Pickin Clover (25 page)

“Not so good.” She swallowed hard and admitted it. “Okay, awful. Michael and I...we don’t seem to be able to talk to each other anymore,” she said slowly. “Not about stuff that matters. He’s so distant. I know he’s under a lot of pressure. He works more than ever these days. We’re having some financial problems. We...we’re going to have to sell our home.”

“How do you feel about that?”

“Sad. Angry.”

She bit her lip and then, in a rush of words, the rest of it poured out. “Bitter. And there’s this kid I’m taking care of, Clover Fox.” Polly explained about Jerome and the accident. “Frannie, this is so hard. I thought I was doing okay about Susannah, but this kid just brings up such horrible feelings in me.” Shame washed over her, and she couldn’t continue.

“What sort of feelings, Polly?”

“She...she annoys me.” That was way too mild. She had to tell the truth, or how could Frannie help her?

She swallowed hard and forced it out. “I...I just don’t like her. I really don’t like her.” Her voice was shaking as she tried to justify her attitude. “Kids are people. There’re people I don’t like, and Clover’s one of them.”

“What is it about her you don’t like?”

“Oh, nothing in particular.”

Frannie waited, silent.

“Everything, damn it,” Polly blurted. “She bit me, hard. She defies me. She won’t eat what I cook. She doesn’t talk to me. She doesn’t like me any more than I like her.”

Even to her own ears, it all sounded so petty Polly felt mortified. “Frannie, I resent her so much, and it makes me ashamed of myself. She’s only four, she’s a child. I shouldn’t feel this way about her. But...but I look at her and I think...”

Polly trailed off and tears burned behind her eyelids, then began to trickle down her cheeks.

Frannie handed her the box of tissues that were always on the desk. “What do you think, Polly?”

Her voice was gentle, encouraging.

The tears were scalding, like the pain in Polly’s stomach. ‘‘Oh, God. I...look at her and I think that my Susannah should have lived. Susannah deserved to live,” she wailed.

“What is it in Clover that you resent?”

“She’s...she’s...” Polly struggled to put it into words. Finally, slowly, she said, “I guess she’s the exact opposite of everything Susannah was. She’s...she’s bad-tempered and sullen, and...and unattractive. Susannah had so much to offer, and I see this kid and I wonder why she should be here and Susannah...not here.”

“So she reminds you of Susannah.”

“No.” The denial was explosive. “Absolutely not. Why do people keep saying such a thing? My mother said that—that Clover reminds her of Susannah, and it’s ridiculous. She’s nothing like her.”

“I meant that when you look at Clover, you think of Susannah.”

With great reluctance, Polly nodded.

“And what else do you think of?”

“What else?” Polly considered the question, and the answer came. “I guess I think of Michael,” she said slowly. “He doesn’t have any problem with Clover. At first I wanted him around more to take care of her. And then when he was, I was...” She could barely whisper the truth. “I was jealous.” She hastened to defend herself. “Not for me, but for Susannah. The attention he pays to Clover belongs to Susannah.”

“But Susannah doesn’t need it now,” Frannie reminded her gently. “Who do you really have resentment for? For Clover or for Michael?”

With Frannie there was no avoiding the truth. Polly’s shoulders slumped. “Michael,” she whispered. “It’s Michael. He plays with her. He talks to her. He never talks to me about Susannah, but apparently he tells Clover stories about a girl he’s named after our daughter. He buys Clover gifts. He laughs with her. He enjoys having her around. Yet he won’t agree to having another baby so I could share those feelings with him.”

“So when he doesn’t talk to you, what do you believe about that?”

Unbearable pain seared through Polly. “He doesn’t care about me.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “He doesn’t love me anymore.” Once the words were out, they took on a terrifying reality. She felt as if she couldn’t breathe.

But Frannie shook her head. “You resent him and you’ve closed your heart to him, as much as you believe he’s closed his heart to you. You’ve made this in your imagination, Polly. He’s not here, so we can’t ask him, but I want you to tell me honestly how you’ve guarded your heart from him.”

