Skyward (35 page)

“None! I didn’t take none of it.”

“Don’t lie to me, Fannie.” He tore back the plastic covering and found one cut in half. Rage whipped through him and he had to hold himself still, squeezing the pills in his fists, or he’d lash out dangerously. He knew the medicine just as he knew she had to have stolen it from the clinic. He remembered thinking it odd to find her there the other day. When he’d asked her about it, she’d just laughed nervously and said she was curious to see it. His instincts had shot up a red flag but he’d ignored them, telling himself he wasn’t being fair to her, that he shouldn’t be so suspicious. When coherent thought returned to him, he glared back at her menacingly.

Fannie shrank back, twisting on one heel. “Well, okay. Maybe a little. I was just fooling around. Harris, I was so bored! I didn’t hurt no one!”

Hurt…
He had a sudden thought that shot straight to his heart, causing it to pound in panic. He cursed and rammed the tranquilizer into his pocket. “Marion!” he called out, racing up the narrow stairs, two at a time.

He found her lying on her bed, propped against the pillows reading a book. He slumped against the door a minute, just soaking in the sight as relief surged through him.

She looked up at him and smiled weakly. “Hi, Daddy.”

Harris smiled and swallowed hard. When his heartbeat slowed to normal, he walked across the room, past Gaudy Lulu lying discarded on the floor, to sit on the bed beside her. The narrow mattress sank with his weight, and he stretched out an arm along the feminine white-wood headboard.

“Whatchya reading?”

“Goodnight Moon,”
she replied, leaning her head listlessly against his chest. “Ella used to read me this story.”

Alert to the sadness in her voice, he asked, “Are you okay, honey?”

“I miss Ella.”

He felt his heart crack. “Do you? I do, too.”

“Is she coming back?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Is she downstairs? Can you tell her to come up and read me a story?”

A warning signal went off in his head and he said, “You know she’s not here, honey.” He bent to kiss her head. “What’s that perfume I smell?”

“I don’t know,” she replied, missing the usual cue. She sat up suddenly and began climbing from the bed. “I’m going to get Ella,” she said, and started walking toward the stairs. “She likes this story.”

Harris knew another moment’s panic. She was clearly disoriented. He rushed from the bed to hold her shoulders and look at her face. She seemed flushed, and, pulling her closer, her breath smelled fruity.

“Does your head hurt?”

She nodded. “I don’t feel so good, Daddy. And I’m thirsty.”

Harris carried her to the bed as his heart began pounding again. “It’s okay, honey. You stay right there. Daddy’s going to get your test kit. I’ll be right back.” Before he turned, he caught sight of the empty juice carton by the bed. Worry swirled in his chest as he pounded down the narrow stairs and raced through the living room, past Fannie, who stood wringing her hands nervously.

“What’s wrong?” she called after him, following him to the bathroom.

“When was the last time you checked her blood?” he demanded, grabbing the test kit from the medicine cabinet.

She put a shaky hand to her forehead. “Uh, let me think! Not long ago. Shit, I can’t remember. Didn’t I write it down?”

“No,” he snapped, pushing past her on his way to the stairs. According to the chart, Marion had missed her last dose. Maybe two. He cursed himself for trusting Fannie, for believing he could save her, save their marriage, save their family. All he’d done was risk his daughter’s life. Well, no more.

He turned on his heel before going up the stairs and, jabbing an index finger in Fannie’s face, roared, “Get your stuff packed up. I want you out of here by morning.”

Marion was listless but cooperative as he reached for her finger and quickly completed the stick test. She didn’t even peep when he administered the shot. When he finished, he gathered her in his arms and held her close against his chest. In a minute, he’d call the doctor, he told himself. But for now, he needed to hold her close while the insulin did its work.

“Your daddy’s here,” he said with urgency as he sat on the bed, rocking her back and forth and making a hundred and one vows about things he was going to do, to change, to make his daughter safe. “You’re going to be all right. Everything’s going to be all right.”

