Between Darkness and Dawn

by Margaret Duarte

  They had.

  It looked like a war zone with decapitated and mutilated bodies of clay strewn in grotesque imitations of death. Adam’s family, and memories, were gone. I sank onto the dark and wet detritus on the forest floor—dead plants and animals, bacteria and fungi, necessary for the birth and survival of new forms of life. I noticed for the first time how the canopy of trees soaked up all the sunlight, leaving little behind for the vegetation below. Life and death, struggle and survival.

  With a sob, I let go of the detritus that had taken up all the space inside of me: guilt, anger, judgment, blame, the sense of limitation and unfairness of things. It had served its purpose. Time to allow for the birth of something new.

  Anne knelt beside me and dropped her face into her hands. Her shoulders shook as she, too, succumbed to her grief.

  I don’t know how long we sat there crying before we noticed Buster’s presence. He lay with his grizzled head on his paws, eyes dull. “Here, boy,” I said. He scuttled over. Both Anne and I scratched the coyote’s head and ran our fingers over and through his hair, drawing comfort from this gentle earth creature.

  “He’s not much of a guard dog,” I said, my voice hoarse.

  Anne looked at him with a trace of a smile. “He prefers to guide and comfort, not defend. Right, Buster?”

  I stared at the pointless destruction around us. “I never got around to taking any pictures.”

  “His art has served its purpose,” Anne said. “And thanks to you, one of his works survives.”

  “And Cecil has it, thank God.” I wiped my eyes. “We have to prepare him.”

  It took effort for Anne to stand. In fact, it took two tries, as if she’d aged ten years in a matter of minutes. I didn’t fare much better. Anne grabbed hold of my hand and pulled me up. “Prepare Cecil or Adam?” she asked.

  “At the moment, Cecil. It would be too cruel to let him walk into this.”

  “Too late,” Cecil said from behind us. He leaned on Claudia’s arm for support as he stared at the desecrated grotto that had once been sacred to his father.

  “Would the two of you like to be alone for a while?” I asked.

  Cecil nodded, and as Anne and I headed back to Adam’s camp, we heard him weep.

  “It’s hard to dislike a guy when he’s in pain,” I said, realizing how easy it was to judge—and to misunderstand.

  ~~~

  “We can’t bring my father back here,” Cecil said when he and Claudia returned from Adam’s grotto. “It wouldn’t be the same.”

  “It doesn’t have to be the same,” I said, surprised at the conviction behind my words. Something was urging me on, and I wasn’t questioning the source. “It’s still his home.”

  I met a wall of skepticism, in the form of Cecil and Anne, but went on in the camp’s defense. “We can fix it up even better than before.”

  Anne and Cecil continued to frown at me.

  “Don’t you see?” I said. “It may all seem new to Adam anyway, considering his limited memory of past events. We can restore the grotto to the way it was when he first discovered it. Maybe he’ll sculpt again, maybe not, but it’ll still be a comfort to him, the trees, the ferns, Buster...”

  “I, of all people, don’t want to detract from the benefits of nature in slowing down the progress of AD,” Anne said. “But Adam will need closer supervision now. He has lost ground. And soon, he won’t be able to sculpt anymore, due to the numbing effect of neuropathy on his fingers and hands. As it is, what he’s been able to accomplish is quite miraculous.”

  Well, that pretty much clinched it. Without Anne’s optimism and support, there was no way I could talk Cecil into extending Adam’s stay.

  “I would love to have the opportunity to get to know Adam better,” Claudia said, “before—” She halted, bit her lip. “Once we return home, I’m afraid the opportunity to do so will be lost. Adam’s regression may accelerate, and Cecil and I will feel pressured to go back to work.”

  I gawked at Claudia in surprise. I had only heard her express an opinion once. When we were alone.

  A smile crossed Cecil’s face. “Well then, guess, it’s worth a try.”

