“It’s okay, honey,” Grandma said to him, weeping. “It’s okay, sweetie. He’s gone, he’s not coming back. It was a terrible time, I know it was a terrible time, but it’s over. He’ll never be mean to you again.”
Bridge lifted his head to look at her, and kissed her on her softly wrinkled cheeks, and tears were streaking his face but he was smiling with joy, alight like a bride with joy. It was a home-again moment for him.
For Grandma too. She had her son back, and she had come out of hiding for him.
Jamie whispered, “It’s going to be okay! She’s going to be okay!” She grabbed Kate and hugged her. Then she could not stand still any longer. She wanted to sing, jump, dance, shout. She wanted to open all the window blinds and let the daylight in, and throw open the windows themselves and let in the fresh summer air. But most of all she wanted to hug Grandma and Bridger, so she did that first.
She ran to them and flung one arm around Grandma and one around Bridge, hugging them hard, both at once. Bridge hugged her back—she could feel his chest heaving with emotion. He hugged her like crazy and kissed her on the side of her head.
But Grandma did not hug back. Grandma just looked at her.
Lily stopped crying, and looked at Jamie serenely. Polite, yet cautious around this somewhat disreputable person with the clothing that had been slept in and the bruised face, she pulled away. With dignity she got to her feet. Bridge and Jamie stood up with her, but Lily moved farther from Jamie, closer to her tall, strong son. She turned to him with utter trust that he would protect her. Gesturing toward the girl who had hugged her, she asked him, “Who is this?”
His face grew still. He said quietly, “I was hoping you would tell me.”
“No.” The glance Lily gave Jamie was not unfriendly, but she shook her head. “No, I don’t believe I know her,” Grandma said. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
Chapter
10
“Jamie, I am truly sorry,” Bridge said to her. “I never expected this to happen.”
Sitting at Kate’s kitchen table, Jamie put her head down on her arms to shut him out. Across the way she could see Grandma in the sunset-lighted sink window, humming and washing dishes after having cooked a wonderful kielbasa-and-noodles supper including peach crisp for dessert. Grandma was suddenly acting like Grandma again—but only to Bridge. She was treating Jamie as Bridger’s guest and would not let her help with the cleanup. Jamie had escaped to Kate’s, but Bridge had followed her there.
“All I was thinking about was getting her to connect with me again,” Bridger said. “I never dreamed she would disconnect from you.”
Hearing him, not looking at him, she felt his hand touch her elbow. She jerked her arm away.
“Jamie, c’mon,” said another voice, Kate’s voice. “I know you’re bummed,” Kate said gently, “but you’re not being fair. It’s not Bridger’s fault. Who could have known what would happen?”
Who could have known Jamie would find herself with her whole life flipped upside down, kicking like a turtle on its back?
“I should have.” The table shifted as Bridge sat down. “I should have seen it coming.”
Jamie lifted her head and looked hard at him. He looked back, his blue eyes somber.
“I’m a nurse,” he said. “I’m supposed to know something about people.”
“What’s the matter with her, then?” Jamie asked harshly.
“She’s … I don’t want to put a label on it, but for some reason something in her life hurts too much. There’s something she can’t face at all. So she’s told herself more and more lies to avoid it, and now she doesn’t know what’s real anymore.”
“I told you that before!”
“I know, but I didn’t really get the picture until …” Bridge winced and rolled his eyes at himself. “Okay, so I don’t always deal with reality either. Maybe it runs in the family.”
Jamie did not smile.
Bridge sighed, then said what Jamie did not want to hear. “First thing tomorrow we’d better call your doctor and ask for a referral to a psychiatrist.”
“Sure. Fine. Great. So they’ll give her more pills and take her away and stick her in a hospital, and I’ll never get her back.” Her voice broke apart on the last few words.
“Hospitals aren’t bad places,” Bridge said quietly. Of course he would think that; he worked in one. “You’re more likely to get her back that way than—”
“Shut up!” Jamie suddenly went a little crazy—maybe craziness did run in the family. She jumped to her feet, shouting at him. “Just shut up! She wouldn’t be sick if it wasn’t for you. I hate you!”
