The Things We Keep (32 page)

Finally Mom appears. “Andrea.” Mom's face goes pale. For a few seconds, I wait for her to say something, but Mom just stares at her like she's a talking goose.

“I got your address from the class list,” Miranda's mom says. “I'm here to talk to you about your daughter. Today was the third time she hurt my daughter, and I wanted to let you know I'm putting in an official request to have her removed from the school.”

Mom looks at me.

“I didn't hurt Miranda!” I say. “I promise, Mom.”

“Don't
lie,
” Miranda's mom says. She gets up close to my face, and her mouth is mean. “I saw Miranda's knee, it has a huge bruise. You tripped her.”

“I didn't,” I say. “She tripped herself.”

Miranda's mom opens her mouth again, but Mom steps between us. “You heard Clem,” she says angrily. “Miranda tripped herself. And I'll ask you not speak to my daughter. Speak to me.”

I want to hug Mom. Mom doesn't usually speak angrily to other grown-ups. I try to catch her eye to smile, but she just stares at Miranda's mom.

“How about I speak to you about this address you provided to the school, then?” Miranda's mom says. She starts to walk again, peering around the corner at a row of walkers. “Since this is obviously not your house.”

Mom doesn't move, but her face changes. No one says anything for a while.

“It's a residential care facility,” I say, to fill the silence. “Mom is the cook. We live in an apartment. It's small and brown, and there's a pizza shop right underneath!”

Miranda's mom was still looking at the parlor, but now she spins around. There's a moment of silent grown-up language, where they speak with their eyes instead of their mouths.

“So you don't live here?” she says to Mom. She's smiling a little, but it's not a nice smile. It's a tricky smile. “Do you even live in the school district?”

I start to wonder if I've said the wrong thing.

“No,” Mom says. “We
don't.
After Richard died, I couldn't afford a place in the area, and I didn't want to move Clem from a school she loved after she'd already lost so much. But the good news is, thanks to your daughter, Clem doesn't love her school all that much anymore.” I watch Mom, but she doesn't look at me. “Now that I think of it, I should also thank
you
. Thank you for being such a narrow-minded, mean-spirited bitch. Thank you for having such a mean-spirited bitch for a daughter. It will make the move so much easier.”

I gasp and so does Miranda's mom. “Bitch” is a bad word. And there's another noise, too—a scream. There's a crash, like glass breaking, and Mom turns and sprints down the hallway. At the same time, the door opens. And Eric walks in.

 

44

Anna

Seven months ago …

I'm lying on my sleeping-bench, daydreaming, when Jack appears in my room. His face is all wrinkled and lined and his hands are out in front like he doesn't know what to do with them.

“Anna, we need to talk.”

“Okay.”

“It's private. Let's go to your room.”

“This
is
my room.”

Jack wipes his face in his hand and presses his eyelids together. “This is the parlor, Anna.”

“Oh.” I glance around. Yeah. I'm lying on the long chair-thing. “Okay. Let's go.”

I'm glad Jack is here because I don't think I'd have found my way back. Everything looks the same. White walls, pale green furniture, hallways leading to doors. Doors to where? I wonder. Where oh where do all these doors lead?

Inside my room, we sit.

“Dr. Li called this morning to tell me the results of your blood test,” Jack says. He's wearing a black thing, sliced in the middle with a white bit and a pink stripe.
A tie!
This is what he wears to work. Jack doesn't usually visit me on a workday. I wonder what he's doing here now?

“So?” I ask.

“You really have no idea what I'm about to tell you?”

“No.”

Jack sinks to his knees in front of me. I take his face in my hands. “You look like Mom,” I say.

Jack smiles weakly. “You look like Dad.”

“Remember when you told me that if I cut off all my hair, it would grow back straight?”

A small, surprised laugh explodes from Jack. “You remember that?”

“What girl doesn't remember being bald?”

