What She Left Behind (33 page)

CHAPTER 25

I
ZZY AND
C
LARA

Orange turkeys and black-hatted pilgrims decorated the windows and walls of the Ithaca nursing home, even though Thanksgiving was over three weeks away. Izzy followed Peg and Susan through the oven-warm halls, parading behind a young nurse in pink scrubs. Beads of sweat broke out on Izzy’s forehead. She took off her coat and threw it over one arm, wishing she’d worn a thinner shirt. The air was thick with the stale aroma of chicken soup, boiled potatoes, disinfectant, and urine. An old man shuffled toward them, his gnarled hands gripping two four-legged canes, his age-spotted head shaking above his thin-skinned neck. Izzy kept her eyes straight ahead, trying to ignore the hospital beds and metal walkers inside the rooms, the white-haired women sitting in wheelchairs, their eyes locked on blaring TVs.

She cursed under her breath, frustrated that the nursing home reminded her of her mother lying in the prison hospital. She licked her lips, discovering they were salty from perspiration. The world was full of broken people, and all the hospitals and institutions and jails could never mend their fractured hearts, wounded minds, and trampled spirits. Izzy took a deep breath and pushed the thought from her head, deciding instead to concentrate on Clara and Susan. At the very least, she could be happy and proud of herself for trying to right this wrong, for trying to heal one broken heart.

If
the woman they were about to see was really Clara Elizabeth Cartwright.

Until earlier, in the nursing home parking lot, when Susan confided she wasn’t entirely convinced the woman was her mother, Izzy had been certain Miss Trench knew what she was talking about. Now, she was starting to have doubts. Like Susan said, over the years, mistakes could have been made. Like other large institutions, Willard’s files could have gotten mixed up, names could have been misspelled. Just because a former nurse said this woman was Clara Elizabeth Cartwright didn’t make it true. Thousands of women had passed through Willard during the last sixty years, and there was always the chance that one of them had the same last name. There were too many possibilities of mistaken identity to just assume they’d found Susan’s mother. Susan said she was struggling, trying not to get her hopes up. And she wanted to be sure before they told anyone, even the nursing home staff.

Finally, the young nurse stopped outside a doorway and turned to face them, her pink scrubs like neon beneath the fluorescent lights. Pulling at the collar of her shirt, Izzy felt on the verge of suffocation.

“Clara is a sweet soul,” the nurse said. “And I’m sure she’ll be happy and surprised to have company. But I have to warn you. Sometimes her memory goes in and out and she can get moody when she gets confused. The doctors believe she’s in the beginning stages of Alzheimer’s. I know you’re here to ask her about her time at Willard, but if it gets to be too much for her, I’ll ask you to leave. If she tells you she has a daughter, just agree with her. She gets pretty upset if anyone tries to tell her any different.”

Susan gasped softly, her hand flying to her chest. The young nurse smiled and led them through the open door.

Inside the small, airless room, two hospital beds sat opposite wall-mounted televisions. The televisions were off, their screens black. An old woman slept in the first bed, her mouth open, strands of stringy, gray hair lying across her weathered face. The nurse walked past the first bed and stopped at the foot of the second, directing their attention toward a shriveled woman in a chair, facing the window.

The woman’s pink-lidded eyes were closed, her head back, her fine hair like mist in the shaft of sunlight coming in through the glass. Her crooked fingers curled around the ends of the armrests, the fan of thin bones in her age-spotted hands sticking out like ribs. A red blanket covered her legs, despite the room being thick with heat.

“Is she asleep?” Peg whispered.

The nurse shook her head. “No,” she said. “She’s just a little hard of hearing.” She raised her voice. “Clara, look! You have visitors!”

Clara blinked and opened her eyes. She leaned forward and turned to look, holding the arm of the chair with both hands to stay steady. Her lips disappeared into her mouth, her pale skin wizened by decades of pain and heartache. She considered their faces one by one, her petite head wavering ever so slightly.

The nurse hurried toward her. “Let’s turn your chair around so you can talk with these nice ladies,” she said in a loud voice. She picked up a set of false teeth and handed them to Clara, who pushed them into her mouth, making her lips reappear. “They want to ask you about Willard. Isn’t that nice? You remember Willard, don’t you?”

