The Memory Box (11 page)

Ms. Spencer refused to comment on the bizarre circumstances that shocked the tight-knit community of Lanstonville for months. When Ms. Spencer was asked to comment, her lawyer, Matthew Bickley, raised his hand to discourage Ms. Spencer from speaking and simply said, “We have no comment.”

Ms. Spencer’s plans for the near future are to move out of state with her niece and to ‘”start anew.” She has not indicated where or when—

“Caroline!” Andy barks. He’s so close to me that the ends of my hair fly in the air from the rush of his voice.

I spring from the chair. “Oh my
God
!” I shriek back, “Andy!
My God
! What’s the
matter
with you?!” My heart is racing. “Sneaking up on me like that!
Jesus
.
Are you
crazy
? I nearly had a heart attack …” I stand with my back to the computer, obscuring it with my body. How long has he been standing there, and what has he seen? My mouth goes dry.

“
Caroline—
what the hell are you talking about, s
neaking up on you?”
His voice is controlled and measured. A blood vessel bulges alongside his left temple.
“I’ve been calling your name all over the house
.
From the top of the stairs. From the kitchen. From the hallway. Hell—I was standing in the doorway of the den—ten feet away—”
he thrusts his arm back toward the door,
“calling your name, for Christ’s sake.
You didn’t answer me once? What’s the matter with
you
?” He puts his hands on his hips. “My God, I seriously thought you were passed out somewhere. You scared the shit out of me. What the
hell
is going on?” Puffy crescents of skin beneath his eyes crop up, aging him.

“
Nothing’s
going
…”

Smarty is on his feet and anchored between us, his head bullets back and forth, ricochets off every word.

“I
thought
you were upstairs getting ready for bed …” he demanded.

“Well, I was
going
 …”

“What are you doing in here, anyway? You’re scaring me, Caroline, really—you just ignore me when I’m yelling like
crazy
, and Lilly is upstairs needing help, Tessa’s practically a zombie from shock—did you forget about them—and you’re on the computer!” He’s pacing the floor from the bookcase to the couch and back again, the width of the room. Waving his arms around. Like a spastic conductor. I pivot my body to mirror his so the computer screen isn’t left exposed. Smarty follows Andy’s every footstep. Which is weird, come to think of it. I’ve never seen Smarty do that.

“What’s going on? And while we’re on the subject of crazy, can you explain the bruise on your face? And the cut on your forehead?” He tilts his head, and his eyebrows creep up and meet at a peak.

I open my mouth again, but he keeps going.

“I asked you last night, and you said you’d tell me later. Well? It’s later. I don’t know, I’ve been home for twenty-four hours, and everybody seems to be falling apart. Can you help me out here?”

He’s unraveling like a ball of twine down the Swiss Alps. I want to reach out to him and hold him. Hold him together. But there’s not enough of me for both of us. I need to hold
myself
together. A lifetime of concern is pouring out of him—like it’s been bottled up forever. I’ve never seen him like this.

“I couldn’t find clean clothes for the girls …”

If he’d stop for a second, I could tell him I just washed the clothes.

“… so I went to throw some clothes in the machine and
jeez
—
Caroline
, how long have those clothes been in there?!
They stink from mold
. It’s disgusting!” His shoulders are up around his ears while his hands and eyes implore me.

I never put them in the dryer.

Who is this guy? “
I went to throw clothes in the machine?”
Huh? I didn’t think he knew where the laundry room was. And his accusatory tone?

“Andy,
gosh
, I can’t believe I—”

“You said you were
exhausted
. Then I hear
clicking
from the keyboard?”

“All right already, I’m …” My body is quaking. I wonder if Andy notices.

“I mean, Jesus,
Caroline
, I really don’t want to get angry, really, I don’t. But what are you doing in here, anyway? Writing? Shopping? What? What is it?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. His head flops forward in defeat. He pauses briefly and lets out a gush of air. “Listen, I understand you’re excited to be writing again, and all that stuff, but really—now?”

