Tuesday Night Miracles (45 page)

“We’re going to ask her later today,” he explains.

“Oh, that reminds me …” Olivia gives Peter a quick squeeze on the arm and walks over to where Leah, Grace, and Kit are now talking, while Sarah carries some purchases to the car for an elderly woman.

“What a wonderful sale,” she tells them. “I can’t stay, but I wanted you to know I’m having some lunch delivered here for you all at noon.”

“How sweet!” Grace says. “No shopping?”

Olivia hesitates. Should she tell them? Emotion rules today.

“I never told you this, but our Tuesday-night group is the last group for me,” Olivia finally reveals. “I’m retiring on Monday. I want to lighten my own load, so no shopping. It’s time for me to slip into my own long journey.”

The three women are absolutely thrilled, and proceed to hug Olivia as Phyllis limps to her side and falls into an exhausted heap at her feet.

“I’ve put off many things, just like you all have,” she admits. “I’m moving to Florida to be with someone who has waited for me a very long time.”

For a change, all three women are speechless. There are quick hugs, and then someone wants to buy the old power mower and two broken lamps.

When Olivia scoops up Phyllis and begins walking home, she wishes she had already packed and given everything else to the shelter sale.

“Soon,” she whispers into the warm neck of an exhausted Phyllis as she rounds the corner. “It’s time.”

50

The Green Dot

I
t’s silly, Kit realizes, to keep tiptoeing up the steps to quietly pull open Sarah’s bedroom door and watch her sleep. Sarah is leaving in the morning and one part of Kit wants to stop time, chain Sarah to her bed, and never let her go. The other part, the fairly new part, turns away from the steps, smiles, and walks back into the kitchen.

The light above the sink is still flickering and Kit’s gotten so used to it that she’s decided to let it be. The counter is littered with dishes from the huge dinner—Sarah’s favorite, vegetable lasagna—and half the glasses in the house. Peter was even able to sneak home for an hour and share a meal with them.

There are wine bottles lined up by the back door, too, and seeing them there, as if they are guarding the exit, makes Kit chuckle. It was a wine bottle that started everything that is now happening. Or so she thinks.

Kit looks at the dishes and says, “To hell with it.” She grabs a glass out of the cupboard, locates the one bottle she and Sarah didn’t finish, pours herself a glass, and sits at the table.

“What is it?” she says out loud. “All these feelings.”

Kit is happy, exhausted, and excited. She glances over at Sarah’s packed bags and remembers her daughter’s animated face when she talked about her work, the old cabin where she lives, the sweetness of the morning air so far from the city.

“She’s so happy. My daughter is happy.”

The house sounds the way it always does: It’s quiet. The new furnace has made a big difference, but soon, very soon there will be new noises everywhere. Leah and her son and daughter will be moving in, and there will be all kinds of delicious new sounds. More changes and more challenges.

“There are still a few things to do,” Kit whispers to herself. She’s not thinking about the bunk beds she needs to set up or the pantry she needs to stock. She’s thinking about her private counseling sessions, and yet she feels as if she is unstoppable, powerful, totally in control.

She drops her head in her hands and feels a wave of euphoria wash over her, as if she has just fallen into the neighbor’s swimming pool in mid-July.

Kit pushes away from the table, walks back to the sink, pulls open the requisite kitchen junk drawer, and fishes around until she finds the notebook Dr. Bayer gave her.

Back at the table, she pushes her glass to the side, opens the book, and begins to write:

Sarah leaves in the morning and I feel a swell of sadness for already missing her, but I am so absolutely happy that she is happy I could burst! There is so much to do, so many things I want to try. I feel as if I am just beginning—again
.

Kit takes a sip of wine, smiles, and thinks about the journey ahead. There are miles to go, so many miles and so many chances. She puts down the wine and the pencil, walks to the back window, and knows exactly where she’s going to help Peter put up the new swing set.

51

The Red Dot

T
he night nurse really does keep trying. Jane knows she’s probably working this crappy shift because she’s in grad school to get some kind of social-work or counseling degree. Even the people who come in and clean seem to be doing therapy.

Tonight it was a little chitchat when the nurse came in to give her the last dosage of meds for the day. Meds! Something for depression, something for sleep, something for anxiety, something for … whatever. It was all blending together. One pill after another. One day after another.

To think that not so many weeks ago she was parading down Michigan Avenue, shopping, and drinking wine at a lovely café. That might not happen for a while.

At first Jane thought about trying to escape. She would simply put on the clothes that are hanging in her closet, act like a visitor or doctor or an office worker, and walk out the door when someone else was getting buzzed into the locked unit. She’d go far away, start over, forget about everyone and everything.

She started telling herself many things. Derrick would probably be thrilled. Her parents, who keep trying to come and see her, would never have to worry about her career or what kind of car she drove. Everyone she has ever insulted, put herself above, made fun of—they’d all be dancing for joy.

Jane’s doctor has been frank and sometimes brutal. No one has ever talked to her the way he does. Jane had no idea she treated people so poorly. Dr. Bayer was apparently trying to tell her that in anger class, but well, Jane admitted to the new doctor that she was too angry to accept the suggestions.

