Accidents of Marriage (22 page)

“Stoh . . . stoh.” Maddy tried to pull away from his firm grip.

“What’s wrong?”

Why couldn’t she pull her legs away?

Finally. Her feet were free. She could wiggle her toes. “Hat. Hat . . . that.”

“You love having your feet massaged,” he insisted.

“Haaaat,” she tried to scream. She hated it, and she hated her father for not knowing she didn’t like it. Words roared inside and came out as little whispers. “Foook.” Her breath caught with each labored sob. “Foook . . . foook. Foook.”

Her father rubbed her arm until it felt like the Indian burns she and Vanessa gave each other as kids.
Up burn. Down burn.
Her huffy sobs came faster. “Staa. Staaaa.”

“What, Maddy? What?” Her father gripped her arm until she moaned, and Ben peeled his hands away.

“She’s saying stop,” Ben said. “She doesn’t want you to touch her.”

Salt stung her eyes. Mucus clogged her nose. “Stah.”

“I’m sorry, baby.” Her father spoke too loud. He hurt her ears.
I’M SORRY, BABY.

“It’s not you, Jake,” Ben said. “Maddy feels overstimulated. Remember what Dr. Paulo told us? Physical touch overwhelms her—we have to gauge everything through her reactions.”

Ben’s words were soft. Running word rivers. She floated in Ben River. Sun poured . . . Ben-words were cushions for floating.

“We love you,” her father said.

Too loud! “Staaaa.”

“What’s she saying?”

“She’s still trying to say stop,” Ben said. “Why don’t you give us a minute?”

“You want me to leave?” her father asked.

“Just give us a moment alone, okay? I have to get her ready for the transfer. When she gets upset, it’s even harder for her to talk.”

“Noo. Staa.”
Quiet, please, please, please, quiet.

“See, she doesn’t want me to go.”

“That’s not why she’s saying no,” Ben said.

She opened her eyes. Trying to focus. Like squeezing a muscle. Concentrating. Pushing baby carriage up a hill. Trying to get a word out. Lost her breath.

“Ben. Waaaaant. Ben. Peeease.” Slop speech. Cement. Last stage before hardening.

Her father backed away from her bed, putting his hands up in front of him. “I’ll call your mother—see what’s keeping her.”

Her breathing slowed. Her father started to bend, looming over her, and then stopped. “I love you, Maddy.”

“La. Lo, Daaa.” He walked away. The door whooshed shut. Ben’s hand soft, soft, teensy touch landed on her cheek. She turned into it. His hand cupped her face. She caught his hand between her face and shoulder. Her tears wet his hand and then came back on her. “La lo, Ben.”

“Shh, shh. I love you too.” Ben reached into his pocket and brought out his folded white handkerchief. After wiping her eyes, he held the white cloth to her nose. “Blow. Can you blow, Mad?”

She tried to blow but didn’t have the power. Panicked, she rocked forward. Tried to clear her nose, her throat. Ben put his
broad arm behind her, lifted her forward, stuffed pillows behind her, and traced soft circles. “It’s okay. Breathe out. Breathe slowly. It will come back.”

She tried to breathe through her mouth. In and out. One. Two. One. Two. In time to the circles. Ben put the handkerchief back to her nose. Maddy blew until her nose cleared and then fell back into the pillows. Exhausted. Closed her eyes.

“I’m going to wash your face, Mad. Just shake your head if it doesn’t feel good, hon.”

Ben swept the hot moist cloth over her skin. Over her temples, her cheeks, around her neck. Another little towel. He patted the wet from her face, and then took her hands, one at a time, and wiped each one with the damp cloth. Cleaned each finger separately. Like she’d cleaned Caleb’s hands. Caleb was her sloppy eater.

“Than . . . than.”

“Shh. No thanking needed, honey.”

“I . . . I . . .” She aimed all the power she had into her throat. “Nee tahk.”

“It’s temporary, it will just take time. Remember?”

“Wha ha?”

“You were in a car accident. Remember?”

Remember. Remember. Remember.

“Caah?”

“You hurt your brain.” Ben crouched next to the bed so they were eye to eye. “And the muscles around your mouth have been affected. It’s called dysarthria.
Dis-ahr-three-uh.
The muscles are slowed. It’s hard for you to move them. It will heal, Mad. I know it’s frustrating. Your speech can’t keep up with your thoughts, and you can’t hear everything right—the processing button is off.”

