Why the Sky Is Blue (16 page)

“She waited days for you to write back to her,” Cleo finally said, saying the word “days” like it had a life of its own. “She had all but given up.”

“I am sorry. I had much to consider. I’m sure you must know that.”

I was proud of my mom for standing up to this woman, but she didn’t deserve this kind of treatment. I had had enough.

“Is Rosemary here? We’d like to talk to her,” I said as civilly as I could.

Cleo stood there for a moment and then stepped aside, motioning for us to come in.

“I’ll tell her you’re here,” she said, leaving us to stand there in the entryway, where at least it was cool.

She disappeared down a hallway, then we heard her open a door and close it. Within seconds she reappeared.

“She wants to see you,” Cleo said. “But don’t you dare cause her any more grief, do you hear me? She cannot bear any more pain.”

My mother just nodded.

“Kate, come with me,” Mom said, and together we followed the Accuser down the hall.

Cleo opened the door and stepped away so we could enter. Rosemary was in a rented hospital bed surrounded by equipment I didn’t recognize. She was propped up with pillows. She looked pale and thin but also completely overjoyed to see us. I turned around to face Cleo, slipped my hand over the doorknob, and shut the door so the three of us could be alone.

My mother ran to Rosemary and wrapped her arms around her. For several minutes there was no sound in the room but the aching cries of two sobbing women who had loved and lost so much.

22

When their tears subsided, Mom and Rosemary began to giggle like they had just shared a little joke.

Then Mom whispered something to Rosemary, and I heard Ed’s name. Rosemary closed her eyes and nodded.

“It was so hard to let him go,” Rosemary said, fresh tears welling in her eyes.

“And what about Lara?” my mom asked.

“She was so brave for me, but I know it broke her heart,” Rosemary said. “She and Ed were so close. Sometimes I was a little jealous of them. But we were doing okay. And then this happened, and I...”

Rosemary stopped then, noticing me for the first time. I don’t think Madame Cleo told her I had also come calling.

“Oh, my goodness, it’s Katie, isn’t it?” she said, breaking into a smile and reaching for me.

“It’s just Kate these days,” I said. I went to her and hugged her small body. Within her embrace I could tell both breasts were gone. She felt like all bones, tiny and weightless, like she was slowly disappearing. I winced at the thought I might be hurting her and gently pulled away. Her long braid was gone, replaced by a cropped haircut just beginning to curl at the edges. I guessed she had lost her long hair during treatment for the cancer.

“Katie, I’m so glad you’ve come too. So glad,” she said, leaning back on her pillows. She looked exhausted.

“I’m glad too, Rosemary,” I said.

“You are so beautiful,” she continued, looking at me. “You’re married?”

“Yes, to a wonderful man named Michael Gerrity. We have two children. Olivia and Bennett.”

“Olivia and Bennett. What beautiful names,” she said, looking past me to see if anyone else had come into the room with us.

“Is...Is Dan here?” she asked my mother.

Mom paused for just a second as she sat in the only chair in the room, next to the bed. “It’s just Kate and me today,” she finally said.

“Oh...,” Rosemary said, worry creeping into her voice. Perhaps she wondered what that meant, that only my mom and I were there and my dad wasn’t. She sounded very tired and weak.

Mom sensed this as well. I didn’t think we’d be able to stay much longer, and there was still so much to talk about.

“Rosemary, is Lara here?” my mom said gently.

“No, she doesn’t get home from the library until after five,” Rosemary said. “She has a job there.”

I looked at my watch. It was ten minutes to five.

“But you will stay until she comes home, won’t you?” she said, blinking hard as a wave of pain gripped her.

“Will that be okay with Cleo?” I said, motioning with my head.

Rosemary smiled in spite of her suffering.

“I suppose Cleo wasn’t too happy to see you two on our doorstep, was she?” she said in a low voice.

“That’s putting it mildly,” I replied.

Rosemary’s smile grew wider.

“Cleo is as tough as nails sometimes, but she protects those she loves with all her heart,” Rosemary said. “She is my closest friend here and gracious enough to let me die in peace in her spare bedroom rather than at a hospital. So I put up with her rough edges. It’s how she shows her love.”

I suddenly remembered this about Rosemary, how she could see through to the very soul of someone. I recalled the day I met her. She sat with me on our freezing deck and listened to me complain about how nobody cared what I thought. She told me it was hard for my parents to decide what to do when so much lay in the balance. She told me my parents cared very much what I thought. It only seemed like they didn’t because they were trying so hard to protect me from getting hurt, from feeling the pain they were feeling.

