The Promise of Stardust

by Priscille Sibley

  “That’s good, I guess. By the way, I heard you were looking for the duffel bag that was in Elle’s room.”

  I pushed the button on the rail to raise the head of my bed. “Do you have any idea where it is?”

  “I got it at home. You had the heart attack, and one of Elle’s nurses said it was yours. I took it for safekeeping.”

  “Did you look inside?” I asked.

  “Yeah. Elle’s diaries.”

  “Did you read them?”

  Christopher shrank a little and snickered. “I wanted to, but I couldn’t. You know, when we were kids, she used to keep a lock-box under her bed so I couldn’t get to those diaries, so no, I didn’t read ’em. You’ve been looking through them, though, huh?”

  “Yeah, I am. I need answers. And I miss her, Chris. I really miss her.” I reached across and touched her hand.

  “Me, too,” he said. For a minute or two Christopher leaned against the window ledge and stared across the darkened room at Elle. Then he looked at me again. “You know, when you collapsed in the courtroom, God, all I could think was, not you, too. You’ve always been like my big brother.” He stopped talking and took a long breath in and then exhaled, just as slowly.

  “You’re wrong about Elle, Matt. But I don’t want anything to happen to you.” He scratched the back of his head. “That’s all I came to say. Get well. I’ll let you sleep.”

  He crossed the room to Elle’s side of the bed and kissed her forehead before walking out the door. “I’ll drop off the duffel bag.”

  “Chris?” I called out.

  He stopped and turned around.

  “What do I need to do to convince you?”

  He shook his head. “You can’t.”

  49

  Day 36

  Jake drew the curtain so the sunlight wouldn’t hit me in the eyes as I sat on the edge of my hospital bed. “Adam Cunningham is one arrogant, self-important idiot. He’s representing himself. Unfortunately, he’s also pretty bright. Doesn’t know the law—at all—but he seems to have a facility for deductive reasoning.”

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “I’ll give you the short version,” Jake said. “After Father Meehan’s testimony, I submitted the petition for fetal guardianship to Judge Wheeler, who then hauled me and Adam into chambers. I cited religious freedom. And Wheeler, taking pity on Adam and his lack of legal expertise, cited no existing statutes for guardianship of a nonperson. I cited the Unborn Victims of Violence Act of 2004. I cited the First Amendment. I listed the states which will not remove a pregnant woman’s life support. Wheeler’s going to take it under advisement. I wouldn’t hold my breath, but we can appeal and, if necessary, we’ve got grounds, as I’ve said all along, for a cert petition. This could be very interesting.”

  “I don’t care about interesting,” I said, lacing my Nikes. I was grateful my brother brought in clothes for me to wear home from the hospital, but bending over to tie my shoes hurt like hell. I needed old-man loafers. “All I care about is—”

  “Yeah, I know. This baby. Let me ask you this, when you get some medical mystery, and you have to figure out how to fix it, don’t you find it more interesting than, I don’t know, your run-of-the-mill appendectomy?”

  “I don’t do appendectomies. But if I did, I wouldn’t tell my patient with a teratoma growing out of his cerebellum that I thought his case was more interesting than a routine appendicitis case. Did you ever hear of the Chinese curse ‘May you live in interesting times’? I don’t want interesting.”

  Looking duly chastised, Jake leaned up against the windowsill. “Whatever the heck that means—tera-whatever thing—point conceded.”

  “Did you talk to Carol, about the attorney general?”

  “Yes. She told me to instruct you to get well.”

  “And?”

  “The attorney general and I had a scintillating ten-minute conversation. It should come as no surprise that Elle’s tragedy is a hot topic down in D.C. in both conservative and liberal circles. Nevertheless, there is nothing we can do there until we’ve exhausted our legal options on this level. And the appeals level. Maybe not even then.”

  “Do you think Wheeler will go for fetal guardianship, or that the Supreme Court will hear it?” I asked.

  “Hard to say. I hope so. I think so.”

