The Secret to Hummingbird Cake (23 page)

He paused and took a breath. “That was the last straw. I filed for divorce the next day. Sydney still tried everything she could to get me to come back, and then she'd go off the deep end again. Finally I got a restraining order against her and told her I would take our son away from her if she ever pulled another crazy stunt. A few months later, I ran into Laine. She was . . . and is the love of my life.”

He stopped and wiped his eyes. “I don't know how much she's told you,” he said. “But we were in love. Those months were the happiest of my life. She loved Adam. And he loved her. She was a better mother to him on the weekends I had him than Sydney ever was.

“One day I told her I was going to petition the court for custody. And that's when things began to change. Laine couldn't bear the thought of taking a child away from his mother. She started encouraging me to mend my fences with Sydney, at least while Adam was young. She didn't want him bouncing between us. And she reminded me of what I had been through as a child.

“In the end, I chose my son. Sydney agreed to counseling, and finally got proper treatment for a bipolar disorder. And that helped tremendously. But I could never look at her without thinking she was the reason I had lost Laine. And Sydney knew that. Last year she asked me to leave. It was a relief for us both, and Adam finally has two fully functioning parents.”

“I am so sorry, Mitch,” I said. “You didn't deserve any of this.”

“What I didn't deserve was Laine,” he said. “The day I went back to Sydney, Laine told me if we were meant to be, then love would always find a way. And love finally did. Thank you for calling me, thank you . . .”

Mitch began to weep openly, and Ella Rae got up and embraced him. I clenched my teeth as hard as I could and turned my head away.

“Let's go inside, Mitch,” Ella Rae said. “This is too much for you tonight. You need to get some sleep.”

Mitch regained his composure. “Thank you both,” he repeated, “for everything.”

I squeezed his hand.

Ella Rae stayed inside too and left me alone with my thoughts. And they weren't good ones. Listening to Mitch describe Sydney, I couldn't help but think how close I had come to becoming someone like her. All crazy and mean and unpredictable. At least Sydney had an excuse, a real illness. I was just hateful. I had done something awful for no other reason than to hurt Jack. And the craziest thing about that? I still had no idea if Jack had done anything at all to warrant it.

Maybe this was just who I was. Laine had sacrificed everything for a child she barely knew. I had hurt three people for nothing as noble as love . . . but just because I was feeling hurt and rejected. I was so sick of myself.

I jumped from the rocker and ran upstairs to our room, not bothering to be careful or quiet. Being with Elle made me
sane again. I watched her sleep and felt the calmness creep back into my body. I curled up on the edge of the bed and kept one hand on the bassinet.

I glanced at the bedside clock. Three a.m. Maybe sleep would come for a little while at least, but it took its own sweet time showing up.

At exactly seven a.m. there was a light knock at my door. I sat up straight and was instantly wide-awake. I looked in the bassinet. Jack must've taken Elle down already. I opened the door and found Ella Rae standing there.

“Debra says Laine wants to talk to us.”

I didn't care for the look on her face. “Why?”

“I don't know,” Ella Rae said. “It doesn't feel right, though.”

We went downstairs and into Laine's room. She was in her bed, slightly elevated and . . . glistening. Laine's word for sweating. The thought almost made me smile.

“Not feeling too good this morning?” I asked.

“Not so much.” Her voice was just a decibel above a whisper.

It was the first time since her diagnosis that she had ever acknowledged that. I glanced over at Ella Rae. The statement wasn't lost on her either.

“What can we do?”

“Mitch is packing,” she said. “I've asked him to leave.”

“Why?” Ella Rae said. “Don't you want to spend . . .” Her voice trailed off.

“Whatever time I have left with him?” she asked. “No . . . I don't. I don't want him to see the rest of this.” She gestured around the room. “The end of this.”

“But he wants to be here.”

“No,” Laine said, “that's enough. I can't let him watch. It'll hurt him too much.” She struggled a bit for another breath before she continued. “It doesn't matter how much time we had . . . or didn't have. Never did.”

I didn't understand the Laine Logic behind that, but it wasn't the first time I didn't understand the way she thought. I didn't want her to waste any more energy. Every sentence was a battle.

“Stop talking, Laine,” I said. “It's okay if you want him to go. Ella Rae just wanted to be sure.” Laine's eyes were closed, and I looked at Ella Rae and silently put my finger over my lips so she wouldn't ask her anything else about Mitch.

“I need to say this,” Laine said. “I need you both to hear this . . . Mitch was the only man I ever loved. When he left me years ago, the last thing he said to me was ‘I love you and I'll see you again. I promise.' He said it to me again this morning.” She paused. Catching her breath was harder this time.

“Laine, you don't have to explain it,” I said. “Please stop talking. Save your strength.”

She smiled a little but still didn't open her eyes. “Save it for what, Carri?” She continued her monologue. “The next time Mitch sees me . . . I'll be whole again . . . and not like this. Maybe we didn't have the perfect love story. But we had the perfect love. Because it endured, and it remembered, and it forgave.” She paused again. “Not everybody gets a gift like that. God has been so good to me and I am so thankful.” Her voice broke and tears escaped from her closed eyes.

“It was a beautiful love story,” I said. By now tears were
streaming down my face. “Please don't talk any more, Laine, okay?”

She smiled slightly and nodded. “I love you both, so much. Stay while I sleep?”

“We love you too,” I said. “Of course we'll stay.”

Ella Rae couldn't answer at all.

Debra had given her a pretty strong shot for pain, and I could tell it was already working. A few minutes later, Laine was asleep. I adjusted her oxygen and continued to look at her.

“This ain't good, Carrigan,” Ella Rae said.

