Admissions (23 page)

“Trick or treat,” they sing-song.

“Hi, kids.” I offer the basket. “Take one.” Tiny red fingers rifle the treasure trove, pull out a Slo-Poke and a licorice. “Bye, kids, stay warm.”

I pull the door closed and return to the couch, squeezing in next to a hooker in black fishnet hose, a tight satin skirt.

“Looks like they’re about done,” she says.

“Should we turn off the porch light?” Mom looks up from her sewing.

“Let’s wait,” Molly says. “I can shut it off when Jess picks me up.” She stands up and adjusts her tight sweater. Teetering on spike heels, she turns in front of me.

“Seams straight, Lu?”

“Perfect. Your make-up is hilarious. Where did you get the bright blue eye shadow?”

“Had it.” She pushes her hand around on her ratted hair, patting the sides into place.

“Oh, there’s Jess.” Molly swings a fake fur stole over her shoulders. “Be home by twelve.” She wobbles out the door, snapping the light switch as she leaves.

“I told her not to wear that get-up.” Mom pulls her needle through the wool fabric of a skirt, lock-stitching around the hem.

“I think she’s a riot. I’m turning in early, Mom, right after
Mission Impossible.
It’s a long drive back up north.”

“Is eight-thirty early enough to get up?” Mom asks.

“I have to be back in the cottage by one.”

“Will you drive up?”

“Molly’s going, right?”

“She can drive back, but I get nervous with her—she just got her license. She doesn’t watch the road, drives too fast.”

“I don’t mind driving up, Mom.”

I’m tired, so tired. So tired it feels like the mattress has flipped, and I’m caught between it and the box springs. I hear a faint crying.
Just a couple of minutes …just a little more sleep, then I can …

“Mommy, Mommy.” A tiny voice, so far away.
Just a second …
My arms and legs feel paralyzed, as if the wires between my brain and my body have short circuited.

“ Mommy.” A voice so small, like the squeaky bawling of a kitten.

I open my mouth to answer, but my lips are frozen.
Jeff …Jeff …Jeff, it’s the baby, the baby …
I push against some kind of force. I roll from under it, and pull myself up. I drag toward the hallway as if wading through sand.

The house is dark, silent. A low light glows from the cracked door of Alexander’s room. I push open the door, inch toward the crib. I grasp the railing, lean forward, peer down on the rumpled blankets, my baby …asleep …motionless. I lift the covers …fuzzy gray …round little paws …He opens his eyes, cat eyes, “Meow, meow, Mommy.” The scream is in my throat.

The light switches on.

“Hey, hey.” Molly shakes my arm. “Jesus, you scared the crap out of me. You’re soaking wet.”

“I …I …I killed my baby.”

“What?”

“What’s the matter?” Mom stands at the doorway.

“Lu had a bad dream.” Molly’s eyes fix on my face.

“Do you need a pill?” Mom asks.

“Ah …yeah. Bottle’s by the kitchen sink.” I bring my hands to my forehead, slide them back into my hair and squeeze my head as if I can force it to clear.

“Luanne?” Molly whispers.

“Sorry. It was a bad dream. I didn’t take my pill.”

“Jeez.” Molly hugs me.

I drag into the kitchen the next morning, sit down at the table.

“You’re quiet.” Mom drops two slices of bread into the toaster.

“I’m groggy, Mom. Took my pill late.”

“Bad dream, huh?”

“I guess so, I don’t really remember. Mom, I don’t think I can drive.”

“Okay. I can do it.”

“I might just sleep on the way up.”

“That’s fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. It doesn’t seem like you’re up to it. Didn’t you tell me your doctor thought you could be out by Christmas?”

“That’s the plan. Why?”

“I just want you to be ready is all.”

I sip my coffee. One bad dream and Mom is ready to keep me locked up. I turn to gaze out the back window at the chickadees on the bird feeder. No, she probably is just concerned. What was it Dr. Murray said? Sometimes you project your own feelings on somebody else. Is that what I’m doing? Was I doing it now? Projecting my fears and doubts on Mom? There’s no question I fear leaving the hospital. The dream has shaken me, shaken me badly.

As soon as I say goodbye to Mom and Molly in the foyer of Cottage 23, I look for Nurse Delaney.

“I know its Sunday, but I was wondering if I could talk to Dr. Murray today?”

“She’s not on call this weekend. Can I can help you?”

“Something happened over the weekend. I …guess …I could wait until tomorrow.”

