The Lies We Told (27 page)

Adam began ticking the stages of grief off on his fingers. “Denial—check. Anger—check. Bargaining.” He looked at Rebecca. “Did we do that one?”

“Definitely,” Rebecca said. “Remember? If we got her back, I was going to talk to her every single day.”

“Right. What’s the next one?”

“Depression,” Rebecca said soberly. “We’re still there.”

“Right. And acceptance?” He shook his head. “We’re never going to get to that one.”

I’m nearly there,
Rebecca thought. Was it wrong to reach acceptance so quickly?

“Well, Kübler-Ross, brilliant though she was, left out the hysterical laughing stage,” Dorothea said. “That’s where the two of you are. I could hear you out in the parking lot.”

“You should have heard us in the ambulance today.” Adam’s legs were stretched out in front of him, and he tapped Rebecca’s knee with his toes.

“Did you go through that stage after Louisa died?” she asked Dorothea.

“Hell, yes. I’m still in it,” she said. “Every time I look at the damn purple cabinets in my kitchen, I get hysterical.”

Rebecca laughed.

“If I didn’t laugh,” Dorothea said, “I’d cry.”

“Exactly,” Adam said. He passed the bowl of chips to her, and she took one and dipped it in the salsa.

“Getting serious for a moment,” Adam said, his gaze on Dorothea, “I’d like to join DIDA full-time.”

“What?”
Rebecca asked.

Dorothea cocked her head at him. “Now’s not the time to make that decision,” she said. “You’re tired. You’re living in a situation that feels a thousand times removed from the real world. You just lost your wife.
And
you’re drinking. Not the time.” Then she added, “And there’s no money working for DIDA.”

“I don’t care about the money,” Adam scoffed. “It might not be forever. It might only be for a year or two. But right now, this is what I want to do.”

“’Cause you can fill up the empty place with this work,” Dorothea said.

He hesitated. “I suppose that’s part of it.”

Rebecca wondered if that’s why
she
liked working with DIDA herself. She’d always said she loved the challenge. Loved being able to help where help was so desperately needed. The physical risks. The excitement. Was she trying to fill an empty place inside her? She remembered Dorothea telling her she was like a well that was impossible to fill.

“I hope you
do
decide to stick with DIDA, Adam,” she said, with none of the emotion she was feeling, “but Dot’s right. Now’s a bad time to make the decision.”

“Call your office,” Dorothea said to him. “Tell them you’re not coming back for a while. Piss them off. Then stay here and see how you feel in a few more weeks.”

“I will,” he said, “but I don’t think I’m going to change my mind.”

Rebecca smiled at him across the bed. She rested her hand on the top of his foot, giving it a squeeze, and for the second time that day, felt an unabashed sense of joy.

I
WAS ALONE IN THE CHICKEN COOP
,
TENDING THE CHICKENS
on my own for the first time. I’d risen in the near dark of early dawn, surprised to find I was first to be up, and I went about the business of gathering the eggs and feeding the chickens, only a little worried that something was wrong. Simmee was always up long before me.

I heard the squeak of the screen door and looked up to see Tully walking toward the coop, his rifle slung over his shoulder.

“Morning,” I said coolly. I hadn’t forgiven him for not telling Larry about me.

“You turnin’ into an ol’ hand at this stuff, ain’t you?” He motioned toward the chicken coop.

“I wouldn’t say that,” I said. “Where’s Simmee?”

“Got a bellyache.” He looked toward the path. “She’s sendin’ me over to take care of Lady Alice’s roof. Givin’ me a hard time about it. I’ll try to get us somethin’ for supper, so we can save what I smoked yesterday. But you check on her for me, will you?”

“All right,” I said, wondering if Simmee’s bellyache could
be the start of labor. It would be like her not to put two and two together.

I’d fed the chickens and put six eggs in the basket by the time the screen door squeaked open again. I waited for Simmee to appear around the corner of the house, but she didn’t. I was about to call her name when she called mine.

“Maya?” Her voice was little more than a hoarse whisper. Quickly, I left the coop and walked toward the house. She stood on the stoop in a sleeveless blue dress that ballooned over her belly, and she leaned heavily against the doorjamb. Her cheeks were florid, made even more so by the pallor in the rest of her face.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

“Is Tully gone?”

“Yes,” I said, hurrying toward her. “Do you want me to go after him?”

She shook her head, then screwed up her face as though she might cry. “Oh,
Maya,
” she moaned. “Them pains started in the middle of the night. I think the baby’s comin’.”

In the middle of the night? “Tully just said you had a stomachache.” Could Tully be that dense?

“That’s what I told him,” she said. “I been tryin’ to hide the pain from him.”

I stepped closer to her, confused. “Why, honey?” I asked. “Why do you want to hide it from him?”

She gave a quick shake of her head, and I knew I wasn’t going to get the answer now. For the first time, I noticed she had the ball of twine in her hands, the one I’d cut lengths from to tie off the umbilical cord. Why was she carrying it around with her?

