Lily Love (6 page)

I don’t go back to playing my song but mess around with a few scales, just so I can feel that rush again. I’m not as bad as I thought I’d be. I’m so self-conscious about the hemiparesis in my hand that I usually hide it at all costs. That means I’ve also limited myself unnecessarily. There’s no way to know what I’m really capable of if I’m too afraid to try. But it’s so frustrating and awkward, I’d rather ignore it altogether. Hemiparesis—it even
sounds
embarrassing, like “hemorrhoid.” These are the ailments of the elderly, not of a woman in her mid-thirties.

Ironically, my singing needs more work than anything. On days like today, when Peter has Lily and I’ll have time alone, I need to remember to sit down and do this for myself. It feels good and it’s mine. Just mine.

When my right hand starts to fatigue, I take my cup back to the kitchen. I’m washing the remains of cold coffee down the drain when I fix my gaze on the counter where my phone is charging. A brazen idea flashes in my mind, and before I have the chance to change my mind I type my text and hit send.

Me: Hey, do you want to grab some coffee before I head to Lily’s room?

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I rest my forehead on the counter and run through the many reasons why that was a really bad idea. Maybe he just won’t reply and I can pretend that it never happened.

Max: Carolina on My Mind! I was hoping I’d see you today. What time are you headed to the hospital?

Oh crap! What have I done?

I stand, stuck to the kitchen floor with my phone in my hand. Max’s text stares back at me, and I feel flames creep up my chest and neck, into my cheeks. I haven’t done something this rash and impulsive since . . .

For the love of God, it’s coffee. Get over yourself.

Something between a snort and a giggle erupts from my mouth and nose. For a moment I wonder if I have finally lost my mind and am swan-diving off the cliff of my sanity.

Me: I’ll be there in 45 and will have an hour before I relieve Peter. Does that work for you?

I smile down at my phone, waiting for his response.

Who cares? He’s cute. He’s your friend. Enjoy.

What does Paige always say? “You’re married, not buried.”

Well, I’m not married anymore, so that’s a moot point anyway. Coffee with a friend is well within reason and something I haven’t done in a really long time.

Max: Sounds great :D Looking forward to catching up. I don’t like where we left it yesterday.

My eyelids flutter to a close as I tip my head toward the ceiling and release an exasperated breath. I was hoping to practice talking about things that didn’t involve my life falling apart. Still, I don’t want Max to think anything he did made things worse than they already are.

Me: You bet. See you in a bit?

Max: Sounds good. See you soon.

Breathing deeply, I rest my phone back on the countertop and head for the shower. So coffee is not going to be the casual conversation I’d been hoping for. It doesn’t negate my need for company, and I could do a whole lot worse than Max. He’s already versed on the history, so maybe talking to him won’t be so hard. Who knows?

caroline i see you

T
he line at the coffee cart in the cafeteria gives me time to still my nerves. I pretend to be carefully considering what mocha-frappa-yadda-chino to order, when I’m really standing here wondering how not to make an ass of myself in front of Max. The line moves faster than I want it to, and before I know it the barista is looking at me expectantly.

Shit
.

My mind is utterly blank. Too much time practicing conversations in my head so I don’t act a fool and here I am, wordless and foolish as ever.

“Uh . . .” I stammer and look at the menu again.

“Grande skinny vanilla latte,” calls a voice behind me. I spin on my heel and come face-to-face with the stranger from yesterday.

“Hey, stranger.” I smile. “You remembered?”

Stranger? Jesus, Caroline.

“Hi, Lily’s mom.” He taps his temple. “I’ve got a memory like an elephant.”

“Three-fifty, ma’am,” the barista interrupts. I hand him my money and turn back to my mystery man.

“Are you sitting in here somewhere?” I ask. His warm eyes are drawn today, and days’ worth of scruff covers his face. He looks tired, and my heart reaches out to his in empathy.

“No, not today.” He sighs. The lines around his eyes deepen as he pinches his eyes closed. His face turns pained, and I want to kick myself for not asking why he was here yesterday.

“Caroline,” Max calls out as he crosses the cafeteria. He waves when I turn my head, and my stomach starts to flutter.

