Cocoon (18 page)

She just didn't know what.

“Honey? Please don't push yourself so.”

Seana peered at him, determination rumbling in her like a volcano. “I'm going to do it all by myself.”

Barth spouted out a rush of air and threw up his hands. “Okay.”

She looked at the kitchen clock on the stove. Ten till ten. “It's time for my medicine. Where is it?”

“On top of the fridge. In the cookie jar.”

Barth hid the meds now so she wouldn't take them too early and so he could supervise the dosage. She had taken more than the prescribed dosage at times. He'd stopped locking them up because she now wanted to stay by herself. That meant that she could call him, if he was away, and he could tell her where to look.

Seana took her meds and dressed in her flannel floppy gown. Then slid into bed. Barth spooned up to her back. She had an itch to push him away. But she didn't because she was growing woozy from the combination of Ambien and Xanax.

The thing hovering above her swirled black and angry.

Go away. She squeezed her eyes shut but that didn't diminish the other thing in her brain that was messing with her wiring.

She would not allow it control again.
Stop it!

Her eyes sprang open and pierced the darkness.

Go away!

• • •

Seana had risen early today. She'd set the alarm for six. The turkey was ready for the oven.

“Merry Christmas.” Barth had halted her to kiss her cheek as she rushed about lining up her cooking tasks as a drill sergeant would his troops. Her two family-favorite cakes, carrot and chocolate, posed beautifully upon crystal cake pedestals, displayed through clear domes. Pies, both pumpkin and sweet potato, nestled together on one counter.

Now hours later, she bit her lip, frowning. Then she rushed to the fridge to take out perfectly squared fudge chunks to place beside the other sweets. Earlier in the afternoon, roasting turkey had mingled with aromas of cornbread dressing and sweet potato soufflé baking in two giant ovens. That had been a necessity in Seana's earlier years, when she did the lion's share of the family's holiday cooking. The double oven had been a miracle worker. She looked at the clock on the stove. Three-ten.

The family would begin arriving any minute, and today, she looked around at all she'd accomplished. One entire counter sprouted delectable desserts, even the Party Strawberries Billie Jean so loved. Another showcased the golden-brown turkey, gravy, mashed potatoes, veggies, and every imaginable trimming.

Seana would have felt a sense of pride if that darned
thing
would stop circling overhead like a reconnaissance plane. Or a black vulture. She rubbed her arms and scowled at the sense of darkness that invaded her brain and kept messing with it. It had stopped for a while. At least had lapsed. She'd hoped – prayed – it would stay gone.

The doorbell pealed. They all poured in, laughing and bubbling with cheer.

“Merry Christmas!” called Peyton and Ashley. They rushed to hug her and she felt a smothery resistance rise up inside her. She managed to endure it because they quickly moved to greet others in the family.

“Merry Christmas, Mom.” Zoe hugged her and kissed her cheek. Then she slowly turned and surveyed the food. “Dear Lord, Mama. What a spread!”

She turned, hands pressed together in glee. “You outdid yourself.” Then her gaze zoomed in on Seana's face. The smile faded. “You okay, Mama?” she asked quietly.

It irritated Seana. “I'm okay,” she snapped and walked away.

“Wow!” Ashley twirled round and round like a ballerina. “Everything looks great, Nana. Can't wait to taste your cooking again!”

Barth came up behind Seana as she stood rigidly at the window, staring unseeing at the mountain range. “It's time to eat,” she said loudly, and she felt Barth move away, relieved not to engage.

Barth prayed as they sat around the long dining room table holding hands. Then, because of the volume of dishes, the family formed a buffet line and filled their Christmas china plates and returned to the table.

“Here, Mama,” Zoe said firmly. “You sit down. We'll take care of everything else.”

Billie Jean joined in pouring iced tea and doing all the things required in noisy Southern family holiday gatherings. Seana was relieved to sit down and go into neutral. Zoe produced a filled plate before her.

Then they were all laughing and talking at once. Seana's ears began to hurt. She ate a few bites and then when she could stand it no longer, left and lay down in the den to watch the clock.

The racket grew quieter after she left the table.

It seemed forever before they joined her in the den and began to give out gifts. When Barth nudged her, she sat up to receive her own with as much politeness as she could muster. Managed to open them, endure the expectant smiles, and mutter “thank you” for each present.

And when the girls all had cleaned the table and put away the food, Seana figured they would all leave.

That didn't happen.

Tired beyond exhaustion, Seana slid down on the sofa, inclining completely, wishing them away, watching the clock. It was six-twenty. Didn't they have any place else to go, for goodness sake? It was Christmas. Couldn't they find other things to do other than bother her?