Sentinel Species.
Birds of prey are a sentinel species. As predators, raptors are at the top of the food chain. By the time a raptor becomes ill or dies from a toxic chemical, the toxin has already worked its way along the food chain from plants to herbivores to carnivores. It may be a million times more concentrated than when first applied to the environment. One in eight of all bird species have a real risk of becoming extinct in the next hundred years—fifty times the historical rate.

23

THE MORNING SUN FOUND HARRIS ALREADY sitting at the table, dressed and with a mug of coffee in his hands. He’d spent most of the night sitting by Marion’s bedside, afraid to leave lest she call for him and, not finding him near, be afraid. The doctor assured him many times that the crisis had been averted, that Marion was just fine. But Harris had relived the horror of that night in December when he’d stood in Wal-Mart and watched helplessly as his daughter convulsed. He could not be drawn away from Marion’s side while the night terrors still hovered.

The pink light of dawn chased away the irrational fears of the dark, however, and he began to see things more clearly. In a dispassionate manner that was oddly comforting, he could see the patterns of his life and choices spread out before him as though on a game board. Looking at it now he realized that no matter how he’d thrown the dice, he’d made the same wrong choices over and over again. He had always believed that he could heal those he loved. If he tried harder, worked longer, if he didn’t quit trying, he believed he could save them.

Unlike with the raptors, he had not been able to recognize when it was time to let go.

He looked at his wristwatch, keenly aware of the time. It was just after six o’clock. Months ago, he’d scheduled a flight demonstration for eight o’clock that morning for a group of corporate executives interested in supporting the center. He’d insisted on the early hour because of the heat. The birds would be sorely tested if flown when the weather sweltered. It was too important a fundraiser to cancel, and he’d had to do some juggling with Maggie late the night before to make the event work.

Picking up the phone, he dialed Maggie’s number. Despite the early hour, she answered on the second ring.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be there,” she told him upon answering.

He half smiled. “Just checking. I don’t want to leave Marion alone with Fannie.”

“I’ll be there by seven-thirty.”

He hung up the phone, aware that Fannie was standing at the hall door, dressed and dragging her duffel bag. She’d heard what he had said to Maggie.

“I’m sorry, Harris.” Her voice was contrite. “I’d never do anything on purpose to hurt Marion. I love her. I tried my best.”

“I know.” He didn’t feel anger toward her any longer. He didn’t feel anything for Fannie at all except, perhaps, pity. He wearily moved his hand toward a chair. “Sit down. Do you want some coffee?”

“Don’t get up. I’ll get it.”

She dropped the bag on the floor and went to the kitchen, coming back a few minutes later with a mug of coffee in her hands. She looked thin and drawn, with dark circles under her puffy eyes. She’d lost the bloom that she had regained when she’d first arrived. That was because Ella had been taking care of her, he realized. Fannie was like another child. She couldn’t hold it together on her own.

She stared down at her coffee, her fingers tight around the mug, and said in a small voice, “You sure you won’t give me another chance?”

He leaned back in his chair, unable to believe she could ask that, after all that had happened. They looked at each other for a moment, holding on to each other’s gaze with a burning look.

“I guess not,” she said, looking back at her hands.

“Fannie, I want a divorce.”

Her head shot up and her eyes were wide with disbelief. “A
divorce?
”

“It’s way overdue, don’t you think?”

“No, I don’t think!”

“Lower your voice. Marion’s asleep.”

“I don’t want a divorce,” she said, leaning far forward over the table, straining her whisper.

“I do.”

She looked back at him, her eyes intense. “I won’t give you one,” she replied, frantically shaking her head.

“The law is on my side, Fannie,” he said tolerantly. “I’ve got desertion, endangerment, neglect.” He had moved his hand as he spoke, but now placed it flat on the table. “And I want full custody.”

Fannie paled as she registered that, this time, Harris was serious. “It’s that Ella, ain’t it?”

He shook his head. “It’s you. And me and Marion. It’s for the best.”

She lifted her chin, leaned back in her chair and rested her elbow on the table. Cocking her head she said in a smug tone, “Oh, yeah? You think you’re so smart? I know a few things, too, Mr. Harris Henderson. I don’t think them lawyers are going to like that you shacked up with your girlfriend.”