“Please stay until she comes,” Rosemary said, looking first at my mom and then me.

“Of course we will,” Mom said, reaching for Rosemary’s hand.

“I want to move into the living room,” Rosemary said suddenly. “Get that chair over there, will you, Katie.”

She motioned to a wheelchair in the corner.

“Are you sure, we should do this?” I said. “Maybe I should get Cleo.”

“No, no,” Rosemary said, pushing back her covers and grimacing. “We can do it.”

I got the chair, and Mom helped Rosemary into it. It didn’t take much effort. Rosemary hardly weighed anything. I fetched an afghan from the foot of her bed and wrapped it around her.

“Thank you, dear,” she said. “Let’s go. I want to be settled when Lara gets home.”

I opened the door, and Mom pushed Rosemary out into the hall where Cleo stood, aghast at the parade.

“What on earth are you people doing to her?” she said, hands on her hips.

“Cleo, I asked Claire and Katie to help me come out here,” Rosemary said. “I want us all to be able to sit down together and talk about what we need to do. There’s more room out here.”

“You know I’m supposed to go visit with Ben as soon as Lara gets here,” she said stiffly, like we couldn’t have a conversation without her.

“Of course you can go on and have supper with Ben,” Rosemary said to Cleo. “Ben’s living at the nursing home these days,” she said to us, then added, “We’ll be fine, Cleo. Please don’t worry.”

Cleo leaned down close to Rosemary but said loud enough for all of us to hear: “I didn’t put in enough chicken for four.”

“Oh, I’m sure we’ll manage,” Rosemary whispered.

“We aren’t planning on staying very long,” Mom said.

Rosemary looked quickly over at my mom and then back at Cleo.

“Cleo, why don’t you go on now to the nursing home,” she said. “I’ll be fine here with Claire and Katie. And Lara will be here in a few minutes. And...and we really need some time alone. You do understand, don’t you?”

Cleo straightened and sniffed. Then she untied her apron and laid it over a chair back. She walked over to a coat closet and took out a black purse, reaching inside for a set of car keys.

“I’ll be back by eight,” she said, and I half expected her to add “and they had better be gone.”

“Say hello to Ben for me,” Rosemary said.

Cleo stood there for a moment. “Nice to have met you,” she said to my mother and me, nearly through her teeth. Then she turned on her heel and walked into the kitchen and then into the garage. We heard a car start and the garage door open. Then through the living room window we saw her drive away.

“I apologize for her,” Rosemary said. “This has been a tough year for her. Ben has Alzheimer’s real bad. She can’t look after him at home anymore. She will also miss me terribly when I....when I am gone. And she has asked me repeatedly to let Lara stay and live with her.”

That seemed like a sentence far too stiff for a young, grieving girl, but I said nothing.

“But I don’t think that is what’s best for either of them,” Rosemary said, turning to look at my mother.

“Does Lara know that you wrote me?” Mom asked.

“I told her I was going to ask you and Dan to take her in,” Rosemary said.

“What did she say when you told her that?”

“She asked me if I thought that would make you and Dan happy.”

My mom was quiet for a moment.

“What does she think of me, Rosemary?”

Rosemary leaned over and took my mom’s hand in hers.

“She thinks you are very brave,” she said.

We heard another car then, one pulling into the open garage. My mom’s breathing quickened as did mine. She held tighter to Rosemary’s hand, and I wished I had somebody’s hand to hold. The door to the kitchen opened, and we heard the sound of someone entering it mixed with the sound of a cat meowing.

“Hey, kitty,” a gentle voice said.

Lara.

Then we heard the sound of keys hitting the kitchen counter.

“Cleo?” Lara said.

“Lara, I’m in the living room, dear,” Rosemary said, holding my mom’s hand tight. “There are some friends here I’d like you to meet.”

My mom stole a glance at me and then quickly turned her head back toward the doorway to the kitchen.

Lara stood framed in it.

She was slender and petite, maybe five foot five. Her dark brown hair fell loosely to her shoulders. She had soft brown eyes, a nose like my mom’s, and a tiny mole on her left cheek. She was wearing a pale blue sleeveless top that complemented her fair complexion.

“Hello,” she said, smiling and revealing a perfect set of white teeth.

My mom just looked at her, unable to speak.

She came closer, choosing my mom to approach first, and held out her hand.

“My name is Lara,” she said politely.

Tears filled my mother’s eyes as she stood, and still she could say nothing.

“Lara,” Rosemary said softly, “this is Claire.”

