“Yes, yes,” she said, breathing deeply, her understanding suddenly restored. “I will be careful, and I will think positive thoughts, and I will get involved with positive people and positive activities, and I will continue praying just like you told me to.”
“Good. Now go to sleep. It’s very late.”
“I will, but first tell me something else your mother said.”
I lay back in my bed, feeling quite weary as I sifted through my memories of her. “She said that good can come from the worse things that happen in our lives and that we have to be patient if we’re ever going to discover what they are.”
“Ana, do you think it’s possible that despite everything that’s happened to me and everything I’ve done, I could find peace and happiness?”
“I have no doubt, Ms. Lillian. You just have to be patient.”
Lillian left much calmer than when she’d entered, and I couldn’t help but wonder what she’d do once she returned to her room. It was so late that even Mr. Trellis would be sleeping by now. No doubt she would quietly change into her nightgown and crawl into bed with him. This thought sent a guilty shiver down my spine. To be with the man you love so close in the darkness with nothing between you but a thin layer of fabric was an overwhelming thought. But would she find the warmth of his body under the blankets and the sound of his steady breathing reassuring and desirable, or repulsive? If she found him desirable, then perhaps she would snuggle up next to him and wrap her arm around his shoulders, and then in a delicious state of semisleep he’d mutter something that would let her know he was glad of her presence. His hand would reach for hers and when their fingers came together, all would be well again because no matter what happened before, they still belonged to each other. That’s how it is with holy matrimony, and it should never be broken by conflicts within or without. That’s what I’d been taught by the church and that’s what made sense to me.
What didn’t make sense is how Lillian didn’t feel like the luckiest woman on earth to have a man like Mr. Trellis for her husband. But then, perhaps behind closed doors he wasn’t as I saw him. Perhaps I had invented a person who didn’t really exist and I had deluded myself into believing that he could rescue my dreams and correct all the wrongs I had endured.
That night I dreamt that the moon was shining through the rough slats in our wall. As we rocked in our hammocks, soft beams of light swept across my mother’s face, and I could see that she was still awake and thoughtful. This had always been the best time to ask her the most difficult questions.
“Mama, why is it that all our heroes are destroyed?” I asked. “It seems to me that if the world doesn’t destroy them, they destroy themselves.”
When Mama turned her eyes to me they were glistening like stars. “Maybe it’s because nobody really wants to be saved, mija,” she said, and then she turned away from me so that I wouldn’t see the tears in her eyes, and I wrapped my arm around her shoulder and rested my face against her back.
“I’m sorry if you’re sad,” I said.
“Just tired,” she replied. “So very tired.”
Ten
JESSIE LIFTED HER HEAD from Ana’s lap. “Are you tired, Nana?” she asked.
Still in a semidaze, Ana replied, “Just a little, I suppose.”
“Maybe we should go outside and get some fresh air. It doesn’t look like Daddy’s going to wake up for a while longer.”
Although Ana knew Jessie was right, she hesitated and leaned in closer to make sure he was still sleeping comfortably. Satisfied that all was well for the moment, she allowed Jessie to lead her downstairs and out to the courtyard, where they sat together beneath the umbrellas shading the loungers. It was a warm day, but the breeze was refreshing.
“When I was a little girl, this was my favorite place,” Jessie said. “Remember how we used to pick flowers and make little bouquets for my dolls here?”
“Yes, I do. And enough mud pies to open our own bakery,” Ana said, smiling, and when she turned she saw that Jessie was also smiling at the memory.
Then she saw her smile fade. “I wish we could go back to the way things were.” Tears began to stream down her cheeks. Ana took hold of her hand, knowing exactly how she felt, yet words of comfort eluded her, so they sat in silence for some time.
Eventually Jessie spoke. “I’ve been thinking about this ever since the trouble with Teddy began.” She turned to Ana, restraining her emotions as best she could. “I think we should tell him the truth about everything.”
“Exactly what truth are you referring to?”
“You know, about Mom and Uncle Darwin.”