“I know.” For the last couple of days, every time she went to sleep, I was afraid she wouldn't wake up. This morning I was horrified.

“We can't leave her today.” Ella Rae reached for a tissue. “At all.”

“I know,” I said. I took my cell phone from my pocket and texted Jack, asking him to come to the bedroom. He was beside me in an instant.

“Hey, baby,” he said softly and knelt on one knee by the chair. “What can I do?”

“Will you take the baby to Mama? There's milk in the freezer. Take plenty. I don't know when.”

“I'll go right now.” He kissed my cheek. “Are you all right?”

“Probably not.”

“I'll be right back,” he promised. “I love you.” He looked at Laine for a moment and turned to leave.

Ella Rae's face was ashen and frightened. “Is this the day?” she asked quietly.

“I don't know,” I whispered.

I could feel an uncomfortable pressure in my chest, like the one I'd had the day at the hospital when Doctor Rougeau was telling us Laine was going to die. I tugged the collar of my T-shirt away from my neck and tried to breathe steadily. I couldn't afford the luxury of a panic attack right now. I had to be here. I had to stay present. I had promised I wouldn't leave her, no matter what. I had promised, promised, promised.

Debra came back into the room and put her hand on my shoulder, startling me.

“I'm sorry,” she said.

“What's happening here, Debra?”

Debra sighed. “No one can predict—”

I cut her off. “Please don't lie to me or speak in medical terms. I can take it. Just tell me.”

“I put a catheter in last night, but there's not much output. Her blood pressure is dropping and her color isn't good.”

“And all that means?” Ella Rae asked.

“All that means she's getting close to letting go.”

Neither of us replied, but we both waited for her to answer the unspoken question.

Debra lowered her lids, then looked up again. She put her hand on my shoulder once more and gently squeezed it. “Hours . . . maybe a day at the most. I could be wrong, but . . .” Her voice trailed off.

Ella Rae began to cry quietly, and I felt the familiar anger in the pit of my stomach.

“I'm so sorry,” Debra said. “I'll be right outside. If she's in pain when she wakes up, let me know.”

We sat on either side of her bed for the next half hour, each of us holding her hand and lost in our own thoughts. We didn't speak at all.

I didn't know Mrs. Jeannette was in the room until she patted my shoulder. I got out of the chair so she could sit down.

“It's so hard . . .”

“I know,” I said. “Would you like for me to stay?”

“No, sweetheart,” Mrs. Jeannette said. “Michael is on his way. We'd like to sit with her alone for a while. I know this is the end, and I know what she wants.”

She took my seat and reached for Laine's hand. “Good morning, baby.”

Laine moved her legs a bit. “Hey, Mama.”

I motioned to Ella Rae, and we left Mrs. Jeannette alone to tell her daughter good-bye.

During Laine's last stay in the hospital back in December, she had shooed Ella Rae and me home so she could talk to her mother and Michael regarding her wishes when this time came. One thing she'd been adamant about—she did not want her mother to watch her die.

Mrs. Jeannette had been alone with Laine's father when he'd suffered the heart attack that killed him. It had devastated her. Laine didn't want her to watch it happen to someone else she loved. She wanted Ella Rae and me with her because it would be easier on her mother.

Mrs. Jeannette balked at the idea immediately, but after
Laine got pretty emotional about it, she finally relented. Laine assured her that every word they wanted or needed to say would be said before she left this earth.

Time seemed to stand still that day. Every hour felt like it packed ninety minutes into it instead of sixty. Everybody and everything moved in super slow motion. Word got around quickly in Bon Dieu Falls. People were in and out of the house all day long. Tommy and his family, my family, the pastor at our church, a few of Laine's co-workers and a principal she'd been close to came to say good-bye to her.

Kids she had taught left cards and letters, and one of them brought her a picture of her cousin who had died recently in a wreck. I flipped it over. She had written, “Please look for my cousin Blake when you get there.” That had nearly killed me. Then one of the Thompson boys who was in her class the past year was openly weeping, and that totally broke my heart. Others had come to sit with Mrs. Jeannette, offer their support, bring food, hold a hand, and anything else we needed. Small towns.

Around six p.m., the thunderstorms began to close in, with pounding rain and high winds. Mrs. Jeannette had left Laine's room for the last time. At the first loud clap of thunder, I looked across Laine's bed at Ella Rae. Laine had always loved thunderstorms, and I wished she were awake to hear this one. Suddenly I remembered my grandmother saying
that during thunderstorms, the heavens were opening up so the angels could come to earth and pick up a soul. It wasn't a comforting thought.

By nine p.m., the almost constant thunder was grinding on my nerves, and any other sound in the house nearly made me jump out of my skin. The grandfather clock in the corner of Laine's room got louder and louder with each tick until I wanted to punch the glass out. “Hickory, Dickory, Dock” played over and over in my mind like a broken record. And I could've sworn the room was getting smaller and smaller. I unconsciously moved my feet back and forth against the rug and tried to concentrate on keeping my breathing even.

An hour earlier I asked Jack to go to my parents' house to check on Elle, and he still wasn't back. I was worried about him driving in this weather, worried about my baby—although I knew she was in excellent hands—and worried about Ella Rae, whose tears had never stopped flowing today. It seemed I was back to square one, with no tears left to cry. I felt defeated and powerless. I wanted to stomp the floor, throw things, and slam doors. I knew that was stupid and childish, but I felt stupid and childish. All my life I had defined things by competition. It was the only way I knew how to measure anything. If you couldn't do something like dribble behind your back, lay down a perfect bunt, or outmaneuver a chick trying to take your man, you just hammered and hammered and hammered until you got it right.