The Battered Heiress Blues (33 page)

Once erect, I asked Henry to give me the amulet. He didn’t comply at first, but I insisted. With my family behind me, I held the amulet over the railing, and let it fall from my fingertips. I quoted a passage from Psalms,
chapter six
, which I’d repeated many times since Connor’s death. “
Pity me, O Lord, for I am weak. Heal me, for my body is sick, and I am upset and disturbed. My mind is filled with apprehension and with gloom. Oh, restore me soon. Come, O Lord, and make me well. In your kindness save me
.” As it shattered into small pieces, I stood resolved that history would not repeat itself. Hector’s life had been taken to pay for Connor’s death. We both lost. It was over.

I turned around into my dad’s open arms. Gladly finding an escape in his tight hold, I asked the others to leave me alone. I was tired and beaten. Gabe emerged with my mom’s locket; the last of the items in the box. Opening it to find her picture made me and my dad smile. We said our goodnights and Tommy carefully led John downstairs to rest.

After a long, hot shower, I exited the bathroom to find Henry sound asleep on my bed. The recliner was begging for his companionship, but I didn’t have the heart to wake him and take a stand. I dressed in my old lady nightgown and got under the covers, taking care not to cross the imaginary line I’d drawn down the middle of the bed. With Tru spouting that he had moved on, I didn’t want to be the one that broke the understanding.

Try as I might, sleep did not come easy. As usual, Henry had the ability to doze through any crisis. He lay beside me, on his back with a peaceful smile on his face. While he was enjoying some jovial fantasy, I had difficulties blocking out the thoughts of Hector Costelano. The arrival of the death amulet did little to banish my fears. Every time I closed my eyes, the images of Hector charging me with the knife and it plunging into my uterus, played in slow motion. The images looped, showing me the door and then the fallout from my choice to stay. I could still hear the sounds and taste the dirt clouds as they rose from that dusty clinic floor.

Without making a conscience decision to do so, my eyes opened wide, halting the montage of horror. Dreams had become anything but sweet for me. Turning my attention to the fan above, I began to count.

The sounds of glass breaking interrupted my coping exercise. With Gabe and Mattie away at the cottage, the old fears resurfaced. I tried to calm myself and control my panic, but the anxiety began to choke me. I finally nudged Henry who barely moved.

“Tru, wake up, someone is downstairs. I heard glass breaking.”

He groaned and mumbled, “It’s probably just Tommy or Dog getting into something. Go back to sleep.”

Surely, he was right, but the crashing sounds didn’t make any sense. As Henry turned over to escape my nervous chatter, I decided to go downstairs and see for myself. The house was dark except for a small lamp that sat on the round table in the foyer. The light bounced off the glass shards that were scattered across the floor, throwing a rainbow against the wall. The front door bolt was still locked, making an intruder less likely. I relaxed until I stepped in a puddle. The water that had once sustained the hydrangea blossoms glistened below me.

A moaning sound demanded my attention. Beyond the destruction of the vase, I noticed two feet in the doorway of the drawing room. Hurrying around the corner, I saw John lying on the ground, clutching his chest.

“Daddy? No,” I whispered as I knelt at his side. “No.”

“Julia Grace?” he panted.

“Yes, Daddy. I’m here. I’m here.”

“I’m cold,” he uttered weakly.

Crawling to the couch, I retrieved a throw from the sofa and the telephone off the side table. I dialed 9-1-1 and tried to cover him. I frantically begged the operator to send help quickly. My dad closed his eyes and his breathing became shallower. Scared, I pulled his head onto my lap and told him to open his eyes.

“Tommy,” I yelled. “Henry.”

My brother arrived first, running to our side as he caught sight of us on the floor.

“What hap-,” Tommy began to ask only to be interrupted by John.

“I can’t breathe, son. My chest hurts.”

“An ambulance is on the way,” I added, trying to remain calm for my dad’s sake. “You’re going to be fine.”

Henry raced in to see what situation accompanied the noises that woke him. As he and Tommy conversed about opening the security gate for the police and rescue crews, I pulled myself off the floor and stood to join them. My head felt dizzy and I began to stagger forward, off balance, toward Henry as he was turning on the overhead light.

“Where’s all this blood coming from? Did you cut your head on the broken glass, Dad?” Tommy inquired as he began to search the back of John’s head for wounds.

Henry stood in front of me, moving his lips, but I couldn’t hear him. The ringing in my ears was overpowering. I’d felt this once before. My face became flushed and my knees weak. My mind became cloudy and the room started to spin.

“Jewels, are you okay, love?”

Continuing to walk towards him, I felt warm liquid running down my legs, leaving a trail behind me on the floor. My dress was covered in my own blood. I was losing her.

“You’re bleeding. It’s you,” he screamed as my body began to fall horizontal.

Henry dove for my head, catching it before it smacked against the ground. My shoulder hit hard and pain ripped through my body. Hearing returned with this new positioning. My face looked upon John, who was staring back at me through his own discomfort. His hand reached out to meet my own. With our fingers barely touching, he smiled at me with his eyes.

“I have always loved you. A father could never be more proud of a daughter than I am of you,” he said through his strained breath. “I should have told you more. I’m sorry. You are your mother’s daughter.”

“I am my father’s daughter.”

“I’m tired baby girl. I’m so tired.”

“I know. Let’s sleep for a little bit,” I said as my eyes unwillingly closed. “I love you Daddy,” I mumbled.

“I know,” John said smiling. “I have always known.”