“You’re not suicidal or anything?”

“I …I don’t know.”

“I’ll call Dr. Murray. She may want to talk to you on the phone. Or Dr. Webster is on call?”

“Thank you. I’d like to talk to Dr. Murray, if that’s possible.” I go back to the dayroom to wait.

“Hey, how was your weekend?” Heidi drops into a chair beside me.

“Good.”

“I wish I could get out of here for a weekend. Raylene Cline said she couldn’t authorize a home visit ‘cuz she called my parents and neither one wanted me visitin’. Now that’s fuckin’ great, isn’t it? Get many trick-or-treaters?”

“Yes, we did …cute …Heidi, to tell you the truth, I had a bad weekend.”

“What happened?” She leans toward me.

“I …I’m confused, really.”

“Something with your mom?”

“No …no …I had this dream.”

An attendant walks into the dayroom. “Luanne, Dr. Murray is on the phone. She would like to talk to you.”

I follow the nurse to the sliding window. Nurse Delaney unlocks the cubicle, disappears, then reappears on the other side of the glass. She passes the clunky black receiver through the window, the springy cord tethered to a square office phone. I have to bend over and lean forward to bring the receiver to my ear.

“Hello? Yes, Dr. Murray …well, yes …hate to bother you, but …yes, that’s right …since I had this dream …okay, thank you.” I pass the receiver back.

“Dr. Murray is coming in to see me. She asked me to come to her office.”

An attendant escorts me through the tunnels to the administration building. When I get there, Dr. Murray is waiting.

“Now, tell me what happened.” Dr. Murray motions me to a seat.

“I …I think …well, I worry …I might have killed my baby.” That’s all I can get out before my voice breaks. I reach for a tissue.

“Was it the dream?”

“Yes. I guess so …well, the dream was very scary.”

“Tell me about it.”

I tell Dr. Murray about finding the kitten baby in the crib. I cry, stop several times to try to pull myself together.

“That’s a terrifying dream. But it doesn’t mean you killed Alexander.”

“I think I heard him that night and I was too tired to get up.”

“Okay. That’s okay. That’s understandable. Sometimes the body just gives out, overloaded with grief and stress.”

“I think he needed me.”

“Luanne, we don’t really know if Alexander even called for you that night.”

“I …I think he did. I think he did …I didn’t go …I was too damned selfish.”

“Luanne, please listen. Even if you were too exhausted to get up, it’s not your fault. You couldn’t have done it differently.”

“If he choked or something …I could have saved him.”

“Did he choke?”

“I don’t think so …he looked peaceful …I guess that’s what I’m afraid of …afraid he choked.” I blow my nose. “How do people survive this? Can some people do this? …mothers …who can handle this?”

“No, Luanne, nobody handles this. But they do survive it.”

“I got mad at him that afternoon.”

“You’re just a woman, Luanne, not a saint.”

“He wanted beans.”

“Go on.”

“He wouldn’t eat and …anything he wanted …Campbell’s pork and beans …My hopes were up …maybe beans would be it …he’d eat. I heated them up …then he said no …he didn’t want them …I …” I can’t stand the shame, I sob, hide behind my hands.

“It’s okay, Luanne.”

“No, let me finish …I dumped the beans out on the table …I …oh my god …how could I have treated him like that …getting mad, for Christ’s sake.”

“What happened?”

“My voice was all crabby …told him to make up his mind …he looked so hurt.” I want to escape the memory. I grab my head, drop my elbows to my lap, pull at my hair. “What kind of mother does that …Jesus.”

“You need to forgive yourself for not being perfect.” Dr. Murray touches my hand.

“Then he up and died that night.” I snapped my head up. “I didn’t have time to make it up to him. He died!”

Chapter 49

I
jump to my feet. “Heidi, where were you? I barely slept a wink last night.”

“Sorry. I should have told you, but I was afraid you’d try to talk me out of it.”

“Where did you go?”

“Let’s sit down,” Dr. Murray says. “Heidi?”

“I hitched to a bar last night. Big mistake. I got plastered and ended up having sex, passed out …Goddamn it.”

I’m so relieved Heidi is back, I come over to her and kiss the top of her head. “I’m so glad you’re back. You did the right thing.”

“Heidi, we need to hear in detail what happened last night.” Dr. Murray seems extra serious.

“I hitched to a bar outside of town called
The Buck Snort.
It’s on highway 115 just two miles west of Mesick.”