  “When do I finish my testimony?”

  “I’m not sure I want to put you on the stand again. Who’s going to pay me if you die?” He shot me a grin and replaced it with the stern face of a schoolmarm. “Seriously, I don’t want you to testify again.”

  “I need to tell the judge what was in Elle’s letters.”

  “I know. But you collapsed on the stand, Matt. Instead of you, I’m putting Keisha up this afternoon, and she’s quite compelling.”

  “I want a chance to tell him my side.”

  “How about you do a little recuperating first?”

  After a wheelchair ride to the front of the hospital, followed by a two-minute drive to Jake’s, he escorted me up the three steps, cradling my elbow as if I were an invalid. The irony that I was taking my first steps toward the future by moving in with my old college roommate didn’t escape me. Still, I had to admit that the quality of his digs had vastly improved.

  “Would you stop looking at me like I’m going to drop dead?” I said as we entered the two-story marble-floored foyer.

  “Only if you don’t drop dead again, you idiot.”

  His wife, Yvette, said, “Jake, don’t say things like that.”

  “It’s okay, Vette,” Jake said. “He understands what I mean.”

  She looked at him as if she were appalled and then back at me. “Don’t listen to him, Matt. Can I offer you something to drink?”

  “No, I’m good. Thanks for opening your home.”

  “Oh, please …” she said as she swept out of the foyer.

  Jake’s gaze followed her. “She has one sister and no brothers. Her family never bickers, never even banters. Ever. Now sit on the sofa, and let’s talk.” Jake set his briefcase on the Louis XIV side table.

  Instead, I chose a chair with arms because I didn’t think I could get up off the low seat where he directed me.

  “Elle’s doctors want to discharge her, put her into a nursing home,” Jake said.

  “Yeah. I’m not happy about that. I’d like to take her home, instead.”

  “You can’t do that. You’re not in any condition to take care of yourself, much less her. Any thoughts about an appropriate place?”

  The idea of a nursing home made me cringe. All I could think of was the smell, the bedsores, and, too often, the neglect. “I’ll work on it.”

  He studied me. “Are you okay?” he asked. “Because if you die in my house, my property value will nose-dive.”

  “I’m fine. Thanks for the concern. If I feel any chest pain, I’ll try to make it over the threshold.”

  50

  Day 37

  Mom showed up at Jake’s door, carrying a suitcase full of my clothes and literature on three local nursing homes. Hank was a step behind her, muttering and grumbling. A number of people had thought my mother and Hank would hook up after Dad died, but the idea was absurd. Dad and Hank were great friends. Mom and Alice were great friends. Mom and Hank were more connected by circumstance.

  “How’d you get into my house?” I asked Mom, trying to take the suitcase from her.

  “Oh, no. Don’t even try it. You’re not lifting a heavy bag.” She pulled it aside and nosed her way around Jake’s downstairs until she found the room off the kitchen, a onetime maid’s room, converted for my sake into a guest room.

  She set down my suitcase, tossed the nursing-home brochures on the bed, and began opening drawers, loading them with my underwear, socks, and clothing. I paced, albeit more of a shuffle than my usual rapid gait. “You didn’t tell me how you got into my house, Mom.”

  “I have a key.”

  “You gave me your key.”

  “I gave
you one key. I had another.” She offered me a wink.

  “How come I never noticed what an interfering busybody you were prior to this?” I asked.

  “Having a key to your house doesn’t mean I ever used it to check out things or that I ever imposed myself on you or Elle. I don’t know how or why I got a second key, but it’s a good thing I did because someone has to look after the place right now, and you need clean clothes.”

  “Screw the house key,” Hank said. “Let’s decide which nursing home is best for Elle.”

  “That will depend on where there’s an available bed,” Mom said.

  “Not necessarily,” Hank said.

  I dropped into a chair and grunted. The pain burned from my incision to the muscles down my leg. I rubbed my stitches, feeling how little held me together. “What do you mean, ‘not necessarily’?”

