mascot toy they gave out free with the purchase of a children’s meal. Jenny reached back into the bag one last time, pulled out the tattered manila envelope, hesitated, changed her mind and placed it back into the bag, added her father’s t-shirt and zipped it shut.

  Jenny heard the quiet click of Maudene shutting the door behind her and waited until she could no longer hear her footsteps in the hallway. She regarded her father’s cell phone sitting on the dresser. It wasn’t a fancy phone. It flipped open and didn’t have a texting keyboard like some of the kids at school had, but her father hadn’t minded. She pressed the power button and the phone came to life with a brief shiver. The display read seven missed calls, one voice mail, and ten missed text messages. Someone was always texting her father. Jenny scrolled through them but found nothing of interest, just the random ramblings of her father’s friends. There was one from Matthew from Dubuque saying he would meet up with them later tonight. She thought about texting him back and saying that there was a change of plans, but felt tears well in her eyes at the thought so she kept on scrolling through the list.

  Her fingers hovered over the call button. Should she call Connie? What if Connie called the police and they showed up at Maudene’s house? Would they think that Maudene had kidnapped Jenny? She envisioned the cops tackling Maudene the way they jumped on her father at the bus station.

  “Coming down, Jenny?” Maudene called from the bottom of the steps.

  �
�In a minute,” she hollered back.

  Jenny hoped that the voice message was from her father, saying that he was out of jail, that it was all just a terrible misunderstanding, that he was on his way to come and get her. In disappointment, Jenny listened to the voice mail from some credit card company saying that legal action would be taken if her father didn’t send in a payment. Jenny wanted to climb onto the downy bedding but knew she was much too grimy, so she sat down on the floor, her back resting against the bed frame. Jenny reviewed her options one more time: Call Connie and ask for her help or tell Maudene what really happened to cause her to end up in Cedar City. With her stomach fluttering nervously, Jenny pressed the send button that would connect her with Connie.

  Chapter 19

  Minutes seem like hours and hours seem like days, but still I sit, five hundred feet from my daughter, waiting. For what, I’m not sure. The protective order to be lifted? For Avery to miraculously get better and be released from the hospital? For my husband to truly forgive me for what has happened?

  In a matter of minutes my life has been completely altered. The way people look at me has changed. All I’ve ever wanted was to be a mother and to help other children.

  It’s difficult for me to imagine staying away from my workplace, my second home. The Department of Human Services building is housed in the old Williams Elementary School building located in an older residential part of Cedar City. The children of the neighborhood, who once spent hours playing kickball in the street, hide-and-seek behind the wispy branches of weeping willows, and tag on the school playground, eventually grew up and moved away, leaving their elderly parents behind. The school census fell drastically, causing the system to redistrict, bussing the remaining children from the neighborhood to a brand-new school five miles south. It seemed such a waste, leaving a perfectly good building to sit empty, so the powers that be arranged for the department to move in about ten years ago. My office, one I share with my co-worker, Ruth Johnson, is in what was once the gym teacher’s office. It is small, still smells vaguely of sweat despite the plug-in air fresheners that I replace twice a month, high ceilinged, with tall shuttered shelves painted an institutional green popular in the 1970s. It once held a wide array of PE equipment: jump ropes, tennis rackets, bowling pins, baseball bats, mesh bags filled with red rubber playground balls, soccer balls and basketballs. There is even an old portable tetherball pole that I’ve begged the maintenance man to leave in place. A few times a year, when I have to bring Leah and Lucas with me on a weekend so I can catch up on paper work, I will roll the pole into the hallway outside my office door and they will swing and smack at the dingy white ball hanging from the rope while I work.