He continues almost talking to himself. I need to put a stop to this.

“I guess I should have checked here first. It seems like you’re stuck to the damn computer these days.” He throws his hands in the air. Then he looks back at me and says in a softer tone, “But really, do you think this is a good time?” His eyes are so sad. “I’m sorry I’m angry—I got scared. For Christ’s sake.” He puts his head down, and I think he’s finished and that maybe he’ll leave. A moment passes, his head pops up, and he comes alive again. I have an urgency to pee. I squeeze my thighs together.

“This day has been
crazy
—with Lilly and everything. We haven’t even talked about what happened to
you
 …
Jesus.”
Andy’s running his fingers through his hair, creating parallel train tracks. He does this repeatedly and then stops, resting his hand on the crown of his head like a guy modeling underwear, his bicep peeking out of his T-shirt.

“You do know Mrs. Hildebrand called me at the office, don’t you? She got Margaret hysterical, which I’ll admit isn’t hard to do. She came running into my office saying Mrs. H was on the phone and that you were choking and that Lilly was trying to give you the Heimlich, and you fell backward on top of her and that an ambulance was taking both of you to the hospital … so of course, I didn’t go to the meeting with Loughner and Sparks …”

“Oh, no … you missed the meeting?” The cinderblock at the bottom of my stomach stops my shaking. “But you’re gonna reschedule, right?”

“Nah. They’re on their way to Brazil tomorrow. I’ll just send them a report, I guess.” He shrugs. “By the time they get back, it’ll be old news.” Andy’s bottom lip is extra pudgy in the middle, giving him a perpetual pout that makes it difficult to discern when he’s truly pouting.

“Well … don’t be modest, Andy, in the report. You have every right to brag, honey. Come on. You did some great stuff over there.” He doesn’t look at me. My shoulders slump forward, and heavy throbbing starts in my head.

Andy starts talking to the carpet. “Then I rushed to the hospital and found Tessa crying in the waiting room with Mrs. Hildebrand, who looked like the next candidate for a gurney. They told me that you and Lilly were getting an x-ray.”

His eyes peer up to meet mine. “And there’s Tessa, rocking back and forth, crying, eating the skin on her fingers to the bone. I sat down and put my arm around her. She just kept mumbling, ‘Is she going to die, Daddy? Is Mommy going to die?’ It was awful. I’ll never get that picture out of my mind—I can’t stand the thought of it. Tessa told me they had to give you oxygen in the ambulance.” Andy’s voice quiets, and it appears that his fire is extinguished. He’s quiet and calm. An iced pond. I’m careful not to say anything. Not to move.

“Then I spoke to your doctor.”

What? What did he just say? “
What?
” Every hair follicle on my scalp prickles with heat. “What do you mean?” I sputter, “Why would Dr. Kriete call you?”

CHAPTER NINE

Monday, September 25, 2006, 10:20 p.m.

I
can’t believe Dr. Kriete would defy me. My anxiety is trumped only by rage. Heads are gonna roll.

I’m a hum of nerves.

“What are you talking about?” Andy looks confused. “Dr. Kriete? Why would
she
call me?”

“Because—I don’t know—I don’t
know
. How would I know?”

“Caroline—your bozo doctor at the hospital, remember? We just came from Mountainview. Ring a bell?” He knocks the side of his head.

“Yes. Of course I remember.” I totally forgot about him. I need to pull myself together and veer back into the right lane of this conversation.

“
Yeah
, I spoke to the doctor—of
course.
I find out you stopped breathing and need to be rushed to the emergency room—I wanna know what’s going on. Right?” He looks to me for agreement. “All this on top of the bruise and the cut …” He takes a step closer to get a good look, and I involuntarily shrink back. “It’s concerning. I was bracing myself, believe me, for what he was gonna say. Thank God your CT scan came out clean. I was worried about that. Weren’t you?”