“It won’t matter. I’m getting the divorce, Fannie.”

“Well, just you remember, I’m still your wife and I get half of everything you own. That includes this place. Everything you’ve worked for. Divorce me and I’ll shut you down.”

He shrugged and opened his palms. “Then that’s what will happen.”

She stared at him, unable to reply.

They sat for a few more moments, looking at each other. Each of them had just spoken—and heard—the threats that they’d most feared, yet had never dared utter, during the seven years of their marriage.

I want a divorce.

I’ll shut you down.

And having spoken them, the reality wasn’t as horrible as they’d thought it would be. When they spoke again, it was tentatively.

“Fannie, I don’t want to hurt you,” he said slowly, feeling his way over new ground. “I want more out of life. I want to be happy.” He shrugged. “Besides, I don’t know why you want to hang on to this sorry excuse for a marriage.”

“Because I love you. I love Marion.”

The statement hung in the air, sounding false in both their ears.

“We both know that’s the pat answer. Marion and I, we’re tired of being the cushion for your crash landing. When you really love someone, you make the tough choice to put his or her needs over your own,” he said, thinking of Ella, loving her more in that instant than he ever had before. “The only thing you love is your addiction. You always choose it over me, over Marion, even over your own well-being. Why, Fannie? Why?”

She licked her lips, appearing haunted, and said honestly…softly, “I don’t know.”

“Let me help you,” he said, leaning forward. He picked up a piece of paper from the table. It was a list of things that he’d wanted to get done. Harris had written the list during the early morning hours and number one was to ask his wife for a divorce. “I’ve looked into it and found a rehab center in Charleston. Let me take you there.”

“No way,” she said, backing against the chair and shaking her head.

“You need help, Fannie. Not just with the drugs. You still haven’t dealt with all that happened to you when you were young.”

Agitated, she shook her hand in front of her, as though dispelling the words in the air before they got too close. “Look, Harris, forget it. I’m not going to one of those places. Rehab’s your thing, not mine.”

“I should have done this years ago.”

“Haven’t you figured it out yet?” she screamed, her eyes small flames scorching his. “Are you blind, deaf and dumb? You did try! And every time you tried, I left. Face it, Harris. You can’t save me. I don’t want to be saved!”

She pushed back the chair with a loud scrape and disappeared into the kitchen.

At seven-thirty, Harris was pacing on the front porch, frequently checking his watch. He’d already given Marion her injection and now she was happily playing a game with Fannie in front of the television.

At seven-forty he went into the house and called Maggie’s number again. Her husband, Bob, told him that she’d left a while ago, ought to be pulling up any second.

He looked at his watch and pursed his lips.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake. Go!” Fannie said from the floor.

She sat playing cards with Marion and was looking up at him with sober eyes. “I’ve taken good care of her for weeks.

I think I can watch her for another five minutes.”

He hesitated.

“Harris, we’re sitting here in front of the television playing Old Maid. What can happen?”

Harris put his hands on his hips and thought it through.

He was just going over to the flying field down the road. Five minutes there, five minutes back, plus a half-hour demonstration. He’d be back in less than an hour. And Maggie was due any second.

“All right,” he said, uncomfortable with his decision. He went over to kiss Marion’s forehead. “I’ll be right back.”

“Bye, Daddy,” she said, not looking up from her cards.

“Fannie,” he said, stopping in front of her. Again their eyes met and held. “Think about what I said. I’d like to take you to that rehab center.”

Fannie didn’t reply. She only lifted her hand once more to wave, wiggling her fingers the way a child would.

Fifteen minutes later, Maggie still had not shown up. Fannie was rifling through Harris’s drawers and closets, trying to find anything of value.

“Adios, amigo,” she muttered as she dug through Harris’s pants pockets. “I’m out of here. No way I’m going to a rehab center. Go ahead and get your divorce. I’ll send you a post card letting you know where to send the money.”

