Family Interrupted (13 page)

I didn’t want to fail. “My daughter died last year. Here. At this hospital. A car accident. The staff was so good to her...and us.”

Her warm hands wrapped themselves around my cold ones. Our fingers tightened on each other’s.

“I’m very sorry, Mrs. Barnes. So very sorry. Let’s take a moment to catch our breaths.”

A good idea. Thirty seconds later, I sat back in my chair, in control once more.

“After such a loss, sometimes families make a donation or...”

I shook my head. “I want to be hands-on. I need to
do
something. And I know I can do this.”

She tilted her head again in a way that was becoming familiar to me—her thinking position. “I tell you what, Mrs. Barnes. After next week’s orientation, let’s have a month’s try-out. See how it goes for both of us.”

Good enough. I chose Tuesdays from noon till two o’clock. Mom could cover the design center on those days, and Jack would have no cause to complain. Ms. Garcia might have her doubts, but I was confident I’d “pass” the trial period and become part of the permanent volunteer staff.

#

Our twenty-fourth wedding anniversary came and went without much notice a few days after my interview at the hospital. We usually celebrated big, but Jack wasn’t in the mood. Frankly, I wasn’t either. We did, however, make love that night. Still enjoyable, but not the mind-blowing act it had been earlier on. My libido must have been on vacation. Jack didn’t comment, and I fell asleep immediately afterwards.

“Who cares?” I pushed my thoughts of our lovemaking aside as I rinsed the breakfast dishes. It was Saturday, and Jack had gone to the office. I headed for my studio, eager to see what would happen using oils instead of clay. Since producing the sketches of Kayla and Ian last month, I now felt confident enough to try. What choice did I have? My portion of the
Girl with Secrets
sale money had arrived by FedEx exactly as Colombo had promised. He’d followed all the rules of the university, and now the picture wasn’t mine anymore.

Okay. I understood that. But as for my daughter? The big-shot professor couldn’t have her! Kayla would be mine until I drew my last breath and beyond. If I wanted to see her glowing with life again, I would simply make it happen—on canvas—regardless of Jack’s advice to forget about another drawing.

A frisson of excitement ran through my veins as I gathered my materials. A new portrait of Kayla waited. Well...at least the blank canvas did. I positioned the easel to catch the natural mid-morning light of late fall. Natural light supplemented by electricity would suffice very well.

I’d already chosen a half dozen “best of the best” photos of Kayla to supplement my memories and taped them to the top of the easel. I’d also washed the entire canvas with the usual mix of turpentine and just a drop of yellow ochre oil paint and let it dry. Now I stared at the expanse of white, itching to begin yet hesitant. How to start? Where to start? So many choices. My arms didn’t move. My fingers clung to my side. Trust, trust the process...breathe, breathe. I bit my bottom lip and eyed the door.

I walked outside and stared at the long swath of grassy yard. Like her dad, Kayla preferred the outdoors. She would have reveled in this clear day under blue skies and warm sun. Sun-kissed, that’s what she was. I meandered across the lawn, picked up a pinecone, and admired the bower of yellow jasmine we’d planted long ago. A pretty backyard, pretty and perfect for kids. Kayla and her friends, Ian and his. I gently tossed the pinecone in the air and caught it several times, my thoughts drifting.

When I pictured Kayla, she was dancing—or running—down the hallway; walking was anathema. Or she was pitching a softball or kicking in a goal for her soccer team. Sometimes I saw her pounding clay, rolling and shaping it, totally focused on her work. I admit the athlete subsumed the artist, but I took comfort that she enjoyed her time in the studio with me. I squeezed the pinecone, wound up for a pitch, and let it sail. A direct hit against the tree trunk. “Your mom’s not so bad, is she, baby?”

I had to be true to my girl, had to show her in action. Maybe a half-length portrait or even a full-length.... And at that moment, I knew exactly what to do. I ran into the house and down the hall to Kayla’s bedroom.