Lara turned back to my mom as understanding came over her. She seemed to be frozen, like she was unable to decide what to do, like she didn’t know if she should run from the room or lean over and embrace my mother. It was as if she was simply studying my mom, gauging what it was our mother wanted her to do. She waited until she was sure and then took a step forward and wrapped her arms around my mom in a hug that she was so right about. Mom desperately wanted it.

Mom enveloped my half-sister in her own arms. Rosemary was crying. I was crying. Lara and my mother were crying. If Cleo had been there, I’m sure she would have stormed out of the room in disgust to find a box of tissues.

Finally Mom stepped back and looked over every feature of the little girl she had given away. She touched Lara’s hair, her cheek, studied her hands.

“You are as beautiful today as the first time I laid eyes on you,” Mom said.

Lara smiled.

“Lara, this is your sister, Katie,” Rosemary said, motioning toward me.

Suddenly she was looking at me, and I felt weak and exposed. She stepped toward me and hugged me also.

“My mom has told me so much about you,” she said.

I tried to hug her back. I wanted to. And yet I didn’t. She seemed to sense none of this as she hugged me.

I don’t know what it was—the beginning of jealousy or a wish to turn back the clock or just simply fear of letting her back into my life. I had a hard time absorbing the moment: We were in the same room with Lara. She was no longer relegated to the deepest, darkest corners of our memories where no one was allowed to go. I could speak her name again. She ceased to be the subject of a tragic circumstance that no one ever wanted to talk about.

She was suddenly real to me again.

And I could not reconcile that in my head.

We didn’t stay long after that. It was obvious our visit had been physically draining on Rosemary. Lara told us that a hospice nurse was coming at seven to get Rosemary prepared for the night ahead, and she needed to try and eat something before then. She also asked us to stay and share their evening meal with them, out of tremendous courtesy, I am sure, since Cleo had made it pretty clear there was only enough chicken for two.

We declined, of course, and got ready to leave.

“Will you come back tomorrow?” Rosemary said, her eyes imploring my mother.

“Yes, Rosemary,” Mom said, and I could tell by the way she said it and the way she looked at Rosemary that she was saying, “Yes, we’ll take her.”

Rosemary could tell too.

She rested her head against the back of her wheelchair and smiled in a way that I can only describe as relief.

23

The next morning I awoke to the sound of Olivia crying.

My eyes snapped open as I realized that was impossible: I was in a hotel room three hundred miles away from my daughter.

The room was dark, like it was still night. The cries that awakened me stopped, leading me to believe I had dreamt them. But as I looked over at my mother’s bed, I noticed it was empty, and then I heard the sound again.

It was a stifled sob coming from behind the closed bathroom door. I glanced at the clock glowing on the table beside me. It was a few minutes before six.

I was trying to decide if I should get up and offer to console my mother or let her grieve in private when another sob escaped her, followed by these words—every other one punctuated by a choked-back cry.

“I am so sorry...I don’t know what I was thinking...”

I assumed she was praying, but there was a pause followed by, “But I should have told you, Dan.”

She was talking to my dad.

I sat up in bed, uncertain what to do next. It didn’t feel right to sit there listening but I couldn’t help hearing everything she said.

“No...it wasn’t that. I just...I was stupid. I was afraid you wouldn’t understand.”

My dad must have said something next as Mom ripped a length of toilet paper off the roll, sniffling loudly.

“I know. I am sorry. You don’t know how sorry I am,” my mom said next. “But I don’t want to make any more mistakes, Dan. I want you here. Please, Dan. Please come.”

I didn’t like hearing my mother sound so broken and insistent. I wasn’t used to it. I had never heard my mom plead with my dad for anything. Even when she was pregnant with Lara, even when I knew she wanted to keep her, I never heard her beg him to reconsider. There were times back then when I couldn’t decide who I was mad at the most—him for refusing to acknowledge my sister or her for allowing it. I realize now it was a complicated situation, but at twelve, I thought she should have fought for Lara.

I heard her ask him again to come.

There were several moments of silence, broken by a sniffle here and there.

“We’ll be here,” she finally said, relief clear in her voice.

I heard the sound of her cell phone going off as she pressed the button to end the call. She blew her nose and ran some water into the sink. Then she emerged from the bathroom but hesitated when she saw that I was sitting up in bed.

“I’m sorry I woke you,” she said and then came and sat on the edge of my bed.

She seemed to be sorry for a lot of things that morning.

“You called Dad,” I said.

“I tossed and turned all night, Kate. You were right,” she said, shaking her head. “I should have told him about the letter. I should have asked him to come with us. I should have asked him first what he thought about Lara’s coming to live with us.” She sighed.

