by Nan Rossiter
She’d come home from college the day before Thanksgiving, and she and her mom spent that evening making pies, laughing, and catching up. Even though her mom had to work on Thanksgiving, she and her dad would go to the hospital, as they always did when her mom had to work a holiday, and have dinner with her in the cafeteria. They’d have the pies to look forward to when she finally got home.
A light snow had started to fall that afternoon and, even though the weatherman had said it wasn’t supposed to amount to much, by the time Callie and her dad had returned from the dinner, it was really coming down. As soon as they walked in the house her dad had picked up the phone, and Callie had stood in the kitchen, still wearing her jacket, waiting and listening.
“I’m sorry to call you at work, hon’,” he’d said, “but I’m concerned about the roads. I think you might want to wait before you head home, or else I can come back in the truck.” He paused, and Callie could tell her mom wasn’t easily convinced. Finally, it was her dad who relented. “Well, okay, but promise me you’ll turn around if the roads are bad. Yes, love you too.” He had hung up the phone and stood by the window, watching the snow fall.
On a normal day, her mom would have left work at three-thirty and been home by four. But that afternoon, four-thirty came and went, and by five it was getting dark. Callie and her dad had tried to watch football, but neither one knew who was playing, never mind who was winning. Her dad had turned on the outside lights and realized that the snow had changed to a wintry mix. He had reached for his coat and announced he was going to look for her, and Callie had stood up and said she wanted to go too. But her dad had said it would be better if she stayed by the phone.
He was still clearing the snow off his truck when the state trooper pulled up at the end of the driveway with his vehicle’s emergency lights glowing in the misty darkness. Callie had watched from the kitchen door as he got out, put on his covered hat, and walked up the driveway toward her father. She had felt icy fingers of fear wrap around her heart as she watched her dad turn to talk to him; her dad had nodded and his shoulders had sagged, and then she’d stumbled out to stand beside him.
Her memory, after that, was a confused jumble of images and voices: the solemn look on the officer’s face, the pelting ice stinging her cheeks, shivering in the darkness. Her dad putting his arm around her, telling her to go get her coat ... but not being able to move ... just shaking uncontrollably ... and not being able to breathe ... just drowning in the sea of words. Mrs. Wyeth was traveling on Mountain Road ... a sharp corner ... a slight incline ... a boy from Maine heading in the opposite direction ... lost control ... both rushed by ambulance ... the boy was pretty banged up ... but Mrs. Wyeth was much worse ... did they want him to drive them?
No ... No ... Thank you. Her dad’s face was pale and his hands were shaking. They would take the truck. They were leaving now.
Callie would never forget the eeriness of the emergency lights flashing across the dark, misty sky as they approached the accident scene. Her mom’s car was already loaded on a flatbed, and the front of the boy’s car was unrecognizable. She’d looked away, tears streaming down her cheeks, but when she’d spotted her mom’s nursing cap lying in the snow, she’d screamed, “Stop, Dad! Stop!”
Henry slipped his hand into Callie’s, and she looked down and suddenly remembered why they were there. She scooped him up, and he touched the tear on her cheek. It dribbled down his finger. Callie wiped her face and smiled. “It’s okay, Hen-Ben. Mommy’s just thinking too much ... again.” She reached for the paper bag with the sandwich in it. “Let’s go see Papa.”
They walked down the corridor toward her dad’s room and, as she passed the nurses’ station, an unfamiliar face looked up. “May I help you?”
“We’re just on our way to see my dad.”
The nurse looked down at the list of patients. “I’m sorry, but which patient is your dad?”
Henry started to squirm in Callie’s arms, and Callie, becoming impatient, shifted him to her other hip and answered, “Ben Wyeth.”
Before the nurse could inquire further, another nurse bustled out of a nearby room and Callie was relieved to see a familiar face. Jess was one of her mom’s former coworkers, and her friendly eyes lit up when she saw Callie, but then they quickly clouded over in a frown. “Oh, baby, we’ve been trying to reach you all morning.”
Callie’s relief turned to panic. “Why? What’s wrong?”
“It’s your daddy, honey. He’s had another stroke.” Jess wrapped her arms around both of them. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. When Jess pulled away, tears were streaming down Callie’s cheeks. “Oh, baby, don’t cry,” she said, gently wiping away the tears. “You’re going to upset this beautiful little boy.” Jess smiled at Henry. “Your grampa’s gonna be okay, honey. Don’t you worry. We’re taking good care of him.” Jess turned back to Callie. “He’s been moved to intensive care.”
Callie nodded, her body obviously straining under the unbearable weight of her world. “Thank you, Jess,” she said.
“Girl, what is wrong with your phone? I was going to send Todd up there as soon as he got out of work.”
“I’ve been trying to get it hooked up,” Callie explained, “but they came when I wasn’t home.”
Jess nodded. “Well, you better straighten it out so we can reach you.” She hesitated. “Listen, do you want to talk to one of the doctors? Because I can get one for you... .” Callie shook her head, and Jess put her arm around her again. “He’s going to be okay, baby. Your daddy’s a fighter. That’s where you get it from.” Callie smiled. “That’s my girl.” Jess smiled too. “Listen, you get a sitter and come back later and you can see him, okay?”