Her middle school soccer team had retired her number in a solemn ceremony last spring. I’d barely hung onto my sanity watching the banner and her number being raised to the gym’s rafters. Kayla’s was the third banner up there, the first for the soccer team. I’d tried hard to keep my emotions under control, but when the young team captain presented me with her uniform and Madison Conroy began crying, I’d lost it. I’d hugged Maddy, the captain, and every girl on the team, as well as the coaches. Jack watched me with the girls, his eyes watering. At home, I’d hung Kayla’s uniform under plastic, pressed, clean, just waiting for...I didn’t know what, not back then.

Now I wasted no time bringing the green-and-white outfit to the studio. She’d been number one. So appropriate. I swallowed a sob. No more tears! At least, not today. I had work to do and Ian to thank for my breakthrough.

Maybe one day, he’d forgive me for being late and leaving him to cope with the cops, ambulance, the entire awfulness. Maybe one day, we’d figure it out.

I turned toward the canvas again. Kayla waited for me now.

COLLEEN MURPHY

November, Year Two

Ian Barnes was just about the sweetest boy I’d ever known. When he said something, he meant it. A real promise keeper. He said he’d give me the bedroom, and he did. Then he refused my money toward rent. He said if I weren’t there, he’d have to pay the whole thing anyway. But nothing was free in this life, so when I offered to do the shopping and cooking, his smile reached all the way from east Texas to El Paso and then some. After a week, his smile reached inside my heart. He tried so hard to be polite and honorable, but I could feel him staring at me special-like when he thought I didn’t notice. When I looked back at him, his face would get as red as Texas clay.

Well, I had to admit we weren’t any better than the birds and the bees, doing what came naturally, but I didn’t mind at all. Ian was so different from the boys I grew up with, not better’n them, just...just different. Spoke different too.

“You must have had a lot of girlfriends in the city,” I said one Saturday morning over breakfast, about a month after he’d left the couch for good.

“Why do you say that?” he asked, his cheeks coming up rosy again.

“Well, did you?”

He shrugged. “Some. But no one like you.”

“Oh, shoot, Ian. There are plenty of girls like me. Just look all around the plant.”

“Girl,” he said, in a fair imitation of my twang, “the only female I see inside that refinery is you.”

His eyes were shining, and my heart thumped like a big ol’ bass drum. “Whoa there, cityboy. That’s a real compliment, so thank you. But hold on now.” I put my hand up like a cop. “What we’ve got going here is a...a playhouse or something. I’m heading to Nashville one day, and don’t you forget that.”

He grinned. “And I’m going to buy out every album you make,” he said.

Beautiful words. Beautiful thought. That nice boy just about killed me sometimes.

But then my monthly was late, and I wanted to kill him.

God, I was so dumb. It didn’t take but two months of being together for this to happen. I knew myself. I was a twenty-eight-day-to-the-minute girl. I didn’t need a doctor or a test to know something was wrong, but just to make sure, I went to the big WalMart and bought a test kit at their pharmacy. Then I cried myself dry when the stick said yes.

#

I didn’t say anything to Ian until the next day after work. It was a Wednesday, but we wouldn’t be going to the Roadside Café that night.

“Don’t rush your supper, Ian. We need to talk about a matter.”

There must have been something in my voice, ’cause he looked up at me pretty quick, his deep blue eyes steady. “What’s wrong, Colleen?” He took my hand, wrapped it in his, like he had the right to protect me. Sweet, but I hoped he could really be a man today. No fears, no tears.

“We’ve got a problem, Ian, but I already know what I want to do about it. And I can, ya know, ’cause it’s my body.”

His forehead creased, he leaned back in his chair, hands falling to his sides. “Wait a minute.” He snapped his fingers. “You’re already gorgeous. Perfect. I love the beauty mark on your cheek. You don’t need any plastic surgery because of your singing career. Just be yourself.”

I should’ve known. He was clueless. But boys were always dumb about the important things. I grabbed his hand and placed it on my stomach. “Here’s the problem.” I waited a heartbeat. “Now do you get it?”

It still took my cityboy a minute to figure it out. I saw exactly when his brow cleared. “A...a baby?” And his voice broke like he was no mor’n thirteen years old.

I looked at the wall. “No, sir. Right now it’s a few cells stuck together in a little mess of blood that we’re going to get rid of.” I was breathless by the end of that little speech. Perspiration covered my entire body. No matter. I’d wanted to sing since I was a little girl, and nothing was getting in my way. Not even a blood clot.

