Admissions (24 page)

I just shrug my shoulders, shake my head.

“Yeah, so I go back in, wash my face, try to touch up my eyebrows. Then I feel this hand on my arm,
Dance?
He’s a gangly guy, a checked shirt tucked neatly into his wide belt with a large metal buckle, dark jeans with a perfect crease, cowboy boots. I’m about to dance with Howdy Doody.”

Everybody smiled at that one. Everybody but Dr. Murray.

“The floor was hip to hip—Howdy struggled with the fast dances, but he pulled me close for the ballads at the end of the set and came alive, swayin’ and dippin’ like an Arthur Murray graduate. He invites me to sit with him at his table, pulls out the chair for me, and this time I order a screwdriver and sip it.

“Mr. Doody is a nice guy, lives with his parents in Buckley, just outside Traverse City. His real name is Kurt, nineteen, a couple years older than me. He graduated from Buckley High in the spring and works as a carpenter’s apprentice. We talk and dance until last call.

“Need a ride home?

“My plan was to run away, hitch downstate, probably latch on to some guy, and become invisible. But now I’m thinkin’ nothin’will change. I’ll still be a drunk and a loser,
and
a fugitive. The ol’ shame just washes over me. This is the moment of reckoning, I can stick with my original plan, have Kurt drop me off at some made-up place, the next town, Mesick, up the road. Before I know it, my mouth opens and I say,
I do need a ride …back to Traverse City.
I tell him the whole story, and he listens, noddin’ as I talk. He asks if he can visit me in the hospital. I don’t know if he’ll actually show up, but I said yes. Maybe I’ll have my first visitor.”

“Heidi, you have to forgive yourself for the past,” Dr. Murray says. “All of it. Your dad’s drug addiction, your mother walking out.”

“How?”

“Most of all, forgive yourself for all the things you did out of self hatred. It’s time to move on.”

“I know, I know …I keep screwing up.”

“It’s the shame.”

“Shame?”

“When you feel shame, you not only feel your behavior is bad, you believe
you
are bad. But you’re not bad, Heidi.”

“Yeah, I guess.” She brings her hands to her face and cries. “Kleenex?” She sticks her hand out toward me, open palm. I slap a tissue into it.

“You going to protection?” Autumn asks.

Heidi lowers her hands, looks at Dr. Murray. “I don’t think so.”

“No, she’s not going to protection. She will lose privileges, but no protection room,” Dr. Murray says.

“Can I get off the hot seat? I need time to think,” Heidi says.

“She’ll still be rooming with me, won’t she?” I ask.

“There’s no need to change Heidi’s room,” Dr. Murray says. “And I have something to tell you, Autumn.”

“Yeah?”

“You are going to be transferred to Cottage 21 before Christmas.”

“Mary, Joseph, and the little baby Jesus. Thank you,” Autumn says, clasping her hands in front of her.

“That’s great,” I say. “We’ll be in the same dining hall, right, Dr. Murray?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“I always dreamed of the day Estee and I …we would leave Building 50 …Now, I’m going, which is wonderful, don’t get me wrong …any word from her?”

“Autumn, we won’t be getting any reports on Estee. She’s at Creedmoor State Hospital in Queens, near her family. She’ll be hospitalized for awhile. The State of Michigan could no longer fund her treatment. She’s actually a resident of New York. I can get an address for you if you want to write to her.”

“I just can’t believe she’s gone,” Autumn says. “Yeah, I’ll take that address.”

There’s a heavy silence in the room.

“We have time left—Anybody?” Dr. Murray asks.

“When I went home …to my Mom’s …on leave, I had a really rough time.”

“Your family?” Autumn asks.

“Yes …well, two things. I had a meltdown about Alexander …I’ve been working on that with Dr. Murray …I really need my mom, but she …doesn’t get it.”

“What do you need from her, Luanne?” Dr. Murray asks.

“Support, understanding. She thinks I’m a weakling …She wants me to just snap out of it …”

“What do you
need?”

“I …I want her to tell me she loves me no matter what.”

“She’s never said she loves you?” Autumn asks.

“No …Well, she said it at Alexander’s funeral. My little boy had to die first. That’s pretty damn pathetic.”

“Your mom has trouble expressing her love,” Dr. Murray says. “Do you believe she loves you?”

“Yes. I know she loves me. But she can be tough. I’ve always thought she expects me to be perfect. Even with Alexander’s illness, I had to handle it, buck up …seems crazy now.”

