Before I Wake (11 page)

“I'm pleased to meet you,” Karen said, a little stiffly, taking Sarah's hand and shaking it. I could tell she was surprised by the way Sarah looked. I should have prepared her.

“And this is my friend Jamie Keller,” Karen said. Sarah reached for Jamie's hand, forcing Jamie to reach past Karen in order to shake.

Sarah gave a watery smile. “Nice to meet you both.” Her voice cracked as she spoke.

Karen's eyes flicked to mine, then away. “Ruth, I put some water on to boil when the doorbell rang.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Barrett.”

“We shouldn't be much later than four.” They never were.

“I'll be here,” I said, smiling.

Karen's eyes gleamed a little. Her spirits were always lifted by her Tuesday afternoons out of the house. “Sarah, it was very nice to meet you.”

“Very nice,” my sister repeated.

“I hope we'll be seeing you again.”

“God willing,” Sarah muttered, with the same watery smile. It made her look as if she had lost her mind.

The kettle on the stove started to whistle, and I lifted it away from the element. “Shall I make us a pot of tea?” I asked.

I heard the front door close.

“God no,” Sarah said, to my surprise. “I'll be up all night. The bladder's not what it used to be.” I didn't like to imagine. My younger sister.

“Let's go into the living room then. I'll introduce you to Sherry.”

She followed me, the wheels of her oxygen tank squeaking along the hardwood floors. Vivaldi was playing, and I turned it down a little as we came into the living room.

“Music therapy?” she asked, teasing me the way she always did.

I shrugged. “Well, she might be able to hear.”

She pulled her cart to the edge of the bed. “Oh, she is a pretty little thing, isn't she?” she cooed softly. She actually cooed.

“Yes, she is.” I stepped over to the bedside, gently stroking Sherry's cheek with the back of my hand.

Sarah clung to her oxygen rig like she needed the support. “They never found the fellow who did this? The driver?”

I shook my head.

“He must have been drunk.”

I shook my head again. “The police don't think so. He had just worked a night shift, and they figure he was in a hurry to get home. He had two boys of his own.”

“So sad.”

“Apparently he tried to go around her.”

She pursed her lips. “Is there any…?”

I shook my head. “No. The doctors don't think she'll ever…”

She nodded, saving me from having to say it. “You can touch her if you want to. Go ahead.”

Sarah double-checked my face to be sure I was serious, then gingerly reached out her left hand. Her yellow fingertips
trembled as she stroked Sherry's cheek. “I don't know how you do it,” she said, barely above a whisper. “It must just break your heart.”

“Sarah,” I said seriously. “Listen, there's something I want to tell you.”

She drew back from the bedside, all her attention on me. “What is it? What's wrong?”

“No, no.” I shook my head. “Nothing's wrong with me. It's…I wanted you to come over here…” I took a deep breath, trying to figure out the best way to broach the subject with her. “Watch this.”

Holding my hand in the air in front of her face, I clenched my fist, flexed my fingers, rotated my wrist.

It took her a moment to realize what she was seeing.

“Oh my God, Ruth,” she gasped. “What happened to your arthritis?”

I hesitated before I answered. “Gone.”

Her face shifted in confusion, her fingers tightening around the handle of her oxygen tank. “But how? A new medication? A new…Some experimental drug? Oh God, Ruth, I'm so happy for you!” Her watery eyes sparkled. “When did this happen?”

“I'm not really sure.”

I had spent most of the past few days trying to answer that question, but I still hadn't been able to figure it out. The trouble with chronic pain is that it is so easy to become accustomed to it, both mentally and physically. At first it's absolutely agonizing; it's the only thing you think about, like a rock in your shoe that rubs your foot raw with every step. Then the constant rubbing, the pain and the limp all become part of the status quo, the occasional stabbing pain just a reminder.

You are set to endure, hunched against it—and when it starts to ease, you don't really notice, until the absence washes over you like a balm.

“Sometime in the past few months,” was the best I could do.

“And you're only telling me now?”

“I…I didn't really notice right away. The pain is always better in the summer. But when the cold weather hit, it didn't come back.”

“You must have known,” my sister snapped. “It's not like someone was slipping the pills into your food like you were a pet cat.”

“There weren't any pills.”

“What?”

“There weren't any pills.” I turned my eyes away, suddenly embarrassed.

“So what was it? Some sort of spontaneous remission?” She spat out the words with all the venom of a fallen true believer.

“I think…” I turned my gaze back to Sherry, motionless on the bed. “I think it was her.”

Sarah just gaped at me.