She saw Barth watching her with a certain worried expression he got at times. She clamped her teeth together and ground them. Six-thirty.

Seana tossed over to face the sofa's back and pulled the blanket up to her neck to ward off the chill and shut out the intrusion. She closed her eyes. But the noise continued for an interminable time.

“Bye, Mama,” Zoe whispered and kissed her cheek. “You worked too hard. Please rest.”

Each of them said their goodbyes to her. She suffered each one silently.

Finally, the last of them left. And Barth said, “I'm going to the study to read awhile. You need anything?”

“No.”

When she heard his study door close quietly, she felt like an elephant lifted from her.

Thank God. Alone at last.

• • •

Seana's relapse was complete.

“I could have predicted this would happen,” said Dr. Castor, irritating Barth to no end. He simply could not accept that this ailment was permanent.

No way.

“Shoot,” Billie Jean huffed one evening as Seana curled up on the sofa, her eyes more empty than ever. “She's gonna come outta it, I tell you.” She took a slurp of her decaf and poured a bit more cream in it. “Look at what I've come through. I'm well and whole.”

Her cheery upbeatness roused Barth out of his angst somewhat. He went to pour more coffee and resettled across the bar from Billie Jean, whom he'd come to admire more and more as time passed. Her initial mistrust of him was long gone, replaced by an incredible camaraderie.

As usual, she seemed to read his mind. “I really missed out, not having a brother. And here God drops you in my life. How neat is that, huh?”

“Pretty neat.” Barth smiled then and felt himself relaxing. “And now I've got a sister I never had.”

They sat there in peaceful silence for long moments, an easy, comfortable one during which they sipped their coffee, lost in their own thoughts.

“Thanks, Billie Jean. It helps to be reminded of the goodness in life. Of providential gifts. And yes, I do believe Seana will eventually be healed completely.”

Barth later would recall these remarks and wish he'd known what lay ahead. He'd have run for the hills.

“Sometimes you need to run away
just to see who will follow you.”

– Unknown

B
arth continued making meticulous charts of Seana's meds and activities, such as they were. Somewhere along the way, during her third year, Seana had begun walking on a treadmill at intervals. Barth figured it was a positive way to run off her anxieties.

Whatever drove her, he was glad she was finally moving, albeit somewhat sporadically at times. Other's she seemed obsessed with the activity. In some areas, he could set his watch by her, at others, he could not pigeonhole her.

The anxieties had increased. She was afraid to be alone, yet terrified to be in crowds – or even a small group. Then occasionally, she wanted solitude. It was a constant shifting of tides.

“She continues to lose weight,” he told Zoe when she dropped by one wintry day in February. “She's lost a total of twenty-five pounds.” He slowly shook his head, perplexed. “I've done everything I can to get her to eat but –” He shrugged dismally. “Let me pour you some coffee to warm you up.”

“Thanks.” Zoe deposited her purse and wool cape on a bar stool and slid onto another. She cupped the hot, aromatic mug in her hands and sipped. “One thing I noticed that's changed, though, is that she now will eat a hot dog at Petee's Drive-In. And she sometimes has to postpone her eating time in order to do that.” She shrugged. “Not much. But it's something. At least I get her out of the house for a little while.”

Petee's, a short order drive-in restaurant, was on the outskirts of Paradise Springs, and sometimes Zoe would pick up her mom to get her out of the house for few minutes. It helped Barth to have those short intervals of relief.

Barth's nerves had been doing a number on him lately, with Seana's even deeper plunge into psychosis. Now, he tried to not second-guess Zoe's mood of the moment. He felt inept when trying to read female vibes. Especially from one as unpredictable as Zoe.

“How's Peyton doing at Converse College? Does he like it?” He was glad his voice came out pleasant and relaxed.

“Oh, he loves it. I'm so thankful to Scott. He helped him apply for a music scholarship. And even more that Peyton got it hands down. The music department there is impressed with him.”

Barth smiled. “What's not to love and admire about Peyton? He's going to do well there. And he can drive back and forth, can't he?”

Zoe sighed. “That's the beautiful part. He can be a day student and still help me at the dance studio.” She shrugged and Barth thought he saw moisture gather in her eyes.

“If only Mom ….” Her words trailed off and she seemed to go off into her mind.

And he wondered if her trust in him had grown. At times, he thought it had. Like now, when she let down her hair and really became transparent.

Like family.

In that moment, Zoe visibly squared her shoulders and turned to peer at her mother, who lay on the sofa, TV set on a ball game. Barth could see her brow furrow and her eyes grow troubled. “She seems to be getting worse,” she muttered quietly.

Barth didn't say anything. Didn't want Seana to overhear negative words if at all possible. “The doctor said he'd expected this to happen,” he murmured dismally.

