by Lisa Wingate
I reached for her, pulling her hand into mine. She pushed her lips into a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry. We’ll …”
“Where she gone put the boy and the udder boy?” Teddy’s question came out of the blue. All three of us turned to look at him. “Where she gone put the two boy?”
I felt like laughing and weeping all at once. I wasn’t sure Rebecca understood the question, but I did.
“Rrrr howt,” I said. “Arrr how-se.” Mary gave the words a pleased smile.
“Where’s she going to put the boys?” Rebecca was a bit slower in deciphering Teddy’s question.
“My room?” Teddy’s eyes widened, and he patted his chest enthusiastically, indicating that he thought keeping Mary’s boys in his room would be a grand idea. Back when Teddy helped with the children at church, he always wanted to bring them home with him, show them all of his treasures in the backyard and the collection of model cars and airplanes in his room. As a youngster, Teddy didn’t play with the toys as they were meant to be played with. He liked to turn them upside down and watch the wheels spin. Even so, Edward never came home from a business trip without bringing Teddy something with wheels on it.
Mary and Rebecca exchanged bemused glances. Not knowing Teddy very well, they didn’t really understand what he was asking.
Rebecca shook her head. “You don’t have to give up your room, Teddy. The boys will sleep in the apartment with their mom.”
Teddy let his smile fade. By now, he should have been accustomed to parents telling him he couldn’t play with their children, but it was always hard for him to accept.
Mary came a step closer, her lips pursing sympathetically. “You wouldn’t want the boys in your room at night, Teddy.” Leaning across the bed, she put a hand beside her mouth like she was going to tell him a secret, and whispered, “Brandon snores.”
Teddy laughed, his voice echoing down the hall, a strangely happy sound in such a solemn place.
Mary smiled, and Rebecca pressed her index finger against her nose, holding back a chuckle. I laughed with Teddy, abandoning myself to happiness until I was breathless with it. By the time I was finished, both Rebecca and Mary were watching me with consternation. I suppose they thought I’d lost my mind.
“Good!” I gasped, and waved an arm around the room. “Allll good!” If I’d had a thousand words, I couldn’t have come up with better ones. It was as if I’d been cold for weeks, and had suddenly been wrapped in a comfortable old quilt. The warmth went deep inside.
“They gone my room som-time?” Teddy was still concerned as to how the new living arrangements would work out, in terms of playtime.
“Sure, if you want them to,” Mary said. The hall buzzer sounded again, and she excused herself from the room.
Teddy moved his chair near the head of my bed and sat down. “I gone show my car the boy and the other boy, Mama. All my car. My hun-erd fit-ty-two car.” Teddy knew exactly how many cars were in his collection. He and Edward had counted each time Edward brought home a new one.
“Good,” I said. “Ffff-fun.” That’ll be fun. I wished I could be there to watch Teddy show the boys his cars. It was disappointing to think of everything happening at home without me. For the first time since my arrival in nursing care, I was ready for Gretchen to come, so I could get on with my therapy.
“Mary a good girl,” Teddy observed.
“Yesh,” I agreed.
Teddy snorted and chortled, turning his head aside and ducking his chin. “Ban-don snore,” he said, as if he were telling a secret.
“Yes,” I agreed, and chuckled with him.
Teddy’s head swiveled as he looked around us, scanning for something interesting to hold his attention. “A-becca a good girl,” he said, bending backward in his chair so that he was gazing at her upside down.
“Yes,” I whispered, my gaze meeting Rebecca’s. “Yes.” It was impossible to explain what I was feeling, to share the depth of my gratitude, the magnitude of my amazement that, after all these years, after all that had happened and the things Marilyn had undoubtedly told her, she would be the one to save us. Who could have predicted we would ever be together like this?
“You a good girl, Mama,” Teddy added, then focused on the overhead lights and didn’t say anything more.
Rebecca moved to the other chair, searching for a new topic of conversation. In a hospital, there isn’t much. “I see you’ve got another book,” she said finally, and reached for the volume of Texas history that Ouita Mae had selected from the library cart when we’d finished Pirate’s Promise.