Three days ago, she finally told the doctor that she was scared. Scared of everything. Of losing Derrick. Losing her professional identity. Letting her parents down. Understanding why she was adopted. The list got pretty long, and when she stopped talking the doctor smiled.

Everything is so damn hard. Waking up. Sleeping. Talking. Eating. The sessions. Group therapy, which is absolutely the worst. All those people staring at you, telling secrets, wanting to know more.

Now Derrick has moved back into the house. This has given her great hope because, more than anything, she knows he is most important. Swans mate for life. Derrick is her swan.

Jane closes her door. At least she has a private room and her own bathroom. That’s one good thing. She turns off the lights and walks over to the window. The parking lot is illuminated with soft, dim lights, and there’s fresh snow again. For some reason, Jane misses the snow—touching it, feeling her skin immediately start to freeze, being able to open her mouth to catch snowflakes on her tongue the way she did when she was a little girl.

Something so simple. So lovely.

Jane doesn’t realize that she has started to cry. She has pressed her face against the cold window so that she can close her eyes and imagine the feeling of snow.

The feeling of life.

52

The Blue Dot

F
or the love of God! Is there a reason why no one in the entire hospital can make a decision without her? Grace has just gone from one end of the hospital to the other because the nurse in the neonatal unit wanted a second opinion.

Grace is thinking that she should get paid more. Maybe as soon as the hospital can afford toilet paper in every bathroom she’ll be paid a consulting fee for helping everyone else do their jobs. Maybe a wild bird will also fly out of her left ear in three seconds.

“My feet are killing me,” she whines as she slips back into her office. “Evan and his damn tennis shoes.”

Evan has bought her new running shoes, and she has actually started to work up to a fast walk. But she’s still having trouble finding the right socks. Obviously the ones she wore this morning were too thin. She’s got a fresh blister, but her blood pressure is slowly dipping south.

Grace has already stayed at work an extra two hours to try and catch up on the paperwork. It’s like leaving a mess of rabbits alone. She swears that the piles get bigger even though she locks her door and the other supervisors swear that they don’t touch her desk.

Before she can even get through the door, she hears her personal cellphone buzzing on her desk. Her motherly instincts always kick in when her phone rings or buzzes or doesn’t, depending on what’s happening with Kelli. Megan’s been nothing but good news and happiness lately. Her “Love you, Mom” text messages are like constant dessert. Kelli’s text messages are just as nice.

This message is from Evan. Lucky Evan, who gets to work forty hours and then go home. Why didn’t she go into accounting? This thought makes her laugh out loud. Accounting? What, and miss all the drama?

Late dinner?
The text is from Evan.

Swamped
.

Oh, get over yourself
.

Before she answers, Grace realizes how absolutely perfect this man has been for her. She’s dating! The mere thought makes her giddy.

I’m waiting
. Evan is a bit impatient.

Grace starts to press some keys on her phone, and then she looks up. The reports. The piles of charts. Three old coffee cups and the core of the apple she had for lunch are almost laughing at her.

To hell with work and writing. Grace needs a decent meal and a nice guy like Evan to tell her when she’s being cranky. She erases what she started writing and begins again.

Meet me at Sal’s in thirty
.

Grace gets up quickly, turns off the lights, and makes believe she doesn’t hear the phone on her desk ringing when she heads for the steps to the first floor and not the elevator.

53

The Black Dot

T
he last thing in the world Leah needs before she moves in with Kit and Peter is a son who is starting to get a smart mouth, even if that’s totally normal behavior at his age. Twice in the past week she has had to take Aaron into their bedroom alone and talk to him about inappropriate name-calling. Where is this coming from?

Maybe it’s just him. After all, he’s eight going on eighteen. And kids will be kids. And mothers must somehow figure it all out.

Leah hates to discipline her children. And she hates that she hates it, because it’s such a big part of motherhood.

“One thing after another,” she says, sighing, as she closes the door to the bedroom, where her son will now be writing down how he feels for the next fifteen minutes.

Leah has taken her journal writing and turned it into a useful tool for her own children. When something like this happens, she can’t really give them a time-out in their bedroom. They love their bedroom. She has discovered that writing down their feelings is just as effective for them as it has been for her.

Not that she has much time for writing down thoughts. They’re moving soon. School starts for her in January, and there’s the new part-time job at the university bookstore. Compared with everything else that Leah has been through, all of this is definitely a piece of cake.

The one thing she does miss is a place to be alone. There is none. While her son contemplates his sins, Leah slips out the side door and stands in the cold with her back to the door. It’s absolutely freezing, with snow everywhere, but the cold is like a much-needed slap in the face.

Lately, Leah has been dreaming about falling in love. She’s been dreaming about having her own apartment and then their own house and a job teaching third grade when she graduates. Everything seems possible right now except the love part.

“Who will love me?” she wonders out loud. The clear sky, even in the city, is alive with stars. And Leah suddenly realizes that she said who
will
love me, not who could love someone like me. It’s possible—yes, it is.

No one is ever going to mess with her again.

And, yes, someone will love her.

The second Leah stomps back into the house, she sees Jessie waiting for her. She looks absolutely ashen.

“What is it, honey?”

“Mom, can I get a training bra?” Jessie stammers.

And Leah can’t help but laugh sweetly as she takes her next challenge in her arms, whispers, “Of course, sweetheart,” and plunges forward.