Maybe the mother he wanted back had never really existed. Memories tended to deceive. Maybe she lived only in his dreams.
Just the same, before the old woman with the unraveling braids got in the car, he stopped her a moment, put his arms around her sloping shoulders, and hugged her.
“Did you have to drag her?” Jamie asked afterward.
“No.” Bridge shook his head. “She went on her own.”
Jamie sat in Grandma’s armchair, studying its upholstery, tracing a fleur-de-lis with her fingertip. “Did she cry or anything?”
Bridge shook his head. Jamie tried to think of what questions she really needed to ask, tried to imagine what a psychiatric ward was like. Would there be anyplace for Grandma to hide?
“It would be better if she did cry,” Bridge said in a low voice. He sat straddling a ladder-back chair pulled in from the kitchen, his chin resting on its wooden top rung. “The ones who scream and cry, they hit bottom faster, and then they bounce back and get well faster. Somebody passive like Ma—it’s going to take a while.”
Jamie’s glance shot up to catch on him. “How long?”
He looked back at her but did not answer. The shadows in his eyes were answer enough.
“Does Lily seem to understand at all what’s happening?” Aunt Mary asked. She sat on the bottom step of the stairs. Nobody wanted to sit in the recliner.
“Not really. She’s confused.” Bridge straightened and turned to face her. “But that could be good, Aunt Mary. Being confused, it’s like a chance to rearrange the furniture, you know?”
“Maybe she’ll start thinking for herself again, you mean? I hope so.”
“That’s one of the reasons for getting her out of here. New surroundings, new thoughts.” Bridge turned to Jamie. “Did you know the very best facility in the state is in Silver Valley? As soon as I can arrange it, I want to get her transferred there. They have a model outpatient program, and Ma’s a good candidate. She’s no danger to herself or anybody else. If the doctors agree, once her medication’s adjusted we can find her a place to stay in town.”
Jamie sat silent, not looking at him. She felt very tired, and kind of numb.
“Jamie?”
She did not have to answer, because there was a knock at the door. Without waiting for someone to get up, Kate came in.
“Hey, Katie!” Bridge greeted her.
“Hi.” Kate grinned at him. She had heard he was Jamie’s brother and had performed an impromptu dance of joy on the front lawn. “Hello, Aunt Mary.” She had met Aunt Mary, who of course was not her aunt, but who cared. “Jamie.” Kate came over and sat on the arm of Jamie’s chair. Grandpa never would have allowed that. Do it all the time, and it would damage the chair. Smile all the time, and you would probably damage your face.
“I saw you took Mamaw out in the car,” Kate said to Bridge.
He knew what she was really asking. “Yes. She’s in the hospital for a while.”
Kate nodded, unsurprised. “They can take care of her better than Jamie and me.”
“And let you two get on with living. Yes.”
“I can send her a card or some flowers.”
“She’d like that.”
Kate swiveled to look at Jamie. It was a serious Kate look. “Listen, Jame, I didn’t get a chance to tell you before, I was kind of waiting for the parents to get home and come over here with me, but they said go ahead because you might be worrying.” What was Kate all wound up about, just when Jamie felt too bone-tired to deal with anything? “Listen, what it is is this: If you need a place to go, you’re supposed to come stay with Mom and Dad and me.”
Jamie tried to connect with what Kate was telling her. It did not work, but she knew she ought to say something. “Um, thanks,” she mumbled, “but I’d just be in the way when you have to get ready to move.”
“No, doofus, you would move with us!” Kate hopped off the armchair and hunkered down by Jamie, earnest. “We talked it over, and we want you to come along with us. Stay with us for as long as you need to. Be family. You’ll love the pond, and the woods, and—heck, it’s not just for you. It’s for me too.” Kate’s voice went husky. “So I don’t have to leave my sister behind.”
Jamie sat and could not think what to say.
“You don’t have to answer right away.” Kate bounced up and gave Jamie one of her fierce, quick hugs. “Think about it.” She was out the door again like a feather on the wind.
“Jamie?” Bridge asked again.
She did not look at him, did not answer.
