Mary Ellen Courtney - Hannah Spring 01 - Wild Nights (27 page)

“Okay so far. I’m just walking out the door. I’m going to see her a last time before we leave.”

“Would it be okay with you if I call her? Send flowers?”

“I guess. It’s not like you really knew her, but do what you want. Her name’s Jackie.”

“I know her name, Hannah. It was good to hear your voice.”

“Okay, I need to get on the road.”

“Have a great time in India,” he said. “Let’s have dinner when you get back.”

“Why would we do that?”

“I loved you, Hannah.”

“You had a strange way of showing it.”

”So did you.”

“We can talk when we both get back,” I said.

It was only 2:00 in the afternoon and the day was running away from me. I closed up and headed to San Diego. For the first time that I could remember, I was looking forward to seeing my mom. She can be one of the silliest people I know when she gets going. We’d always enjoyed each other’s sense of humor.

Traffic slowed then came to a full stop over an old mattress that had flown out of the back of someone’s truck. A dog cowered on it like it was riding a tattered magic carpet. People were stopped all over the road, trying to coax the snarling terrified dog to safety. My phone rang again, Steve.

“I can’t talk, I’m on the freeway.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

“About the baby. Your mother’s upset about losing a grandchild.”

“That’s infuriating. There was no grandchild. That’s just crazy. I had a miscarriage. I had no idea I was even pregnant. I should never have told her.”

“Hannah.”

“Hannah what? I can’t have this conversation on the freeway. You have no idea what it was like. I’ve never been through anything so painful in my life. I thought I would die.”

I hung up and turned off my phone. It felt fine to hang up on Steve. So she’d turned it into her very own lost grandchild drama. I guess some things might never change. I couldn’t believe she’d reverted to her self-absorbed suck so soon after Bettina and Amber died. I looked forward to screaming at her, while she was sober and would remember. That would be a first.

Someone finally got their belt around the dog’s muzzle and dragged it off the road. The truck driver picked up the mattress and threw it in the back. He drove off and left the dog behind. Bon voyage lucky dog.

I pulled into Mom’s driveway at dusk. A few lights were on. I used my key to unlock the door and called hello. No answer. I switched on some lights while I walked around calling for her. There was nothing going on in the kitchen except an empty wine glass. I got to the hall and saw one of her shoes, a few feet away was her second shoe. I followed her breadcrumbs and found her passed out cold on the floor of the den. What a familiar picture. I stood looking down at her. I didn’t feel like the helpless little girl who had done the same thing so many times before. I felt sad for her; but I was frustrated as hell that she’d managed to avoid hearing me scream about her lost grandchild bullshit.

I went into the kitchen and found her notepad and calculator by the phone. Then I sat down at the kitchen table and did the math. I was twelve when my father died, and nineteen when I left home for college. I’d actually stayed home an extra year thinking I could help her. So 7 years times 365 days. I kept it simple. I figured, roughly, that for 2555 and one nights I had stood by helplessly while she disappeared from my life. I dug the black Sharpie fat tip for marking boxes out of my purse and went back into the den. She was snoring softly; she hadn’t moved a muscle. I pulled up her sweater and pulled down the front of her pants to expose her belly. She’d lost so much weight since the accident, her hipbones were sticking out. She wasn’t wearing her Arthur jeans; she was back in sweats. Using my best production designer graffiti lettering I wrote: Hannah Was Here 2555 & One Nights.

It needed embellishment. At first I thought of enclosing the message in a heart, but that didn’t feel right. Instead I drew a round head and added two pointy ears, eyes, two soft swoops for a nose, and cat whiskers. I thought of the terrified dog on his mattress and drew a magic carpet under the head. Unlike my grandmother’s rudimentary wood burning, I drew in perspective. I added scrolling designs like Indian henna patterns to the carpet, plus fringe. I surrounded it with swirling stylized clouds. I drew a sun peeking out from behind one hipbone, and a moon rising behind the other. I gave them both eyes that were swiveled down in alarm on the scene below. I got a little carried away. I thought about how lucky she was I didn’t start in on her forehead like a Hindu bride. On second thought, I added swirls to the backs of her hands and down her fingers. Then brusque bands like Victor warrior cuffs around her wrists.