Henry began to cry, pulling me up against him. “No, love, no. You have to fight. Open your eyes. Keep your eyes open. Fight,” he said over and over as he stroked my hair. “Help is coming. Hold on. You hold on. Don’t you go to sleep, Jewels”

I pushed against the heaviness of my eyes and wiped his tears.

“Promise me something.”

“No.”

“You promise me, Tru. Save her. Choose the baby. You save Emma. Let me go. Promise me,” I demanded through my own tears.

“I can’t do that,” he replied, destroyed.

“You have to…promise me, now. I’m so tired.”

Gabe, who must have heard the call go out over his scanner, came into view.

“Oh, you’ll just do anything for attention, won’t you?” he grinned trying to seem less concerned, for my benefit.

“Gabe?” I responded, closing my eyes.

“You remember who you are. We’ve talked about this before. Fight for us. We need you. Mattie needs you. I need you,” he admitted.

“I’m tired, Gabe.”

“I don’t care, Julia. Don’t you be a quitter. Don’t you dare quit on me.”

“Tru? Do you hear that?”

“No, love, what is it?” he said, trying to pull himself together.

“My mom’s here with Sissy…and Connor. He’s grown. They’re here for me. Do you see her, Dad?”

“Don’t you do that, Jewels. You stay with me. You hear me. I can’t lose you. Don’t you go with them.”

“I love you,” were the last words I could muster.

With that, death called. The amulet demanded satisfaction.

23

T
he black slip clung to my swollen frame. I stood searching my closet for the appropriate mourning dress. My belly was sorer than it had been when I lost Connor. Pushing hangers past me, one at a time, I looked for the same black elegant dress that had worn my misery before. With each hanger, I recited a line of that scripture verse that had been my prayer for months: “
Pity me, O Lord, for I am weak. Heal me, for my body is sick, and I am upset and disturbed. My mind is filled with apprehension and with gloom. Oh, restore me soon. Come, O Lord, and make me well. In your kindness save me
.”

Things were different this time around. I was left to make the funeral arrangements and invite the guests. Much to John’s dismay, the list was limited to close friends and family. The ridiculous flowers of the past were replaced with my favorite hydrangea blossoms. A simple lunch would be served and then we’d leave for the hospital. Some of our hearts were torn and already absent from the happenings of the day.

Sensing Tommy was too emotional to serve as the pastor, I contacted a family friend to say the funeral mass. My brother had been down this road before with me. The difference was that now, he’d experienced the entire journey. This time he was more deeply attached.

Henry’s mom, Emma, flew in from London. Emma Walker intended to meet Emma Grace, but not this way. Kate traveled from New York to lend support to Henry and me. Having my best friend back to lean on filled a void. She was the person I could most be myself around. My feelings, whether they be anger or inappropriate humor, were always acceptable. The argument that sent her packing seemed to have taken place decades ago. There are some people in your life whose importance defies time and circumstance. She and I always had the gift of picking up just where we had left off- minus the hostility. Emma Walker and Kate had instantly taken on the task of managing things at the hospital for me, while I took on the unwanted job of planning another burial.

With Henry’s heart broken, Gabe remained the rock at my side. He attended the meeting with the funeral director, helped me to choose a burial outfit, found someone at the church to sing, and hired a local caterer to provide food after the Mass.

Mattie and Dog provided my moments of sanity and comfort. Little Man obviously knew that something terrible had happened, but he couldn’t comprehend the specifics. All he understood was that it was time for marbles and painting. Those activities gave me the necessary distraction, allowing me to make it through the hours in the days preceding the loss. Mattie’s innocence and inner dignity uplifted my spirits. His actions had their own love language. No words were ever needed to convey his feelings. He was God’s messenger and my angel.

Ms. Martin never left my side, administering medications and changing my surgical dressings. She’d taken to sleeping in bed with me in the event that I needed even the smallest thing. Her closeness and care was of the kind that a mother shows a daughter. She was selfless and resolute that I would make it through this trial. Gabe was one of those rare sons that didn’t take his mom for granted. He knew how lucky he was. This woman, giant in character, had instilled those same values in her son. I was blessed to have the Martin family in my life.

Same scars. Same cemetery. Same faces. Same sad dress. Same sad chair. The morning was filled with a punch list; get dressed, go to the chapel, try not to breakdown, bury my heart, push food around my plate, listen to people’s mundane small talk, and wish them well as they left me to my pain. I curiously wondered what they would speak about as their cars cleared the Spencer gates. Would they talk about the latest movie they saw or the weather outside? Were they altered in any way? Did life just continue? Would anyone comprehend the fact that something important was taken from me- again? Could they understand that no sentiment would bring me comfort or fill that space in my heart? These are the things I pondered as their voices mouthed their condolences.

Henry was a wreck. Sadness consumed him. I had never seen him so broken and lost. His confidence was replaced with anxiety and fear. Where I had come to a point of acceptance, he was angry. Our views on fate and faith divided us. Throughout the week, we had spent very little time together, taking turns going to the hospital and coming home to sleep. He still showed love, but his actions were habit driven instead of genuine affection. The one discussion we had about the death ended badly. My faith had become my life preserver. I began to understand more definitively, the views that Gabe had shared with me after I lost Connor.

With the departure of all our guests, Henry and I retreated to the bedroom for a private moment of grief. When we cleared the door, we just held each other. The only sounds heard were sniffles and muffled sobs. We held on to each other as if our own lives depended on it, afraid to let go and move on to the next difficulty. Pushing him back slightly, our tear filled eyes met.