“Yes it does,” Dr. Murray says.

“I couldn’t do what you had to do,” Heidi says.

“Thanks.”

“I can’t even think about losing one of my kids,” Autumn says. “There were times I wished I didn’t have kids. I felt helpless. I couldn’t keep them safe. I just wanted to run away and hide.”

“I miss Isabel,” I say. “With Isabel, I always know where I stand. She always makes me feel better.”

“It’s hard to let people go,” Dr. Murray says.

“Monday was the anniversary of Alexander’s death.”

“You okay?” Heidi asks.

“I think so.”

“He’s in heaven,” Autumn says.

“Yeah.” I wipe my nose. “I’m going to go ahead and sign the divorce papers. I can’t control what Jeff’s doing. No point in trying to punish him.”

“You’re moving on,” Dr. Murray says.

“Thanks. It scares me, but I’ve been thinking about getting out of here.”

Chapter 50

I
settle into my chair.

“Coffee or water?” Dr. Murray asks.

“Nothing, thanks.”

“Okay, then. Let’s get started. How are you doing?”

“I had another one of those nightmares.”

“Awake or asleep?” Dr. Murray says, as she pours herself a cup of coffee.

“Awake. I walk outside, thinking about something …I don’t know what …just so hard to think about it.” I blink my eyes and look toward the ceiling, trying to keep control. I want to talk about it, but the words refuse to shake loose from my throat. The images haunt me in the quiet moments—before I go to sleep, working in the gardens, walking on the grounds—the horror creeps in and tries to take me over. To invite it in feels like making a deal with the devil. I try to swallow, my tongue so thick, it won’t move. I make a strange sucking sound.

“Are you okay, Luanne? Water?”

“I …just give me a minute.” I try to swallow. Pictures flash in my mind—how the cancer invaded like some kind of alien, its fingers gripping Alexander’s head, transforming his face. The huge purple bulge closing his left eye, then it filled his sinuses and showed up at the back of his throat. My stomach turns. I can actually smell Puffs tissues, the sickening perfume of death. I cry into my Kleenex.

“One of the things I remember is the pain on Jeff’s face, and his parents and my mom and sister. They struggled to keep it together.”

“It’s so hard,” Dr. Murray says.

“Alexander changed …it wasn’t easy to see …I thought it hurt so bad because I missed him so much …so cute and smart …a sweet baby …he wouldn’t have a life.”

“I understand.”

“Now I think it’s that I lost a part of me. The world shining brand new …things would pop out from the drab background of life, light up, become new through the baby’s eyes …I miss that.” I twist the tissue in my hand.

“Of course you do.”

“A nightmare …with no end. The suffering would be over …but …but then my baby would be gone.” I can’t stop crying. Dr. Murray gets up from her chair, kneels down in front of me. “It’s okay.” She takes my hands.

“And the guilt …trying to figure out …if somebody is dead. His eyes …eye …so different …lens like a piece of glass …nothing behind it …just a …blank.”

“I’m so sorry,” Dr. Murray says.

“They show people closing the lids …in movies …Alexander’s eyelid …it wouldn’t move, stiff …wouldn’t close.” I lean forward and wrap my arms around Dr. Murray’s neck. I sob as the doctor holds me. When there are no more tears, I sit back and blow my nose again.

“I …I …can’t think Alexander might have needed me that night …I guess I believe he died peacefully …in his sleep.”

“It really sounds like that’s what happened, Luanne.”

“Do you think he realized how much I loved him? Can …a child …one so young …understand I lost my temper?”

“Your temper about the beans?”

“Yeah …it sounds crazy when you say it.”

“These are things parents get angry with their children about all the time.”

“Maybe their kids live …so they can apologize, make up for it.”

“Um-humm. I’ve been doing this for a long time, Luanne, and it still amazes me to what lengths loved ones will go in blaming themselves when somebody dies, especially someone they feel responsible for, like a child. You did the best you could under horrific circumstances.”

I nod my head. “Thank you for saying that. The days before Alexander died were all the same, like sliding down a slippery slope. I really wasn’t there at the funeral, I mean, I was there, but it was like watching myself from somewhere else. I saw myself greeting people, being concerned about their grief, cordial, pleasant. I’m not sure I even cried much. Now I know I had a breakdown.”

“You were in shock. Now, these months later, the pain is fresh. And it hurts.”

“When will it stop?”

“Soon now. You can’t go around it; you have to move through it.”