Ian’s hand still rested on my stomach, and I turned my head to see his reaction. He was paler than white; big drops of sweat plopped from his face to his shirt. His pupils looked black and were so large they almost filled the entire space in his eyes. Lickety split, I wet some paper towels and wiped him down. Yep, he’d been clueless. Now he was shocked and scared, too. Darn it.

“No more dead kids,” he demanded quietly.

Jumping back, I stared at him, totally confused. “What did you say?”

“No more dead kids!”

He was yelling now. My sweet cityboy was yelling his head off and pacing, as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. He reached around to his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. Pulled out a picture of a young girl. Pretty and smiling and...

Dead.

I learned about Kayla then. About Ian and his sister playing football. I learned more than I wanted to know because afterwards, Ian sobbed. This tall, handsome, smart boy who treated me like a queen just sat on the floor, broke down, and cried his eyes out. I could see his suffering, I could feel it all the way to my bones, and then to my soul when he got to the part about his mother blaming him. Seemed she’d tried to backtrack, but Ian swore that, inside, she still found him guilty. Irresponsible. Holding him in my arms, I rocked him on that cracked linoleum floor. I soothed him and absorbed his pain into me, and cried with him.
That’s what friends are for....

The lyric echoed in my heart. Music was a way to tell the truth, and that included what I felt about Ian right now. My best friend. I hoped he understood that best friends had to be honest with each other.

“A new baby,” I said, “wouldn’t be Kayla even if it turned out to be a girl.”

Ian’s eyes brightened. “Of course not. But I’m not killing it. Him or her. Please, Colleen. I’ll take care of you and the baby. I’ll take overtime shifts. I promise. And we’ll save for Nashville. We’ll...we’ll open a special account just for you. Or maybe we can all go.”

Well,
that
would never happen—we’d need to win the lottery to have enough money. “A baby is a lot of work, cityboy.” I could feel myself weakening. “And they cry a lot, disturbing everyone.”

“Have you ever seen me run away from work?” he asked, gesturing at the apartment.

It was true he’d patched the walls better’n any landlord, and he’d painted every room. Even put in some new door sills and baseboards. It looked great to me. If he owned the place, he’d have repaired every single part of it. He wasn’t lazy.

“I’ll help you,” he continued, “in every way. I’ll change diapers. I’ll make bottles. You’ll still sing whenever you want.” He paused a second. I could see him gathering more arguments. He pulled me into his arms and softly asked, “Are you afraid of your parents or what the neighbors will say?”

I’d written off my folks a long time ago. No support there, so my life was my own. “I don’t care about the neighbors. As we say in east Texas, most people will simply think we planted a crop before building a fence.” Shrugging, I added, “It happens all the time nowadays, and I suppose yesterday too.” But God and I both knew I didn’t want to build a fence. I wanted to be free. I
needed
to be free. What to do? What to do....

“So, Colleen?” I could hear the hope in Ian’s soft voice. “Are we okay about this now?”

“You sure want to dot those i’s and cross those t’s, don’t you?”

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

I believed Ian would do his share, but...a baby? I really didn’t want a baby. Not now.
So you should’ve been more careful! Selfish girl.
Now was a fine time for my conscience to holler its fool head off.

“Well...,” I began, the words almost choking me, “at least I won’t get calluses on my knees praying for forgiveness the rest of my life...”

I’d barely finished the sentence before cityboy jumped up from the floor, took me in his arms, and spun me around that kitchen.

“What about your folks?” I added when I caught my breath. “A grandbaby might make them happy again.”

His frown came and went faster than heat lightning. “You said it before, Colleen. It won’t be Kayla. So here’s the deal. Your folks are out of the picture, and so are mine. We’re on our own.”

CLAIRE

“The Pedi Unit is impressive,” I said to Anne as we jogged around the lake. “I had my orientation today, which included a tour. The children’s floor is nothing like I imagined. It’s colorful, playful. Large rooms. A teen lounge. There’s a huge mural painted across the nurses’ station, an outdoor scene of trains racing along their tracks beneath a perfectly blue sky and white clouds. You can dream about what lies beyond. The entire floor is the exact opposite from when I was a kid and had my appendix out.”

“You mean a million years ago?” Anne teased.