“Has your water broken?” I asked. “Did a whole lot of water come—”

“In the bed.” She suddenly cringed, nearly doubling over. “Oh!” she said.

I glanced at my bare wrist to begin timing her contractions, forgetting that my watch had died in the floodwaters. “Do you know how often the pains are coming?” I stepped past her to open the door. “Let’s go back to the bedroom, all right?”

“No.” She stood woodenly on the stoop. “Not now. We got to—”

“Then let me get Tully,” I said. “He should be here with—”

“No!” she said. “I sent him to Lady Alice’s on purpose, ’cause I had a feelin’ the baby was comin’.”

Was she embarrassed at having Tully with her during labor and delivery? I had to remind myself that we were not in Raleigh. This was a different culture. Nearly a different
era
. “It’s okay,” I said. “Come on. Let me check you and see what’s happening.” I tugged a little at her arm, but she squirmed away from me, nearly toppling off the stoop.

“Maya!” The word exploded from her lips on a puff of air. “I’m so scared.”

“I know,” I said. “But you don’t need to be. I’m sure you’re fine. If you’ll let me examine you, I’ll be able to see the baby’s position. Then I can reassure you that what happened to your mother won’t happen to you.” I prayed that was the truth and that I would find absolutely nothing amiss.

“I don’t…” Simmee shook her hands in front of her like a kid who was excited or anxious, the loose end of the ball of twine flapping in the air, and again I thought she was embarrassed. She’d probably never had a gynecological exam before. Most likely she’d never seen a doctor in her life. “I figgered wrong.” She pressed her hand to her mouth. “I’m so sorry. I should of told you things before now, but—”

“Told me what?” I wondered if she knew something about her condition that I needed to know.

“I was too scared,” she said.

“What, honey?” I said. “Tell me now. It’s okay.”

Her gaze darted toward the woods. Toward the path to Lady Alice’s. “We need to go someplace.”

I nearly laughed. “Not today, we don’t,” I said. “You’re going inside and we’re going to figure out how soon this baby will be born.”

She shook her head. “I need to show you somethin’.” She stepped off the stoop and waved toward me to follow her. “C’mon.”

“No, Simmee!” I said firmly. She was acting so childish and strange that I thought the only approach to take with her was parental. “Nothing you need to show me can be that important. I want you to get in the house now!”

She turned and smacked me on the arm with her fist. Not hard, but hard enough to let me know she meant business.

“You gotta come with me!” she said. “I’m sorry! You’re gonna be so mad at me.”

I grabbed her shoulders. “Simmee, listen to me.” Beneath my hands, I felt her body tremble. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I’m not going to be mad at you, okay? I care about you. I care a lot. You’re a wonderful girl. A wonderful
woman
. You nursed me back to health. Now you need to let me take care of
you
. Please. Let me check the baby’s position. Then we can—”

“No!” She nearly shouted as she pulled away from my grasp. “Come with me!” She marched down the path toward Lady Alice’s, disappearing around the first bend, and I saw no choice but to follow her.

She was moving quickly and I hurried to catch up. It suddenly occurred to me it was Lady Alice she wanted. Not me. That was why she thought I’d be angry at her. Why she was apologizing. When I reached her, she suddenly stopped on
the path, clearly in the throes of another contraction, and I lightly touched her back. “I understand you want Lady Alice with you, Simmee. And that’s just fine. You go back to the house and I’ll get—”

“No!” she growled. “Shut up!” Her face was red, streaming with perspiration and knotted with pain.

“Breathe slowly,” I said. “Take long deep breaths. It will help with the pain.” I’d lost track of the contractions. Were they about seven minutes apart? Five? I had no idea. All I knew was that they were too close together for comfort.

She ignored my suggestion to breathe deeply, letting the contraction play itself out, and then continued walking, hugging the ball of twine to her chest as if it were an infant. I followed, confused and helpless. Walking would hurry her labor, and I didn’t want to go too far from the house, but Simmee showed no sign of stopping. She plowed ahead, suddenly turning off the path into the undergrowth.

“Where are you going?” I stopped on the path. In the distance, I could hear the tapping sound of a hammer: Tully at work on Lady Alice’s roof.

She didn’t answer, and I had to follow her into the brush or I’d lose her.

“We shouldn’t go this far from the house!” I quickly raised my arm to prevent a branch from smacking me in the face.

“Hush!” She turned to glare at me and, as if remembering her manners, added, “Please.”

“I don’t want you to end up giving birth in the woods,” I argued, but she ignored me.

I followed her deeper into the brambles and ankle-grabbing vines, slapping mosquitoes Simmee didn’t seem to notice. Was she having a psychotic break? That was the only explanation I could think of. All I knew was that she seemed to be picking
up speed while I lagged behind, uncertain of where in the morass of weeds and vines I should place my next step. I tripped once. Twice. She turned only long enough to tell me to hurry, and I tried my best, but this was her turf, not mine. I was lost, in more ways than one. I should have tried harder to take control when I still stood a chance of doing so. I was so turned around in the woods, that even if I decided it would be best to make my way to Lady Alice’s to get her and Tully—and I was now certain that
would
be best—I wouldn’t have known which way to go. One tree trunk looked like another. Each long, twisted vine was just like the next. I thought of calling for Tully, but we had moved far from Lady Alice’s house by now. I was certain of it, and I knew my shout would be swallowed by the trees.