“Yeah. I was worried.” Unfortunately, I’m no less worried now. No bleeding in my skull. No sign of fractures or brain injury. Where does that leave me? “Well, I’m fine.” I brush imaginary dirt off my hands. “There’s nothing going on …” I wish he’d leave already. I can’t look at his face any longer. Pretending I’m fine is a joke.

“Sweetie, really, I know you had a really tough day.” He stands in the middle of the room. Footprints still in the carpet, a trail from wall to wall. His energy shifts, and he becomes subdued. The air feels lighter immediately. Even my bladder relaxes.

“Of course I don’t want to scare you, but you could have died.” His voice slows and becomes weightless; his words are soft and filled with goose down, fluffy and cushiony. “You couldn’t breathe. That could’ve caused brain damage. You can’t sweep this one under the rug. I won’t let you.”

“Andy, I hate doctors.”

“I know, and frankly I can see why—if you keep getting these assholes who tell you anything that pops into their head. ‘Vocal Cord Dysfunction’? Do you believe it—is that what he told you, too? Come
on.
I mean, since when do your vocal cords have to do with breathing—am I an idiot? You’re getting a second opinion. I hope you know that. You do know that, don’t you?” His hands are back on his hips.

God, now he’s fixated on the diagnosis. He would never challenge a doctor’s diagnosis. This is crazy. Tessa’s got to get him out of here before I have a real heart attack. Why aren’t they looking for him by now?

“Yes—I mean,
no
.” I finally interject something. “I
don’t
need a second opinion. I most certainly do not need a second opinion.
Andy, it’s Vocal Cord Dysfunction,
it makes perfect sense—the EMT told me that too, and anyway, you don’t go to the experts and then argue with what they tell you. I’m not doing that. I’m not going there. If you’re goin’ there—you’re goin’ on that sad, cynical train all alone.”

I can do without all this attention right now.

“And anyway,” I add, “they gave me a chest x-ray, checked my vital signs, and gave me an EKG to see if I had a heart attack—which I clearly did
not
. They told me Vocal Cord Dysfunction paralyzes your ability to breathe, temporarily. And that once your body relaxes enough, it can take in oxygen. And that’s it, Andy,
case closed
, I’m not discussing this anymore—with
anyone
.”

“Caroline, it doesn’t make 'perfect' sense, the doctor said it happens to asthmatics—you don’t
have
asthma.”

“
Or
to people who have experienced sudden trauma or witnessed something shocking—like a murder!”

Can the need to have the last word be encoded in one’s DNA?

Andy surrenders, his hands in the air, then he lets them droop to his side. “So now you’ve witnessed a murder.” He studies me. “That’s a good one, Caroline. What the hell is it gonna be next? It’s almost like I don’t know you. You’re acting nuts. And you’re exhausting me. Why are we arguing about this?” Andy drops his head in his hands, and he collapses on the couch. A rip lacerates my heart.

“No, sweetie, please, of course you’re right—I don’t know what I’m saying, of course I need a second opinion …” I want to reach out to him and touch him, hug him, but I can’t move. Why the hell didn’t it occur to me sooner that all I had to do was agree with him? That’s all he wanted to hear.

“Thank
God.”
He searches my face and sees the woman he knows and is allayed of his fears. His eyes are tired and heavy. “My God—I thought I lost you there for a second.” He stands up and steps toward me. “Sweetie, really, I’m on your side, for Pete’s sake. Don’t you know that? I just want you to have the best doctors and all that stuff.

“Why does it seem to get turned upside down, sometimes, with us? I love you, Caroline.” Andy moves in to embrace me, his arms are outstretched, but I can’t risk the gesture, it will put his head over my shoulder, and the computer screen will be in full view. Instead, I pick up Smarty and hold him with one arm and pat Andy on the chest with the other, hoping he doesn’t notice how weird this is.

“I know. I love you, too.”

He drops his arms. “We just need to find out that you’re okay. Okay?”