Polly wanted to deny it. She’d tried to make him talk with her about Susannah, hadn’t she? She’d begged him to come to counseling. She’d done everything in her power to make things better between them. How dared anyone insinuate the fault was hers?

She stared at Frannie, and slowly, unwillingly, the answer came. “Clover. He’s tried to share his enjoyment of her with me, but I...I can’t. I don’t want to. How can he expect me to?”

“Why can’t you, Polly?”

Relentless. Frannie was relentless, and for a moment, Polly hated her. This was too hard. Sobs built in her chest and she forced them down. She wrapped her arms around herself, holding in the pain.

“Because if I do...I...I’ll do what he’s doing. Don’t you see that?” Her voice rose and panic filled her. “I’ll betray my own child. I’11...I’11 forget her. She’ll be gone forever, along with the house and her room, her toys, all the memories...”

Again Frannie shook her head. “Your little one lives in your heart, Polly. She’ll never go away. Think back now, and tell me what your greatest fear was after Susannah died.”

That memory was a place Polly hated to go. She took a shuddering breath. “I thought my heart would literally break. I thought I would die of a broken heart.”

“But you didn’t die,” Frannie told her gently. “Your heart broke, and you went on. You don’t have to be afraid anymore. Sometimes hearts break to allow something new to be born, to force us to grow. And the love, the connectedness with your daughter, is a permanent thing. Nothing will ever alter it, because Susannah lives in your heart.”

Frannie reached over and took Polly’s hand in hers.

“You’re not lost in your sorrow anymore. You’re not stuck there.” Her voice was reassuring. “You’ve come so far, Polly, you know you have. Take a deep breath and check your heart right now for me. Close your eyes and feel how much you have there of the memory of Susannah.”

Polly did, and of course Susannah was there, unlimited and true and forever. And with a sense of wonder, Polly realized something else. Her heart was still sore, but it didn’t feel broken any longer.

“You can allow yourself to love this child, Polly.” Frannie’s voice was soft. “Once hearts are open, their capacity for love is unlimited. As for Michael, we’ve talked before about how people grieve differently, on different time lines. My guess is he’s doing it the only way he can, the only way possible for him. Give him space, Polly. Don’t crowd him. Try to have faith that the universe will heal him just as it’s healed you. Love him with all your heart and soul, but don’t make him responsible for your happiness. Don’t shut him out of what’s happening with you. When the time is right, talk to him the way you have to me. You took a big step in coming here today. You can do the same with Michael.”

Could she?

Frannie gave her hand a squeeze and then released it, and Polly grabbed a handful of tissues and blew her nose.

“I’ll try.”

Frannie smiled, blue eyes alight with pride and compassion. “You’ll succeed. I know you will. With Clover, and with Michael, too. You’re very strong, Polly. It’s a pleasure to know you.”

But in the week that followed, Polly didn’t feel strong. She took Frannie’s advice and tried to give Michael loving support without pressuring him in any way. He was sweet and passionate, but preoccupied. She didn’t ask what about, and he didn’t volunteer. He was busy, as always, but now so was she.

One of the first things she did was go to her G.P., Fred Hudson, for a prescription for birth control. Allowing Michael to take full responsibility for her physical safety was childish and unfair... and she understood fully that was what she’d been doing. Another pregnancy wasn’t an option, and although it hurt to give up that dream, she knew it was necessary.

The days were suddenly filled with the immediate problem of getting the house in reasonable order for prospective buyers. There were dozens of chores, large and small, that she’d ignored during the past months. The garage desperately needed cleaning. The upstairs bathroom had to be re-painted, and now that she’d let the cleaning service go, she had the day-to-day housekeeping to do. Not to mention that she and Norah had to begin the formidable task of sorting through Isabelle’s possessions.

And there was Clover to care for. Jerome was now in Rehab, but it would still be several weeks at least before he could go home and take on the care of his daughter.

