Antonia's Choice (24 page)

Wyndham, I'm sure, didn't think I was focusing on anything but getting rid of her as we drove up to Ridegtop the next day, no matter what I said.

“I don't think you're crazy or anything,” I told her when I couldn't stand the silence any longer. “You're going to get a lot of rest here, which you need after all you've been through.”

No answer.

“Think of it this way,” I went on. “At least you'll only have to take care of you. No little brother and sister hanging on you, getting into your stuff.”

“I miss them!” she said, and burst into tears.

She cried into her hands the rest of the way, and when we pulled into the parking lot, she pulled her head up and sobbed in the direction of the building.

“Aunt Toni, please,” she said, “don't make me stay here.”

“It's not forever. Just until you get healed. It's like being in traction with a broken leg, you know. Once you're on your feet again, you're out of here.”

“And then what? Where do I go then?”

I'm sure my clumsy mental rumbling for an answer was smeared all over my face.

Wyndham nodded. “I knew it. You don't know, do you?”

“Let's not worry about that now. You're going to be taken care of, that's all you need to know. I'm not going to abandon you.”

She didn't say a word, but the look she gave me fairly screamed,
You already are.

Betty Stires was there to meet us, and she appeared to be pulling out all the stops to make Wyndham feel comfortable. Once they'd chatted—with Betty doing most of the chatting—she took her to meet Dominica while the elfin girl at the reception desk and I went
through Wyndham's suitcases, pulling out anything that she might be able to use to hurt herself.

“Shoelaces?” I said as Elf Girl—Katie—denuded Wyndham's Nikes.

“Yes, ma'am. We've had girls try to hang themselves with a string of them tied together.”

I put my hand over my mouth.

“I'm sorry,” Katie said. “I didn't mean to upset you.”

But I shook my head. “Too late. I've been upset for weeks now.”

She nodded sympathetically and put Wyndham's disposable razor in the taboo pile.

“She's going to get pretty hairy,” I said.

“We supply electric shavers.” She held up a nail file. “And we give manicures. She'll feel very pampered.”

Or very controlled,
I thought. Once again I was a tangle of doubt.

By the time Betty and Wyndham returned, with Dominica marching behind them, I was in knots. I could hardly swallow when Betty said to Wyndham, “Why don't you say good-bye to your Aunt Toni now, and I'll take you up to see your room?”

I put my arms around my niece, but she didn't hug me back. She stood, stiff and unyielding, as I whispered in her ear, “I love you. It's going to be okay.”

She didn't answer, but turned away and looked at Betty. “Okay,” she said. “Let's go.”

There was no backward look, no last-minute change of heart about the hug. She just followed Betty obediently to the door and disappeared through it.

“How ya doin?” somebody said.

It was, of course, Dominica. I'd forgotten about her completely.

“That was the hardest thing I ever did,” I said.

“I know. But I bet it was the most
important
thing you've done so far.”

I was still staring at the now-closed door. “Do you really think so?”

“I wouldn't be here if I didn't. Hey, you want to take a walk?”

I didn't know what else I was going to do with myself, how I was going to be alone with the guilt, so I nodded.

Dominica led me out the front door and down a side path which led away from the building and down a hill. Within minutes, Trinity House was out of sight, and we were making our way through a field of poppies and daffodils that looked as if it had arisen from the April page of a calendar. I ran my fingers listlessly across the tops of some tall Queen Anne's lace.

“I hope I can explain something to you,” Dominica said.

“I hope you can, too,” I said, “because right now I am so confused.”

“I'd wonder about you if you weren't. What I want to say is that I know I was hard on you the other day when you were here.”

“Don't worry about it.”

“You seemed very removed. I wanted to make sure you knew just what Wyndham—and you—are up against. I won't be dealing with her that way. She's going to receive a lot of God-love.” I could feel her looking at me. “I'm not seeing that distancing in you today. You're really hurting.”

“Ya think?” My voice was bitter, and I immediately regretted it. “I'm sorry. Yeah, I'm hurting, and I don't usually hurt. When something comes up, I look at it, I deal with it, I move on. This is…this is just bizarre.”

“Most people say it's surreal.” Dominica plucked a wild daisy and proceeded to pull off its petals and toss them to the breeze. “You know, you
are
dealing with this, and you
are
moving on. You took a huge step today. It's just not going to happen overnight.”

“That's what Doc Opie told me.”

Dominica let out a laugh, a fountain-bubbling kind of sound that surprised me. “Your son's seeing Doc Opie?”

“You know him?”

“Yes, I know him—we've worked together. He's the best. The
best.”

She was smiling at me, her even white teeth gleaming against the brown lips.

“I misread you,” she said. “You're a lot more real than I gave you credit for being.”

“Is that a compliment?”

“Best thing I could say to somebody. A lot of times it's grief that
forces people to become who they really are—if they're willing to trust God enough to experience it.”

“Is that what this is—grief?”

“Yup.”

I grunted. “I think I'd rather skip it.”

“You can't, not if you want to get healthy and you want your kids to get healthy. Hey, Jesus grieved, and if it's good enough for Him, it's good enough for us.”

“Wonderful.” I sighed, a long, deep breath that filled me up and at once deflated me.

“It's like there's been a death,” Dominica said. “In a way there has been—your kid's lost his innocence. That's a huge loss.”

“I hate this.”

“Nobody likes it, but there it is. We have to work through it.”