Aunt Mary spoke up. “You know I want you to come home with me, Jamie,” she said in her forthright way. “Stick to real family. You have your uncle Don and all your cousins to meet.”
“Or come back with me,” Bridge said.
She jerked her head up to look at him.
“I have to leave tomorrow,” he told her. “Gotta be back on the job Wednesday.”
She felt shock jolting her eyes wide open.
“There’s plenty of room,” Aunt Mary was saying as if nothing had interrupted. “Your pick of spare bedrooms since all the kids are grown. I know your uncle Don would enjoy having you around. It gets really dull for him, being home with his oxygen tank all the time.”
Tomorrow. Bridge was leaving tomorrow.
He was looking at her. “I know you’re a nature girl,” he said, “but think of this: New York is the art capital of the world. Museums. Special high schools just for artists.”
Jamie sat woodenly.
“Sleep on it,” Bridge said gently. “You don’t have to decide what to do till morning.”
Jamie began to understand why Grandma had started hiding in the closet. If you did that, it was as if you could stop the world, stop time. Keep the room dark enough, and morning might never come.
About two A.M., wide awake, chest aching, Jamie could not stand it any longer and got up. Barefoot, in her oldest Bambi-print cotton pajamas, she padded downstairs.
She could see him, her brother, the colors of milk and honey in the streetlamp light, lying on the sofa in a T-shirt and running shorts, sound asleep. People always looked so beautiful, so much like angels, when they were sleeping. At least Bridger did.
“Bridge,” she whispered. She touched his arm.
He turned his head groggily toward her. She kneeled beside him.
“Please don’t go,” she begged him.
He looked back at her, unblinking, not surprised to see her there. But maybe nurses were used to being awakened by crying people in the middle of the night.
“Please stay with me.” Tears were running down her face, making the room swim, her voice turn watery.
“Can’t, Jamie,” he said, matter-of-fact. “I’ll lose my job.”
“Get a job here.”
“I thought of that.” Bridger swung his legs over the edge of the sofa and sat up to talk with her. “But the kind of work David does, he has to live in the city.”
She stared, barely able to see him through tears. David? “But I’m your sister!” How could he put David ahead of her?
He hesitated. Maybe she could win. She had to win.
“Yes, you sure are,” he said softly, seriously.
She was going to win. “Well, then—”
“And David’s my lover.”
“But—”
In a low, taut voice Bridge said to her, “You and David are the two most important things that have ever happened to me. Don’t make me choose between the two of you, Jamie. Please.”
“But, Bridge—”
“Sis,” Bridge appealed, “he’s special. He—he’s the one, don’t you see? Don’t you know what I’m talking about? Haven’t you dreamed of finding somebody to love?”
Damn, yes she had, and she could not take that away from him. It was no use, it was no use, she had to let him go, and she could not bear it. Jamie put her head down on the sofa and bawled.
She felt Bridge’s hands settle warm on her shoulders, like two nesting d
oves. “Jamie,” he said not quite steadily, “I wish I could save you from all the pain, but I can’t. One thing I’ve found out, you can’t save anybody from anything till you save yourself.”
“I don’t want to go live with Aunt Mary,” Jamie sobbed. “I don’t even want to live with Kate. Or you, if I’m gonna—be in your way.” Giving up the fight, crying, Jamie found that she had reached truth. “I just want things to stop changing, that’s all! I want—Grandma back.”
Bridge sat very still with his hands on her shoulders for a moment. Then he said, “C’mere,” and tugged gently at her arms. He pulled her up to sit on the sofa beside him. Then he slipped one hand under her knees, the other behind her back, and he lifted her as if she were a three-year-old. Lord, he was strong. Jamie found herself sitting in his lap, nestled in his arms like a little kid, with her head against his shoulder.
He murmured, “Of course you want her back. You’ve been fighting like a Comanche for weeks to get her back. You went out to capture a miracle, and all you got was me.”
The words made Jamie’s chest hurt like fire. She hid her face against him and sobbed.
Bridge laid his cheek against her hair. “Okay,” he said, low, close to her ear, “okay, let’s say just for right now I’m what you wanted. I’m the daddy, the big strong daddy and you’re just a poor little kid, right? And I’m gonna take care of you. How does it feel?”