She came back into the living room, looking at her palm and scowling. “Two dollars and thirty-two cents,” she said “Not even a decent watch to pawn. Sheesh. Did you know your daddy was dirt poor?”

Marion looked up from the television and frowned, shaking her head. “No, he’s not! Daddy always says he’s the richest man in the world.”

Fannie let loose a short laugh, then, seeing her daughter’s hurt expression, softened. A faint smile fluttered across her face. “Does he, now?” she said with a change of voice.

“Well, precious, you know what? I think he might just be right.”

She stuffed the few dollars and coins in her pocket and stuck out her hand to Marion. “Let’s you and me go on that walk you wanted.”

“Okay!” she exclaimed with surprise, scrambling to her feet.

“Let’s play spies. We’re on a secret mission, okay? We have to find something but we can’t let anyone find us. Quiet now. Remember, we’re spies.”

Hand in hand they sneaked across the yard toward the clinic. They slunk along the med pens, peeking in. There she spotted Lijah cleaning out Santee’s pen. He didn’t see them as they hurried past, hands over their mouths, giggling. No one was in the weighing room or the clinic, either. Maggie was scheduled for the first shift and Brady and the other volunteers wouldn’t arrive until nine. Only the two vultures watched them from inside their wire enclosure as Fannie lifted Marion up to the lower branch of a longleaf pine tree that grew tall and proud beside the rear of the clinic.

“Hi, Mama!” Marion called down to her from the tree branch. She always was happy in a tree.

“Shh! We’re spies, remember? See that window there? The top of it is open. Do you think you could climb inside?”

Marion scooted along the branch that lay like an arm right in front of the double-hung window. “I can’t. There’s a screen.”

“That ol’ thing? Just kick it, honey. It’ll fall right out.”

Marion frowned in worry. “I don’t think I oughta. Daddy might get mad.”

“You just do it. You can tell him I told you to. Go on, now.”

Marion scooted to her bottom, held on to the branch and kicked the screen. She wobbled a bit but hung on.

“Good girl! Now climb on in. There’s a desk right under the window you can step on.”

She watched as Marion easily slipped from the branch and shimmied down over the window onto the desktop. She looked through the window at her mother, questioning what to do next.

“Open the door. Hurry now!”

As soon as Fannie got into the clinic, she went directly to the back room where the small cabinet held the clinic’s drugs. It was already after eight o’clock and she was running out of time. She rattled the cabinet door handle, cursing when she found it locked.

“What are we looking for?” Marion wanted to know.

“Something fun.” She guided Marion back into the office and pulled down a plastic bin of pretzels and opened them for her. “You just sit in here and stay out of trouble,” she said, shoving the bin of pretzels into her arms.

“I don’t think we should be here.”

“Hush now,” Fannie warned.

She went into the main treatment room and opened the glass cabinets where the daily medicines were stored. She shoved aside dozens of small tubes and pill containers, mostly antibiotics and antifungals, desperation licking at her heels. She grew more careless, knocking items from the narrow shelves and sending them crashing to the floor.

Then she saw it. Ether.

She laughed when she pulled it from the cabinet and looked at the can in her hand. Not the drug of choice, but it would do in a pinch. She’d never tried it before, but she’d heard people talk about the high. She thought about it for just a minute, then twisted off the cap and sprinkled some on a small cotton towel, guessing at how much she’d need. There was a heady smell and for a moment she hesitated. “Oh, what the hell,” she muttered, and placed the towel under her nose. She tentatively sniffed a little, then waited. She didn’t feel much. She sprinkled more on the towel and tried it again, this time with a lusty sniff. Then, rolling her eyes back, she waited to feel the effects.

“Mama? What are you doing?”

“Just playing around, honey,” she said with a giggle, tossing the towel into the trash can. She already felt light-headed, sort of like she was drunk. She wiggled her fingers and toes. Yeah, they were feeling kind of numb, too. She tried to walk toward Marion, but her knees felt watery. “Whoa,” she said, holding on to the counter. “That sure packed a punch. You go in the other room, sugar. I don’t want you smelling this stuff.”