He did not shout back, but his voice sharpened as he said, “Look, that’s not true. We don’t know what made her the way she is.”
“You made her worse!”
“She was sick before I came back. Did you expect me to sashay in here and make everything all right?”
She stared at him, remembering that yes, it was what she had hoped for. She also remembered that only a day earlier he had saved her butt at the risk of his life. What if there had been a knife in that mugger’s pocket? Or a gun?
Bridger said more softly, “I never promised a happy ending. Nobody can promise that.”
Nobody could promise anything. Grandma might never be herself again. She might never …
“Damn it, shut up,” Jamie whispered, to herself, though Bridge might have thought she was talking to him. Damn everything, Grandma was going to be fine, and she, Jamie, was going to make it happen. She had to get herself moving and do something, that was all. Do something, fast, before they took Grandma away.
And she knew one thing she could do right that minute. She turned and strode the few steps to the kitchen phone.
“What are you doing?” Bridger and Kate both demanded at once.
She did not answer, but dialed information. Already knew the right area code.
“Chicago?” Her voice was only a little shaky. “Donald Duncan, please.” She groped for pencil and paper.
Her knees were shakier than her voice. The Garibays had a wall phone, though, and she had to stand by it. The knees would just have to handle it.
Bridger sat silently, looking as tense as Jamie felt.
Jamie scrawled the number, then dialed. At the other end, a phone rang once … twice … three times.… Jamie had to remind herself to breathe.
Somebody picked up. “Hello?” said an older woman’s throaty voice.
Please, God. “Hello, Amaryllis Duncan?”
“That’s right.”
Jamie could not believe it was so simple. She squeaked, “Lily Bridger’s sister?”
“Yes!” The woman’s voice went up almost as high as Jamie’s. “Who is this?”
“Jamie.”
“Jamie? Lily’s Jamie? Oh, my God, Jamie, I have been trying to get news of you and her for years. Oh, my dear God.” Aunt Mary was so excited, Jamie found herself actually smiling. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” But that was an exaggeration, if not a downright lie. “Well,” Jamie added, “Grandpa died.” That was what had started everything.
There was a silence before Aunt Mary asked, “Who died?”
“Grandpa.”
More silence. “Grandpa who?”
Was Aunt Amaryllis maybe a little dense? “Grandpa Bridger. Cletus. Grandma’s husband. He’s dead.”
“Cletus is dead? When?”
“Three weeks ago.”
“Was it—was he ill?”
“No. He just ate too much stewed chicken and had a heart attack.”
Aunt Mary’s voice had gone low. “How is your, um, how is Lily?”
Jamie admitted, “Not real good.”
“No, I figured not,” Aunt Mary said softly. “Jamie, where do you live? Give me your address and phone number this minute, honey, before I wet my pants.”
She did not sound like the pants-wetting type, but the way she said it made Jamie smile again. She gave Aunt Mar
y the address, and the phone number, and Kate’s phone number too. All the time she was wondering how to ask Aunt Mary the big question: Uh, would you happen to know, Aunt Mary, who my parents are? But she did not have to ask it over the phone. Aunt Mary took charge.
“I am coming down there,” she said decisively. “I can hop in the car now and drive through the night and be there in the morning.”
The idea of a sister of Grandma’s who was able to hop in a car and drive all night—apparently by herself—the idea took Jamie’s breath away. She struggled to get words out. “You—you’ll be here tomorrow morning?”
Listening, Bridger sat up straight, as if something had jabbed him.
Aunt Mary said politely, “If that’s okay, Jamie.”
“Yes! Of course, it’s—it’s wonderful.”
“See you sometime tomorrow morning then, Jamie. And honey, don’t fuss. And don’t let Lily fuss. I don’t need any special care and feeding, okay? I’d better go pack a few things. Bye, sweetie. See you soon.”
Jamie hung up, leaned against the wall, and closed her eyes. When she opened them, Bridge was standing in front of her, watching her.
“You okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine!” she snapped at him.
He asked quietly, “You think Aunt Mary is going to help?”
