"Ollie, you aren't supposed to be out of bed." Laine tucked him back in and kissed his forehead. "There. That's better, isn't it?" She hoped he hadn't noticed the quavering voice contradicting her smile. "We have a busy day ahead of us, and I know—"
"Laine, don't," he interrupted, bringing a shaking finger to her lips.
She kissed his fingers and grasped them with her own.
"I've been thinking about this all morning, and I've decided.... It's time to let me go. The doctors and I both know I'm going. You need to admit it, too. I'd give anything in life—anything—to stay here on Earth with you and Daly. But God just happens to have a different plan for me. I'm not claiming to like it, or even to understand it, but I'm at peace now."
Laine gasped and shook her head.
"It won't be so bad. My entire life, I've done everything I could to be up in the skies. When I fly, I never want to come back down. Now, I'm going up into the clouds, and I get to make it my home!" He cried openly, smiling through his tears.
"Since you know where you can find me, maybe you can hitch a ride and visit me from time to time. You might be able to catch a glimpse of my face in the patterns of the clouds. That warm glow of sunshine is me kissing your cheek. A gentle breeze sweeps by your ear, and it's me telling you I love you, that I'll always love you. Don't be afraid if the plane gets caught up in a strong wind. That's my way of making love to you. See, so it'll be like I never left. I'll always be waiting for you. I'm only a short ride away."
He motioned for her to bend down, and they shared a beautiful kiss.
Laine wanted to argue, to demand they continue fighting, but she owed him this much. He deserved the right to take some rest before the long sleep.
Oliver's body continued to wage war with the cancer for another four days, until he finally waved the white flag. He died weeks before what would have been his fiftieth birthday, though he'd slipped into a coma days earlier.
Laine and Daly were forced to whisper their final goodbyes to the slow-breathing, corpse-like body. Laine would forever wonder if he'd been able to hear her parting words.
Not a single tear fell from her eyes at his funeral service, or as mourners shoveled ceremonial dirt onto his casket. She was all used up. Life could only be stagnant from then on. Like a fly stuck in a droplet of honey, she frantically moved her legs, with no hope of ever being freed.
And she'd pushed her own daughter away. She'd covered up the parts of Oliver that remained—not to protect Daly, but to shield herself. The mural. Daly had been so upset when she covered it, but she couldn't look at it without hearing his final words, without realizing all over again how much she'd failed him, failed her daughter. She didn't blame Daly for hating her. Laine had hated herself, too.
It was time to stop playing the victim. The pain remained as raw as ever, but Daly now needed her to be strong. She needed to see it was possible to move on after the death of one's husband. Laine had to show her.
But is recovery even possible?
While she continued to search for an answer, Laine busied herself in the most basic way she knew—comfort cooking. She combined free-range chicken, soy-based butter substitute, gluten-free flour, and a variety of root vegetables to create a healthy, organic version of potpie. Her mind remained busy as she pressed the edge of a fork around the edges of the pie to create dainty indents.
As she closed the circle, the unfair irony of the situation hit her like a hailstorm. She swiped her forearm across the counter, thrusting the entree to the floor. The filling oozed out, stretching toward the corners of the room.
"Aargh!" she yelled, bending down to seep up the mess with a wad of paper towels.
Meghann rushed down the stairs. "What happened?"
Laine scrubbed until the paper towel tore to shreds. The mess only grew. "I just dropped them... by accident. I'll have to start all over now."
She'd been selfish for making Daly her version of comfort food. Daly would much prefer to eat the classic, chemically-enhanced dish. Now was not a time to be self-serving.
"If you're okay, I'll go back and sit with Daly. She needs us now. Let me know if you need any help later." Meghann patted Laine on the shoulder and walked away.
After cleaning the mess, Laine dashed back to the supermarket to pick up the list of new ingredients: salted butter, enriched white flour, Tyson chicken breast, peas, celery, and carrots—not an organic ingredient in sight.