Every few minutes, Simmee let out a groan and I wasn’t sure if the sound was due to pain or anxiety—or insanity. She only stopped once or twice more, gasping for breath before she charged forward again. I pleaded with her to turn around, but she was completely ignoring me now.

We walked for at least ten minutes, though to my aching legs it seemed much longer. The undergrowth grew tighter around my shoulders, stealing oxygen and whipping against my cheeks. Ahead of me, Simmee’s hair was a wild gossamer cloud around her head and down her back, and I could see scratches on her bare legs from the brush.

When I felt as though I couldn’t take one more step, I spotted the glimmer of water through the trees.

Oh my God
. Had we walked all the way to the opposite side of Last Run? Simmee kept walking, parting the brush with her arms, and I had a sudden, horrible thought. Was she going to walk straight into the water? Drown herself? Was this mad dash across Last Run her attempt to end her life before labor became
too excruciating? Did she see a quick death by drowning as preferable to the fate her mother had suffered? The thoughts spun quickly through my mind, but I knew my imagination was getting the best of me. There was deep water far closer to the house. If drowning was her goal, she didn’t need to cross the island to do it.

“Where
are
we?” I asked as we neared the bank. “Why are we here?”

Simmee only let out a sob and turned left, walking parallel to the water’s edge, though still deep in the undergrowth. All at once, she stopped and began flailing at the brush with her arms. If she had not already lost hold of her sanity, I knew she was losing it now. I rushed forward and tried to grab her hands.

“Simmee! Simmee! Look at me! Look at—” I stopped, suddenly aware of what lay buried beneath the thicket of vines and branches in front of us: a boat. It was in the water, tucked beneath an outcropping of sandy earth and a network of tree roots and tied at bow and stern to saplings that arched over the water. I stared at it in shock.

“I don’t understand,” I said.

“I hid it.” Simmee leaned against the trunk of a spindly pine tree, winded. “Tully thought it washed away, but it didn’t. When he brung you to us, he said you was a doctor, and I thought, ‘I got to keep her here.’ Wasn’t so much ’cause you was a doctor. I just wanted an outsider. I
needed
an outsider. But I told Lady Alice I wanted
you
to birth the baby. Not to tell Larry you was here. I knew you could help me.”

“Why?” I frowned. “Help you how?”

“I brung the boat around this here side of the island and tucked it up here like this. Tully never comes this way and I covered her up good. You can’t even see her from the water.”

“The boat has been here all along?” I felt a flash of fury.

She didn’t answer. Instead she squeezed her eyes closed and opened her mouth wide as though she wanted to let out a scream, but she made no sound at all.

“Take a deep breath,” I said again, and this time she did.

“Okay.” I tried to sound calm. My flash of anger was only that—a flash. There was no time for more than that. All at once, I understood what was going on: this was the only way she could get to the mainland to have her baby. Tully wouldn’t take her. She needed
me
. The outsider. “Okay,” I said again. “I’ll…” I studied the boat, trying to figure out how to free it from its camouflage of vines and brush. “Should you get in first, or—”

“What?” She looked at me as though I was the one who’d lost her mind.

“You want to go to the hospital, right?”

“No!” she wailed, slapping her hand on the side of the tree. “No, no, no!”

“
What,
then?”

“I just need to
show
you.” She turned and quickly tied the end of the ball of twine around the trunk of the tree. “We got to get back to the house,” she said. “Then you got to make this baby come
fast
. Fast, before Tully comes home.”

She was already walking through the brush again, back the way we’d come, trailing the twine behind her. I stared after her for a moment, too stunned to move.

“Come on!” she shouted, stringing the twine over a branch as she walked. “You need to be able to git back here on your own.”

She
was
crazy. How had I lived with her for nearly two weeks and not picked up on it?

“I don’t understand!” I hurried after her, shouting at her back, my frustration finally coming to a head.

“You need to find your way back here with the baby,” she
said. “I told you how to go once you’re out on the water, remember? Up the creek and then you just keep going left. Left at the fork and left into the river by the old shed. Remember? I told you!”

“I’m
not
taking your baby!”

“Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!” She hunched over with another contraction. They were coming faster now. She pulled in long, gasping breaths while I looked on helplessly. “You have to,” she said through the pain. “Please, Maya. Please, please.”

I thought I saw a brief moment of sanity in her eyes as she pleaded with me. Either way, I wouldn’t argue with her now.

“Okay,” I said, thinking
whatever
. “Let’s just get back.”

She ran out of the twine long before we reached the path.

“Break the branches!” she said, one hand braced under her belly now as she walked. With the other hand, she grabbed the branches of saplings, yanking at them, grunting with the effort. “You need to leave a trail for yourself.”

I did it. I snapped branches. Trailed vines from one tree to the next. Anything to humor her. To hurry our way home.