The Language of Sisters (11 page)

I took the paper and smiled. “Me, too.” I waved to her as I wheeled Jenny back to the doctor I hoped would convince me everything was going to be okay.

•  •  •

Dr. Fisher was a tall woman, elegant in a manner that suggested it wasn’t something she had to work at very hard. She appeared to be in her late thirties or early forties and had a bit of the exotic about her: her eyes were large and brown, burning with intelligence you couldn’t ignore. Her lips were full and slightly pink; her straight, shoulder-length black hair was the perfect frame for the smooth, olive-toned skin of her oblong face. She wore a simple
black top and slacks under her white doctor’s coat and no jewelry save a stethoscope slung casually around her neck. Jenny looked her over with skeptical eyes, turning her chin away from the doctor and toward me. I imagined that over the years of endless doctors’ visits, white coats had become like red flags to my sister, warning her of impending disaster.

“It’s okay, Jen. Dr. Fisher is going to help you get through all this.”
Please,
I thought,
please help her. Help us both.

Dr. Fisher glanced at me. “How much does she understand?”

“About what?” I replied, confused.

She gestured in a big circle. “Everything. The world. What you say to her. The disabled patients I’ve worked with before have all been able to communicate on some level. Should I be talking to her or you?”

I was a bit taken aback by what sounded like impatience in her words. “To her, please.”

She redirected her attention toward my sister, her tone softening a bit. “All right, then. Now, Jenny, I’m going to have a look at your belly. I’m going to touch it a little, to see how that baby is doing in there.” She held up a small black device for Jenny’s viewing. “We’re going to use this to listen to the baby’s heartbeat.” She pulled up Jenny’s shirt and prodded her stomach with straight fingers.

“Aren’t you going to do an exam?” I asked, uncomfortably motioning in the general direction of Jenny’s legs.

“Not today.” Dr. Fisher squirted a blob of a clear, jellylike substance on Jenny’s stomach. The lubricant must have been cold, because Jenny jumped and shuddered a bit when it hit her skin. Then Dr. Fisher pressed the Doppler device against Jenny’s abdomen, moving it around as she spoke again. “Her records state she’s never had a pelvic, and I don’t want to scare her. In fact, in a case like this, I’d rather she be unconscious. But we can talk about
that later.” She inched the Doppler over a little, and suddenly a loud, echoing rhythm filled the air. “There,” she said, satisfied, tapping the fingers of her free hand against her thumb, counting.

I was stunned by the intensity of the noise. “Is that the heartbeat?” Overwhelmed by the rush of emotion that filled my blood, I found myself having to hold back what felt like a river of tears. My mother was right; Jenny had a
life
inside her.

Dr. Fisher nodded as she wiped Jenny’s belly dry with a white towel. “A nice and steady one hundred fifty beats per minute.” She smiled for the first time since we’d entered the room. Its warmth surprised me. “Sounds like a girl.”

I squeezed Jenny’s hand, then swung my head over to look at the doctor. “Really? You can tell that from the heartbeat?”

Dr. Fisher shrugged. “It’s an old wives’ tale, mostly. Just kind of fun to think about.”

The rest of the appointment was spent with the doctor answering my many questions about Jenny’s medications, her diet, what kind of exercise I should be helping her to get. Toward the end, Dr. Fisher turned the tables and asked me a question I had barely allowed myself to think about.

“Have you decided what will happen to the baby when it’s born?” Her face was blank, not judging.

It was then I realized when the doctor spoke to Jenny she had been saying “
the
baby” and not “
your
baby.” Subtle, but noticeable. I shook my head. “This is all relatively new to me. I’m still trying to get used to taking care of her. It hasn’t been easy.”

She nodded briskly. “I’m sure.”

“I’ve also got to find a new placement for Jenny after she gives birth. There’s no way I’m letting her go back to Wellman.”

“That’s understandable. But when you think about placement for the baby, I want you to consider there’s only limited testing we can do to see if it will be normal. Since we don’t know
what caused Jenny’s disabilities, we can’t be sure the baby won’t be stricken by them as well.”

“Okay,” I whispered, overwhelmed by all I had to think about, and terrified I just didn’t have it in me to do this.