She set to cooking with vigor, attempting to untwist the pain that held her heart in a vice.
Upstairs, Meghann cradled Daly's head on her shoulder. Elijah slept peacefully in the next room.
"Hush now," she soothed. "I know it's hard."
She didn't know what else to say. Somehow, "be strong" or "it will be okay" seemed to undermine the situation. Instead, she held Daly in silence punctuated by the occasional outburst of tears.
When the oven timer beeped, Meghann ushered Daly into the bedroom and propped her up with a pillow.
Laine brought the potpie in on a wooden serving tray. She lifted a forkful and blew on the steaming morsel before offering it to Daly.
Daly broke into tears, and slunk down between the covers.
In the next room, Elijah woke up. Meghann hurried to get him, and placed him in the cook of Daly's arm. Perhaps the baby would be able to communicate in some way she could not.
Elijah cooed and reached his tiny hands toward her ear, but Daly passed him gently back to his mother.
In time, she fell asleep.
Laine kept constant vigil with her. Daly needed their support. They were all she had left.
"I'll be right back," Meghann whispered. She trotted down the stairs and lifted the receiver of the phone. After a few rings, her aunt answered. "Hi, Aunt Ruth."
"Well, hello dear. Are you and Eli ready to fly down?"
Meghann choked back a sob. "No, not yet. My friend, Daly...."
"Oh, yes, the sweet girl whose mother is helping you?"
"Yeah. Um, her husband died. They only got married a few months ago, and we just found out. She's really crushed. Do you mind if Eli and I wait another month or so? Daly really needs us right now, and I can't bear to leave her."
"Oh, the poor thing! That's fine. Let me know if there's anything I can do to help, all right?"
"Thank you."
"I love you, dear. Keep in touch and please offer my condolences."
"I will. Love you, too. Bye."
Meghann returned to the bedroom and found Laine and Daly wrapped in a hug. At least one good thing had come of this tragedy: Daly and Laine were together.
Four days had passed since Daly received that awful phone call. She hadn't let herself speak. Words seemed useless, anyway. What could she or anyone say to make the situation better?
She wouldn't let herself eat, either. Guilt made her sick. She should have forced him to take another flight, or at the very least, been with him at the end. Maybe if she'd never met him, Mishti would never have seen their example and approached her parents about getting married. Maybe he'd still be alive. He wouldn't be with her, but he wouldn't be dead either.
Meghann cuddled Daly, stroking her hair.
Elijah cooed and blew spit bubbles.
Laine read to her from her favorite childhood book, Harold and the Purple Crayon.
She watched the page turn to reveal colorful illustrations, but she didn't hear any of the words—nothing was loud enough to drown out her inner sorrow. She couldn't talk, she couldn't hear, because it was too hard. She was better locked-up—that's what she deserved.
Yesterday, Kashi's funeral had taken place in Delhi. The traditional Hindu ceremony involved burning the deceased's corpse while the mourners sang prayers. Later, they would travel to the holy river and release the ashes. Only, they didn't have Kashi's body for the ritual. He had already been burned up without any prayers.
Daly hoped he at least enjoyed blowing about in the Atlantic breeze.
His name meant "the sky," and that
's where he was now. She imagined him flying down close to the rolling waves and then jerking back up toward the sun, basking in the warm light.
Maybe he was better off dead, better without her. If only it could have been her instead. Her reason for living had died with him. Did that mean she should just die, too? Her heart hurt so much, perhaps it was a real possibility.
Daly Malhotra, her obituary would read, proved to the medical community one really can die of a broken heart, if it's broken badly enough.
She would have liked to go to the funeral, to be with others who were mourning the loss of her dear Kashi. How could she get there, though, when the only means of travel was by plane? She couldn't ride on the vehicle of her husband's death and relive his final moments so soon. She felt weak, selfish, terrible.
As Laine closed the cover of the book, Daly broke her silence with a loud, sharp wail. "Why?" She screamed. "Why? Why? Why?" She hit herself in the face, hoping she would get lucky and land a knockout blow.