The stranger tips his head to the side while the smile returns to his lips. “Caroline,” he repeats, exploring the syllables with his upturned mouth. “It was good to see you again.”

“You, too,” I return. There is a vacancy in his eyes, where his smile can’t touch. I know that feeling all too well and my heart breaks a little for him. I can only imagine what news he’s been left to digest. Considering where we are, the possibilities are endless. “You sure you don’t want to sit with me and my friend for a minute?” I touch his arm to keep him from walking away.

“Thank you, but I’ve got to get back.” He sighs heavily and places his hand over mine. His eyes roam over my shoulder and then back to me. “Bye, Caroline.”

“Bye,” I murmur as he walks away.

“Carolina on My Mind.” I turn to find Max smiling down at me. “Who was that?”

“I don’t know his name,” I answer. “He sat with me yesterday when you were with Lily. He listened to me drone on about her. I wish I’d returned the favor; he looks rough today.”

“Ah.” Max nods. “The Comfort of Strangers.”

“Another song?” I ask.

“Beth Orton, from the album
Comfort of Strangers
,” he replies. I shake my head at his inner catalog of music knowledge.

“Learn something new every day,” I shoot back with sarcasm. Max gives me an inquisitive look.

“Back at you,” he chuckles. “I never knew you were such a smart-ass.”

“Yeah, well, a girl’s got to have some secrets.”

Max orders his coffee and we grab a table by the window. My mind drifts back to my stranger and how I wish I knew his name—something.

“Thinking about Lily?” Max’s voice brings me back to the present.

No.

“Just wondering how she and Peter did last night,” I lie.

“I’m sure they were fine,” Max reassures me. “You can’t be there all the time.”

“I’m learning that.” I sigh.

“Good.” He sounds surprised. “You’re the most dedicated mother I’ve seen, Carolina, but you’re also the loneliest.” Of all the things that Max could’ve chosen to call me, that shocks me.

“Lonely?”

“You don’t let anyone in,” he says. “Strength is something you’ve got in spades, but you’ve got to let others be strong for
you
, too.” He regards his coffee for a moment and then lifts his piercing eyes to mine. “I’m worried about you.”

My response lodges in my throat and tears fill my eyes.

“Jesus, Max.” I sigh. “All I do around you lately is cry.” I laugh and try to make light of my waterworks, but Max is not amused.

“Did you know that in all the years I’ve known you, yesterday was the first time I’ve seen you cry since we met?” he asks. I shake my head and wait for him to continue. “I’ve watched you shoulder Lily’s care without so much as a heavy sigh. That doesn’t tell me that you have superhuman strength; it tells me that you are tuned out. That’s not living.”

“Max,” I whisper, as the tears streak down my face. He ignores me and continues talking.

“And I know that I’m supposed to be impartial with the patient’s family, but I’m so mad at Peter.” He shoots me a warning look when I try to interject. “Don’t. I get that you aren’t pissed, but I am. I’ve
watched as you’ve given up everything for Lily, never taking anything for yourself. It’s not right.”

“Max, sometimes it isn’t anyone’s fault,” I plead. “Sometimes things just end. You just told me that I need to let others be there for me. Don’t you think Peter felt that way, too? I stopped seeing him; I was only focused on Lily. It’s not fair to just blame him.”

“You’re
my
friend, Carolina,” he says. “My loyalty belongs to
you
. Don’t expect me to sympathize with him. I can’t do it.”

I let his words take root in my heart. As misguided as his anger may be, it feels good to have someone on my side.

“I’m sorry about the scene in the hallway,” he goes on. “Peter didn’t seem too happy to see me there, and the last thing I wanted was to make things harder.” He shakes his head. “I just don’t understand how he could walk out on you and Lily.”

“You’re a good friend, Max.” I sniffle as I wipe my eyes. “I appreciate your standing by me, but blaming Peter isn’t the answer. It’s a hard enough adjustment for Lily without people mapping battle strategies.” I look down for a minute and consider carefully what I’m about to say. “I don’t know how to do this,” I whisper.

“Do what?” His concern is clear.

“Be a friend,” I start. “I mean a
real
friend, or a . . . Never mind, I don’t know what I’m saying.” I slink down in my seat as Max starts to chuckle.