She stared at him. Processing button! Like their oil burner’s red button. Restart. She needed to push restart. “So . . . so . . .” How to say
tired
? Exhaustion bore down like a thousand-year flu. “Tar . . . ed.”

“I know. You’re tired. You’ve been sleeping,” he said. “A long time. Weeks.”

“Wex? Many?”

How many weeks had she been sleeping? She remembered nothing. Were the kids in the car? Were the kids hurt? Dead? Did she kill her children? Her breath sped up. Fast jerky catches hurt her chest. “Chil . . . ren. Eem? Grazee. Clab?”

Ben kissed her hand. “The kids are fine. They weren’t in the car. Just us. It’s been three weeks. Well, four now—you woke up a week ago. Shh. It’s okay. You’re going to be just fine, baby. You’ll be in the rehab just for a little while. We’re lucky—your body is okay.”

She tried to shake her head from side to side. More tears leaked out. Ben wiped them. He rubbed her curls back. Where she had hair. His hand brushed the bad spot. She pulled away.

“Sorry. Let me fix you up a little. For the ride. In the ambulance. I’ll be with you.”

She sagged into the bed as Ben opened the drawer in the nightstand. “Here we are.” He took out a little pink brush. “I’m going to crank up the bed a little.” He pushed the pillows to the small of her back. With soft hands, he stroked the baby brush over the outer layer of her thick hair. He brushed it into a lopsided ponytail, looping a red scrunchie around it twice. “I won’t be replacing Lola, that’s for certain.” He smoothed back the hair that escaped.

Lola? She wrinkled her face, trying to remember. “Lo?”

“Your hairdresser,” Ben said.

Hairdresser. Dressed her hair. Put on a little hair shirt and hair skirt. She laughed. Ben tried to tuck in her stray curls, smoothing and touching her as though she were Gracie.

“I love you,” he said. “I missed you. I need you.” He leaned on her shoulder for a moment with a weight she couldn’t bear. She tried to shift, slide him off, and succeeded in moving only millimeters.

“Sorry. I forgot. I know. You’re all raw skin now. That’s what Bernadette said.”

She forced a hand over to his. Tapped his knuckle with a finger.

“Bernadette. She’s the nurse you like. The one who keeps coming in, remember?”

Remember, remember, remember.

No, she didn’t remember. She wanted to go to sleep.

“That’s okay. Close your eyes. Rest. I’ll read to you.” She heard Ben reaching. Cotton shirt rubbed against plastic chair—a soft slidey sound. She felt him put his feet up on the bed railing. Safe.

After

October

CHAPTER 21

Maddy

Rehab—ha!

Prison.

All of them said it, all the prisoners. After group therapy, they said it. Eating the horrible food, they said it. Begging for snacks, they said it. Playing sadistic brain games, they said it.

Maddy sat on the scratchy orange couch in the rehab lounge room. Lounge room! Ha.

Grunge room. That’s what it was. Lavender scent rose from her arm as she reached into her shirt pocket. Vanessa buried her in perfumes, giving her reasons for every one.
Lavender soothes. Cinnamon
 . . . What did cinnamon do? She took out the little notebook they made her carry everywhere, opened it to the last page, and found her morning entry written in her shaky hand:
Day 20 rehab hospitl. Thersday October 2. Meat Jack at one. Then do with Zelda.

Ick, Jack the puzzle man. She hated the puzzle man. She went to the Jack puzzle room. Went to the puzzle table where Jack sat.

“You’re late.”

Nice way to say hello—fuck Jack.

“You need to remember to get here on time. It’s part of your rehab. Now, time to get to work. Sit.”

Blah, blah, blah
—that’s what he sounded like in her head. Jack made her stare at wooden words that made no sense until she squeezed, squeezed, and squeezed her brain. Her head, crystal clear one moment, tangled like twisted chains the next. No one cared. She’d remember, and then, like a snow globe shaken by an evil god, white layers covered her thoughts.

It’s the drugs,
the rehab counselors said.

Sleep,
the rehab nurses said.
You need lots of sleep.

Your brain is healing,
the brain doctor said.

Zelda said that was just the way it was. Up and down. Genius to blockhead and back again. Zelda was her good person helper, the nice one.

“Come on, now, Maddy. You can do it. You did it yesterday,” the puzzle man said.