I sat back on my knees and waited to be sure the ink was dry. I blew on it a little and tested the densest spots with my finger. The mantle clock my father had built from a kit chimed five o’clock. She was right on schedule. It occurred to me that I looked like someone in a psycho killer movie. I pulled up her waistband and put her sweater back in place. Then I backtracked. I turned off the lights and locked the door. I called Eric as I drove away.

“Mom’s drunk and passed out on the floor of the den.”

“Oh shit, here we go. Are you still coming down in the morning?”

“No. I’m headed home.”

“You’re going to just leave her there?”

“She left me there 2555 and one nights. She’ll be fine.”

“Okay, you’re right. We’ll miss seeing you before you leave.”

“She told Steve about the miscarriage.”

“Oh Jesus. Well Binky came by her blabbing honestly. Is that why you’re leaving her there?”

“No, I’m leaving because she invited me for a visit and then didn’t show me the courtesy of staying home.”

“Drive carefully.”

“I will,” I said. “Give everyone my love.”

I turned off my phone again and was home in less than two hours. I had been trying to convince the family to do the Sharpie art on Binky for years. I couldn’t stand the way she always called the next day pretending she hadn’t ruined whatever family event we’d had, and how everyone played along. I wanted her to wake up covered with messages from the family, written while she was in one of her near-death alcohol comas.

One Christmas all the kids had received fruit-scented markers; I thought they’d be especially good. The more senses the better. Everyone thought it was too mean. I bet they were grossed out by the idea of drawing on her flabby belly.

I wonder if it would have made a difference. Mom would be contemplating her navel for a few days at least; that ink wasn’t called permanent for nothing.

I had a good night’s sleep. There’s nothing like drawing a flying cat head in perspective all over your mother’s stomach to make you feel like you’ve gotten some work done.

Steve called the next morning. I was sure he’d sunk his teeth into the scene and wouldn’t stop calling until he was satisfied with his version of events.

“What happened?” he asked.

I told him the story, or the part that was any of his business.

“Are you sure it was mine?”

“Yes I’m sure.”

“And you didn’t have an abortion?”

“Of course not, what a thing to say. Did you hear anything I just said? You can be such an asshole.”

“I guess I wouldn’t be hearing it from your mother if you had.”

“I wouldn’t put it past her, but I didn’t. I thought you’d be relieved.”

“We got pretty fucked up, but I wouldn’t be relieved.”

“What about your lawyer? Talk about complications.”

“We would have figured something out.”

“Figured something out about a child? I don’t want to figure out complications before a child is even born. I feel like I’m in a nightmare. What happened to no child of mine will be born outside of marriage? I can’t believe we had a relationship.”

“We were good.”

“We were not good. I don’t know why you keep saying that. We were never going to be good.”

“You thought we were good when I was taking you to Paris.”

“You think I was sleeping with you for a trip to Paris? You call that good? I introduced you to my family.”

“I’m not exactly a truck driver.”

“I never met your family. That would have been awkward if we’d figured out a child.”

“Who knows? I loved you, Hannah. I thought we could get past the families. Past the other people. I’ll call you.”

“You loved someone who used you for trips? You’re crazier than I am. Don’t even think about calling. Just blow me one last kiss.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Which part didn’t you get?”

“That blowing kiss part.”

“It’s a song. Look it up.”

I hung up before he could ask me the lyrics, which I so didn’t know. I swam laps until it felt like my lungs would burst. Then I lay on the hot patio stones and took note of the soaking hot sun on my body as wispy chills of cool air tried to sweep it away. That’s all I did. I checked out. I hadn’t dodged a firing squad; I’d dodged an atomic bomb.

Eric called. Mom hadn’t shown up at church. He couldn’t stand it so he’d driven up to check on her. He found her in the backyard gardening and crying. Arthur was sitting in a patio chair drinking coffee and watching. Neither of them had much to say to Eric. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know the protocol for having your mother fall off the wagon again. He didn’t say anything and neither had they.

“Was she wearing gardening gloves?”