“Does he know everything now?” I asked.

Mom nodded.

“What did he say when you told him?”

She shrugged.

“I don’t think he knew what to say,” she said. “He hardly said anything about Rosemary or Lara. He just talked about us. About him and me. How we needed to be together on whatever happens next.”

“And?” I said.

“And I agreed. I asked him to drop everything and come here,” she said.

“So that’s what he’s doing?”

She nodded and rose from the foot of my bed. “I told him we’d be back at the hotel by three o’clock today. I also told him to bring along some extra clothes for me...” She hesitated before adding, “I might stay a little longer.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. I knew I couldn’t stay longer than the weekend, but I kind of wished she would have at least asked me.

“So what are we going to do until then?” I said.

“We’ll see what we can do to help Rosemary and Lara,” she said.

It was far too early to think about going back to Two Harbors, yet neither one of us felt like going back to sleep. We got dressed, made a pot of rather tasteless coffee, and with our paper cups in hand, went out for a walk along the shore of Lake Superior. To my surprise, it was one of the nicest walks I ever shared with my mother. It was enjoyable because while I fully anticipated it being a walk weighted with talk of Lara, she instead talked to me about me—about how glad she was I was there for her, how dependable I always was, and how much she relied on me.

When we got back to the hotel, we ate a quick complimentary breakfast and then got into the car to head to Two Harbors. On the way we stopped at a grocery store and filled a cart with basic staples. I had a feeling Cleo would resent our bringing several bags of groceries into her house, but if my mom felt any apprehension, it wasn’t noticeable. As we checked out, she grabbed a mixed bouquet of daisies, carnations, and tiger lilies sitting in a bucket by the registers and added it to our cart.

By the time we reached Two Harbors, it was almost nine thirty. We both hoped it wasn’t too early to ring the doorbell at Cleo’s house.

Thankfully, Lara answered the door and welcomed us in. She looked happy to see us but tired. She must have sensed that we noticed.

“Mom had a bad night,” she said, trying to sound detached from what she was saying, but not being able to do it. “But she’s finally resting now.”

Lara’s chocolate brown eyes were suddenly brimming with tears. My mom hastily set down the two bags of groceries she was carrying and drew her other daughter into her arms. Lara wrapped her arms around my mom and began to shake as she let fall tears that had obviously been kept dammed up for too long.

I felt a little awkward, so I picked up my mom’s bags as best I could with my own bags still in my arms and headed into Cleo’s kitchen. I opened the fridge and started to put away the cold stuff. My mom was wise in deciding to stop for groceries. There was barely anything on the shelves. I opened cabinet after cabinet looking for the proper places to put the canned things we had bought, the boxes of cereal, and bakery items. I couldn’t find a vase, so I put the flowers in an empty mayonnaise jar I found under the sink. I set the bouquet on the kitchen table. When I was done, I stepped back into the living room. Lara and Mom were sitting on the couch, and Lara was drying her eyes.

“Where’s Cleo?” Mom was asking her.

“She’s visiting Ben at the nursing home,” Lara said. “She wouldn’t leave Mom’s side all night. When she left, she was exhausted.”

“What about you?” Mom said. “Did you get any sleep?”

“A little,” Lara replied. “But I’m all right.”

“Why don’t you rest a little now?” Mom said. “Kate and I can stay in the room with...with your mother.”

“I don’t know if I could sleep,” Lara said. “And she may need her pain medication when she wakes up.”

“Tell me what to do, Lara,” Mom said.

While Lara told my mother how to start the flow of morphine in Rosemary’s IV, I peeked into a linen closet and found what I was looking for: a pillow and a light blanket. We settled Lara on the couch and then Mom and I tiptoed into Rosemary’s room. As we opened the door, Rosemary’s imminent appointment with her own mortality was almost palpable.

There were two chairs in the room this time. No doubt one had been Lara’s and the other Cleo’s during the night. It was depressing to picture them hovering over an agonized Rosemary as they kept their vigil in the dark.

We both sat down. To wait.

It was a little after ten o’clock when Rosemary woke up with her face wrapped in a grimace. When she saw us, she made a heroic effort to chase it away and replace it with a smile.

“Lara’s resting, Rosemary,” Mom said to her. “But she told me what to do. Do you want your pain medication?”

Rosemary shook her head.

“It’s not so bad right now,” she said softly. “The medication makes me so sleepy, and we have so much to talk about.”

“Why don’t we wait until Dan gets here?” Mom said.

“Dan is coming?” Rosemary said, her voice seeming to lift.