  “I’ve been thinking about this since the doctors took her off the respirator and said we would eventually be able to move her out of the hospital. Nursing-home beds are scarce, right?”

  “Exactly. That’s why we can’t be picky,” Mom said.

  “We can be picky,” Hank said. “There’s a shortage of nursing-home beds in Portland. I’m a businessman. If I were running a nursing home, I’d be looking to expand.”

  “I’m not following you,” I said. “We don’t have time to build a new nursing home.”

  “No, not a new one. I’ll offer to finance an addition.” Hank waved his hand like a magic wand.

  “But that won’t help us—” I said.

  “It will. Not the addition itself, but if the owner’s shrewd, he’ll give us what we want in exchange.”

  “Which is?” Mom asked.

  “The stipulation will be that at least one room—not one bed—one room will be made available for Elle for as long as she needs it. The last thing we need is to have to tiptoe around a roommate. Besides, after your heart attack, you can’t be camping out in a chair day and night. And at my age, I can’t do it for months on end either. So I will stipulate that Elle gets a private room for as long as she requires one. There’s always some turnover in nursing homes. She moves to the top of the wait list. And as a second room becomes available, we will get that one, too. Two side-by-side rooms in exchange for a new wing.”

  Mom and I exchanged a look. I couldn’t speak for her, but I was thinking that Hank had lost his mind.

  “I’ll buy the place if I have to,” he said.

  Mom’s mouth hung open.

  “That’s a very generous plan,” I said. “But do you have any idea how much something like that costs, not to mention the regulations involved?”

  “Of course I do. I broker a hell of a lot of commercial real estate. These days that’s most of my business. I’ve even sold a few nursing homes. Now, which one of these places has the best reputation?” he asked.

  Mom glanced at the brochures on the bed and narrowed her eyes skeptically. “I know you’ve been successful, but—”

  “She’s my daughter, Linney. I can afford to take care of her. Believe me.” Hank stood a little taller as if to show he was man enough to keep his word.

  “But—” Mom tried to argue.

  “It won’t even break me, Lin,” Hank said.

  Mom nodded, but I could see she was choked up. We were all riding close to the edge of emotional overload. Even a sense of relief could drive us to give in to a catharsis of tears. Even my pragmatic mother. She pointed at one of the brochures. “This one’s close to the hospital.”

  “And it has excellent rehab facilities,” I said. Elle would never recover, but a good physical therapist could help prevent complications from immobility, and Elle did not need any more complications.

  “No one there probably knows diddly-doo about OB,” Mom added.

  “So, that’s where you come in,” Hank said, leaning back in his chair. “You spread the word that we need a few good OB nurses to moonlight for a few months. We’ll pay them double what they would get anywhere else if they will do private duty for Elle. We want to give her round-the-clock care.”

  “Great idea,” I said. “But insurance won’t pay—”

  “Matt, for a brain surgeon, sometimes you’re a little slow. You think I watched the real estate boom without investing in property myself? I have money. Trust me. It’s the least of our problems.”

  My eyes locked on my father-in-law’s. I couldn’t believe this, and yet I knew that if he said he could do it, he had the means.

  “How fast can you make it happen?” I asked. “They want to discharge her in the next couple days.”

  “Give me a few hours, and I’ll let you know.” Hank stood in apparent preparation to head out the door. “Let me go do my job and hope it’s as simple as I anticipate. All you have to do is rest up so you’re well enough to do midnight feeds in a few months.” He clapped my back, obviously forgetting I’d recently had my chest split open.

  My eyes filled with pain and with gratitude for his optimism. “Thank you.”

  But I knew we still had to deal with Adam and Christopher. And I whispered one more prayer that Elle would not miscarry.

  51

  Day 38

  I yanked open the duffel bag’s zipper.

  “I didn’t take out any of the diaries, if that’s what you’re thinking.” Christopher played with the Indian shutters in Jake’s study. “Man, if Jake ever sells this place, I want the listing. I love the architectural details. Look at that crown molding. It’s gotta be eighteen inches thick. Where is Jake anyway?”

