Leaving Unknown (15 page)

“Last week.” My mother swatted my legs under the blanket.

“She only remembers,” I pretended to whisper an aside to Maria, “because the epidural wore off. Doctor did all the work but she takes all the credit.”

“Un-hunh. See, now, here it’s the other way ’round.
We
do all the work and they get all the credit.” Maria’s laugh rippled. “But how’d I miss your birthday, Sugar?”

“It was your day off, Maria. Cecile was here,” my mother explained.

“Don’t tell me that lazy tart didn’t set you up with a party.” Hands on her hips. Cecile and Marie were best friends. “What did you do?”

“I took a Demerol nap,” I announced.

“We didn’t do much. Maeve was worn out.” With a spiking fever ruining my sleep for days, we’d
all
been exhausted.

“I’m bringing you a balloon and a cupcake later,” Maria said.

“Can I have a red tricycle and a Bald is Beautiful Barbie?” I asked.

“You can have anything but bad news,” Maria answered.

“I’ll settle for some white blood cells and a hug.”

“Couldn’t avoid it, Sugar. I’d do it now but…” She hefted the flower arrangement. It really was gorgeous. We admired them a moment. I was thinking ahead to Maria’s next question.

“So where shall we send them?” Flowers weren’t allowed in cancer wards. Patients are too sensitive to smell, not to mention the bacteria in the water.

“I sent the last ones to the maternity ward, right?”

“I think so.”

“Can you find someone elderly? Someone who doesn’t get visitors? Tell them it’s a secret admirer,” I instructed. “But pull out one of those hydrangeas for Mr. Naveen.” Mr. Naveen worked in the gift shop.

Maria beamed at me. “That’s why you’re one of my favorites.” She headed for the door.

“Maria, when you come back, can I get some of your magic mouthwash?”

She gave the closest approximation of a frown that was possible with Maria. “Is your throat bothering you again, Sugar?”

I nodded. Please God, let it be a sore throat and not mucositis.

“I’ll take a look when I get back. What did you get on your last test results?”

“Nail polish,” I said.

She belted peals of laughter.

“Remember to use your inside voice, Maria,” I called after her.

“Sweet girl,” she called back to me.

I didn’t feel sweet as I watched the flowers depart. I loved Maria but I didn’t really want to be a hospital favorite. I wanted to go home and be someone no one ever thought about sending flowers to.

“We’ll have to write Leigh a thank-you note,” my mother said. “That was very kind of her.” It was. People meant well. It was also an innocent blunder that reminded you how disassociated you were from normal.

“Mom? Can I tell her not to send more? Can we tell them all?” It was a sincere question. I really wanted to know if that would be okay. We looked at each other in silence. Because we honestly didn’t know.

“I think I’m ready.” Child brought me back. “Let’s see what we’ve got, shall we?”

Janie’s pictures were beautiful. She’d stumbled on a community picnic. Her camera caught women sharing mangos covered in hot sauce, children chasing one another, men squinting through cigar smoke. Each one drew you into Janie’s eye, and I understood what Child had meant earlier when he said he
could see me in my photos. I was relieved. There was nothing to dread here.

We finished printing and hung the glossy wet images next to my prints, now curling into dryness. An image of Noah caught my eye. It was a weekend picnic, the group gathered in ordered chaos, young people looking anywhere but the camera, except Noah. He looked directly into the lens, expression neutral, as if asking, “But for what happened, who would
I
have been?”

Child interrupted my thoughts. “You’re not responsible for other people’s happiness, Maeve, just as I wasn’t responsible for Janie’s last day. Let yourself believe that. Figure out what makes you tick. Don’t wait as long as I have.”

“I’m trying, I guess. It’s like a split path. I used to love chasing a curved trail, and now I’m stuck at a fork no Frost poem can solve. My ‘it’ll never happen to me’ is gone forever. I can’t go back, but I’m unsure how to go forward.”

“My life would be a lot easier if I could get my selves to agree on anything.” He commiserated. “All I can assure you is that nothing will happen if you spend your time alone in a dark room. Or in front of
The News Hour with Jim Lehrer.
The sun is shining, Maeve. Let’s go outside and share some lemonade. I love the taste of cold lemonade.”

“If you’ll let me give you something,” I said. The third kachina was an organic twining of leaves, like new shoots rising around the hummingbird with its strong heart. Healing.

“It seems a fair bargain.”

And so we did.

“Child?” I asked as we stepped into the light. “Why do you dislike Uzbekistan so much?”

When I got home, I slipped through the yard to avoid April and Busy and the Home Shopping Channel in the common room, Oliver and Lulabell chattering madly. I reached my door
undetected with relief. April’s ears were as sharp as cricket hairs. I’d been doing so much face time in the last few days you’d think my new album was about to drop. I felt the need to burrow into a book.

My foot kicked something as I stepped into my shaded room. There was a large envelope with my name on it on the floor. I settled onto the bed to open it, expecting Ruby’s shopping list. It wasn’t.

I extracted a slim volume, heavy pages bound between beautiful handmade covers. I turned it over gently. It was a children’s picture book, each page framing its words in beautiful watercolor drawings filled with a boy, a girl, a bird, and lots of tall trees. It was inscribed to me. I began to read.