Dr. Fisher saw the fear in my face and patted my hand quickly. “The baby sounded good. We’ll schedule an ultrasound and get a better idea of what we’re dealing with. Until then, make sure Jenny gets her vitamins and lots of water.” She rose and stepped toward the door.

“Dr. Fisher?” I called out.

She stopped, her hand on the doorknob. “Yes?”

“I … ” I faltered, wanting her to reassure me, to tell me I was doing the right thing, the admirable thing, in taking care of Jenny. I was looking for affirmation, but the hurried expression on her face told me I would not find it there. She was a doctor simply doing her job. I shook my head. “Nothing. Just thank you, I guess. For seeing Jenny.”

She bobbed her head sharply and then left, softly closing the door behind her.

•  •  •

It was a rainy Saturday afternoon during the fall of my freshman year and my mother was gone. Her best friend’s husband had died suddenly, and the friend had begged my mother to come to Portland to help her with the arrangements. As always, my father balked at her leaving.

“I won’t change diapers, Joyce,” he’d insisted when she told him about going. We were all sitting at the kitchen table over the remains of our meal. Mom had spent the afternoon in the kitchen, the smell of fried chicken tipping me off that a confrontation might occur. She always made his favorite meal when she had to tell my father something she knew he wasn’t going to like.

I was unsure whether my mother’s expression was one of pity or disgust. “I know that,” she said. “Nicole will be home. She’ll take care of all that.” She looked at me expectantly. “Right?”

“Can I still go bowling Friday night?”

“Of course you can,” my mother said.

“All right, then,” I consented. I was used to taking over my mother’s role when she left. I didn’t really have a choice.

My father shook his head slowly, considering all this. “I don’t know.” He looked at her sternly. “You’ll only be gone one night?”

“One night. I’ll leave early Saturday and be back Sunday.”

Dad looked at Jenny, then at me, his eyes full of an emotion I
couldn’t name at the time. But his expression stuck with me over the years, hanging in my mind like a dark painting. Looking back, I believe it was dread.

After my mother left, Dad spent most of Saturday reclined in the family room, beer in hand, eyes glued to the roaring action of a football game. I was in the kitchen, dying to finish feeding Jenny so I could call Nova and talk about Jason DeLong, the dark-haired sophomore with smoky eyes who had bought me a Coke at the bowling alley the night before. He had brushed my hand with his fingers when we parted; the touch had sent shivers to places I never knew existed within me. I couldn’t wait to tell Nova all about it.

After rushing her through lunch, I set Jenny up on the couch, her headphones playing Chicago’s latest album. I figured she was probably tired of all the uppity classical stuff my mother made her listen to; I thought she might enjoy being more like other girls her age. Jenny loved any kind of music, patting her hands softly against each other and swaying, squealing in loud, happy approval when a particular tune struck her fancy. Her small body would rock back and forth, her eyes dancing in time with the song. In those moments she seemed free, unfettered by the twisted muscles and stunted bones of her disease.

She smiled at me that afternoon as I made sure she had enough pillows around her, ocean eyes sparkling, lit from within. I often wondered where her joy came from, what gave her such peace and happiness inside a body that caused her so much pain. When she slept, I imagined she was free, dancing and climbing trees, twirling and singing and calling my name. Perhaps she visited her dreams while she was awake, the relief she felt in that world shining through her eyes like the sun.

“Dad?” I said softly, looking over to his recliner in the corner of the room.

“Mmph?” he mumbled, not bothering to look at me. His eyes were heavy, half-lidded shades.

“I’m going to my room for a bit, okay? Jenny’s hanging out on the couch. Just call me if she needs anything.”

He waved me away, his eyes snapping open at a particularly vigorous roar from the television crowd. “Offsides, goddammit!” he yelled. “What are you, blind?”

I went into my room, pulling the hallway phone with me. Expecting my call, Nova picked up on the first ring, and we immediately fell into the excited linguistic squeals comprehended only by teenage girls. We were debating whether Jason would ever get the nerve to call me when suddenly the siren of my sister’s scream wrapped around my body and pulled me to my bedroom door.

“I have to go,” I told Nova urgently. I felt the pounding of my father’s feet across the floor; the walls vibrated with his movement.

“Is everything okay?” she asked, concern filling her voice.