  “Boston. His daughter has a gymnastics meet this weekend,” I said, looking at a picture of Janey on Jake’s desk. Their house was covered in family photographs. The beach, Halloween, and birthday cakes were backdrops to a family who often were caught in the middle of spontaneous fits of laughter rather than in tightly posed-for-the-camera happiness.

  “He left you alone?” Chris asked.

  When you’re thirty-seven years old, you generally don’t expect two things: the need for a babysitter or to have open-heart surgery. “My mother stayed here last night, but she had to go into work today. Mike took me over to the hospital for a while to see Elle. And Jake will be back tonight.”

  “You need anything else?”

  “A chauffeur. I’m not supposed to drive for a few weeks. But it’ll wait.”

  “Where do you need to go?”

  “Home. I need to pick up something.”

  “I can drive you.”

  The gray sky hung over the Harraseeket River like a shroud, low clouds but not quite ground fog. Chris pulled into my driveway in his SUV. Elle’s car was parked exactly where she always left it, by the back door. Chris was right; it would have startled me if not for his warning.

  “Are you up to taking the stairs?” Chris regarded the porch steps as if they were a gauntlet I had to run.

  Seven stairs, a half flight—I could do it. “I’m really not an invalid. Considering everything, my heart muscle sustained very little damage.”

  “That’s why you kept dying.” He still looked at me as if I might keel over.

  “Well, there was that, but hey, what’s a near-death experience from time to time?” I grinned, but somehow the power I’d always felt over him had shifted. He was the stronger one, the more powerful player now.

  “Glad you haven’t lost your sense of humor,” he said.

  “I’m fine. More or less.” Less being the operative term.

  His eyes narrowed in a skeptical salute. “Let’s just get what you need and take you back to Jake’s.”

  We entered the house through the back door into the mudroom and kitchen. The air was stale inside, as if the house knew Elle and I no longer needed to breathe. On the counter, Elle’s bag, a canvas tote, sat as if she’d just come home and dropped it there. A note from Christopher lay beside it.

  “Her wallet’s inside. I didn’t want to leave it in the car,” Chris said.

  I used to tease her that she carried half the world in
that stupid bag. She’d stuff a towel in it and go to the beach, or pack a lunch and come to my office to kidnap me for a picnic. She kept student papers and her laptop. Now all that was left were her wallet, sunglasses, a package of sugar-free gum, and her car keys. God, I missed seeing her walk through the door and shed her keys here, her shoes there. As bright as she was, she could be a little scattered and forget to take care of the details in life. Why the hell did that stuff bug me?

  “Where did you leave the rest of the letters?” Chris asked.

  “Check the dining room table.”

  “I could have picked this up without you,” he said, heading through the butler’s pantry.

  “Yeah, probably.” But after having died, I wanted to see if the world had changed, transubstantiated, developed depth and color. Looking out the window, I saw the lawn certainly had transformed into a field, but the world hadn’t developed deeper hues. If anything, it looked a little flatter, paler, emptier. The reality of Elle’s accident had set in. It was autumn. Everything was dying away. A wave of pessimism broke over me as I scanned our empty kitchen. Then I told myself that new life came in the spring and the baby was due in spring. I wandered into the living room.

  “Got them,” Christopher said, returning through the doorway.

  “I just need a minute.”

  On the fireplace mantel, there was a snapshot of Elle and me that someone had framed as a wedding gift. I was probably eight, and Elle was five or six. Our families had gone camping together. Alice, who had loved black-and-white photography, shot us with fast grainy film. We were backlit by the campfire, and sitting nose to nose, we were silhouettes, cameos. Except for our eyes, which caught the light, a spark between us even then.

  “Carrie looks like Elle,” Chris said from behind me. His four-month-old daughter did indeed resemble her aunt.

  “Tell her that when she’s old enough to understand.”

  “Of course I will.” Christopher’s voice broke.