Meghann and Laine restrained her arms and held her tightly.
"Daly, Daly, Daly," Meghann said—or maybe Laine. It didn't matter anymore who was who. "Hush. You're okay. It'll be all right."
She continued to scream. Writhing on the bed exhausted her. Finally, she grew tired and shrank into the fetal position, shaking, heartbroken.
"I missed his funeral," she said in a broken whisper. "I didn't get to say goodbye."
Chapter 19
How can someone know what it means to be empty, unless she was, at one time, full?
A month passed. Still, Daly couldn't muster the will to get her life going again.
Unable to delay her move any longer, Meghann had packed-up Elijah and left for Florida. The absence of the baby and his mother shone an even brighter light on the growing emptiness in Daly's life.
She missed her internship orientation, but barely noticed or cared. The effort of meeting new people seemed overwhelming.
"I'm not going back to school," she told Laine at last.
Daytime television became her new calling in life—a fulltime, dead-end job. The endless stream of low-lives parading through the courtrooms of Judge Judy and Judge Joe Brown both amused and enraged her. The TV plaintiffs acted as if nothing could ever be worse than a roommate refusing to pay her portion of the cable bill, or a dog defecating on the neighbor's lawn.
Daly slumped back on the couch as their whiny voices rang in her ears. She almost wished they would experience real pain; then they might shut up and stay out of the public eye, not bugging poor television viewers like herself. Then they'd be like her. Or, maybe she'd be like them.
She could get a job as a stripper and steal her best friend's man.
Sure. Why not?
Laine couldn't bear to watch her daughter give up on her last remaining dream when the rest of her life had fizzled out. While Daly remained trapped in front of the television, Laine planned her forced salvation.
First, she took an early retirement. She had always lived so thriftily that they didn't need to worry about money now. Besides, her parents had left her a generous inheritance, and Oliver had taken out a sizable insurance policy.
At the age of sixty, no longer needing to tend to her career, Laine focused all her attention on her daughter. She packed up everything from Kashi's condominium and moved the boxes and furnishings to a storage unit. Another young couple, fresh out of college, purchased the condo only a few weeks later.
Next, Laine did something she had never imagined doing: she sold her own house. The home where she had made her life was gone. Her time with Oliver, and Daly's childhood, had thrived and ended between those aging brick walls.
No matter how heavily these decisions weighed on Laine's heart, she followed through. After all, only drastic measures would ensure her daughter's eventual happiness. Daly needed to attend the university art program in order to resume some semblance of a normal life. A ninety-minute commute twice a day, every day, would imprison her in the thoughts she so desperately needed to escape.
Laine bought a three bedroom home in Ann Arbor, a short walk from the tranquil Botanical Gardens. Perhaps they might take long walks together in the evenings, letting the wonder of nature absorb their grief as they strolled down the muddied trails.
Months passed, and Daly remained dutifully stationed in front of the television set, not caring enough to ask why people were coming through the house or why the furniture had started to disappear.
In early August, Laine decided it was time to discuss her plans with Daly. She snapped the television off and stood in front of the blank screen.
"What?" Daly whined, twisting the remote in her hand and rapidly pushing the power button. "Judge Judy's about to make her ruling. I'll miss it."
"Enough of this, Daly." Laine crossed her arms and glared. "This has gone on too long. I know you are hurting, but you can't stop living just because it's hard."
"You're one to talk!"
"Yes, maybe I've been guilty of losing myself, too." Laine eyed a speck of dirt lodged underneath her fingernail. She sighed and dropped onto the sofa, pushing Daly's legs to the floor. "Listen, I won't let you do what I did. Life must go on. That's why this weekend, we're moving into a new house."
"What? Where are we moving? Why?" Daly curled her knees to her chest.
"I've bought us a nice place in Ann Arbor. It will be easier for you if you don't need to drive so far to attend your classes."