“Okay.” He turns around. He’s finally going to leave. I hold my breath.

He looks over his shoulder at me. “Please, just don’t get crazy on me, all right? I have to help the girls, unless they’re already asleep.” He crosses his fingers and smiles. Then he points at me, “No more writing tonight.” On his way out of the room he glances down at the floor. “Hey, when do I get to read your story?” Before I can make out what he’s looking at, he bends down to pick up a piece of paper directly under the printer.

“This must’ve come from the printer. Are you missing a—”

I snatch the paper from his hand with a quick snap of my wrist before he reads it.

He jerks back and recoils. “
Ah—shit! Son of a—!
” He pulls his hands into his chest, wincing and swearing. “Caroline! Man! What the
hell
—you just gave me a paper cut!” I look at his hand. The cut is nearly two inches long, right down the center of his right palm, the blood beading up at half-inch intervals. He cradles his right hand with his left one, grimacing.

“Oh, God, Andy, I’m so
sorry
. I can’t believe it. Let me take a look …” I reach out to him.

Why didn’t he leave before this happened? Why couldn’t he leave well enough alone?

He pulls away from me. “No, it’s okay, Caroline. It’s
fine
,” he snaps. He can’t even look at me.

“But it’s bleeding.” I think about getting him a Band-Aid, but I can’t leave him in here, alone. I didn’t close out of the
Lanstonsville Press
article.

“You should get a Band-Aid for that—and some Neosporin.” I have a firm grip on the paper behind my back, with both hands. I want to cry, but I’m afraid of losing it while the screen is open with my secret life hanging out.

I’m scared to let go of the dagger. Afraid that next time, it’ll cut me.

He turns and leaves, slouched over, deflated and defeated, his head swaying from side to side. I can’t remember the last time he raised his voice at me—or lost his patience, or got hysterical, or cursed at me, or cared so much. He mumbles on his way out of the den, “I just wanted to check that you were okay … I thought you passed out …” As he turns the corner and heads down the hall, and before his voice trails off, I hear him say that he’ll tell the girls I’m all right.

My cheeks are wet, and my head slumps forward as if my puppeteer has let go of the string sewn to my scalp. I’m dizzy from holding my breath. But most of all, it’s my heart that aches. A deep cavernous ache. It’s that feeling you get when you’ve betrayed someone. And you’ve lost them, and you know it will never be the same because they will always question everything you do. And your chest has shriveled to accommodate the new size of your heart. Which is as small as a prune, dried up and deeply wrinkled from being sapped of life and joy.

The printout quivers in my clammy hands. He was so close to seeing it. My teeth bang like psycho cymbals. I turn it over.

Both sides are blank.

Tuesday, September 26, 2006, 7:30 a.m.

I think it’s
Tuesday morning … and I think I’m awake. Voices leak out of another room. Tessa’s room. That is, if I’m in my room, which I’m not entirely certain of since I can’t seem to pry my eyelids apart. My head is filled with nine cups of firmly packed brown sugar.

So this is what a Percocet hangover feels like. I just wanted a sleeping pill, but I couldn’t find them. I don’t have much experience with this genre of drugs. They were in the medicine cabinet from when Andy had knee surgery. And though I don’t remember taking one before, I know I’ve never taken two.

Slowly, the coma dissolves. First, muffled sounds turn to voices, then words. Light seeps into the slivers between my leaded eyelids. It hurts at first. I wet my lips with saliva to help slide them apart, enabling me to take air through my mouth instead of my nose. The air that touches the insides of my cheeks feels odd but invigorating. The oxygen flows through me and sends out the wakeup call, announcing that life exists outside my body.

The girls are getting ready for school. Tessa yells across the hall “Mom, don’t forget you’re helping in the library today!”

Shit. I reach my hand to grab today’s schedule off my nightstand. I need proof. But there’s no printout. That’s odd. Nothing’s on the floor. If my head wasn’t killing me, I’d look under the bed, but that ain’t happening. It’s not a big deal if I have to wait to get downstairs to find out what’s on tap for the day. I can survive ten minutes without knowing today’s events.

