The Secret to Hummingbird Cake (20 page)

I licked a sliver of icing off my finger. “Laine,” I said, “you've outdone yourself this time.”

“Mm-hmm,” Ella Rae said as she enjoyed her first bite.

Laine smiled. “It's the exact same recipe,” she said.

I shook my head. “No, this time it's better than ever. It must have more of the secret ingredient.”

“Carrigan,” she said, “about that secret—”

I put up my hand. “I get it. I'm not going to ask any more. I promise. I just want you to know, using more was the key. This is the best Hummingbird Cake you have ever made.”

She smiled. “Maybe so.”

We quickly fell into a routine at the Farm. Elle was a good baby during the day. She nursed, stayed awake for a little while, and then slept again. She had quickly become the light and the center of my life, and everybody else's life too. And I had stopped making every one boil themselves before they touched her.

Then six weeks later, things changed. Every night at two a.m. the den became the site of the Nightly Colic Festival, and
the whole house got up for the party. They didn't really have another choice. I don't know where the child got her set of lungs, but they were strong, I assure you.

Everybody had their own version of what would work. Poppa Jack usually took the first swing, walking her around showing her pictures and telling her stories. Then Mrs. Diane would take her into the parlor and play the piano while Elle sat in the bouncy chair. Laine would join them and sing every children's song she could come up with. Ella Rae never took a turn, but sat miserably in a chair and marveled at the volume of Elle's screams. Jack thought taking her on the porch was the magic trick, and when I finally got to hold her, I rocked her and waited it out. Some nights they all tried to send me back to bed. Tonight I had taken them up on the offer.

I lay in bed thinking about how drastically my life had changed. Just a year ago I was running around, chasing my tail, looking for something I couldn't identify. I had been scared to death Jack would make a fool out of me before I could make one out of him. We'd never finished our conversation about what happened between us. But it didn't matter any more. After Laine got sick, I became intensely aware that the only day that mattered was this one, right here, right now.

Besides, even if he was guilty of everything I ever suspected, I had made a terrible and irrevocable choice during that time too. And I didn't ever want to think of it again. But that was easier said than done. I had tried many, many times to file it, tuck it away, bury it. But sooner or later, it would pop up again. And it wasn't just my indiscretion that weighed me
down. I had a surplus of negative emotions swimming around inside me every day. Guilt. Regret. Sorrow. Anger. But there was nothing I could do about any of them right now. My focus had to stay on Laine, and most of the time it did. Thank God for this house full of unconditional love.

Being at the Farm was like being safely tucked away in our own little corner of the world, like being wrapped in a cocoon where nothing and no one could ever touch us. I rarely even made the trip into Bon Dieu Falls any more, and when I did it was brief and necessary. I didn't even go to my parents' house too much because they were in and out of here all the time too. All I needed was already here and nothing could hurt us, bother us, or threaten us. Of course, that was nothing more than a brittle illusion that I clung to like a life raft. I shuddered to think one day soon something bad was going to happen.

The Farm might have been a cocoon holding us safely and keeping the outside at bay, but that protection didn't apply to Laine. She was frail and in more pain now. She would have to stop and catch her breath if she climbed the stairs or walked the length of the porch. And it wasn't like she could hide it any more. She only talked about her medical issues with Debra and Mrs. Jeannette, so there was no use questioning her, but there was no way to ignore it either. She took her meds more often, she napped more often, and she ate less food. She'd lost interest in most everything except Elle and whatever she did in her bedroom when she disappeared for hours at a time.

One day Ella Rae and I confronted her and asked the
dreaded question: “Don't you want to go back to the hospital, at least for a checkup with Doctor Rougeau?”

“For what?” she said. “What's he gonna do? Take an X-ray and tell me I'm dying?”

Since last summer, when we found out I was pregnant, we had started taking pictures. Lots of them. It had been Laine's idea. She wanted the baby to have pictures of her, and she wanted me to pick out my favorites so we could use them at her funeral.

The funeral. Right. Discussing funeral plans was like planning a holiday. Food, decorations, guest list.

“Do not,” Laine said, “I repeat, do not let anyone see me after I'm gone. The family, okay, but no one else. You got it? Slam that thing shut and leave it that way. I won't be there anyway. I'll be in heaven.” I tried to find comfort in the idea of heaven and a loving God, but it was no good.

My mother always told me to pray—about the baby, about Laine's cancer. When Elle was born, I knew she was a blessing, a heaven-sent blessing. And I was thankful for her, but still I wanted nothing to do with God or prayer.

All my life I had been taught stuff like, “Everything happens for a reason,” or “Something good always comes from something bad,” or “God's timing is always perfect.”

I accepted that, up to a point. After all, I had lost the grandparents I loved so much, I had lost aunts and uncles,
and I had grieved for each of them. But they had lived their lives. That was the way it was supposed to happen. Not like this. Not snatched out of the game in the fourth inning.

What possible reason could God have for taking Laine? She was a gift to everyone who knew her, not just to Ella Rae and me. The children she'd taught in the past still loved her. They'd run up to her to say hello everywhere we went. She was a huge part of our church, not a sporadic part of it like I was. She was kind and gentle and wise. So how could God justify this move? And how was I ever supposed to forgive him for it?