Chapter 51

I
wait by the front door of Cottage 23. Heidi runs up beside me. “Sorry I’m late. Couldn’t get my hair right.”

“You look great. Phil isn’t here yet anyway.”

“Am I dressed okay?”

“Heck, yeah. Anything goes. I’m wearing jeans.”

“I can’t believe I’m going home for Thanksgiving. I mean,
your
home. Thanks.” Heidi gives me a hug.

“I should be thanking you. This is the first time my whole family’s been together since, well, since I flipped out. I’m nervous.”

“Is Phil your youngest brother?”

“Yeah. He’s out on the big boats all year. Now they’re dry-docked for winter. Frankfort isn’t that far from Traverse City, about twenty or thirty miles is all.”

“I hope they like me,” Heidi says.

“They will.”

We pull into the driveway of Mom’s house about eleven o’clock. It’s snowed, and the streets in Saginaw are slushy. We take off our wet shoes on the front porch, walk into the living room in our stocking feet.

“Smells good in here,” Phil slips off his coat, tosses it on the chair. Kids run through the house, hollering at each other as they thunder down the basement stairs.

“Happy Thanksgiving,” Mom says. “Come on in, we’re just sitting around drinking coffee. Welcome Heidi.”

I walk into the kitchen to say hi to everyone and introduce Heidi.

“Heidi, where are you from?” Charlene asks.

“Benton Harbor,” Heidi answers. “Thank you all for having me for the holiday.”

“What time is Joe’s flight coming in?” Margo asks.

“One fifteen,” Harry says. “I’m leaving at noon to pick him up.”

“Dinner’s at two. Will that work?” Mom asks.

“Should.”

At precisely two o’clock, Mom brings the turkey to the table. “Joe, you carve,” Mom hands Joe the knife.

I turn to Heidi as she passes the gravy. “Think we’ve got enough food?”

“Wait ‘til you see the desserts, Heidi. They come later,” Charlene says.

Small talk gives way to the sound of forks clicking on plates, water glasses being lifted and thumping back on the table.

“Luanne, I heard a rumor about Jeff.”

“Molly, I told you not to bring that up,” Mom says.

“I know, but Luanne has a right to the information, if she wants it.”

“Go ahead. What?”

“Jeff’s getting married.”

“Jesus Christ,” Phil says.

“Married? Are you two even divorced yet?” Margo asks me.

“The divorce will be final soon. Who told you that, Molly?”

“I ran into Jeff’s sister, Laura, at The Chicken Coop. She asked about you, so I thought I should ask about Jeff. That’s when she told me.”

“I …I guess I want to know that. It’s pretty fast, I guess.” I move my mashed potatoes around on my plate, make a crater with my fork, pooling the gravy in the middle.

“We brought that boy into our family,” Mom says.

“You think you know somebody, but I guess not,” Charlene says. “What a creep.”

“It’s okay, really.” I take a drink of water.

At the end of the meal, the women get up to clear the table. We return with mincemeat, apple, pumpkin, pecan pie, chocolate cake, and lemon bars.

Harry says, “Phil, remember that time when you fell off the bridge?”

“Yup.” Phil shoves a large bite of pie into his mouth.

“When did he fall off a bridge?” Molly asks.

“The river broke up. We were on the bridge poking icebergs with long sticks. I heard a splash. Phil went in. Man, talk about cold, we both had on our winter coats, hats, mittens and boots.”

“Oh no,” Molly says.

“I pulled him out. We knew we were in big trouble. We snuck in the back door and headed down the basement. Mom demanded we come to the stairway where she could see us. She says,
Phil, you’re all wet. What happened?
Phil lied, said he got wet playing in the snow.
You didn’t get that wet in the snow.
”

“I’m not as dumb as I look,” Mom laughs.

“What about the time Luanne fell from Lawson’s garage loft,” Margo says.

“I did?”

“Yeah, you fell onto the cement floor. Margo looked at me and I looked at her. I remember her saying,
I think we probably should get Mom
,” Charlene says, snickering.

“Gee, thanks,” I smile.

“Now that was scary,” Mom says. “Your dad was home from work for some reason. He picked you up, Luanne, and we rushed you to the hospital.”

“Was I okay?”

“Hardheaded, even then,” Margo says.

“Hardheaded and stubborn,” Charlene added.

“Not really.” I eye Heidi, who’s giggling behind her hands.

“No? What about the time Mom told you to go to bed, and you kept watching TV. She shut it off, and there you sat, watching a blank screen for about an hour.”