  ~~~

  We worked the rest of the day and most of the next before the reconstruction of Adam’s camp met Cecil’s approval. Much had to be replaced or upgraded, and Cecil made numerous trips into town for the needed supplies. For once, I didn’t resent what money could accomplish, especially when it was being used to help Adam.

  We left Adam’s sacred grotto untouched, except for burying all traces of the broken sculptures.

  “Adam took matter from the physical world,” Anne said, “and now it has returned. Ashes to ashes...”

  It was time to bring Adam home.

  ~~~

  As so often happens, the best-laid plans are prone to failure, or at least what we perceive as failure. On our return to the convalescent hospital, it appeared as though Adam had given up. His body was there, but his mind seemed to have left the room.

  “It’s only been three days,” Cecil said, his sense of helplessness unspoken, but evident in the way he repeatedly opened and closed his hands. “How could he have slipped this far?”

  Anne used her middle and index fingers to check Adam’s pulse. “In dementia, so much depends on the patient’s attitude. Staying here with convalescing and declining people must have brought home, quite traumatically, that he was sick and dying.”

  “Wasn’t he aware of that before?” Cecil asked.

  Anne’s eyes flashed, but her voice remained calm. “Aligned with the power and intelligence of nature, he seemed to have risen above it. He forgot about what happened in the past, let go of what might happen in the future, and made room for the quiet space in between.”

  Cecil let out a breath. “Thanks, Saint Hildegard.”

  “Sorry,” Anne said. “I tend to get carried away. Anyway, Adam is still Adam regardless of what happens in his life. He’s here now, unchanged, regardless of AD.”

  I crouched in front of Adam’s wheelchair. “Do you hear that, my friend? You’re still Adam inside and always will be. We love you, and we’re here for you. So, don’t give up.”

  He didn’t respond.

  “You said that Adam has forgotten about what happened in the past,” I said, “so maybe he’ll also forget what he experienced here.”

  Adam looked at me and then looked away. I felt encouraged by this small gesture.

  “His name isn’t Adam,” Cecil said. “It’s Russell.”

  “Not anymore,” Anne said. “He renamed himself as a sign that he accepted the new person he was becoming. AD forced him to forget the man he thought he was and make room for the man he actually was.”

  Cecil closed his eyes, releasing a stream of tears.

  I searched for a flicker of life in the man slumped in the wheelchair in front of me. “Adam, it’s up to you.”

  If he heard me, it didn’t show.

  “Let’s get him out of here,” Cecil said.

  ~~~

  We’d been on the road for nearly an hour, and Adam hadn’t spoken a word. Cecil, who was at the wheel—a rented Mercedes E-class Sedan this time, instead of a Harley—kept peering at his father through the rear-view mirror. I sat next to Adam in the back seat, occasionally glancing out the window at the abundance of pines, ferns, and wildflowers speeding by.

  “It’ll be okay, Ce Ce,” Claudia said from the front passenger seat.

  I felt Adam stiffen at my side. “Ce Ce?” he said.

  Cecil swung his head around, nearly losing control of the car. Gravel shot up from the shoulder of the road and splayed the sedan on all sides. Cecil corrected the wheel, and with a series of short thumps, got the vehicle on the pavement again.

  “Pull over, Cecil,” I said, grabbing hold of Adam’s hand and giving it a squeeze. “Don’t let his lucid moment pass.”

  Cecil did so and turned in his seat. “Hey Po
ps, remember how you used to call me banana head?”

  “Banana head,” Adam said.

  “And how Mom said she’d kick my butt if I didn’t behave.”

  “Kathleen,” Adam said.

  “And she called you potato head.”

  “Potato head.”

  “Especially when you wore those silly navigator glasses.”

  “Dork,” he said.

  “Yeah, you looked like a dork.”

  “Ce Ce?”

  “Yeah, Pops, that’s me.”

  “Take me home.”

  Cecil’s hand shook on the steering wheel. “Okay, Dad. Will do.”