Jamie pressed close to the warmth of his broad chest. The warmth, and the steadiness of his arms around her, helped her stop crying, helped her breathing calm down. She kept her eyes closed and held still.
“How does it feel?”
“Good,” Jamie whispered.
He smiled. She felt his smile against her hair. He kept holding her, and softly he began to rock her in his arms.
Jamie nestled against him and let him cuddle her. He didn’t say anything, just held her and rocked and hummed deep in his chest like a big cat. Monotonous. Like she was supposed to go to sleep. Jamie was not sleepy, but she began to feel hot. No longer comfortable, no longer in need of comforting. Poor little kid? She was not a little kid anymore. More like a big kid, too big for this. Sitting on Bridger’s lap and hanging onto him made her feel bent over, crowded, cramped. She pushed herself away from him and sat up.
He stopped rocking and humming and gave her a quizzical smile. “How does it feel?” he asked again.
“I’m beginning to feel a little bit stupid,” Jamie admitted.
“Good. Get off. Ow. My legs hurt.” Bridger grimaced as she got up, then jiggled his legs and rubbed them hard with his hands. “Lord. Next time I’ll sit on your lap, okay?”
Next time. She had to smile.
“God, you’re solid. You take a couple of boxing lessons and you could beat me up, you know that?”
Jamie rolled her eyes and sat on the floor.
“You okay now?”
“Yeah.” She sighed, mostly with relief. Somehow things had sorted themselves out in her head, and she found she had made her decision. “I’ll go stay with Kate.” It was not a hard choice, really. Like Kate had said—they were already sisters.
Bridge nodded, watching her. “It’s not such a bad deal,” he remarked, “having people practically fighting over who gets you.”
“I know. I really like Aunt Mary. It’s just—Uncle Don’s emphysema—I don’t want to go live where somebody is getting ready to die. I’m sorry, but I just don’t. I’ve about had it with dying and stuff.”
Bridger nodded, and she remembered what he had said about needing to save yourself first. It was okay.
“And you and—and David.…” She picked at the carpet as she talked. “The art schools and everything sound nice, but—maybe when I’m older. I’m not sure I could take New York for long. Sometimes I really need to walk in the woods.”
This was true, but it was also true that the apartment was small, and Bridge and David were still working things out, and—she wanted Bridge to be happy.
Maybe he even knew it. He said softly, “Jamie, you are thoroughly wonderful.”
Startled, she stopped picking at the carpet and looked up at him.
He said, “It’s not like we’ll be strangers. I’ll be visiting, and I’m gonna want you to visit me, and I’m gonna be calling you all the time, but do you know why? Ask me if you’re a poor little thing.”
The way he said it was so funny, she had to grin.
“Ask me if I feel sorry for my kid sister.”
“Do you feel sorry for your kid sister?”
Quietly, intensely, he told her, “I don’t have to. Jamie, you’re gonna be fine. I don’t have to be a nice guy and take care of you. If I hang around, it’s because I love you.”
Chapter
13
September. The longest, strangest summer of Jamie’s life was behind her, and she was living in a new place, going to a new school, thinking some new thoughts. She had her hair cut short, wild and wavy on top, and it looked great. She had her ears pierced. It was Friday, a bright blue-and-gold Friday, and Jamie watched for red-tailed hawks in the sky as Mom Garibay drove her down to Silver Valley to visit. It was only about forty minutes to Silver Valley from where Jamie and the Garibays lived now, so almost anytime Jamie wanted, she could go spend the weekend.
The car pulled in at the gingerbreaded house on Sweet Gum Lane. Jamie jumped out, grabbed her suitcase and her sketch pad, kissed Mom G., and ran to find Shirley.
There were voices out back. Jamie left her stuff on the porch and headed around the side of the house.
“Hello, Jamie!” Shirley called the minute Jamie came around the corner. Shirley, grinning toothily. Shirley, sitting on the back stoop, a turtle in her lap, with Mamaw sitting beside her.
“Hello, dear,” Mamaw greeted Jamie.