I was raised in the Deep South where God, family, and country were the other Holy Trinity right next to onions, bell peppers, and celery. My parents had taken me to church all my life, and after I grew up, I went on my own, even if it was hit and miss. But I was beginning to question all those things that had been drilled into me since I was small. Was life truly all a part of some grand design? Was God sitting up in the sky with a clipboard and a red pen keeping score and rolling dice? “You live, you die, and you I haven't decided on”? Or was it all just some huge. random crapshoot? I truly didn't know what I believed any more. Another manila folder in my rapidly growing filing cabinet.

I went back to sorting pictures and picked up one of Laine swinging around a column on the front porch. It had been taken last fall. I could see all the mums blooming in the background. She had a huge smile on her face and looked healthy. And happy. Really happy. It captured her perfectly. This was the picture we'd use as the centerpiece at the funeral. I'd have
it enlarged and framed, and we would set it on the table beside her at church. Tears came freely now, spilling down my face. I didn't even really notice them and didn't bother to wipe them. They were nearly as natural as breathing these days, and I had accepted them as normal. I set the picture on my nightstand and flipped off the light, very aware of the significance of the decision I'd just made.

I woke up at ten a.m. I couldn't believe I had slept that long. I would've probably slept longer too, but my milk had soaked my shirt. Whoever the winner of the “I'm holding Elle” contest was today must've used frozen breast milk.

I went downstairs in search of my family and couldn't find a soul, not even Mamie. But I could hear laughter coming from the porch and followed the sound. I peered out the bay window. They had a regular living room set up outside. Elle's bassinet, Laine's chaise, and Mrs. Diane's settee from the sunporch were all on the big porch now. This porch was well shaded and the outdoor ceiling fans kept it cool. The tea service was beside the front door and was full of Mamie's pastries and her signature cinnamon rolls. I reached for one but thought better of it and put it back. I only had five more pounds of baby weight left to lose, and I was determined to get rid of it. I poured a cup of tea, skipped the sugar, and went outside.

“Good morning, Mommy,” Mrs. Diane said and turned Elle around so I could see her.

“Good morning, my baby,” I said, put my tea down, and took her from her grandmother. I still fell in love with her all over again every morning as soon as I saw her. I kissed her
little pouty baby lips and nuzzled her neck. She smelled so good. How did I ever do something this right?

I walked to the end of the porch and into the morning sun, careful to shield her eyes from it. It was a beautiful morning, and the sky was a bright and brilliant blue. Elle scrunched her little body up and made those baby grunt sounds I loved so much. It was the middle of May, and the temperatures were still in the lower eighties. I loved this time of year, but I knew it wouldn't be long before the Louisiana humidity would make it impossible to sit out here with the baby. For the thousandth time in the last few months, I wished I could freeze the moment.

“Okay,” Laine's voice said behind me. “You've said good morning to her. Bring her to me.”

I kissed my baby again and walked back to the others. “Let's go see Lainie,” I said. I looked down at Laine smiling and holding her thin arms out to cradle Elle. Dear God, she looked bad this morning. She was so thin, and the circles under her eyes were deeper and darker today. I placed Elle in her arms and sat on the chaise beside them.

“How are you this morning?” I said.

“I'm fine.”

Always the same answer.

Her breathing became more labored every day, and this morning seemed to be a particular struggle. I suspected the cancer was in her lungs now. She had begun coughing a couple of weeks ago, especially at night. She had practically stopped eating anything at all too. Mamie gave her meal replacement
shakes that were very high in calories and vitamins, but she rarely finished drinking one. She had promised us months before that when the cancer became too much for her, too painful, she would ask Debra to sedate her. But until then, if she could stand it, she wanted to be aware. She wanted to let nature do what nature did. We sat in silence for a while, enjoying the morning, the smell of freshly cut hay, the sound of birds singing, and Elle's baby sounds. An unflawed companionable silence where words weren't necessary. My heart was full. It was a beautiful morning, indeed.

Laine and Elle fell asleep, and I reached over to pick up the baby. Elle did her little baby scrunch again, arms over her head, legs doubled up beneath her, that made me feel like my baby had just accomplished some incredible feat, when in reality all she did was stretch. I was still sure my daughter scrunched better than any other baby in the world.

Laine stirred slightly. “Is she asleep?”

“She is,” I said. “I didn't mean to wake you.”

“No, it's fine. I need to talk to you and Ella Rae anyway.”

Mrs. Diane got the hint and took Elle from me. “You girls stay on the porch and chat,” she said. “My granddaughter and I have things to do, don't we, sweet girl?”

I kissed Elle's hand and sat back down on the edge of Laine's chaise. Ella Rae pulled her chair closer to us.

“Whatcha got, girl?”

Laine took a short breath and looked at both of us a moment before she spoke. “It can't be much longer now, right?” she said. “Maybe a week or two . . . if that.”

Ella Rae began to cry, and I bit my lip until I was sure I tasted blood.

“It's okay, y'all,” Laine said. “Really it is. It's kind of a relief. I'm tired . . . and I'm ready. Almost.”