“Yeah, I guess so. Yeah, she was. Why?”

“Just wondering. So you don’t know if she told Arthur?”

“No. It was pretty damn strange though. Arthur was watching her with the same look he had when she was beating up on Ted. I figured he knew. What’s with the gloves?”

“Oh, I got a little carried away.”

I told him what I’d done.

“You are fucking kidding me. She’s supposed to go to a luncheon with Aunt Asp and Anna tomorrow.”

“Well I don’t see that happening unless she reverts to her 1960s look of crisp white gloves. Though I guess she could wear leather, it is winter, but with the bracelets she’d need three-quarter length, not a good look in the middle of the day.”

“Jesus, have you lost your mind?”

“I don’t know, maybe. We should have done the same thing to Binky years ago; they might still be alive if we’d stopped hiding from the truth. Everyone thought it was too mean.”

“Ted would never have stood by while we did that. I don’t think it would have been too mean. Most of the time I wanted to slap her to Jupiter. But can you really imagine us doing that family art project? The kids would be in therapy for the rest of their lives.”

“Now that you put it that way, I can see that it was a solo exhibit kinda gig.”

“And borderline crazy. Maybe not even borderline.”

“It sounds like it got Mom’s attention. We don’t know what Ted would have tolerated. We never tried. We never tried anything. We kept saying it was up to him. I think that whole weakest link thing is AA bullshit. She needed all of us to play along and we did.”

“She didn’t care about any of us.”

“Yes she did, it just got lost in the wilderness of her misery. She was a good sister when we were young. We had that history. It was important to her. I’m not going to just stand around like I’m twelve anymore.”

“Obviously. How long do you figure the ink will last?”

“Depends on how hard she’s willing to scrub. Maybe they’ll discover Arthur is into tattoos with his coochie.”

“You really are crazy,” he was laughing. “I’ll keep you posted, you do the same.”

I got the coconut and a hammer and set up shop on a paper bag on the warm patio stones. I was wearing my angel tee shirt. The sun heated the metallic ink so I could feel the outline of the warm wings on my back; my grandmother must have her wood burning tools out. If she really had hated my mother, I imagined her with a rare smile while she drew my wings.

I went to work tapping all over like I’d seen Jon do. My phone rang in the house. I ignored it. It rang again. It kept up like that, a steady ringing at even intervals. I doubted it was Mom; as Eric said, she was more into machine-gunning it with autodial. I finally got up and looked at caller ID.

“Please, Jon, stop calling me.”

“You wouldn’t answer,” he said.

“Not answering is an answer. Leave a message. I thought we were going to talk when I got back.”

“I never agreed to that. I plan to talk to you every day.”

“Is that a threat?”

“It’s a promise.”

“Oh brother, you sound like a bad gangster movie. I’m not going to call you again at dawn; you don’t need to worry about that. In two weeks I’ll be on a different planet. I’m going to take up with a nice Indian man.”

“Call any time you want, I’ll be calling you.”

“So it’s payback?”

“No. I want to hear your voice.”

“Really? Haven’t you had enough? You said I never stop talking. You should know my brother just said I’m crazy.”

“Why are you crazy?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Sure I do,” he said.

“You’re like talking to a mule,” I said.

“I know. You might as well just tell me and get it over with.”

“I found my mother passed out and drew all over her with a black marker. I drew a cat’s head. I did the math. She had passed out on me 2555 and one times. I wrote the number on her belly. I covered her hands like an Indian bride. I gave her Samoan warrior cuffs. It got all feline multi-cultural. I probably should have thrown a little Egyptian something in there. I wanted to draw on my sister for years. I couldn’t think of anything else and it might have saved their lives. My brother says it would have landed the kids in therapy for life.”

He was silent on the other end. It wasn’t the dead controlling silence Steve could pull off; he was listening with both ears. Why was I even telling him? He felt like the most natural person in the world to tell; at the same time it felt like I was asking to get poked by monkey tree leaves.

“I need to go,” I said. “I’m in the middle of something.”

“I can’t think of another person on any planet who would tell me that. I’ve been alone a long time. I love you, Hannah. I should have told you that the night you licked my ear.”