“Yes,” I agreed, sinking back against the pillow. After the morning’s wild emotional swings, I felt tired and limp.
“Want me to read to you for a while?” Rebecca leafed through the pages to the marker.
“Ohhh-kay.” Closing my eyes, I let out a long, slow breath. Reading for a while would be good. Communication was hard work, and I needed to rest up for today’s therapy session. “Hhhhank-ooo.”
“You’re welcome,” Rebecca said, then began reading about the results of an archaeological dig outside San Antonio.
I let my mind drift in and out.
“This is kind of dry,” she said after a while.
“Yes,” I agreed.
“I’ll pick up something new for you at the hospital gift shop today.”
“Hhhhank-ooo!” I said enthusiastically. Even with Ouita Mae’s colorful reading, this book made me feel like I had one foot in the grave already. I missed the excitement and romance of Pirate’s Promise, and, aside from that, our new study of Texas history left little possibility of Ouita Mae, once again, being reminded of the boy on the yellow horse and her first kiss. Without the aid of context, I’d never be able to communicate to her the truth about Claude.
“Anything particular you’d like?”
“Righ-per …” The word arrived on my lips as a jumble of sound. Pirates. Pirates. I could see in my mind. “Righ-pits.”
“How about another pirate novel?” Rebecca suggested.
“Alll-rye-t. Good.”
“Maybe there’s a sequel to Pirate’s Promise,” she said, and we laughed together. In spite of the stern exterior, she had a sweet laugh. Edward’s laugh. I wondered if, having spent some time with her now, he’d recognized that—in spite of her resemblance to her mother—she was very much like him.
With his being in the hospital, perhaps they hadn’t had time to make those connections yet. I hoped they would now. Perhaps she would learn how very proud her father was of her, that he never stopped thinking of her or wanting her to have a good life. So many times, I’d walked by his office door, glanced in and found him sitting at his desk, staring out the window with the Web site for her legal firm on his computer screen. I knew he was thinking of her, searching the Internet for postings with her name or Macey’s attached, wishing, even though he was too proud to admit it to anyone, that circumstances were different.
Leafing through the book, Rebecca came upon a section about Native American tribes in Texas. Her phone rang before she could start reading. Teddy tuned in as she fished the phone from her purse and answered it. “Hi, Macey. What are you doing calling so early?” Checking the wall clock, she added, “You should be in school for another hour and a half yet.”
Teddy waved at the phone. “Hi-eee, Ma-shee!”
Rebecca smiled indulgently. “Teddy says hi.” Macey’s high-pitched voice echoed through the receiver, then Rebecca translated, “Macey says hello.”
“Hi-eee!” Teddy repeated.
“So, why aren’t you in school?” Macey’s reply came in a rapid rush of words. “Slow down,” her mother told her. “A gas leak? Is everyone all right?” Teddy and I waited for the answer as the echoes of Macey’s girlish chatter flitted about the room. Finally Rebecca broke into the conversational stream. “Well, that does sound exciting. Hang on. Put your phone on video. You can tell us all about it. We’re starved for entertainment here.” Winking at me, Rebecca switched a few b
uttons on her phone, then held it out toward Teddy and me. There on the screen was a precious little blue-eyed girl whose name I knew, whose face I’d seen once, when Edward found an article about her gymnastics team on the Internet. Edward’s granddaughter. Her wheat-colored hair was up in ponytails, her suntanned face alight with enthusiasm.
“Say hello to Teddy,” Rebecca instructed.
Macey put her face playfully close to the camera. “Hi, Teddy!”
Teddy craned toward the hallway, as if Macey might be out there. “Hi, Ma-shee!” He gave the phone a once-over, then leaned toward the screen until he was eyeball to eyeball with her image.
“Whoa!” Giggling, Macey retreated from her own phone, holding it at arm’s length. “Cool hat, dude.”
Pulling his Dallas Cowboys cap over his face, Teddy snorted and laughed.
“So what, exactly, happened at school today, Mace?” Rebecca scooted close to Teddy and leaned over the arm of his chair so that all three of us could watch the tiny screen at once.