  Adam leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes.

  ~~~

  Adam stared at his campsite as if seeing it for the first time. That is, until Buster ran up and nearly him knocked down.

  “That a boy,” Adam said, patting the coyote on the head.

  “We got you a bigger tent,” Cecil said, his voice unsteady.

  Adam walked up to the tent and ducked inside. Cecil had been careful to purchase duplicates of everything destroyed by the vandals, including Adam’s cot and sleeping bag.

  We held our collective breath as though the slightest inhale or exhale would shatter the protective bubble we had tried so hard to produce. Adam came out of the tent carrying his ring of keys. He held it up to the light and smiled. I’d placed the keys on his pillow, next to his God jar—which had miraculously survived the destruction to his campsite—hoping they would bring back good memories. Although the only key that would be of use to him now was love. “They’re heavy,” he said and put them into his pocket. He then pointed toward the tent next to his.

  Cecil placed a hand on his shoulder. “That’s for Claudia and me. We’re staying with you for a while.”

  Adam scratched his head and headed for the grotto.

  “Shit,” Cecil said, hurrying after him.

  Anne, Claudia, and I stayed behind, caught in a state of suspension.

  At first, there was silence. Then, “Kathleen! Anthony! Where are you?”

  He had remembered after all.

  “Cecil’s with him. He’ll be okay,” Claudia said with a frown that contradicted her words.

  “Come on,” Anne said. “Let’s lend them our support.”

  Cecil and Adam sat shoulder-to-shoulder near the bank of the pool of water.

  “Talk to me,” Cecil said. And miraculously, Adam did. His words didn’t all make sense, but Cecil seemed to follow along just fine. Adam talked about Kathleen and Anthony, how they had played together and how much he loved them. He talked about leaving home so he wouldn’t burden his beloved son Ce Ce. He talked about losing his mind.

  “I never thought I’d see the day when Cecil would let down his guard in this way,” Claudia said. “He’s really a good person, once you get past his tough exterior. Aggression is his way of defending against rejection.”

  Anne and I shared a look. You bet it was a surprise to see this new side of Cecil.

  “He tends to use up all the energy around him, making people feel like he’s sucking them dry.”

  “Including you?” I asked in a tone meant to express understanding rather than judgment.

  Claudia looked at me as though she sensed that I knew exactly how this felt. “It shows, huh?”

  “Let’s go fix lunch,” I said.

  We left father and son alone—together.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  SNUG IN MY FLANNEL-LINED sleeping bag, I welcomed the ease with which sleep overtook me.

  I was standing alone in the center of a large Medicine Wheel, the flicker of candles the only source of light. Trees, thick and wet, surrounded me like motionless sentinels. As I squinted into the black night, my heartbeat aligned with the energetic beat of the Earth. A new sense of awareness warned that change was on the way. I anticipated that change with excitement instead of fear. I even knew the direction from which it would come: West.

  “Marjorie.” The voice sounded familiar. “Wake up.”

  I didn’t want to wake up. I wanted to go deeper.

  “Marjorie,” the voice said again. “It’s cold out here. I’m coming in.”

  I grabbed my flashlight and switched it on.

  “Stop that!” Veronica said. “You’re blinding me.”

  I brought the flashlight to my thumping chest. “What are you trying to do, give me a heart attack?”

  “Make room,” she said, wrapped in what appeared to be the comforter from her bungalow bed. Someone was in for a big dry-cleaning bill.

  I scooted my sleeping bag over as far as the tent would allow.

  Veronica touched my shoulder with a trembling hand. “We need to talk.”

  About time she instigated the conversation for a change.

  “Antonia. She” —Veronica took a deep breath— “she told me to get my head on straight. At least that was the gist of it.”

  Good for you, Mother. “She did?”

  Veronica positioned her comforter next to my sleeping bag. “I knew, just knew, she wasn’t through with us.”

  News flash. Why do you think I’ve been hanging out in a wet, foggy, and not all that comfortable campground, rather than hightailing it home to Morgan and Joshua? Like it or not, Antonia and her two daughters had unfinished business to attend to. “She’s waiting for us to pay attention. I mean, really pay attention.”