Clara gathered the blanket in her spindly arms and pushed herself into a standing position. Wearing a pink housecoat and red slippers with knee-high stockings, she shuffled out of the nurse’s way, waiting for the chair to be turned. When she sat down again, she rearranged the blanket over her legs, then gazed at Izzy, Susan, and Peg, her milky eyes lingering on Susan’s face just a heartbeat longer. Susan dropped her eyes and fumbled with her scarf, struggling to remove it, her cheeks flushed. The nurse closed the curtain between the beds.

“I’ll leave you alone for now,” she said in a cheerful voice. “But I’ll check back shortly. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“No,” Peg said. “We’re fine, thank you.”

When the nurse was gone, Susan sank into a chair pushed in the corner. Izzy set her backpack on the floor and touched Susan’s shoulder.

“Are you okay?” she whispered.

Susan rubbed her forehead, her temples working in and out. “I’m all right,” she said, her voice weak.

“Are you sure you want to go through with this?” Peg whispered. “Maybe it’s too soon.”

Susan nodded. “I’m okay, really.”

Peg went over and knelt in front of Clara, who was watching with curious eyes. “Hello, Clara,” she said in a loud voice. “How are you?”

Clara smiled thinly. “I’m as well as can be expected, I guess,” she said. To Izzy’s surprise, Clara’s voice was low and raspy. For some reason, she’d expected it to be high, like a young girl’s.

Peg stood. “I’m Peg,” she said. “This is my foster daughter Isabelle, and our friend, Susan. We’d like to talk to you about your time at Willard, if that’s all right.”

Clara nodded. “That’s all right,” she said.

“We went to Willard for a museum project and found some old suitcases while we were there,” Peg said. She motioned for Izzy to get her backpack. “Among the luggage, there was a huge steamer trunk. We believe it belonged to you.” Clara stared at Peg, her face like stone. “Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

Clara nodded.

“We’d like to show you a few of the items we found inside the trunk to see if you recognize anything,” Peg said. “Would that be all right?”

Clara nodded again and clasped her hands in her lap, one gnarled thumb rubbing the knuckle of the other.

Izzy reached into her backpack, pulled out a yellowed page of sheet music and held it out to Clara. Hand-drawn hearts surrounded the title, “Someone to Watch Over Me,” their red ink faded. Clara lifted her chin to look at it, then gasped. She reached for the paper with shaky hands and put it in her lap, hunched over and studying it with her head down.

“This is mine,” Clara said, looking up with wet eyes. “Someone very special gave it to me. I always wanted to learn how to play the piano, but my father wouldn’t allow it.”

From the corner, Susan watched with wide eyes, her fingers pressed over her lips.

“How about this?” Izzy said, holding out a postcard from Paris.

Clara smiled and took it. “This is from a trip to Paris when I was sixteen,” she said. She chuckled softly. “I was going to mail it to a girlfriend but I kept it as a souvenir instead.”

Izzy took a deep breath and held out the picture of Clara and Bruno. Clara stared at it, her pale cheeks turning pink.

“Oh yes,” she said. “Weren’t we beautiful?” She reached out to take the photo, then put her hands to her trembling chin, as if afraid to touch the picture. She bit her lip, her eyes brimming with tears.

“Do you remember who that is?” Peg said.

Clara sniffed, wiping her nose. “Of course I do,” she said, her voice breaking. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen that photo. A long, long time.” Finally, she took the picture and held it to her chest. Then she took a deep breath and looked at it again. “Thank you so much for bringing this to me.”

With her heart in her throat, Izzy took the journal out of her backpack and knelt in front of Clara. She placed the journal on Clara’s lap. “I’m sorry,” she said. “But I read this. I didn’t know you were still alive or I never would have . . .” She stopped and swallowed. “But that’s why we’re here. That’s how we found you.”

Clara ran shaky fingers over the green leather. For a few moments, she didn’t say anything. Then her hand stopped moving and she sat back in her chair and sighed. “So you know everything,” she said. “You know my father sent me away.”

“Yes,” Izzy said. “I do. And I’m so sorry he did that to you.”