"What if I don't want to move? What if I'm happy right where I am?"
"If you think you're happy here, then you're not just depressed, you're crazy."
"I told you, I'm not going to school. I don't want to!" She pounded her fists on top of her knees—a gesture Laine hadn't seen since Daly was a toddler.
"Yes, you do. This has always been your dream, even when you were a little girl. You're scared, but you don't have to be." She attempted to stroke her daughter's arm, but Daly ripped it away. "It'll be hard at first, but you'll thank me later."
"I can't believe you're asking me to move on when it's only been four months. You've had almost nine years and you haven't even been able to!"
"You're right, but I'm trying to now. Don't waste a decade like I did, when you have the option not to."
Without another word, Laine left.
***
Laine left Daly alone to sort through the belongings she had accumulated over the past twenty-some years. Now she had an equally gruesome task ahead of her: packing up her library. Which books should she bring along, and which should she send to charity? She sat cross-legged on the paisley area rug and counted the members of her treasured collection—well over two thousand titles, and she'd read them all, some several times.
The new house simply didn't have room for them. Daly needed an art studio more than Laine needed a library. She'd only allow herself to take as many books as would fit in her nine-by-seven space. More than three-quarters of her collection had to go.
She could keep the books boxed in the basement, of course, but a voice deep inside urged her to let them go. How many special moments had she missed with Daly because she couldn't wait to find out how the witty protagonist would overcome a daunting set of obstacles? She'd been a secondary character in her own life's story.
Yes, they have to go. This purge will be cathartic.
Laine sifted through the neatly arranged rows of books—paperback and hardcover, fiction and nonfiction, poetry and prose—sorting everything into three piles: keep, go, and undecided. Four hours of careful consideration passed, leaving her with a "keep" pile of some fifteen hundred titles, and a "go" pile of about twenty-five cookbooks, the contents of which she'd long since memorized. The others went in the "undecided" pile.
She sighed and started over, this time meditating on the number one hundred. That's how many she could keep—no excuses, no exceptions. She'd just need to get a library membership in the new town so she could check out and revisit the abandoned books anytime. No, not goodbye forever.
Five seconds—she must decide in that time frame the fate of each book.
Slowly, she whittled the "keep" pile down, placing the discards in cardboard boxes. In the end, sixteen boxes stood packed and ready to go: all that remained of her shucked-off collection. The women's shelter would make good use of the new wealth of reading material. Entertainment items scarcely came to them, let alone in such abundance.
Books had kept Laine's mind off Oliver for almost nine years. They might help some of the women at the shelter to cope as well.
Returning to the skeleton of her former sanctuary, Laine studied the empty shelves. Her heart plummeted as she took in the tragic absence of her closest companions.
They're just books. There's so much more to life. Daly....
Now this room might be anything—perhaps a large workspace, a grand master bedroom, or an entertainment room. She imagined the young couple who'd purchased the house making their life here, turning it into a light and airy nursery.
At the same time, her donation to the women's shelter might comfort the residents who would soon discover the wonders written between the tattered covers.
This is right.
The sadness of the empty library gave way to the overwhelming promise of a new beginning.
***
The next day, Laine joined Daly to watch Judge Joe Brown. No more books, no more distractions. It was just her and Daly now. If this is what her daughter enjoyed, somehow she'd find a way to enjoy it, too.
Daly eyed her mother warily but said nothing.
Laine pointed to a chubby, blonde hooker-type seated at the defendant's table. "What did she do to make that big football guy so angry?"
In the middle of the lovers' quarrel, a second man appeared in court. "I'm the baby's daddy, yo!" he said, ambling up the aisle.
Laine raised her eyebrows. "This is entertaining. I never would have believed it!"
Daly laughed and snuggled next to her mother. At the commercial break, she clicked the television set off. "No, not really. It's just a bunch of rednecks and white trash trying to get their fifteen minutes of fame. I'm starting to get bored."
A Colorful Life: Drawn in Broken Crayon Page 22