“I don't know if I
can
get through it.” I pressed my hands against my jaws. “Can I just tell you that I feel absolutely overwhelmed?”

“You can tell me anything you want. In fact, why don't you come in and see me next week—see if maybe God and I can help you with some of this?”

I shook my head before I even thought about it. “Thanks, but if I take on one more bill, I'm going to have to get a second job, and I can't even handle the one I have.” I grunted again. “I never thought I'd hear myself saying that. I can handle anything. Right.”

“What bill? I come with the package—you're already paying for me. I do the family's therapy, too.” She held her hand out, palm down, and wiggled it back and forth. “Granted, I usually counsel the parents on how to get along with the girl that's in here, but I still feel fine about giving you individual help. If you aren't handling this, you sure can't help Wyndham, and she's going to need you.” She gave me a sly look. “Do it for Wyndham. You're feeling guilty, so give her this. Make you feel better.”

“You are bad!” I said.

“I do whatever I have to. I like to see people get healed.”

“I'll think about it.”

“I can't ask for more than that.” She gave a mischievous glance upward. “At least, not from you.”

I actually didn't think about it that much over the next twenty-four hours because I had to focus again on Ben. I was beginning to feel like a ping-pong ball, bouncing back and forth between concerns for him and worries about Wyndham. But now that she was safely tucked away at Trinity House, I could stay on Ben's side of the table, at least for a while.

I picked him up for soccer practice that afternoon, and I was surprised that he didn't whine about going. In fact, he was obviously anxious to get there.

“Am I gonna be late?” he said from the back seat. “Coach Gary doesn't like us to be late.”

“You're going to be
way
early. No sweat.”

“Did you bring my right shoes?”

“They're in your bag.”

“What about my knee pads?”

“Check.”

“My socks?”

“Check.”

“Am I gonna get there in time to put them on? Should I put them on now?”

“Pal, you can put them on anytime you want to.” I was almost in tears as I tossed the bag over the seat to him. It seemed like I wanted to cry no matter what happened, good or bad. There was a permanent lump in my throat.

That's probably why when I sat down in the bleachers next to Yancy Bancroft and she said, “How you doin, hon?” I burst into tears.

“Well, bless your heart,” she said, rubbing my back. She let me cry for a minute before she said, “Do you see your sweet babyness down there on the field? Isn't he just the cutest little ol' thing?”

I looked up to see Ben slamming the side of his foot into a soccer ball and sending it sailing crookedly across the field.

“Coach Gary says he kicks that thing like he's trying to put it out of its misery,” Yancy said.

I cried harder.

“Honey,” she whispered to me, “what are you doing for lunch tomorrow?”

“I don't know—probably nothing,” I said. “I can't eat.”

“Let's do something about that. Let me take you to a little place that just opened over on Music Row. We'll get us a back booth and talk. Let me pick you up at 11:00.”

I nodded and through my tears watched my son smack his foot into the ball again. If he was thinking what I was thinking, that was Sidney Vyne's head he was kicking.

Oh, how I wished it were.

L
A
B
ELLE
M
EUNIÈRE WAS A STUNNING AFFAIR
on Nashville's Music Row—a street so named because it was literally a string of recording studios and offices dedicated to the propagation of music, largely country-western.

Yancy and I had to take our sunglasses off the minute we walked in the door because the lighting was dim and the walls were paneled in mahogany, giving it the same ambience as Keith Pollert's family room. The tables were marble-topped, the seats Italian leather; the servers glided across the polished wood floor balancing trays laden with gourmet entrees that smelled of lemon butter and capers.

“This isn't your typical meat-and-three,” Yancy murmured to me as we waited for the as-yet-absent hostess to appear and seat us.

She was referring to the Southern lunchroom tradition of giving diners a list of meats on a chalkboard to select from, along with an assortment of vegetables from which to choose three. “Vegetables” usually included macaroni and cheese, applesauce, mashed potatoes drowning in gravy, and the ever-popular fried okra.

This food looked and smelled so divine, my mouth was watering. I almost literally hadn't had a bite to eat in days.

“I think I'm actually hungry,” I said to Yancy.

“That was my plan. I just hope you don't lose your appetite before we get seated.”

We both looked around for the hostess, but there was no one forthcoming, and a small crowd was forming in the vestibule behind us.

“Didn't you say they just opened?” I said. “They probably just don't have their act together yet.”

“So sorry, madames!” A muscular man with a professional smile and eyes that made him appear overworked, if not harassed, greeted
us with a stack of leather-bound menus under an arm that bulged beneath his Brooks Brothers sleeve.

“Are you in the weeds today?” I said.

He gave me another smile, this one more spontaneous. “You have worked as a waitress?” His French accent smoothed English into a piece of satin.

“Every summer in college,” I said. “You can't beat it for the money if you make good tips.”

“You must tell my hostess that. She quit this morning.” He dazzled us with yet another smile as he led us to a table as if he were strolling onto a football field. “But no worries—we will make certain madames have a superb
dejeuner
or it is on the house.”

“You're on,” Yancy said. She sank into leather opposite me in a booth and smiled into my face over the menu until Frenchy disappeared. “Did you see him flirting with you? Cute little ol' French thing.”

“Oh, nuh-uh.”

“Either that or he wanted to hire you.”

I gave a grunt as I perused the menu. “I may be looking for a new job soon. Mine is just too much right now, but I tell you, I can't really afford to quit. I don't know what to do.”