In what seemed like slow motion, Clara patted Izzy’s hand, picked up the photo and put it inside the journal, then set the journal on the table beside her chair. She pushed the blanket off her lap and put her hands on the armrests, preparing to get up. Izzy straightened and stepped back, her heart roaring in her chest. She was afraid Clara was going to tell them to get out, to go away and leave her alone. Clara pushed herself out of the chair and stood, her frail body swaying slightly. She brushed off the front of her house coat, raked her fingers through her thin hair and took a deep breath. Then she looked at Susan.

“And you’re my daughter,” she said. “Aren’t you?”

Susan stood, tears running down her cheeks. “I think so,” she said. Clara clamped her hands over her mouth, her face falling in on itself. She edged toward Susan, holding out her arms. Susan closed the distance between them and they wrapped their arms around each other, smiling and crying at the same time.

“I knew who you were the second I saw you,” Clara said. “I recognized Bruno’s eyes and my nose.”

Susan laughed. “Are you sure?” she said.

“In my head, I wasn’t sure,” Clara said. “But in my heart, I knew.”

After a long minute, Clara released Susan and wiped her face. She moved back to her chair, her slippers shuffling across the tiles. “Come and sit with me,” she said to Susan.

Susan pulled a chair next to Clara’s, taking her hand. “I tried to find out more about you,” she said, sniffing. “But it was next to impossible. I had no idea you were still alive or I . . .”

Clara touched Susan’s cheek, wiping away her tears with papery fingers. “There, there,” she said. “We’re together now. That’s all that matters. I knew this day would come. It’s the only thing that kept me going all these years.”

“And my father?” Susan said. “Is he still alive?”

Clara shook her head, her eyes brimming. “Bruno tried to rescue me,” she said. “We had a plan to escape and we were going to look for you. We almost made it, but they caught us right before we got away. Bruno went back to try to save the man who helped us, and an orderly hit him over the head. He . . . he didn’t make it.”

“I’m so sorry,” Susan said, her voice catching.

“No,” Clara said, swallowing her sobs. “I’m the one who should apologize. If I had just gone along with what my parents wanted, Bruno wouldn’t have been killed and you and I could have been together all these years.”

Susan squeezed Clara’s hand. “It’s all right,” she said. “You couldn’t have known how things would turn out.”

“I want you to know that if it had been within my power,” Clara said, “I would have kept you. But they . . .” She paused, her chin trembling, her thin lips quivering in grief. “Willard was no place for a baby. But I thought about you every day. I kept thinking, someday I’ll get out. Somehow, I’ll find you. I never would have stopped looking. I would have searched the earth . . .” She hung her head, tears dripping from her nose.

Susan wrapped her arms around Clara. “I know,” she said, rubbing her mother’s back. “It wasn’t your fault. Now that we’re together, we can make up for lost time. We’ll just look forward.”

Clara sniffed and wiped her nose. “Yes,” she said, her voice catching. “You’re right.” Then Clara drew away, searching her daughter’s face. “But I have to know. Were you adopted? Have you had a happy life?”

Susan nodded, smiling through her tears. “Yes,” she said. “I was adopted. And for the most part, I’ve been very happy.” She glanced at Peg. Earlier, she’d told Peg and Izzy that, if indeed the woman in the nursing home was her mother, she didn’t want to tell her about Dr. Roach. There was no point in rehashing the past. It would be too upsetting and Clara had suffered enough.

“And they called you Susan,” Clara said.

“Susan Clara,” Susan said.

“I named you Beatrice,” Clara said, smiling. “Beatrice Elizabeth Moretti.”

“I love it,” Susan said.

Clara looked at Izzy. “How can I ever thank you for bringing my daughter to me?”

Izzy smiled and shrugged. “It was just something I needed to do,” she said.

“You must be awfully proud of her,” Clara said to Peg.

Peg put her arm around Izzy. “I am,” she said.

Just then, the nurse came into the room and looked at Clara, her forehead furrowed with concern. “What’s going on?” she said. “Are you all right, Clara?”

“I’m fine,” Clara said. “Better than I’ve been in a long, long time. Nurse Jennie, I’d like you to meet my daughter, Susan.” The nurse’s mouth dropped open, her eyes like saucers.

Susan stood and shook her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“I told you I had a daughter,” Clara said. “But no one ever listens to me. It’s the story of my life.” She chuckled, her eyes shining.