“What nonsense!” Zoe's nostrils flared and her eyes iced over as she nursed her coffee cup. “It's just strange, is all. She seemed to be getting well and then,
boom,
she gets sick all over again. Like ….” Her voice trailed off and she stared into space, in deep thought.

Barth frowned at her biting tone. It sounded distinctly accusatory. “Like what, Zoe?” he cautiously ventured. What the heck? Zoe would say it eventually. Might as well get it over with.

The blue eyes pierced him. “Like – something made her fall ill again. What's the culprit this time, Barth?”

Barth stared at her, mouth open. Then he took off his glasses, whipped out a handkerchief, and wiped them clean. He replaced them and peered closely at her. Yep, she was ticked. But why? Was he hearing more than what she was saying? He certainly hoped so. But something brewed in that brilliant mind of hers. He could hear it in her voice and feel it stirring the air about them.

He sighed deeply and slowly shook his head. “The doctor is constantly changing her meds because nothing seems to be working.” He shrugged listlessly. “I don't know what's happening, either. I wish I did.”

Zoe stood abruptly. “I'm going to call him.” She moved to snatch her cape up and slide into it. “I'm going to get to the bottom of this if it's the last thing I do.” She slid her purse strap over her shoulder and marched to the door.

Barth watched her in disbelief. “Zoe –”

Zoe spun at the door and glared at him. “I mean it, Barth. She's my mother. And I love her.”

The door slammed.

Barth's reply, to his own ears, seemed faraway. Surreal.

“She's my wife. And I love her, too.”

• • •

“That's ridiculous, Zoe!” Scott peered at her, incredulity stamped all over his rugged features. “You can't believe Barth would do anything to endanger Seana.”

Zoe paced across her den and back, halting to confront his lounging hunky bulk, at once all jock in his school jersey, jeans, and white cross-country running shoes and yet – somehow suave.

Darn his hide.

Before she could speak, his mouth quirked, then spread into a delighted grin. “Look at you. You're walking normally. No stiffness … your hips are all smooth and loose.” His hands did sign language that did not fool Zoe for one second.

“That was – off color.” She cut her eyes at him accusingly, then away, arms tightly crossed.

His brows rose in fake umbrage. “
Was not
! It was simply implying how wonderfully you are made and how – gracefully you move.” He leaned back, crossed his legs, and smiled disarmingly at her.

Zoe watched him for long moments, realizing she was in over her head here. He'd been nothing but nice while doctoring her back to health in the past few weeks. He'd provided excellent care for her joints and muscles with that magical Severe Injury Treatment Kit of his, the one the football team swore by. The nine-day protocol of wraps, patches, and topical formulas had effectively restored strength, flexibility, and function to her hip flexor. And he'd patiently mentored her during follow-up stretching and flexing exercises at the studio.

A powerful emotion swept over her and she pivoted on her heel and marched to the chair farthest from him and sank into it. “What?” he asked, spreading his arms. “You're not going to fuss anymore? Can't believe you're giving in that easily.”

“Not giving in. Just tired.” She groaned and realized it was true.

He suddenly leaned forward, elbows planted on knees. “You know why I've teased and prodded you so these last few days, don't you?”

Zoe nodded reluctantly. “Yeh.”

“Why?”

“Because you wanted to keep me fired up.”

His eyes widened and he laughed loudly. “Hey! That's right. I wouldn't have exactly put it in those precise words but –” He reared back and guffawed again.

Zoe fought the urge to laugh but couldn't quite force her features into a scowl. “Why wouldn't you have said it like that?” Curiosity got the best of her.

“Whoooee, you'd have slapped my face, that's why.” His chuckle was so contagious she couldn't help herself when she felt her traitorous lips tilt up at the corners, then open in laughter.

“I know what you meant,” Scott said, still smiling, his eyes twinkling. “And you're one hundred ten percent right. I wanted to keep you pushing ahead and a little irritation sometimes helps.”

Zoe rolled her eyes at him. “A little? Scott, you've got porcupine genes.”

He looked at her, his smile fading. “Zoe, you've got to stop this paranoia about Barth.”

Her good humor flattened. “Don't tell me what I can or cannot think, Scott.”

“Zoe, you know – on some level – that these suspicions are just that. Suspicions. I'm just saying that you –”

Zoe stood abruptly. “I think it's time you leave, Scott. I'm going to shower and turn in early.”

If Scott was shocked at her abruptness, he didn't show it. He arose smoothly, smiled, and turned to go. Then, seeming to reconsider, stepped back to her and dipped to kiss her cheek. He did it so quickly that she didn't have time to react.

This time, he did leave, quietly closing the door behind him.