Macey’s eyes opened wide. “Oh, my gosh, you totally won’t believe it. We were sitting in reading class, and then we heard this big boom outside—like, we thought the windows were going to fall out, and then …” Macey went on with a story about a city road crew having hit a gas line, causing an emergency evacuation of her elementary school. Macey, on crutches apparently, had to be carried down two flights of stairs piggyback by one of the other students—as it turned out, a boy with whom she shared a crush. Once they got to the safety zone, the boy stayed with Macey, even after most of the kids had been picked up by their parents. “He could’ve called his mom, but he hung out with me instead, because I was, like, stuck there. Isn’t that so cool?” Macey finished.
Rebecca looked mildly shell-shocked. “Macey, why didn’t you call Dad or Grandma to come get you?”
“Grandma had to go back down to Encinitas for the day, and Dad didn’t answer his phone for a while,” Macey reported, and Rebecca’s face got tighter and tighter, her body stiffening. “Then Bree came and got me and took me home. She’s cool.”
A muscle ticked in Rebecca’s cheek. “Where’s your dad?”
“He’s busy at work,” Macey replied, as if that were perfectly natural. “Grandma’s almost back, though. She got stuck in traffic.”
“You’re home alone?”
“Mom, I’m fine.”
“Macey …” Glancing self-consciously at Teddy and me, Rebecca sat back in her chair. “All right. Call if Grandma’s not there in a half hour, okay?”
“ ’Kay.”
“Love you.” Rebecca’s lips trembled, and she swallowed hard, her mouth framed by strained, angular lines.
“Love you, too, Mom.”
“Call me if Grandma doesn’t show up soon.”
“Okay, Mom.” Macey rolled her eyes, then waved at the screen. “Bye, Teddy. Bye … ummm, Hanna Beth.”
Teddy and I said good-bye, and when Rebecca hung up, the festive mood in the room was gone. She stood up and started toward the door, her movements stiff, tightly controlled. “I’m going down to get a soda. Teddy, do you want anything?”
“I like soda,” Teddy answered.
Rebecca nodded and disappeared out the door. By the time she came back, Gretchen had arrived to begin my therapy session. She’d shooed Teddy from his chair, and he was waiting in the corner by the window, trying to stay out of Gretchen’s way. Fortunately, Rebecca was able to convince him to leave quietly by telling him he could open his soda when he got to the car.
Gretchen cracked her knuckles, then pushed a wheelchair close to the bed. “So, you gonna be stubborn with me again?”
“Noooo,” I answered. “Eg-go. Rrr-eddy.” Let’s go. I’m ready.
CHAPTER 19
Rebecca Macklin
My father’s homecoming was quiet. He left the hospital after having been given a mild sedative to aid in making the trip. Teddy helped me transfer him into the passenger seat, and on the drive, he sat gazing out the window with drowsy disinterest. Teddy watched warily from the backseat, unsure, as usual lately, of what to expect from Daddy Ed.
“It sooh-kay, Daddy Ed,” he said when a traffic jam trapped us on Lower Greenville. “We gone home.”
My father let his eyes fall closed, his head nodding forward.
“We gone home,” Teddy repeated, as if he were trying to push the words around my father like a comforting arm.
The traffic sat unmoving, and finally I turned around and went the long way, winding through the old brick warehouses and trendy remodeled restaurants. Beyond the business district, we passed neighborhoods much like the ones around Blue Sky Hill, where Prairie-and Craftsman-style homes languished in various states of disrepair and renovation. Here and there, entire blocks waited, largely empty, their peeling paint and boarded windows testifying to the fact that property owners had sold out, moved out, passed away, allowing land speculators to accumulate the spans of real estate necessary for future shopping areas and condominium complexes as the neighborhoods made the change from out of fashion to trendy and hip.
As we drove, Teddy observed the construction equipment with interest, pointing out the window. “There a dump tuck. Oh, oh, crane, crane! Tha’s a big one!” Pressing his cheek against the glass, he watched as we turned a corner, finally coming to a road that wasn’t packed with traffic and would lead us back to Greenville. “There the school.” We pulled into the right lane, and he pointed to a middle and elementary school complex. The deco-era red brick buildings had been nicely remodeled, in keeping with the area’s improving tax base, though the tall chain-link fence and locked gates confirmed that the neighborhood didn’t yet qualify as rehabilitated. “Oh, there some pots.” Teddy pointed to the potpourri of food trash lying in the ditch and stuck in the fence, where kids, lolling on the grounds after lunch, had chosen to forgo the trash can and, instead, poke their cups through the chain link.