Yes, damn it, that was what she wanted to believe. Jamie lifted her hands, grasping at air. But then she let them fall. “I don’t know,” she answered, her voice just as quiet as his. “I don’t know what’s going to happen.”
“Neither do I,” Bridge said.
The two of them looked at each other.
With his heart in his voice Bridge told her, “Jamie, all I want is what you want. I want Mama to be well.”
Something snapped back into place in her head, and she knew it was true. He was not trying to take Grandma away from her. She swallowed hard, trying to make herself tell him she was sorry, but she didn’t have to. He knew. He stretched out his hand to her, and she ended up hugging him instead. Hanging onto him, really, with her head on his shoulder, but that was okay. Probably better than words.
Even though it was Sunday, Kate’s mother had a meeting, and her father had been putting in extra time at the insurance office, trying to master the new computer system. It was late before they both got home. Next door, Mamaw was asleep—in her bed for a change, not on the closet floor, Kate knew. Bridger was on the sofa, because he did not want to sleep in what had been his father’s room. Jamie was probably lying awake.
“It’s bad over at Jamie’s house,” Kate told her parents.
Her mother gave her an inquiring look. Her father just yawned. “You should be in bed,” he told her, wanting to go to bed himself.
“I need to talk with you two first. Jamie’s in a real mess.”
“Is this a ploy to try to keep us from moving?” Mr. Garibay inquired, more interested now.
“No. This is serious.”
There was a lot Kate had not been telling them, partly because they were busy and she did not want to bother them, mostly because she had thought she could handle things herself. But now, sitting in the front room with the overhead light shining off her mother’s perm and her father’s bald spot, Kate told them everything. About Mamaw forgetting, Mamaw not eating, Mamaw in the closet. About Jamie’s search (“She went to New York by herself?!” they both exclaimed.) and what she had found, and what remained unanswered. About Bridger’s homecoming. About Mamaw again.
“Now it’s like she’s gone back in time. She’s got her little boy back, and—and she’s forgotten Jamie.”
Kate’s mother asked, “Do you mean really, or—”
“It’s not an act. She’s really forgotten. She looked at Jamie like she’d never seen her before in her life. She asked her where she was from, and where she went to school, and what grade she was in, and did she make good marks.”
Mr. and Mrs. Garibay looked at each other. Mr. Garibay asked Kate, “What’s being done?”
“Bridger is talking about getting her help, a psychiatrist. Jamie is scared.”
Mr. Garibay nodded. He and Kate’s mother looked at each other again. Then Kate’s mother asked her, “What do you want us to do?”
Kate smiled, because she had known she could count on them. Her parents were good people. That was why they were so busy all the time, because they were the kind to do what they could for the community, and people kept them busy. But when Kate really needed them, there they were. They had listened to her without saying, You should have done such-and-so, or, Why didn’t you tell us before? They wanted to help.
Kate told them what she had in mind, and the three of them stayed up until two A.M. talking it over.
Jamie could not sleep very well and got up early. But then all morning she just sat out on the front lawn, waiting for Aunt Mary. She had her sketch pad, and time for her art at last, and even though the drawing was not going very well, it was better to be where she was than inside where Grandma was making potato salad and melon balls and a dessert called “heavenly hash” for lunch. Jamie had told her grandmother that Aunt Mary was coming, but Grandma seemed not to understand or hear her. When Bridger had told her, though, she had said, “Oh, how nice!” and started fixing goodies.
Normally Jamie would have helped. But she knew that Grandma would not let her help now. So Jamie was staying outside.
Kate came over and sat with her awhile, then had to go to school—it was the last day, only a half day really, but she still had to go. After Kate left, Bridger came outside once. “That’s nice,” he said, looking over Jamie’s shoulder at the pencil portrait of a box turtle she was shading.
“Nice nothing. It stinks.” She didn’t want him to say complimentary, dishonest things when he knew better. He had seen the good pieces tacked to the walls of her room. He knew what she was capable of.
Bridger crouched down beside Jamie and looked at her as if assessing her private weather. She looked back.