“I know how ridiculous that sounds. I know it sounds like I'm turning into one of those old women, the ones who send in all their money to the television evangelists, but it's the only thing that makes any sense to me. My arthritis was terrible last winter. Then I started working with Sherry every day. And now,” I clenched the fist again to demonstrate. “I'm not taking any pills, I haven't changed my diet. It's the only thing I can think of.”

“You think this little girl healed your arthritis?” she rasped, leaning a little farther over the bed, eyeing Sherry curiously.

I nodded, bracing myself for her derisive laughter.

Instead, she asked softly, “And me? Is that why you wanted me to come over here?” For just a moment her voice was that of a sixteen-year-old girl, and I had a sudden vision of a funeral in a country churchyard in the rain, two coffins, two daughters holding one another.

I hesitated, then nodded.

“I don't believe in God,” she said, looking me straight in the eye.

The remark took me by surprise. “I hadn't—This isn't about God,” I stammered.

“Well, what then?”

“I don't know.” I shook my head. “I just know that I'm healed.” Again I clenched my fist, demonstrating, still transfixed by that simple motion, by the emotions that the movement raised in me.

“Well,” she said. “I'm at the point where I'll try just about anything. How do we do this?”

“I don't know,” I confessed.

She grinned at me, with her yellowing teeth. “Well that doesn't do me much good, does it?”

“Well, I'm in contact with her all day. I bathe her and turn her and—”

“I know the routine.”

“So I don't know when exactly it happened.”

“
If
it happened.”

“Or how,” I countered, glaring at her.

“Well,” she said, changing her tone, studying Sherry. “What if we try this the old-fashioned way?” She gently took the covers down from Sherry's still form, freeing her arms.

“Here, let me,” I said, coming around the bed to stand alongside her. “I'll take care of Sherry,” I said, taking hold of her tiny arm. “You…maybe you should unbutton your blouse…”

Sarah leaned forward slowly, opening her blouse to expose her brassiere. It looked new, and loose on her diminishing frame. I gently raised Sherry's arm, supporting it under the elbow, turning her wrist to shift her hand.

For a moment, I felt guilty. I glanced at the doorway, feeling suddenly as if we were being watched. There was no one there. Guilty conscience.

As I turned back, I glanced at Sarah's face. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted, her features…hopeful.

I knew I would be able to handle the guilt.

Gingerly, I touched Sherry's hand to the pale, loose skin of my sister's chest, just above the barely noticeable rise of her
breasts. Carefully, I applied just enough pressure to smooth the tiny palm flat against the white skin, and then I just held it there.

“Can you feel anything?” I asked.

She shook her head. “I don't know what to expect…”

I had no idea either. I held Sherry's hand there for just a moment longer, then removed it, tucking her gently back under the covers as Sarah buttoned her blouse. “There you go, sweetie,” I told her. “All bundled up again.”

Straightening up from the bed, my eyes met Sarah's and we just looked at each other for a long moment.

She smiled a little, bit her lip and shrugged.

“Well,” she said.

 

November 27–December 5

 

KAREN

Simon was singing when I brought him his cup of coffee.

“Hush little baby don't say a word…”

The weather had turned cold almost overnight, the late gales of November blowing icy off the strait, the last of the leaves clinging to the wet pavement, the trees skeletal against the gray sky.

“Daddy's gonna buy you a mockingbird…”

Simon had a nice voice. Back when we were in school he even used to play a bit of guitar. We'd have people over to our place, a tiny apartment in one of the big, converted heritage houses near downtown. Friday nights of songs, soup and jugs of homemade wine.

“And if that mockingbird don't sing…”

But that was a long time ago. I didn't even know where his guitar was. Probably up in the attic somewhere.

He broke off mid-line as I came into the living room, setting the two mugs down on the table.

“You didn't have to stop.”

He smiled. “Well…Listen, Karen, there's something I wanted to talk to you about.” His tone was careful. Too careful.

“What? Is it Sherry?”

“No, it's nothing like that. It's just that…Mary and I are going away next weekend. Four days. Head up to Tofino.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I thought you should know…”

I could feel a hot rush in me.

“You thought I should know that you and your girlfriend are getting away for the weekend? That's nice. Have a great
time.” I stood up. I couldn't bear to be in the same room with him.

“Karen…”

“Oh, for Christ's sake, Simon,” I snapped. “What made you think that this would be a good thing to share with me?” I was trying to keep my voice under control, but it was starting to rise.

“I just wanted to let you know that I wouldn't be coming by for a few days.”

“Good for you. Thanks for the heads-up.”

“I thought you'd want to know.”