“Caroline, you
are
a real friend, always have been.” He smiles and reaches across the table for my hand. “You were there for me when Nina left, bringing me casseroles to make sure I ate. Now it’s my turn.”

“You’re going to bring me casseroles?” I snort.

“Smart-ass,” he mutters, and shakes his head. “Let me be there for you. You need a sitter to go out with Paige? I’ll hang with Lily Love. You need to talk? I’m here for you. Okay?” He squeezes my hand and then leans back in his seat.

“Thanks, Max.” I smile and sip my coffee, unsure of what to say.

As if he can sense my thoughts, Max leans his arms on the table. “Look at me,” he urges, so I lift my eyes to his. “You’ve been in that bubble too long. This isn’t weird; it’s what friends do. So quit squirming.”

I stare in shock for a minute before I regain my composure. I haven’t had friends in so long it feels foreign to me. The friends I had before Lily fell into two categories: those who didn’t have children and couldn’t relate to what I was going through, and those who did and still couldn’t relate. I tried to make those friendships work, but it hurt to watch other parents and see their children breezing through the developmental milestones that Lily couldn’t quite reach.

I even joined a support group for moms of children with special needs, thinking that would be a better fit. It only made me more insecure about not having all the answers where Lily was concerned. They spent the bulk of our meetings talking about the newest therapies, diets, research studies—you name it. All I wanted to do was commiserate about how hard it was to still be changing diapers at Lily’s age, or how frustrating it was just to go to the grocery store with her. God forbid you disagreed with one of their methodologies. One mother had the audacity to chastise me for my choice in behavioral therapy for Lily, just because it wasn’t her choice.

“Applied Behavioral Analysis? Isn’t that monkey training?” she sneered. I was so shocked by her gall I was surprised I had the ability to answer her.

“Actually, ABA is the only behavioral therapy that’s based in actual science. It’s driven by individualized data, which is proven to be the most effective way of predicting and correcting behavior.” Monkey training. What a bitch.

After that meeting, I determined that I didn’t need support like that. It left me with the feeling that I was being judged as a parent, and that’s hard to shake when you feel like everyone’s eyes are on you and your child who’s different from everyone else. It became easier and easier to just shut everyone out.

“Jeez, you’ve got me all figured out, huh?” I laugh nervously. It’s uncanny how well Max knows me. He’s absolutely right, I’ve been in a bubble for far too long.

“Caroline I See You.” He smiles.

“James Taylor, from the album
October Road
.” I smirk when his eyes go wide.

“Well how ’bout that.” He beams. “There’s something else underneath the facade after all.”

“Ha, ha.” I roll my eyes and try to ignore the knot forming in my stomach.

The last person I felt really knew me decided not to stay. It’s equal parts scary and sad: Scary that letting someone know you means letting them near enough to hurt you. Sad that Peter was the last person I let get close at all.

fall apart today

T
he elevator in the Neurology wing feels like a tin of sardines and smells slightly worse. I’m sandwiched between a very tired-looking nurse and a man with a big bouquet of flowers. On each floor I step out and let a few more people off before stepping back inside. The Epilepsy Monitoring Unit is on the top floor, of course.

By the seventh floor the car has emptied enough that I don’t have to jump off and on. When the doors open, I don’t know what makes me look up, but I do. Standing in the hallway is my stranger and what appears to be a doctor. My stranger is facing me, but his eyes are shut tight, his fingers furiously working the bridge of his nose. My heart stops, the doors close, and I am whisked to the next floor—Pediatric Neurology: Epilepsy Monitoring Unit.

My stranger.

I see myself in him and his pain feels like my own. Kindred spirits moving on a parallel through the same myriad of emotions. It’s totally presumptuous. Ridiculous. Still, it feels like my heart senses his hurt, and all I want to do is hold his hand.

I wander down the hallway, replaying the scene in my head. The pain was etched on his face. Even though I only saw it for a few seconds, the look is seared into my memory. Probably because it’s familiar.
I can’t remember which department is on the seventh floor, but someone my stranger belongs to is there.

“Hi, Mrs. Williams,” the charge nurse calls as I approach the nurses’ station.

“Hunter, Audrey. My last name is Hunter now.” I smile sympathetically when she blanches.

“I’m so sorry,” she stammers. “I didn’t know.”