Ana felt a heaviness press against her chest, making it difficult for her to breathe. “A son shouldn’t know such ugly things about his mother and an uncle who he loves dearly. No, Jessie, I don’t want you tell him.”
“What about me?” she asked, somewhat exasperated. “I’ve had to deal with the ugly truth for as long as I can remember. In fact, I still have that picture I drew of Mom when I saw them together, and as painful as it is, I force myself to look at it every now and then so I can remind myself of everything I don’t want to be.”
“You’re being very hard on your mother,” Ana said. “She tried to make things better.”
“She didn’t try hard enough, and if Teddy understood that, maybe he wouldn’t judge Dad so harshly…and you.”
Ana turned her face back to the sun. “We all make mistakes, Jessie. Maybe if you find a way to forgive your mother, it will inspire Teddy to forgive his father…and me.”
Jessie’s chin began to quiver. “I may tolerate her better than I used to, but I’m not ready to forgive her for what she did to Dad.” She suddenly stood up, eager to end the conversation. “I’m going to go look for Sister Josepha. Are you coming?”
“I’ll be there in a moment,” Ana said, feeling the tightness in her chest begin to ease. “I just need to rest a little while longer.”
Jessie walked across the courtyard, and Ana watched her until she was out of sight. Then her eyes fell upon the light reflecting off the peacock pool as brilliant triangles of blue and green light danced before her eyes.
Ms. Lillian became an active member of the local women’s charity league during the same year Teddy celebrated his eighth birthday and joined Little League. I’d never seen mother and son so excited about anything before. She happily explained to me and anyone who’d listen that her league was composed exclusively of dignified women of good social standing who were inspired to dedicate their time and energy to charitable causes. Ms. Lillian was especially thrilled because she’d been appointed chair of the yearly gala, which meant that she would be applying her magnificent party organizing skills to a worthy cause. It was wonderful to see her valued for something other than her charm and beauty, and it seemed that this also helped her to transcend her insatiable appetite for other men.
Because of Ms. Lillian’s frenetic schedule I took Teddy to all of his Little League practices and to most of his games. Occasionally Mr. Trellis was able to make it to the games, but his investment business continued to thrive and required more and more of his time. If he made it home for dinner twice a week, we considered ourselves lucky.
I enjoyed watching Teddy’s games, although when it was his turn up at bat, or when the ball was anywhere near him out on the field, I became extremely anxious and had to repeatedly remind myself that I was watching eight-year-olds playing baseball and not a professional world championship.
I sat with the other parents on the bleachers and heard them shout out encouragement when their sons were at bat. Things like “Hey slugger, show ’em what you’re made of!” and “Shoot the moon, buddy!” Although their sons rarely acknowledged them with anything more than a stiff nod, they seemed to stand a bit straighter and to swing their bats with more confidence and power as a result.
When Teddy walked up to home plate, I wanted to call out something too, but as the only nanny present, I felt awkward, so I sat with my anxi
ety balled up like a silent fist in my throat instead.
When Jessie accompanied me, she usually lost interest midway through the first inning and headed off toward a nearby grassy field to practice her cartwheels where I was able to keep an eye on her. She was enrolled in a gymnastics class with twenty or so other five-year-olds who all dreamed of becoming Olympic stars even though only one or two of them had mastered the cartwheel.
On the drive home Teddy liked to review the game and his performance with me.
“Did you see how I caught that line drive, Nana?” he asked excitedly.
“Yes, that was a wonderful catch,” I replied, not quite certain what a line drive was. “And you threw it back so well too.”
“Yeah, I have a good arm,” Teddy said. “But I’m not a very good hitter. The coach says I need to step into the ball and not be afraid of it.”
“What do you think?” I asked.
“I think he’s right, but when the ball hits me, it hurts really bad, Nana.”
“I bet it does.”