“You thought I'd want to know?” I said, dripping sarcasm. “That's sweet. Now when I wake up alone in the middle of the night next weekend, I can think about you and your girlfriend fucking in Tofino. That's great. Thanks.”

I should have left then, but I couldn't stop myself. “I hope you get a room with a fireplace. Maybe a hot tub. I imagine doing it in a bed must be getting pretty boring for you.”

“Karen…”

“Oh, right. I forgot. She's all of what? Twenty-four? Twenty-five? Shit, you probably won't get bored with her for another ten years.”

“Jesus Christ, Karen, Sherry's right here! Keep your voice down.”

“The next time you're looking at her ass, be sure to check the expiration date!”

He headed for the door and I followed him. I couldn't stop.

“Simon, what you fail to see is how little I care about what you do. You may not have noticed, but I have a little more on my mind than that. Come or don't come, I don't care. Sherry doesn't care. It's all the same to us.”

He stopped at the front door.

“Listen, this isn't…I'm just going to go.”

“Fine. Whatever. That seems to be what you're best at.”

 

“Hello?”

“Ruth? It's me.”

“Sarah?”

“Yeah. Listen…I just had a doctor's appointment…”

“Are you okay?”

“Well, I started to notice some strange things a week or so ago—”

“Are you okay?”

“So I made a doctor's appointment—”

“Sarah! Are you okay?”

“It's gone, Ruth. They did X-rays, tests…Spontaneous remission. That's what the doctor said.”

“Spontaneous remission.”

“Yeah.”

“Oh my God.”

“Yeah. That's what I was thinking. Exactly.”

 

“You've reached Jamie Keller, extension 328. I'm not at my desk right now, or I'm on another line. Please leave a message after the tone. If it's urgent, please dial zero to have me paged.”

“Shit, Jamie, you're out. I was hoping you'd be there. I just…I just had this colossal fight with Simon. No, not even a fight. I just screamed at him for like twenty minutes…Oh, it's so stupid…he's going up-island with Mary for a few days…I just freaked out. Call me, okay?”

 

“Hello?”

“Hello. Is this Pam?”

“Yes. Who's this?”

“It's Sarah. Sarah Page.”

“Sarah Page?”

“From the group. Sarah from the Tuesday-night group.”

“Oh yes, yes. Sarah. Hello.”

“How are you feeling, Pam?”

“Oh, not so good, Sarah. It's not a good day. But how are you?”

“Well, that's why I'm calling…”

 

RUTH

For the whole morning after the phone call with Sarah, I alternated between staring at Sherry and not being able to look at her. I tried to find some physical sign of what she could do, but I didn't know what I was looking for. An aura maybe. A halo. But there was nothing—just a little girl who will never wake up.

“Who are you?” I asked her at one point. She didn't answer.

Anything that I had read about healers and saints, all my Sunday-school lessons so long ago, led me to believe that I should have been able to see
something,
some trace of the divine. Her ordinariness—it scared me.

How would I tell Karen? For that matter, what would I tell Karen? That her daughter had cured my sister of cancer? My arthritis? That she could do miracles, but she would still never wake up? How she could heal others but not herself?

I bathed her carefully. Not that I was at all rough with her usually, but now I took an exaggerated care, cradling her as though she was an object of great value. I looked for some sign that I had missed, but no. It was still just the same pudgy, pale body I had washed so many times before.

This mortal vessel…

Karen was distracted. She had been upset yesterday morning. I had heard the raised voices from the front room as I sat in the kitchen with my second cup of tea, heard Mr. Barrett slam the door as he left. He hadn't come for his regular visit last night
or this morning, and I had caught Karen checking the clock as it got later and later, until it finally became clear he wasn't coming.

She was gone three hours on her walk, and when she returned it was obvious she had been crying. I wanted to do something to comfort her, but she retreated upstairs to the privacy of her bedroom.

She was a little better this morning, but it seemed like she was trying not to let anything show. I mostly stayed with Sherry. I didn't know what else to do.

If I told her about my sister, maybe it would help to put all of this stuff with Mr. Barrett into perspective. Or maybe not. Maybe it would all be just too overwhelming. Or maybe it would be just what she needed.

How could the miraculous and the banal exist so close together?

“I'm going out,” Karen said from the doorway, startling me. I hadn't heard her footsteps.

I glanced up at the clock. 11:30. That was pretty early, even for a Tuesday.

“I'm meeting Jamie for lunch downtown before the movie,” she explained, as if she'd read my thoughts. “I'll be back well before five, though.”

As if she needed my approval. I nodded, although it really had nothing to do with me. “All right.”