Seeing doctors nearly every day had not yet helped Lily Bridger accept that Jamie was her daughter. She treated her as a family friend, a tiny bit more warmly each time she saw her, and that was okay. Jamie did not know if she would ever be able to call Lily “Mama” anyway, after the way Lily had lied to her, passing her off as a grandchild for so long. But she did not want to call her Grandma anymore, so she called her Mamaw, the way Kate did.
“Hi, Mamaw.” Jamie checked to make sure there were no turtles in the way, then vaulted the fence and walked up to Shirley and Lily. She hugged them both at once. “Giving the guys a touch-up, I see.” Mamaw had a turtle in her lap too, and both she and Shirley were wielding fine-pointed paintbrushes. Mamaw appeared to be in the process of painting her turtle’s toenails enamel red.
“This is not a guy,” Mamaw said coyly. “This is Lola. A girl. And a girl gets to be dolled up a bit.” Lola lazed in Mamaw’s lap with her head out, observing her manicure. Lola had rosebuds painted on her shell, and her name in gold script. Lola was dolled up.
“Very stylish,” Jamie said. Lola hissed at her.
“Lola,” Mamaw rebuked, “be nice.”
Shirley said eagerly, “Jamie, come inside. See what else your Mamaw’s been doing.” She put her brush in water, set down her turtle (it was Sam), jumped up, and beckoned.
Jamie followed her into the house. In the kitchen and dining room things looked the same, but in the living room—Jamie saw and let out a yell, then stood and laughed. A huge Crayola box squatted in the middle of the floor, and every sheep in the wallpaper was brightly crayoned a different color.
Jamie jumped and clapped her hands, laughing.
“Your Mamaw started it,” Shirley declared, all innocence. “I just happened to buy the crayons one day.”
“You two nuts! Tell the truth, did you do it or did she?”
“We both did! We had such fun. But that’s not what I meant to show you. Come on upstairs.” Shirley trotted up the steps and stopped at the door of Mamaw’s bedroom, the big back bedroom. Right behind her, Jamie looked past her and gasped.
The room was full of light. Somebody had taken the drapes off the windows to let in more light. The bed was
pushed over to one side, and amid all the light stood an easel, and on the easel was a half-finished painting depicting a winged hand stitching together a field of bright wildflowers into a crazy quilt to cover a mountain’s knees. More paintings leaned against the walls: a broken vase with its flowers spilling; a brown-braided, square-faced girl with blue cornflowers instead of eyes; a field of white cloud-flowers growing down from the sky.
“Mamaw did these?” Jamie exclaimed. It was hard to believe. They were good in a way. The paint was applied strongly, as if by a sure hand.
“Yes! I guess we know now where your artistic talent comes from, Jamie.”
“But I never even knew she could draw!”
“She’s going to be surprising you from now on. She’s starting to come out of her shell.” Shirley walked to a window and looked down at Mamaw sitting on the stoop, Mamaw painting fuchsia scallops on the edge of Lola’s carapace. “I can’t tell you—she’s never been any trouble, of course, and I’m so glad you talked me into boarding her here, Jamie—but now that she’s starting to take an interest, she’s a delight to have around. She’s just a delight.”
Jamie stared at Mamaw’s paintings. They were very strange, maybe not the work of a normal person, but she liked them. They were quirky, full of life. Seeing them was like meeting someone interesting she had never known.
“Did Bridge get here yet? Has he seen these?”
“Yes, he loved them. He should be back any minute. Went to have a late lunch with Ian Russell.”
“I hear him!” There were footsteps on the porch. Jamie ran downstairs and reached the front door just as Bridge opened it.
“Hey, Sis!” He bear-hugged her. “Ian says hi.”
“Hi to her too. How’s David?”
“Good.” He gave her a soft smile. “It’s good, Jamie.”
He seemed relaxed and happy, as if he was starting to feel at home in Silver Valley again, not tense the way he had been the first few times he had come back here, not spooked the way he had been seeing this house again.
The house seemed to help Mamaw. It connected her with a happier time. Eventually it might connect her with the bad memories too.
Looking for Jamie Bridger Page 11