Jack looks at me for a long while. “When it started to grow back, you had an Afro that would have made the Jackson Five proud. That was actually pretty cool.” He keeps looking at me, but his gaze slides toward my stomach, and his eyes grow sad. “You're pregnant, Anna.” Jack puts his hand on my stomach, smoothing my clothes so they sit flat.

My belly looks round, like an upside-down bowl. Jack looks at it for another moment, then drops his head onto my knees. When he lifts it again, his cheeks are wet.

“You mean … there's a baby in there?” I point at the upside-down bowl.

He nods. I curve my hands around my belly, the way Jack did a moment ago. “A baby?”

Jack closes his eyes. “Oh God.”

I watch him. He looks upset. It makes me upset. “You're worried because of the Alzheimer's.”

“Yes, Anna.” Jack can't even look at me. His brow is heavy and he keeps wiping it. It takes a moment for me to realize what he's worried about. I'm not going to be around for long. Who will look after my baby when I'm gone?

“You'll look after my baby, won't you?” My voice rises and cracks. “After I'm gone. Will you bring it to live with you?”

Jack removes his hand and looks at me. For a moment, I think he's going to say something important; then he just sighs. “Of course I'll look after the baby, Anna.”

“Okay,” I say.

“I need to talk to Eric,” he says after what feels like a long time.

“Okay,” I say again, because I also have someone I need to talk to.

Jack sighs a few more times and looks at me a lot. Then he shakes his head and leaves, using that power walk he has. It's pretty good, that walk. Intimidating. I want to tell him so, but he's gone. And anyway, I have somewhere to be.

*   *   *

And then, I'm out in the hallway again. White walls. White doors. Green sitting things. I pass a Latina carrying a pot of red food. The cook, I guess. She smiles on her way to wherever she's going. I whirl in circles, looking for him, trying to get my bearings. On my second turn around, I don't even know which door I came out of. When a bald man walks past, I sigh in relief.

“You okay, Anna?” he asks.

Anna!
I give a little fist-pump. He knows me. “Yep. Have you seen … um…?”

“Luke?” he suggests.

I grin. That must be his name. Luke.

“No,” the man says. I decide to call him Baldy. “He's not in his room?”

“Not sure,” I say. “Can you take me there?”

Baldy is infuriatingly slow, but I tap along beside him because it's bound to be faster than finding his room myself. Anyway, I'm too happy to be by myself.
A baby.
I repeat it in my mind a few times.
A baby. Don't forget this, Anna. You have a baby inside your belly.

But when we get to his room, it's empty. “Crap.”

“Language,” the man tuts. “I'm headed to the parlor. Would you like to come and look for him there?”

I'm about to say yes—after all, it has to be a better idea than stumbling around by myself with all these white doors—when it dawns on me. I know exactly where he is.

“Can you take me to the … stepping-blocks that take you to the next floor?”

He's grumpy, this old dude. He sighs, loud and inconvenienced, and then starts walking. After a couple of clanks of his walker, he turns and says, “Well? You coming or not?”

Geez.

He takes me as far as the stepping-blocks and then says, “You okay?”

“Sure am,” I say cheerily. “Thanks!”

And then I'm climbing. A baby. Our baby.

He will be in the upstairs room, I'm sure of it. It's the perfect place to give him this news. I know it's not all happy. We're not going to live until our baby is a big person. But we'll have created life. Life that will exist after we've gone.

I climb up another set of stepping-blocks and walk into a thin-room with doors off it. One of the doors is open, and I peer inside. This is it! The room is full of large white mountains, but I ignore them and look for him. He's not here. I look again, and that's when I see the window-hole at one end. He must be through there.

I rush to the hole. I need to see him. As I walk through the hole, I bump into something. I have to duck down to get outside.

“Hello!” I call. The sun is blinding and hot.
“Hello,”
I say again.

I've forgotten his damn name again. I hear voices that sound like they're a long way away, and other noises, too. A bird. The hum of a car. The laugh of a child. A
child.
My hands find my stomach.

“Where are you?”
I call.

“Jesus Christ.” The voice I hear is faint, like it's far away. “That's a woman up there.”