She looked past me at Sherry. I had dressed her in her green nightie after her bath. “How is she today?” she asked. It wasn't like her to have to ask.

“Oh, she's doing just fine. We were just about to listen to some Bach.”

She nodded. “I'm sorry, Ruth. I haven't been very…I've been a little stressed.”

“That's fine,” I said. “I know there's been some stuff going on.”

She smiled. “I guess it's pretty hard to keep anything a secret around here, isn't it?”

I returned her smile, but her words struck very close to home. Secrets.

She glanced down at her watch. “Shoot. I have to go. I'm walking. Listen, thanks. I'll try to be more together tomorrow.”

“Don't rush anything,” I said as she was turning away.

She looked back and I forced a smile. “These things work themselves out.”

“Not this time.” The front door clicked shut.

I sat down next to Sherry and brushed her hair away from her face. The light coming through the windows didn't seem to penetrate as deeply into the room as it had even a few weeks before.

“That's okay, Sherry. Your mom and dad are having a little argument, but it's going to be okay. It'll all turn out okay.”

I spent the next while listening to the music, leaning back in the chair, my hand touching Sherry's hair where it spread out across the pillow. I knew she could hear what was going on around her, the music, the voices. I knew she was aware of what was going on between her parents when they argued across her bed. I knew she could hear her father sing to her, and people saying her name. I wanted to ask her what I should do, how I should tell her parents what she was capable of…

I was awakened from a light sleep and a vague dream by the sound of the doorbell. The music had finished, and for a moment I didn't recognize where I was.

Then the doorbell rang again.

Sarah was standing on the front step. Gone was the oxygen tank, the pallor, the lifelessness. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright and full of life. She held her overcoat around herself against the cold, but she seemed stronger. Taller, even.

“Hello, Ruth,” she said, a little too cheerfully. “I'm sorry for not calling first. This is my friend Pam.”

As bad as Sarah had looked when she arrived at the house two weeks ago, Pam looked even worse. A much younger
woman, no older than thirty, she seemed withered, almost weightless. Her hair had fallen out in chunks, leaving bright spots on her scalp. She clung to my sister as if Sarah was all that was holding her to life.

“Sarah…” The thought of what Sarah was asking me to do chilled me.

“Can we come in, please?” She spoke with forced joviality. “It's really too cold out here for Pam.”

I knew that by letting them into the house, I was condoning what would happen. I looked again at Pam and stepped aside. I couldn't leave this frail person standing on the doorstep in the cold. But I couldn't let this happen.

Pam's steps were slow and tiny. Sarah carefully guided her along, over the doorsill, into the house, supporting her weight and rubbing the back of the hand that clutched her arm. I closed the door behind them.

“You have a seat, Pam,” Sarah said, walking her into the living room and settling her on the couch.

“Can we talk?” I gestured for Sarah to come back into the hallway, out of Pam's sight.

“I'm sorry, Ruth,” were the first words out of her mouth. “I would have called, but I knew you would have said—”

“No?” I finished her sentence. “Sarah, what do you think you're doing? Do you know what Kar…Mrs. Barrett would say?”

“Have you told her? About…” She gestured with her head toward the front room. “About Sherry?”

“Not yet. I don't see how I can.”

“She's dying, Ruth.”

“What?”

“Pam. She's dying. She's in this support group that I was going to. For terminal patients.”

“Sarah.” I realized I didn't want to hear Pam's story. But Sarah was not going to stop.

“It started off in her breasts. She had a double mastectomy, but it's metastasized all through her now. They've taken out
most of her stomach, pieces of her lungs. The doctors figure she's got no more than a couple of weeks.”

“Sarah, I can't.”

“Ruth, she's got two little kids. Both under five. I could show you pictures.”

“Sarah…”

“Please?”

I was stunned: it was the first time Sarah had asked me for something in years.

I took a deep breath before speaking, knowing that I was going to regret my decision, whichever way I went.

“All right,” I whispered. “We'll give it a try.”

“Thank you.”

“But listen,” I interrupted. “This is
it.
You can't tell anybody else. This can't get around, okay?”

“Okay.”

“No,” I said. “This is important.”

“I said okay.” She looked at me unflinchingly. “I
do
understand.”

“Okay,” I breathed. “Let's try to get you both out of here before Mrs. Barrett comes home.”

I started back toward the living room, but Sarah reached out for my arm. “Thank you,” she whispered.

I knew that she wasn't talking about Pam.

SIMON

The last thing I wanted to do was to upset Mary by telling her about the fight with Karen, so I kept it to myself.

Mary worried so much. One night, when I was almost asleep, she started a conversation by saying, “Are you ever sorry you're here?”