Room 113, she confirms. But visiting hours are over. You'll have to come back in the morning. I'm sorry, hon.
No, please, says Trudy. I have to see her. I drove all the way from the Twin Cities. I came as quickly as I could-
I'm sure you did, says the nurse. But I can't go against the rules. Your mom's in the trauma unit-
Trauma! Trudy repeats. I was told the smoke inhalation was only minor!
Well, that's true, says the nurse. There's nothing for you to be real concerned about. But at your mom's age, you know, we can't take any chances. That's why we're keeping her for observation.
She gives Trudy a sympathetic smile. Why don't you get some rest yourself and come back tomorrow? That'd be best.
Trudy stares at the nurse in frustration. For a moment she wonders whether the woman is deliberately barring her access to Anna-yet another slippery New Heidelburg trick. But no, although the nurse is about Trudy's age, Trudy has never seen her before. She is not from the town; she must live somewhere nearby, Rochester, maybe, or LaCrosse.
Couldn't I just sit with her for a minute? Trudy persists.
Listen, Mrs.-Swenson, is it?
Doctor, corrects Trudy automatically.
The nurse raises penciled brows.
You're a doctor?
Of history, Trudy says, smiling.
The nurse regards her with some pity, and Trudy has the momentary and uncomfortable sensation of viewing herself as another might: a foolishly arrogant little blond woman in a pilled black overcoat, with a determined set to her jaw.
Please, she says.
The nurse sighs.
I really shouldn't, she says. But… All right. Just for a minute. This way.
Trudy follows the nurse down the hall. The woman is short and stout, like the teapot. Everything about her, from her plump compact body to her easy-care perm, conveys a cozy capability. To distract herself from what might await her in the trauma ward, Trudy imagines the nurse's life: she has at least two grown children and several grandchildren; on weekends they come over with casseroles of hot dish and brats, which they eat in the rec room while the nurse's retired husband drinks Pig's Eye and watches the Vikings. There would be a basketball hoop on the garage. The nurse is everything Trudy has been raised to be and nothing whatsoever like the person Trudy has become.
They stop in front of room 113.
Remember, not too long with her now, warns the nurse. And try not to wake her. She needs her sleep.
Thank you. I appreciate this.
The nurse lays a hand on Trudy's arm. Trudy looks down at it, the short pink nails, the freckled flesh bulging on either side of the wedding and engagement rings.
There's one other thing you might want to know, the nurse says.
What's that?
She's not talking. She hasn't said a word since she came in, not to the doctor, not to anybody. We had to get her information from her social worker.
Trudy nods.
That's nothing new, she says. But thank you for telling me. Again, that glance of compassion. Then the nurse walks away, the rubber soles of her sneakers creaking on the linoleum.
Trudy waits until the nurse has turned the corner. Then she takes a deep breath and opens her mother's door.
Oh, Mama, she says softly.
Anna is asleep in a hospital bed, the light bar over it casting a white glare on her face. If they are so adamant about Anna getting her rest, why is this on? Trudy wonders. She steals across the room. At least Anna is hooked up to nothing more dire than an IV There are no tubes snaking into her nostrils, no beeping machines. Trudy lifts a plastic chair to the bedside. She sloughs her coat and sits as near to Anna as she dares.
Trudy has not seen Anna since Anna's seventy-sixth birthday in August, and she is shocked by how much Anna has changed in three months. Failing, the older New Heidelburgers would call it. Trudy catalogues with indignant sorrow the weight loss, the age spots, the spreading bruise on her mother's hand from the IV They are frightening and unfair, the ravages time wreaks. Yet even now, Trudy is struck by the extraordinary geometry of her mother's face: the sculpted cheekbones and square jaw. The pleasing symmetry of widow's peak and pointed chin. In Anna's gray hair, the light streaks-once blond, now white-providing the touch of oddity without which real beauty is incomplete. Ever since Trudy can remember, whenever Anna made one of her rare forays into public, people would gravitate to whatever room she was in, just to look at her. But they never got too close. Anna's loveliness, combined with how little she talked, set her apart from ordinary folk. Made them clumsy. Suspicious. Shy. Resentfuclass="underline" Oh, she's stuck-up, all right. Thinks she's so much better than us.
But Trudy knows there are other reasons for Anna's silence. Now Trudy inches farther forward and squints, as if by concentrating she could penetrate the surface to what really interests her: her mother's skull, hard as the casing of a walnut. And within this, like the meat of a walnut with its complicated folds, her mother's brain. What information is encrypted in that soft gray matter? Trudy wonders. She watches Anna's eyes roll back and forth like marbles beneath their papery lids. What is Anna seeing now as she sleeps? What scenes so shameful that she will never speak of them, has never spoken of them, not even to her own daughter? What memories so tormenting that they have finally-perhaps-become unbearable?
As if she senses this invasive line of questioning, Anna jerks and wakes. She focuses her pale eyes on Trudy, who is reminded of the ghostly stare sometimes seen from a dead relative in an old photograph, a gaze from which one can't turn away.
Trudy hastily sits back. Anna looks at her, or perhaps through her to somebody who isn't there.
Mama? How are you feeling?
Anna doesn't so much as blink. The familiar silence spins itself out, so complete that Trudy can hear the faint and insectile buzz of the fluorescent bar over the bed.
Won't you talk to me, Mama?
Anna says nothing. Trudy waits. Then she touches Anna's hand, carefully, mindful of the tubing threaded into the vein.
Please, Mama. Was it an accident? The house, I mean. The fire. Or… I'm sorry, but I have to know. Did you-Did you set it on purpose?
Anna turns her face away. Then she rolls her head to the center of the pillow, her eyes once again closed.
After another minute or two, Trudy stands and collects her coat from the chair.
I'm sorry to have disturbed you, Mama, she says. I'm leaving now. But don't worry. I'll be back soon. And I'll take care of everything.
She leaves the room, quietly shutting the door behind her, and walks through the trauma ward to the reception desk.
The nurse glances up and sets her romance novel aside. Passion's Promise, it is called.
How's our girl?
Better than I expected, says Trudy.
Still sleeping?
Yes.
The nurse nods with satisfaction. She's going to be just fine. Out of here in no time.
How long will you keep her, do you think? Trudy asks.
Oh, a couple of days at most. No more than that.
Trudy runs a hand through her hair. I see. I guess I'll have to make some immediate arrangements, then… Well, thank you for everything.
The nurse watches Trudy curiously as she buttons her coat.
Are you taking her to live with you then? she asks.
This suggestion so shocks Trudy that she involuntarily snorts laughter through her nose. She rubs a knuckle across it, hoping the nurse has mistaken the sound for a sneeze.
Oh, no, she replies. I don't think she's in good enough shape for that, do you?
Well, the nurse says dubiously, she seems pretty strong. Some of these older farm ladies go on forever, you know. If it was up to me, I might-
Trudy shakes her head.
It's out of the question, she says. I work full-time, I can't look after her, and even if I had enough money to hire somebody-No. It's impossible.
The nurse shrugs and opens her book again.