“Jenny’s yelling. I have to go.” I started counting the pink stripes on the lampshade by my bed; if I could count them twice before I hung up, Jenny would stop screaming.

“Okay. Call me later.”

I dropped the phone to the floor and raced into the living room. My father was standing over Jenny, his arm raised above his head. Jenny’s body was rigid, her face twisted into a wretched expression, her skin flushed, and her mouth open wide, releasing another heart-wrenching shriek. Her fingers were clawed together, poised to ram into her mouth. She stared at my father’s arm as though it were an item detached from his body, watching it slice through the air like a knife.

“Dad, no!” I pleaded, running over to the couch. I felt the sting of his fist as though it had hit my own face.

In the stunned silence that followed, he knelt down in front
of Jenny, gripping her shoulders, shaking her. “Quit it!” he bellowed. “Stop this right now. I will not allow it to go on. Do you hear me, young lady? I have had
enough
!”

Jenny trembled violently, her full bottom lip rolled out in a deep pout; tears ran in large, silent drops down her face. She began to weep in earnest, misery racking her twisted body. A swollen crimson mark rose on her cheek, just below her right eye, the shadow of my father’s fury.

Her eyes searched his intently, unbelieving.
Why, Daddy?
The words found my heart, and I wept as well, sitting next to her and pulling her tiny body to me, sheltering it under my more substantial frame. She screamed again, though softer than before. “Shh,” I whispered. “It’s okay. Everything will be okay.” I looked at my father as though he were a stranger. Jenny’s muscles were solid stone beneath my touch.

My father stood, blue eyes wide, backing away from us with his callused hands up in front of his body defensively, as though we oozed some life-threatening disease. His orange curls twisted out from his scalp like tiny flames; they wanted to get away from him, too. Shock tensed his long limbs, and he stepped woodenly toward the back door. “Shit,” I heard him whisper. Then he was gone.

The television droned on in the background as I sat holding my sister. I could not believe what had just occurred. Usually my father left the house as soon as a fit began, but lately he had stuck around, using his voice as a weapon against each attack. And now my father’s violent words had progressed to action, as though he somehow believed normality could be beaten into his already broken child.

My mother had tried everything: dietary changes, hot baths, cool showers, herbal teas, but nothing seemed to help. And sadly, no one seemed to care. The doctors could tell us nothing; they’d
offer tranquilizers and institutional recommendations. I found my mother in Jenny’s room one afternoon, watching my sister sleep, whispering to her.

“Come out where I can see you,” my mother had said, her voice shaking and tearful. “I can’t fight what I can’t see, dammit. How am I going to fix this if I don’t know what’s broken? How am I going to save my baby? God help me, I can’t
do
this anymore!” The tremendous force of desperation behind her words had rattled me to the core. I did not know how I was going to explain the now-purpling mark on Jenny’s face to my mother; I was sure my father would not admit what he had done.

Late that night, after I had settled Jenny to bed, I heard him return. He crept through the house, the stink of cigarettes announcing his presence outside my door. He kept moving, and as the door to Jenny’s room creaked open, I jumped out of bed and stuck my head out of my own door, watching in disbelief as my father’s tall shadow stepped softly into my sister’s room.

I quietly closed my door and held my breath as I stood with my ear against the wall that separated our rooms. I heard the squeak of Jenny’s bed, the sound of added weight. “I love you, Jenny girl.” I could barely make out my father’s murmur. “I’d never hurt you, never. You know that, right?”

The bed squeaked again as more inaudible notes of my father’s voice played through the air. I slid back into bed, lying tense and ready to hear him leave her room, but for too long a time he stayed, the only noise the creaking of her bed, its high-pitched moans sounding eerily like a child’s cries for help.

•  •  •

During the week that followed our first appointment with Dr. Fisher, Jenny, Mom, and I were sitting in the kitchen together eating the chicken fettuccine I’d prepared for dinner when the phone
rang unexpectedly. Mom didn’t get many calls; it seemed that she, like me, kept a limited social circle. Most of the time she went out to dinner and movies alone, though occasionally a member of her book club or a fellow employee joined her. In the few weeks I’d been home, I could count on one hand the number of times the phone had rung. That evening, we both jumped at the noise, looking at each other in surprise.