As we drifted by, Teddy reached for the door handle.
“We don’t need any pots today, Teddy,” I said, relieved that the rear doors locked automatically, a child safety feature. “We bought some at the grocery store, remember?” I glanced in the rearview mirror.
Still watching the treasure trove of discards as we passed by, Teddy nodded. “We got red one, and blue one, and green one… .” He stretched the words out, conveying his high regard for the new package of multicolored plastic cups. “I like green.”
“Me, too,” I agreed, glancing at my father. He’d shifted slightly in the seat, straightened a bit to look out the window, but he seemed calm enough.
“The lady got bread and pea-nit butter.” Trying to roll down the window, Teddy waved as we went by a loading dock where a service truck was delivering pallets of mystery food, while a cafeteria worker in white work clothes and a hairnet poured a bucket of water off the back steps. “She a nice lady,” Teddy added, disappointed that the window wouldn’t go down.
A sad, uneasy feeling settled in my chest as we passed by the school Dumpsters, where a homeless man was investigating the day’s leftovers. “Teddy, is this where you got the food that was in the house when I came?” Was it possible? The school was at least four miles from my father’s house, past active construction sites, through less-than -stellar neighborhoods, under a highway interchange where homeless people slept, past a shopping center, across two busy streets. Had Teddy come this far? Could he navigate through the obstacles?
I pictured Teddy at the school, wandering around the Dumpsters in the dirty clothes I’d found him wearing my first day at Blue Sky Hill. He would have appeared to be a homeless man, picking up old cups and foam containers, begging for food at the cafeteria door. How hungry had he and my father gotten before Teddy went looking? How long had they been out of food before I arrived?
A painful guilt welled in my chest.
“She my friend,” Teddy remarked.
“You know you can’t come up here again,” I said. “You have to stay in the yard, all right?”
Teddy ducked his head. He knew I was still upset about his wandering off. Nodding earnestly, he turned to watch the cafeteria and the trash-decorated fence disappear from view. “Ho-kay, A-becca.”
I felt like an ogre, his prison matron, the mean, overly controlling mommy Macey so often rolled her eyes at. Except that Teddy wasn’t a child. He was an adult. My stepbrother. He was a forty-seven-year-old man, yet he wasn’t competent to leave his own yard.
The sadness of that idea was monumental. How many times had Hanna Beth looked at Teddy and wondered what the rest of his life would be like, who would take care of him when she and my father were gone?
If the restrictions gave Teddy even a moment’s concern, he didn’t show it. As the school disappeared around the corner, we passed the little pink house with the estate sale in progress, and Teddy waved at the women running the cash table. A few blocks farther, near what used to be the park, a sidewalk snow cone stand was playing tinny music, and he turned his attention to that. My father smiled at the tune and began singing along to “You Are My Sunshine.”
I drew back, startled as much by a heavy sense of déjà vu as by his voice. I remembered him singing that song when I was little. I hadn’t unearthed the memory in years, hadn’t allowed myself to think of it. Now it came back, clear and pure, and it seemed as if I were with my father, really with my father, for the first time since I was twelve. The empty place created by his absence lay like the cool, still mountain craters Kyle and I had visited on our fifth-anniversary trip to Hawaii. Standing on the rim, I had the eerie sense that the peaceful appearance was a façade, a thin covering of surface matter and vegetation with something powerful churning beneath.
My father’s song, his deep baritone voice so like it had always been, cracked the surface. Warmth bubbled up. Affection, need, yearning. In spite of the passage of years, and the water under the bridge that had built an ocean between us, I still wanted to know that he loved me. I wanted to believe he was singing that song because, somewhere within the heart that had turned cold to me, within the withering body and the decaying mind, he remembered singing it as he carried me high on his shoulders, off to bed.