Puzzle Man was her worst jailer. She hated, hated, hated him. What was his name?

Jerry? Joseph? The puzzle man had a
J
name. She knew it. Every day stupid puzzles from the
J
man. The curved plastic chair made her squirm. Never a comfortable spot. Green too. Everything had turned putrid green. Mental-institution green. Green was the color of crazy, though she didn’t know why she remembered that. Or if she were correct. But she knew that she hated this place.

Chipped Formica tables were scattered around the puzzle room. They reminded her of the cafeteria in Gracie and Caleb’s school. She still hadn’t seen them—Gracie and Caleb. Either of them could do the stupid puzzle in three seconds. She missed them. They couldn’t come here, Ben said. Too scary.

“One piece at a time,” Puzzle Man yelled.

ONE PIECE.

ONE PEACE.

NO PEACE.

“Match it. You have to exercise the memory.”

She shook her head, whipping it for him to get the point.

“Nooooo.
She
said no. No exercise. Won’t help.” Maddy’s words huffed and puffed out, slow and wooden. She had to take a breath between every other word. The nice one said it was just a matter of time.
No over and over and over.
Waiting. For healing.

Jack rolled his eyes to show he hated her. “Zelda meant that trying to perform exercise for talking wouldn’t help yet. She’s right about that.”

Zelda. That was the name. Right. She took Zelda breaths to speak right.

“But for memory, you have to practice. Come on, now. I’m waiting.” He tapped the puzzle three times. Tap, tap, tap, he rapped her brain.

She tucked her lower lip under her front teeth and concentrated on the wooden puzzle. Black words, stark against green, read
French. Library. Train. Orange.
Below each word, an empty space waited. Four wooden rectangles, each with a little wooden handle sticking out, sat on the table, waiting for her to fill the proper empty puzzle spots.
Station. Juice. Fry. Card.

“Come on, Maddy. You can match them. Start with one. Which one do you know right away? All you have to do is put it in the right hole.”

I know what I’m supposed to do, stupid jerk!

“Fuck.”

“Swearing isn’t appropriate.” He tapped the puzzle again. “You can do this.”

She touched the stem of
Juice
, lifted it, and held it, swaying, over the words.
French. Library. Train. Orange.
She mouthed each word. Was there a French juice? There was orange juice. Right? But was there also French juice? There were French fries. Was it a trick question? Banging her knee against the leg of the table, she shook the piece back and forth, finally putting it down. She picked up
Train
. Wasn’t there a train card you used to get on the train? She held the puzzle piece over the slot under
Card
and tried to fit it in, finding it impossible to line up the edges. Sweat pooled between her shoulder blades. She was hot and cold, cold and hot, hot, hot.

“Hot.”

“Yes, I know. I told you yesterday, remember?”

Remember, remember, remember.

“You’ll be hot and cold for a period of time. It’s normal for you. Your internal thermostat is adjusting. Remember?”

Remember, remember, remember.

Again, she tried to fit
Card
under
Train
.

“Are you sure that’s where you want to put it? Think, Maddy.”

Think, Maddy, think, Maddy, think, Maddy.

“Fuck.” She banged a wooden card on the edge of the table.

“No swearing! No hitting. Concentrate. Think!”

HATE YOU SO MUCH!

She picked up the puzzle and smashed it on the table.

“Stop it now, Maddy. Right now!”

“Stop . . . it . . . Maddy,” she mimicked as she swept the loose pieces to the floor in one satisfying motion.

Puzzle Man leaned over and put his hands, with big fat ugly sausage fingers, on her shoulders. “I said stop.”

“Stop. Stop.
You stop!
” She tried to shake off his heavy hands. “
Noooo!
” When he held her, she couldn’t catch her breath. She would suffocate and die. She kicked the table legs in rhythm to her words.

“Calm yourself, or I’ll be forced to do it for you. Quiet down. You can do it.”

“Home . . . home. Go . . . now.” She twisted and jerked, trying to get away from him, kicking out, thrusting her legs until she connected with his thigh.

“That’s it. Now you’ll stop.” He went behind the chair and imprisoned her from behind. Cigarette sweat smells overwhelmed her.

“What’s going on here?” Boss Nurse appeared like magic. “Jack, what are you doing?”

Jack! His name was Jack.

Back, Jack.

His arms loosened. Maddy shook, angry tears smeared over her face. “
Ben! Want Ben. Call!
”