“He’ll be here late this afternoon. I’ll bring him then.”

Rosemary nodded.

“There are papers in that desk,” Rosemary said, motioning with her head to a little desk by a window. “Top drawer. You and Dan should look at them. I don’t mean to rush you, Claire, but I ...I feel like there isn’t much time...”

Mom nodded, and I could see that her eyes were brimming with tears. She then turned her head to me and nodded. I went and got the papers.

They were legal documents granting my parents legal custody of Lara Claire Prentiss.

I had forgotten Lara’s middle name. Seeing it in ink gave me a queer feeling.

I walked back over to the bed with them, but Mom made no move to take them from me. She just sat there holding Rosemary’s hand.

“We sold the house...” Rosemary whispered. “The money is in Lara’s name. There is enough for her expenses for next year and for her to go to a good college. I already put the car in her name. But she has only had her license for a few weeks, so don’t let her drive down to your place alone...”

“I’ll drive her down,” I said in a spontaneous gesture to make Rosemary remember I was in the room and that I had never forgotten how kind she had always been to me.

“Thank you, Katie,” she said, turning her head slowly in my direction.

The phone rang in the kitchen and Mom offered to get it, leaving me alone with Rosemary.

She smiled at me.

“I kept your letter,” she said and winked.

“I kept yours,” I said. “For a long time I kept it.”

“I want you to have it. It’s in Ed’s Bible, back in the map section. Over there in that basket by the desk,” she said.

A worn, leather-bound Bible lay atop a stack of other books, and I quickly found the letter I had written to Rosemary in Ecuador when I was fourteen. It made my heart race a little to handle it. I shoved it into my purse and sat down again by Rosemary.

She reached for my hand, and I met her halfway with it.

“Do you remember what you said in it?” she asked.

I looked to the door wondering if Mom was going to walk through and feeling like I was about to be caught with my hand in the cookie jar.

“Yes.”

“You said it didn’t matter how far away Ed and I were, Lara was your sister and she always would be.”

I nodded.

“She always will be,” Rosemary said, squeezing my hand.

We sat in silence for a few minutes as she let this thought envelop me.

My mom opened the door, and I stiffened. Rosemary squeezed my hand again. Mom was carrying a tray with a teapot and three cups on it.

“Rosemary, do you think you could manage a cup of tea?” she said.

Rosemary smiled.

“I’d sure like to try,” she replied.

The phone call had been for Cleo, so as we sipped our tea, Mom distracted Rosemary from her pain by telling her about Tennyson’s Table. I could tell Rosemary was wishing she could see it for herself. When we finished our drinks, Rosemary tentatively asked if Cleo was back yet. It didn’t appear that she was.

“Do you need something, Rosemary?” my mom asked.

Rosemary wrinkled her brow.

“I need my bedpan,” she said, barely above a whisper.

“I can help you with it,” Mom said. “I don’t mind, Rosemary.”

I rose to leave while Rosemary began a series of protests I knew she would not win.

I went to use the bathroom myself and noticed a hamper full of laundry that needed to be done. Anxious to be of use, I grabbed the hamper and began to look for the washer, walking silently past Lara asleep on the couch. I didn’t see a washer in the garage or anywhere near the kitchen. I decided to try the basement. Downstairs I found a small family room, another bedroom, and the laundry room. I sorted the clothes and got a load of whites going in the washer. I then gave in to my curiosity. I figured this other bedroom had to be Lara’s since I saw no other bedrooms besides Rosemary’s and Cleo’s upstairs. I peeked inside.

The only light coming into the room was from a small egress window on the north side. I switched on the light. The room was sparsely furnished with boxes lining one entire wall. It looked like someone had just moved in. Or was preparing to move out.

Several of the boxes were marked with Lara’s name. Lara’s winter clothes. Lara’s books. Lara’s camera stuff. Lara’s baby things. Others had been scrawled with labels like “Mom’s books,” “Dad’s journals,” and “Ecuador.”

The bed wasn’t made, evidence that Lara had been called from it in the middle of the night, no doubt. I decided to make it for her. I picked up some clothes in the corner and put them in the empty laundry basket I was holding. As I turned, I noticed that the wall by the door was covered with photographs of all sizes. Some were framed; some were not. Some were in color; some were black-and-white.

There were photos of the black cat I had seen upstairs, photos of Ed and Rosemary, photos of landscapes and seascapes, and photos of Ecuadorian children wearing brightly colored woven capes. They were beautiful photographs. The artist in me couldn’t help but stare at them. I didn’t even hear Lara come into the room.