  “I thought we were already doing that,” Veronica said. “What more does she want?”

  “Well, for one thing, we’ve been scurrying around and missing out on much of what’s important.”

  Veronica’s intake of breath hastened me to add, “Before you get all pushed out of shape, notice that I’m including myself here. It feels safe keeping too busy for emotional commitment.”

  Veronica tucked the edges of the comforter underneath her. “I have my career to think of, thank you.”

  I turned off the flashlight. “Oh gee, and I thought it was something important.”

  “My future happens to be important to me,” she said.

  “You need the money?”

  “What’s money got to do with it?”

  “Then why?”

  She squirmed in her sleeping bag. “Why what?”

  “Why do you disappear all the time?”

  “I don’t like attachments or commitments. They feel like chains.”

  The conversation was making me ache. I, too, craved freedom from attachments and commitments. But during my stay in Carmel Valley, I realized that to be completely free, I would have to stay single—and alone—all of my life. Which wasn’t an option. Not after falling in love with Joshua, Morgan, and Veronica. Life would be empty—intolerable—without them.

  “I suppose that includes me,” I said.

  Veronica didn’t answer.

  “Ben, too?”

  “Especially Ben. Love scares the crap out of me.”

  The tent lit up as if someone had switched on a spotlight.

  Seconds later came a clap of thunder.

  “Sounds like we’ve really pissed Mom off,” Veronica said.

  My laugh sounded hoarse. “Guess she doesn’t want us to continue on this way.”

  “You mean unloved...the way she was?”

  Ben loves you. I love you. “Why, Veronica? Why are you so skittish about emotional commitment? You’re free, independent, and strong. I feel the power of your energy whenever I’m around you. You inspire me.”

  “Seems there are some things you don’t know,” she said.

  Another flash of light, followed by darkness and more thunder.

  “About our father?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Did he hurt you?” Please say no.

  “Not physically.” Veronica’s words were nearly drowned out by another clap of thunder. “It was the way he looked at me... I understand, now. I’m a duplicate of our mother, and he love
d her in his own selfish way.”

  “The guilt must have been unbearable,” I said, trying to understand what my father and Veronica had gone through.

  “And the pain,” Veronica spat out.

  Lightening, brighter than before. “Darn it, Veronica, you said he didn’t hurt you.”

  Veronica made a cackling sound. “I sensed something wasn’t right from the time I was small. As did my step-mother, and she resented me for it. Though, bless her heart, she never took it out on me in a noticeable way.”

  My insides rumbled along with the thunder. “Anne told me that withholding love is a form of punishment.”

  Veronica sighed into the momentary silence. “Anne must have suffered to know that.”

  “I think she has.”

  Veronica touched my hand.

  “I was dreaming when you woke me up,” I said. “About a big change. Coming from the West.”

  The tent lit up and seconds later a blast of thunder seemed to explode right on top of us.

  “Shit,” Veronica said. “That’s what Antonia told me.”

  I squeezed Veronica’s hand and held tight. “Then we’re in this one together, Sis.”

  ~~~

  Next morning, I woke with a start. Veronica was no longer lying next to me. Gone again.

  The smell of coffee, bacon, and eggs.

  Veronica singing, “Row, row, row your boat...”

  Not gone after all.

  I rolled out of my sleeping bag, fumbled into my clothes, and crawled out of the tent, which suddenly felt too small to contain me. What had previously felt like a sanctuary, now felt like a prison. I was ready to break free, test my wet wings.

  “Thank you, God,” I said, “she cooks, too.”

  Veronica checked out my disheveled state and grimaced. “I don’t live on a starvation diet if that’s what you mean.”

  “Considering our eating habits, you’d think one of us would be fat,” I said, giving her a head-to-toe once over.

  “Maybe you’ve been torturing yourself for nothing,” Veronica said. “I’ve got the perfect metabolism, and since we’re twins—”

  “Okay, then, give me the works.” Just thinking of all the delectable treats I’d given up over the years made me want to cry.