Zoe stood there long moments, hand to cheek, wondering why he'd crossed that line. Why now? Why after these past few weeks of almost impersonal contact when the opportunity for intimacy had afforded itself, time after time?

And now, reflecting, she admitted that at times she'd felt disappointment that she was so – so
resistible.

She had to snap out of this. Zoe pivoted and launched herself into bed preparations, deciding to become honest and actually take a quick shower before sliding into a silky teddy.

Once in bed, lying in the dark, she went over the past weeks and realized that though the injury had been bad in one way, in another the recuperation had allowed her time to decompress. Instead of a daily to-do list, she'd been forced to chill out. Scott had insisted she not worry about money problems or dance lessons. Or anything, truth be known. It had worked, because, at times, she'd felt absolutely cosseted.

Actually, Peyton had been coaching Scott in dance instruction. Scott was a quick study, according to Peyton, and had already taught several lessons while she was off her feet. She could use another teacher at the studio. Even part-time help would lighten her load considerably.

And Scott's leasing her duplex had eased her money worries even more. He'd insisted on paying the normal deposit and first month's rent in advance, even when she protested. After all, he was helping her.

Zoe didn't know how to take this entire knight-in-shining-armor stuff.

She'd never been exposed to it in her entire adult life.

Not since her dad.

“
Zoe, you've got to stop this paranoia thing about Barth.”

Her eyes popped open and she stared at the moonlight-dappled ceiling. She felt herself frowning. He was already telling her how she should feel … and act.

Somehow, that stung more than anything he could have done. He didn't walk in her shoes. He hadn't experienced betrayal by one who was supposed to love and honor … till death do us part.

Suddenly tears welled. She recalled Joanie's remarks the day before at Homecombing Queen Beauty Salon. “You and Scott getting along well, I see.” Joanie beamed at her in the mirror as she trimmed Zoe's hair.

“Oh, I'm not –”

“Pshaaw. Can't fool me, sweetie. I half raised you, remember? Scott's a nice fellow.” Then her lips V'd into a kittenish grin. “And have you noticed what a hunk he is?”

Zoe had sighed. “Yeh. I have noticed that.”

And in that moment she had to acknowledge the classic symptoms.

Infatuation.

Not love, she still insisted tonight as she glared into the silvery moonlit emptiness of her room. Oh she was experiencing the stupid light-headedness, rapid heartbeat, and quickened breathing at the mere thought of him.

Her emotions vacillated from tears to laughter in a moment's time. Anything emotional could set her off lately. But she'd been able to blame her sensitivity on the injury and inflammation.

Until now.

In that moment, she recalled something else Joanie had said to her yesterday. “Zoe, you deserve to love and be loved. Don't hold back, honey.” She'd reached down to hug Zoe then, a quick but warm gesture from one who was like a second mother, and it had brought tears to Zoe's eyes.

Tonight, those words struck to the heart of Zoe's hesitation. “You deserve to … be loved.”

Do I? Why can't I allow it to happen?

Then she thought about Peyton, who already idolized Scott. He'd not had a father's love since he was a toddler. He'd been dreadfully hurt by her five-year relationship with Cory Evans, one that abruptly ended when Zoe had called it quits after realizing it was a dead-end, noncommittal affair for Cory.

Not since his grandfather died had Peyton had any stable, significant male figure in his life.

Other than Barth.

She squeezed her eyes shut and quickly doused that line of thinking.

Being in love, to Zoe, was like going through an incurable illness. A slow, painful process with a predictably bad outcome.

She'd told Joanie as much yesterday during their heart to heart. “He'll leave, Joanie. They always do. Why would Scott want to stay?”

Joanie had laughed out loud. “Just listen to you,” she said quietly so as not to be overheard. “You're beautiful and smart and witty. Peyton's a dream of a son for any man.” She rolled her contact-enhanced ambers at Zoe. “Duh. I don't add too good, but even for me, it's a winning combination.”

Zoe was shaking her head and Joanie gently poked her in the shoulder. “Look at you, already counting yourself out before you give it a chance.”

Zoe dragged in a deep cleansing breath and exhaled. “These things, with me, have a life of their own. They never work out and I hate to see Peyton hurt again.”

“Look honey, don't heap all men into one lump and label them jerks. My mama told me that the cream will always rise to the top. That applies to the male species, too.”

“I'll take that into consideration,” Zoe said and gave her a grudging smile. “Scott and I have already agreed that we're simply friends. Nothing more.”

“Can I give you a little motherly advice?” Joanie asked.

Zoe braced herself but muttered, “Sure.”

“Live in the now. Stop and smell the roses. Seize the moment – and all that flowery counsel, Zoe. Simple.” Another big smile and hug and Zoe was on her feet and leaving.