“I’m okay,” she told him, and it was almost true. “Go mix the cookie dough.” She knew without going near the kitchen what Grandma had him doing.
He nodded. “I figure I better be with her while I can. It’s not going to last.” He went back in.
Around eleven, a white Ford Taurus station wagon roared up, and a woman who looked like a different version of Grandma got out: a stocky woman with a square face much like Grandma’s, but with pewter-gray hair cut short and moussed into a stylish do. Aunt Mary wore elastic-waisted jeans, a Chicago Cubs T-shirt, and L.A. Gears. She moved as if she knew where she was going, and she was smiling as if she meant it.
“Jamie. You don’t know me from Moses, but I’d know you anywhere. You poor dear, what happened to your face?” Without waiting to hear, she gave Jamie a huge hug. It felt good. At that point just being recognized and called by name felt good.
Jamie said to her husky shoulder, “Aunt Mary, there’s a lot of things I have to ask you.”
“I bet. But let me talk with Lily first.” Aunt Mary patted Jamie, let go of her, and moved toward the house. Jamie followed.
Bridge met them at the kitchen door.
“Jamie!” Aunt Mary seemed not at all taken aback to use the same name as she strode in and bear-hugged him. “I didn’t know you were going to be here! It’s wonderful to see you, just wonderful.”
Grandma turned, smiling, from the stove.
“Lily,” Aunt Mary murmured, and her eyes went wet as she hugged her sister. “It’s been so long, such a long, long time.”
Grandma nodded agreement. “Since last Christmas, isn’t it, Mary? Or was it the Christmas before?”
Aunt Mary stood back from her and peered at her. She said quietly, “Lil, it’s been a good, solid ten years.”
“Really? No. It can’t be.” Serenely Grandma shook her head. “It was Christmas a few years ago. We had capon with sweet-pepper stuffing instead of turkey, remember? You brought the chowchow and the yams.”
“That was bac
k in Silver Valley.”
Grandma blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“That was quite awhile back,” Aunt Mary said. “But we all lose track of time, don’t we?” Her voice grew softer. “Lily, I’m so sorry to hear about Cletus.”
“Cletus?” Grandma smiled a peaceful smile. “Oh, he’s fine. He’s over the flu now and back to work. He’ll be home this evening.”
Aunt Mary’s face grew very still. Hesitant. Bridger and Jamie stood where they were. Nobody knew what to do or say.
Then Aunt Mary folded her arms. Jamie did not know which sister was older, Lily or Amaryllis—Aunt Mary looked a lot younger, yet the way she stood there with her L.A. Gears planted on the linoleum, she seemed like the elder. “Lily,” she said firmly, “from what I hear, Cletus is dead. You didn’t invite me to the funeral. You left Silver Valley and haven’t been in touch all this time, Lily. Now, I want to know why.”
Grandma’s eyes widened in shock—how could Mary say such crazy things?—but then she blinked and turned away from the question. “Jamie, set the table please, sweetie,” she said to Bridger. “Mary, why don’t you have a seat. How are Don and the children?” Amaryllis was being difficult, Grandma seemed to be thinking, and she had to smooth things over. If she could get lunch on the table quickly, everything would be okay. Nobody would make unpleasant conversation over lunch. Grandma hurried to the refrigerator and brought out potato salad, lunch meat, sliced cheese, sandwich rolls. Her arms were getting loaded. Automatically Jamie went to help.
Jamie walked to Grandma and stretched out her hands to take something. But Grandma stared at Jamie and put the food on the countertop instead of handing it to her. Grandma said politely, “You, ah, young lady—I can never remember your name—are you staying for lunch?”
To Jamie it was like getting punched in the stomach. She felt sick. She could not answer.
Aunt Mary burst out, “Lil, that’s Jamie! What’s the matter with you?”
Grandma gave her sister a quelling look. “Amaryllis, you’re confused. That’s my Jamie.” She pointed to her son, who had set down the luncheon plates and had come over to stand close to the “young lady,” touching her shoulder to let her know he was there.
Looking for Jamie Bridger Page 9