Sometimes I pitched to Teddy in the backyard and assigned Jessie the task of chasing after the errant balls. Teddy complained about my pitching skills, which I had to admit were horrendous, but whenever I suggested that we go out back to practice, he never turned me down. A few times when Mr. Trellis saw us and he had the time he took over as pitcher and Jessie and I ran the imaginary bases just for fun as we fielded the balls. His pitching skills were quite good, and it was a pleasure to see him with his shirtsleeves rolled up and a catcher’s mitt on his right hand. Sometimes I’d stop running after the balls just to watch him for a while, and if he should throw the ball my way, as pitchers do to test their basemen, and if I caught it, I felt that I held the world in my hands.
After practice one afternoon, I approached the bench from behind as Teddy was talking with one of his teammates. “Who’s that short lady who brings you to the games all the time?” the other boy asked.
“She’s my nanny,” Teddy replied.
“You’re a liar. I bet you a million dollars she’s your mom.”
“She’s not my mom,” Teddy returned more forcefully.
“Yeah she is,” the other boy taunted. “The short ugly lady is your mom!”
Without another word, Teddy stood up and punched the boy in the face as hard as he could. The boy fell off the bench and rolled one or two revolutions after hitting the ground. Teddy stood over him with his fists still clenched. “She’s not ugly.” He seethed.
The coaches, players, and several of the parents came running over to find out what had happened. By that time the boy was already sitting up and bawling as he held his bloody nose. The sight of blood intensified everyone’s upset, and the mother of the stricken boy, whose name was Joseph Waller, wagged her finger in my face and told me that she intended to call Teddy’s mother. The coaches, however, were much more sympathetic to Teddy. Apparently Joseph Waller had a history of provoking arguments, and this wasn’t the first time he’d been smacked because of it.
On our way home Teddy asked, “Nana, how come Mom doesn’t come to any of my games?”
“She has many meetings to attend these days, but I’m sure that if she had more time she’d come.”
Teddy thought about this for a moment. “Maybe you can go to her meetings and she can come to my games.”
“I’ll talk to her about it,” I said.
We were almost home when Teddy said, “I punched Joseph Waller because he said mean things about you.”
“Were you protecting me?”
Looking straight ahead, he nodded, his earlier rage gathering again.
“Do you feel bad about punching Joseph Waller?” I asked.
His eyes filled with tears. Then turning to me, he lifted his baseball shirt to reveal the Superman T-shirt his uncle had given him for his birthday underneath. He insisted on wearing it to all of his games, and I’d washed it so many times that the S was beginning to fade. “I felt bad, but I also felt strong, like Superman,” he said.
“Well, I happen to know that even Superman cries sometimes,” I said, and this seemed to make him feel a little better.
Teddy’s team made it to the league semifinals, but as luck would have it, the game fell on the same day as Ms. Lillian’s charity gala, which both she and Mr. Trellis were expected to attend. Although Millie, Jessie, and I tried to be enthusiastic cheerleaders, Teddy was sullen all the way to the game. But soon after the first pitch was thrown, I saw Mr. Trellis making his way across the parking lot toward the bleachers in his tuxedo. And when Teddy spotted him, it was as though an invisible pair of hands had straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin. He elbowed the boy standing next to him and pointed to his father while grinning ear to ear.
Mr. Trellis sat between Millie and me and propped Jessie on his knee. “I’m sure I’ll have time to make it to Lillian’s event. Hopefully she won’t notice if I’m a little late,” he added with a guilty smile. All at once the picture was complete, and the game took on a heightened significance.
Nobody was quite sure how it happened, but we were at the bottom of the sixth inning when the accident occurred. The players had always been instructed to keep a safe distance from the batter and Teddy wasn’t one to disobey orders, but perhaps he was so excited to have his father present that he forgot to put on his batting helmet, and when he reached for his bat to begin his practice swings, he didn’t see the batter.
I’ll never forget the horrible sound of the bat slamming into Teddy’s skull. Immediately he collapsed and began twisting and writhing on the ground. Mr. Trellis leapt up and rushed to him. He ran off with his son in his arms while frantically calling out for me to follow him, and while running after him I directed Millie to take Jessie home. As Mr. Trellis drove like a fiend to the hospital I sat with Teddy in the backseat and cradled him in my arms. I spoke to him in the language of my heart and he shuddered. “Tienes que ser fuerte, mijo. No te olvides que siempre estamos contigo y que te queremos mucho. Usa nuestro amor como tu coraje y tu fortaleza.” You have to be strong, my son. Don’t forget that we’re always with you and that we love very much. Use our love as your courage and your strength.