After the visit to Frannie, the relationship with Clover gradually and subtly improved. There were still times when Polly counted the hours until she could hand Clover back to Jerome, but she also began to see the girl as quirky and tough, instead of just obstinate and sullen.

With the shift in Polly’s attitude, Clover bloomed like a cactus flower. She began to smile at Polly more than she scowled; she even agreed to taste certain foods she’d refused before.

Like Polly, Clover loved to draw, and she also adored rock and roll. Sharing those interests formed a tenuous bond between them.

With Clover’s eager but dubious assistance, Polly tackled some of the chores that needed doing. She cleaned the garage and chose bedding-out plants for the backyard. Clover loved digging in the dirt, and showed good color sense when it came to arranging the flowers. But one disastrous attempt at letting the girl help paint the bathroom was enough. After an hour scrubbing paint out of Clover’s hair and off ninety percent of her body, Polly finished the job while her helper napped.

Friday morning, Clover even agreed to let Polly trim her hair. It took some convincing, and Clover was adamant—no scissors—but finally she perched nervously on a kitchen stool, wrapped in a bath towel, and Polly wielded the electric clippers she generally used to tidy the hair on Michael’s neck.

Polly was a bit nervous herself, but she knew that almost anything she did had to be an improvement; Clover’s hair was appalling, thin and straggly and lank, her overgrown bangs hanging in her eyes. At least they could tidy it up a little, Polly assured herself. She’d just trim the ends.

“Here we go, kid.” Mentally crossing her fingers, she switched on the clippers and gingerly tackled the straggly strands at the back.

“Don’t cut my ear, okay?” Clover’s eyes were screwed shut and her voice was quavery with fear.

“I never would, I promise. Did someone nick your ear before?”

Clover nodded vigorously, and a huge chunk of hair Polly hadn’t planned on cutting fell away. She pursed her lips and felt sweat trickle down her back.

Like it or not, the little trim had just turned into a major haircut.

“Once my mommy’s friend? She cut my ear with scissors. Blood came out all over me and it really, really hurt. I cried and cried.”

No wonder the poor kid was terrified of scissors. Polly concentrated hard, and when she finished, she could hardly believe how successful she’d been. She grinned at Clover and crowed, “Look in this mirror, kid. You’re nothing short of gorgeous. I should have taken up hairstyling as a career, judging by you.”

Clover looked, and her blue eyes widened. She tipped her head one way, then the other, and a hesitant smile appeared.

Under the straggle she had a well-shaped skull, and the drastically short cut with the gamin bangs accentuated the offbeat angles of her face, making her eyes look bigger.

“Just wait till your daddy sees you. He’s gonna say, who’s this beautiful girl?”

Clover giggled. “My daddy always says that.” She tilted up her chin in a decidedly feminine gesture, intrigued by her reflection.

“Of course he does.” Only daddies could give their daughters that special sort of confidence, the kind that came with unconditional love. Her own father had done that for her, Polly realized, just as Michael had for Susannah.

Because of Jerome’s acceptance and love, Clover didn’t feel the need to make everyone like her, Polly suddenly realized. Now that Polly understood her own complicated feelings a little better, she was beginning to appreciate Clover’s uniqueness.

The child still irritated her, but she also made her smile.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Valerie tapped on the door of the examining room and opened it a discreet three inches. “Doctor, the radiologist is on line three.”

Michael had been anxiously waiting all morning for the call, and he apologized now to the patient he was with and hurried into his office, where Duncan’s file sat open on his desk.

The results of the CAT scan he’d ordered for the boy lay on top. He’d received them yesterday, and they showed clearly that the tumor was still growing.

Michael had immediately called Sophie, and she’d brought Duncan into the office late yesterday afternoon.

Michael had then done a complete physical on the boy, and this time he’d discovered a minute lump in Duncan’s left testicle that hadn’t been there before. He’d ordered an ultrasound, asking that the radiologist phone him immediately with the results.