One night she sat in semidarkness. The smell of the fresh flowers she had brought filled the room, but it wasn’t enough to kill the sharp scent of disinfectant. The smell of hospitals. When Michael had been struck down she rode in the back of the ambulance with her mother, screaming through the streets while her brother’s tiny, crushed body lay strapped to the gurney. The EMTs had worked over him like machines, fast and furious and calculating. But she had known even then that it was too late; whatever had lived in him was gone. She had felt it go, like a soft breath of wind.
She reached out and took hold of Sarah’s hand. The flesh was cool and dry. “I know you can hear me. Please, try to come back I’ll do whatever it takes. Give me one more chance.”
She felt a gentle pressure. Sarah’s hand curled in hers. Her eyes were closed, and now her mouth turned downward in a gentle frown, as if she were puzzling with something.
The next morning Jess woke up to find Sarah looking at her from the bed. She didn’t move for a long moment, and then she rolled over and stood, brushing at her wrinkled clothes. “Look who’s here,” she said lightly, rubbing at her face. Her mouth tasted stale and sour. “I’m glad you could join us.”
“I heard you talking to me last night. I just didn’t want to wake up yet.” Sarah’s eyes were bright and clear. A moment later Jess saw the reason; her IV had come loose during the night. Fluid dripped out to stain the sheets.
“You were scared?”
“Just tired. I’m always tired after… you know.”
“Honey,” Jess said, moving to the edge of the bed and sitting down, “can you tell me what happened that day we went outside? Do you remember?”
“I don’t want to.”
“It’s important that you try.”
“No!”
“Okay. But you’re not alone. I want you to know that. Maybe I haven’t given you much reason to trust me yet, but I’m on your side.”
Sarah looked intently at her for a moment. “You were thinking about something sad last night.”
“I don’t remember anything like that.”
“It was about your brother.”
“How do you know about Michael?”
“He died a long time ago. I’m not him, you know. He’s not here anymore.”
Jess felt a chill hand against her heart. She couldn’t have overheard anything; she hadn’t been talking to anyone. How long had the IV been disconnected? An hour? All night?
“Well,” she said, “I guess I underestimated you, didn’t I? I suppose Dr. Wasserman knows something about it by now. You overheard him talking, maybe? You can learn a lot by eavesdropping.”
“I wasn’t eavesdropping. You told me the first time you came to visit.”
Jess sat down on the edge of the bed. “But how did you know I was thinking about him last night?”
“I just knew.” Sarah let her head sink back into the pillow and closed her eyes. Dark circles ringed their edges. “Sometimes these things about you come into my head. It’s like you’re speaking to me, only there’s no sound.”
Poor thing. Jess was overwhelmed with pity. She looked so young. You don’t deserve to be here, she thought. You deserve a family, someone who understands you.
They sat silently for a moment. Jess took her hand. Just as she thought Sarah had drifted off, she spoke in a sleepy voice, her eyes still closed. “Do you have a mom?”
“Sure. She lives in Florida, near the water. It’s where her parents live, so she can be close to them.”
“Do you see her a lot?”
“Not very much. Florida is a long way to go. And we don’t get along very well, Sarah.”
“Why not?”
“Well, we don’t agree on some things. There are parts of her I don’t like very much.”
“Like what?”
“She drinks a lot. And she’s very angry most of the time. Sometimes things happen where it’s nobody’s fault, but people just can’t accept it that way. And sometimes a person reminds you so much of someone or something else you’ve lost that whenever you’re with them, you get sad.”
“Like what happened with your brother?”
“Yes, exactly like that.”
“Oh. You’re lucky, though,” Sarah said. “I wish I knew my mother.”
“Sometimes parents aren’t what we’d like them to be. They might be too sick to take care of their children, or they might even be dangerous. In that case it’s better if they aren’t around.”
“My mother wanted to keep me with her. I know she did.”
“Do you remember her?”
“Sometimes I do. Sometimes I dream about her. Why did she leave me here? Why doesn’t she come get me?”
“Oh, honey. I’m sure she would if she could.”
“You don’t think she’s scared of me?”
“Why would she be scared of you? I’m not scared of you.”
“I just want to be like everyone else.”
“Being different can be a good thing. If everyone were the same, what a boring world it would be!”
Sarah was quiet for a minute. “Will you go get Connor? I want him to stay with me.”
“Sure I will.”
When she spoke again, her voice came drifting back from the depths of sleep: “I dream about her a lot….”
Jess waited until Sarah’s breathing deepened. She slowly disengaged her hand and stood up.
She was surprised to find herself shaking. Whether it was from anger, sadness, or something else, she couldn’t tell.
—24—
Shelley still wasn’t in class the next day. The guest lecturer told them she would be out for at least another week. After the session ended, Jess reached her by telephone. “I’m sorry to bother you at home, but it’s important.”
She thought she sensed a moment’s hesitation. “All right,” Shelley said. “I’m feeling a bit better today. It’s time we met again anyway. Why don’t you come here? It’s a nice day and the leaves are turning. We’ll sit out on the deck and have a drink.”
She jotted down the address. Charlie was using her car to go shopping in Natick, and so Jess took a taxi into Chestnut Hill. She knew the neighborhood, and was prepared for the quiet, tree-lined streets and stately homes tucked among the gentle hills; but she was nevertheless surprised when the taxi turned into the driveway of what was obviously an estate of considerable size. Iron gates swung open to admit them up a gently sweeping drive, and around tumbling juniper and rock displays to a sprawling Tudor mansion with perfectly manicured lawns and flower gardens that were just beginning to droop and curl in the crisp fall air.
She avoided the imposing front entrance as Shelley had instructed over the phone, instead following a flagstone path that led down a slight slope and around the side of the house. Several big hunks of rough-hewn granite formed steps that ended at a rear door.
Feeling out of place, she hesitated before ringing the bell, half expecting a somber-faced maid or English butler. But Shelley herself answered, looking as if she’d just splashed her face with cold water. Her flesh was puffy and very pale. “Come on in,” she said, “I was just making something to eat. Are you hungry?”
The house held a deep, expectant silence. They walked through a hallway lined with a patterned wine runner and hung with oil paintings, into a spacious, well-lighted kitchen. Stainless steel Viking appliances offset warm wood tones, and an oak-topped island in the middle of the room kept a sink and dishwasher.
But what held Jess’s attention was the contents of the full-length granite counter to the right of the cooktop: whole oat bread, a cube of white, fleshy tofu on a cutting block, a container of what looked like seaweed, and a plastic bottle full of greenish liquid.