Lilly beats me to the kitchen and is in surprisingly good spirits. Andy’s decided to go into work late so we can eat breakfast as a family, and he can accompany us to school.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay home, Lilly?” Andy asks as he rinses out his cereal bowl. “You don’t have to go. If it hurts you, you should stay home.”

Lilly’s looking through the junk drawer under the toaster oven, pulling out all the colored Sharpies she can find. “I feel great! Tessa, you can sign it in purple if you want.” She hands Tessa a marker to draw on the sling holding up her left arm.

“Lilly, you can go to school under one condition: if you feel any pain, you go straight to the nurse and have her call Mom to pick you up.” Andy kisses the top of her head.

The girls want to walk to school today. We even bring Smarty. It’s a beautiful Indian-summer day. I always feel lucky on a day like this—like it’s a gift from the gods. What could go wrong on a day stolen from summer—possibly the last one before sweater weather arrives for good.

Farhaven is a beautiful town. Perfectly manicured lawns are edged with buxom annuals still in full, colorful glory. The mature elm trees that line the sidewalks create leafy canopies over the wide streets. Moms push strollers while walking their little ones to kindergarten. People wave hello to each other, to us. Andy looks over at me and smiles as he holds Lilly’s hand, and I hold Tessa’s. He’s chatty this morning, filling in any moments of quiet. His fleeting episode as vigilant daddy/hubby has passed like a page in a calendar. Today he seems to be filled with the spirit of a young man realizing all that life has to offer, and he’s walking with a lightness I don’t know whether to be jealous of or inspired by.

The soft, warm air lilts along, lifting the ends of my hair so I feel it on my neck like a silk scarf. Even the birds are jubilant, playing tag through the hemlocks. I feel the warmth coming from Tessa’s hand, and I’m overcome with happiness. Something that feels almost foreign.

Then it dawns on me. This is my life. It’s everything I’ve worked so hard for. It’s everything I’ve planned for. If I give it up, I’m the one to blame.

I’m not giving up a single blissful thing. I was happy before. I can be happy again.

After all, it was only four days ago.

By the time we get to the third-grade door, I’ve made up my mind. It’s my fault that my world is coming undone. I uncorked the torment. I’m simply going to bottle it back up. Shove the cork in and toss it out to sea. Nothing else in my life has changed—
I’m
in control here
.

If I forgot it once, I can forget it again. From this day on, no more Googling. That’s a promise. Not even if my life depends on it.

“Good morning, Gabrielle!” I call across the street to work on my karma by singing salutations to the bad seed that grew the ugly tree, which up until six minutes ago shaded my back porch.
I’m in charge now
.

After kisses and hugs, Andy takes off with Smarty for home, and then to work. I stop by the nurse’s office to give her a note from the doctor excusing Lilly from gym. Then I make my way to the library while humming “I Got the Sun in the Morning” from
Annie Get Your Gun
.

I love walking through the halls of Lincoln Elementary. Or any school. But especially an old one like this. The halls are lined with crayon self-portraits and postcards from the far reaches of the globe where the students and faculty have vacationed during the summer. There are friendly reminders posted along the walls, like, “Be kind to one another,” “Expect amazing things to come from your brain,” “Be inspired—read a book,” and “Smile and say hello to people you know.”

The painted cinderblock walls help the halls stay cool, even during a heat wave. I stroll with an ease I haven’t felt in days. The sound of children’s voices waft through the air like ribbons, weaving around my head and sliding down my shoulders. Laughing, singing, asking, shouting, at once muffled and distinct, winding around my arms and fingertips, in figure eights around my legs, alive and vivid, pushing me down the hall, guiding me to where I have to go. The voices, so enthusiastic, have an energy, a rhythm, and they’re everywhere, surrounding everything, filling up all the empty space like Styrofoam peanuts.