“Where?” someone says.

“On the
roof.
”

“Oh my God!”

“Someone call 911.”

Although I can hear the voices, I don't know where they're coming from. And I don't really care. I still haven't found him. I need to find him before I forget. The ground below me feels uneven, like I'm standing on a slant. I wobble. Nothing around me is familiar. I don't think I'm in the upstairs room anymore.

“Anna!”

I recognize that voice. “Jack? Where are you?”

“I'm down here,” he says. “Don't jump.
Please!
I'm coming to get you.”

A sweep of wind goes by, and I extend my arms, trying to steady myself. But there's nothing to hold on to. Suddenly I see Jack. He's standing on the green, looking up at me. He's surrounded by people. None of them is the person I'm looking for.

“Where is he?” I ask.

“Luke's here, Anna!” Jack shouts. “Just stay there, and I'll come and get you.”

I hear him yell to someone to get Luke. That's his name.
Luke.

Jack is doing the thing when he is angry but he's trying to sound like he's calm. He is probably lying about Luke being there. I can't see him anywhere.

“Where?” I ask.

He looks around. “There!” he says, pointing. “He's right there. Now, I'm coming up.”

Jack disappears somewhere, and my eyes scan the green. I try to recall why I was looking for him. I hate it when this happens. I've got the feeling I went to quite a lot of effort to find him, and then …
poof.
It's gone.

I keep looking. Wondering. Then I see him, and it all falls away. My heart fills. And I step forward.

 

45

Eve

I follow the screaming all the way to Luke's room. I'm vaguely aware of Andrea behind me—she's never one to miss out on something interesting happening—but in the moment, I cannot find the will to care. What has happened?

When I get to Luke's room, Anna is crouched in a corner. The vase is upturned, and flowers and broken glass litter the floor.

“Hi,” I say, entering the room as fast as I can without being threatening. “It's me, Eve. The cook.”

Anna looks up, her green eyes wide. I notice her palm is bleeding. Luke stands over her protectively. “You've cut yourself, Anna.”

Anna looks at her hand as if this is news to her. Dark red blood rushes from the gash and drips from the crevices between her fingers. I realize, with a sinking heart, that she's going to need stitches.

“Is it okay if I take a look?” I ask.

She nods.

“Good. Why don't you sit on the bed? Luke—you, too.”

Anna sits, but Luke remains standing where he is. “Okay,” I say, “Anna, I'll just get something for your—”

“Eve? What on earth is going on?”

Eric appears in the doorway and my heart clenches like a fist. Behind him, in the hallway, Clementine and Andrea look on.

“Eric, I—”

“What were Anna and Luke doing in here
alone
?” he asks, incredulous.

I'm saved from responding by Rosie who appears from nowhere, shoving her way past Eric. She surveys the room and swears quietly. “Eric, I need a towel,” she says. “Two, if you have them. Quickly, we have to stop this bleeding.”

It takes Eric a few seconds to change his focus, but he finally grabs the towels. Rosie wraps Anna's hand in it. “Point it up, Anna,” she says. “It will stop the bleeding.”

Anna, it seems, cannot fathom these instructions, so Rosie does it for her.

“She'll need stitches,” Rosie says, confirming my initial thought. “I can drive her to the hospital—”

“I'll do it,” Eric says. “We need you here, Rosie.”

He looks at me, then jerks his head in the direction of Luke and Anna. “So you still think they are better off together? That they're in love?” He adds a nasty, monosyllabic scoff. I look at Anna and Luke, who are gazing vacantly into separate quadrants of the room, and I have to admit—right now, it's hard to believe they're in love.

And yet.

“I think you'd better go home, Eve,” he says.

“No. I'll go with you to the hospital. Or I can stay here with Luke. I'd rather wait until I know Anna's all right.”

“No.” Eric's voice leaves no room for doubt. “You're going home.”

Rosie lets go of Anna's hand to grab some gauze, and immediately Anna's hand drops back to her side. I pick it up again for her, start to tell her I'll see her in the morning.