“Not that kind of detail, Heidi. Start with why you snuck out of the hospital and went to this bar.”

“I’m not really sure. I overheard some attendants talkin’. They said the bar would be burstin’ at the seams last night. I guess November fourteenth is the eve of huntin’ season. I snuck out, hitched a ride with a trucker. As we pull up, a hundred fifty or so pickups fill the parking lot and spill down both sides of the road. The semi kicks up gravel as the tires hit the soft shoulder.
Thanks for the ride,
I holler up to the driver.
Be careful, little lady,
he says as he waves to me. The guy was really nice.

“
The
Buck Snort
was somethin’ else. Big door in the front with deer carved in it, antler door handle. A cloud of sweaty smoke smacks into me as I step inside the entry. I pretend to be reading some of the ads posted on the bulletin board so I can get up the courage to go in. I hear loud voices and laughter just beyond the inside door. I pause at the cigarette machine, look at the neat rows of colorful packs, bend over the glass, try to look like I’m pickin’ out a pack while I study the place.
The
Buck Snort
has a lot of deer stuff in it.”

“That figures, Heidi,” Autumn says.

“I never seen a deer as big as the one they have in there. His mangled head’s hangin’ there with a big sign next to it
Smuck the Buck
. Sign says ‘
Take a drink, ring the bell.’
The glass eyes stare from crumbled eye sockets. Antlers are decorated with key chains, necklaces, motel keys, and other doodads, one ear’s pierced with tons of women’s earrings, the other one’s gone completely, the nose bent off at a forty-five degree angle, the fur rubbed off the face. All kinds of shit covered the walls and the ceiling, animals and guns and stuff.”

“That’s enough about the décor, Heidi. Tell us how you were feeling.”

“Well, I was nervous, but I kinda sauntered up to the bar, pulled out a cigarette, and held it out to a red-faced man with a couple of day’s stubble, wearing a red and black plaid hunting jacket. G
ot a light?
I says.

“
Sure ‘nough.
He jumps like somebody goosed him and smiles so wide he flashes his gums where his back molars used to be.
Buy you a drink?
He steps off his stool, motions for me to sit down.

“To tell you the truth, that was the moment I’ve been waiting for, praying for. After Beth died, the guilt got to me so bad I just wanted it to stop. I started thinking about drinking and drugging, talking to myself like it’s so romantic, the highlight of my life and all. By the time Estee got transferred to Creedmoor, the craving for alcohol is all I can think about.”

“Why didn’t you talk to me about it, Heidi?” I’m thinking we talk about almost everything.

“I told ya. I didn’t want you talkin’ me out of it. Anyway, the bartend asks what I want.
Whiskey and water, straight up.
The first gulp rushes down my throat like hot heaven, sends a shiver through my body, forces my lips back over my teeth. From then on, I just keep ordering ‘em.

“I try to talk to the guy who’s buyin’ me drinks so he won’t stop.
Crowded, heh?

“Deer hunters. Won’t end ‘til after Thanksgiving
.

“Thought I’d been caught in a time warp when I walked in—all that junk up above. I wave my hand toward the ceiling.

“Owner got a lot of this stuff when the old Spikehorn Museum outside of Grayling closed. It’s kinda like a bar-museum combo. We can swig back a beer and look up, take in Michigan history while we drink.

“I didn’t waste no time gettin’ drunk. I have to admit, I hung all over the guy, whispering sex talk in his ear. I know when I have a live one.

“I got grass in the truck
, he says.

“This was better’n I expected. Far out
. We head out into the parking lot, hangin’ on to each other and stumblin’ over the gravel like contestants in a three-legged race. He opens the passenger side of the truck and boosts me up by my ass. He punches open the glove box and pulls out a lump wrapped in saran wrap. He fumbles a joint from the plastic, lights up, takes a long hit, and passes it to me.

“Man, this is good stuff.”
His voice raises a couple of octaves as he exhales his words.

“Hell, it’s home grown shit, full of stems and seeds, poppin’ and sparkin’. I toke on the soggy tip, and that’s all I remember. I wake up in the cold truck, naked, covered with an old blanket, smellin’ like wet dog. When I sit up and look out at the full parking lot, lights roll from the windows of the bar, music pounds. I couldn’t have been out that long, but my buzz wore off, my eyes burn, head feels fuzzy. I dress and stumble across the parking lot to the bar.”

“Back into the bar?” I can’t believe it.

“Where else was I gonna go?”