But I felt him slipping away, and we were in my black sewing cabinet, hovering between life and death, waiting for our fate to be determined by the stomp of a boot or an angry cry. But unlike before, I would’ve traded my soul for Teddy’s life.
When we arrived at the hospital Teddy was swept from my arms. Mr. Trellis ran and I tried my best to keep up. They were wheeling Teddy’s now motionless body away into another room at the end of a long corridor, while a flurry of doctors and nurses appeared to attend to him.
Mr. Trellis began to argue with one of the nurses who refused to let him go any farther. “I need to be with my son,” he said. “I don’t care about the regulations. I need to be with him.”
“I can’t make any exceptions,” she replied in a calm and professional tone. “Your son is in good hands.”
After she left us, Mr. Trellis collapsed into a nearby chair as I helplessly stood by. Then he placed his hand on the empty chair next to him. “You might as well sit down, Ana,” he said. “I’m sure we’re going to be here for a while.”
I sat down, and as orderlies and nurses and grumbling patients filed past us, Mr. Trellis hung his head and wept. Not thinking about it, I wrapped my arms around his broad shoulders and held him close as I’d held Teddy moments ago. And as I took in the fullness of his strength and sorrow, I felt suddenly fortified as I did when Sister Josepha and I escaped through the jungle all those years ago. Then as now, I was certain that all will be well. “Teddy will be okay. I know he will,” I whispered.
He stiffened in my arms and with faint derision in his voice, he asked, “How do you know? Have you been talking to your God?”
“Yes, and he’s been talking to me.”
“Well, if he’s still listening,” he said sarcastically, “tell him that I’ll do anything he asks as long as
he saves my son.”
“He will save him,” I replied.
Mr. Trellis turned to me, his hand curled up in a fist between us. “I don’t need or want your platitudes. You ask him, damn it, and tell me what I should do.”
I reached for his fist and cradled it my hands. “Forgive yourself, Mr. Trellis. My God is begging you to forgive yourself, that is all he asks of any of us.”
He grew still and his hand softly opened into mine. Then he retrieved it and turned away. Feeling suddenly embarrassed to have behaved in such an unseemly and forward manner, I was preparing to stand when he whispered, “Don’t go, Ana. I need you here with me.”
And so I sat back in the chair and waited with him until Ms. Lillian burst into the ER, wearing a spectacular crimson gown and calling out for Teddy in a hysterical panic. Several of the nursing staff told her to calm down and take a seat, but she was too upset to listen to them. When she spotted Adam, she rushed to his side and dropped at his feet, although I’d already risen from my chair so that she could take the seat next to him.
“How is he? How’s my baby?” she asked.
“We don’t know yet,” he answered soberly. “He sustained a significant blow to the head.”
The delicate veins on her throat bulged beneath her jeweled necklace. “How could you let this happen? Who did this to him?”
“It was an accident, Lillian,” he said. “There’s no one to blame.”
Moments later, we saw one of the physicians who’d rushed in after Teddy walking down the corridor toward us. His expression was guarded, but not defeated.
“Are you Teddy’s mother?” he asked, addressing Lillian first.
“Yes, yes,” she wailed. “How’s my little boy?”
The physician nodded. “Follow me, please.”
They left me to go with him through the double doors at the end of the corridor. I waited where I was as patients of all ages were wheeled past me on gurneys and as the nurses and technicians took their breaks. I noticed that some of them walked away from their stations hastily, eager to get away and make a phone call or have a cigarette just outside the emergency room doors. Others didn’t take any breaks at all and seemed to be enthralled by their work and their patients, and I wondered what kind of nurse I would be if given the opportunity. And then I prayed that a nonsmoking nurse be assigned to Teddy, only because it seemed to me that they were happier and I wanted Teddy to see a smiling face when he opened his eyes as I knew he would.
Vigil Page 21