“Can’t Henry see him?” Callie asked.
Jess shook her head. “No, baby, I thought you knew. Little people can’t go into intensive care.”
Callie swallowed hard and bit her lip. “No, I didn’t know.”
“Well, you’ll have to get someone to watch him. I’m sorry, honey.” Jess gave her another big hug. “Don’t you worry,” she whispered again, “your daddy’s going to be just fine.”
Henry refused to get back in the car. He squirmed and kicked and finally pulled his hand free, and then, before she could stop him, he ran headlong into the lamppost and fell back onto the hot pavement, holding his head and screaming at the top of his lungs.
“What is the matter with you?” Callie shouted. “Get up, for God’s sake. What are you doing?” She wrenched his arm, pulled him to his feet, and shook him. “Look, Henry, cut it out! I can’t take it anymore!” she shouted. “I just can’t take it anymore!” Henry stomped his feet and began to slap his ears violently. “Stop!” she commanded, grabbing his wrists. “Stop doing that! Why can’t you just be normal?” Callie heard the words spilling from her mouth but couldn’t believe she was saying them. Henry fell into a heap next to the car, wrapped his arms around his knees, and rocked back and forth, whimpering.
“Is everything okay, Miss?” Callie looked up and saw an older gentleman crossing the parking lot toward them.
“Yes, we’re fine,” she answered, scooping Henry up. “We’re just going for a walk.” The man nodded and stood with his hands in the pockets of his white coat and watched them cross the street.
As they passed through the gates of the nearby cemetery, Callie wondered again why cemeteries in New England always seemed to be across from hospitals. It certainly wasn’t a very promising scene for patients who looked out their windows or for the family members who kept watch at their bedsides. Callie pictured the early colonists carrying their deceased loved ones down the grassy hill and wondered if the cemetery’s proximity to the hospital had everything to do with convenience. She put Henry down, and he wandered along between the sun-bleached headstones. To her surprise, he stayed near.
They came to a shady grove, and Callie stopped. The pines whispered softly around them, and Henry gazed at the simple white marker. He walked up to it and traced his finger lightly over t
he engraved letters:
VIRGINIA DEERING WYETH
JUNE 19, 1949–NOVEMBER 23, 1994
BELOVED WIFE ~ DEAR MOTHER
FOREVER FRIEND
Callie watched her son’s innocent gesture and realized how much her mom would have loved him. She would have known what to do. She would have known how to reach him. She would have held him and hugged him and loved him with all her heart.
“Oh, Mom, I miss you so much,” she whispered.
As she silently watched, Henry picked up a smooth, white stone and placed it on top of the headstone. As he stepped back, though, thunder rumbled ominously in the distance, and he reached for Callie’s hand. She looked at the sky and felt the heavy stillness of the air. “Guess we should get going,” she said reluctantly. She scooped him up onto her hip but lingered a moment more, and wished they’d brought flowers. “Next time,” she whispered. A resounding crack echoed across the valley, and Henry whimpered. “It’s okay, Hen-Ben,” she said, hugging him. She ran her hand lightly along the headstone and then turned to hurry up the hill.
Just as they reached the car the skies opened up and, in the time it took to strap Henry in and run around to her side of the car, Callie was drenched. She dove into the front seat, quickly rolled up the windows, and decided to wait for the storm to pass. The rain thundered on the metal roof and streamed down the steamy glass. A rivulet formed on the inside of the windshield and trickled down, dripping on the dashboard. Over the years, her dad had tried several times to fix the leak, but when it rained hard enough, or when the wind blew just right, water always managed to find its way in.
Callie watched the fat droplets form and splash on the dusty dash and thought of Linden. She shook her head. How can I even think of asking him? After everything that’s happened, how can I ask the one person in the world that I hurt most to look after the child that resulted from that hurt? The irony is too much! She watched the lush trees swaying back and forth in a green blur and prayed, “Oh, God, help me. Please give me a sign.”
The storm finally passed, and she looked in her rearview mirror. Henry was sound asleep. She started the car, drove slowly out of the parking lot, and headed east. When she turned onto Route 124, she began to notice that cars were pulling over. She looked in her rearview mirror and listened for a siren, but she didn’t hear one. Why are people pulling over? She slowed down and watched as people got out of their cars. One person was even holding a camera. Finally, she looked up through the passenger window and spotted what everyone was looking at: A brilliant double rainbow was spanning the eastern sky.
19
The air was ominously still and heavy with moisture as Linden measured and cut the wood for the new treads, and it wasn’t long before a distant rumble confirmed the approach of a summer storm. He made one final cut, fit the tread, glanced at the sky, and decided he’d better clean up his makeshift shop. He gathered his tools, brought them inside, and then hurried to the barn to usher the animals inside.
Twenty minutes later, an eerie darkness shrouded the yard. The dogs had been only too happy to be invited into the kitchen. They stretched out on the cool linoleum and wondered if there were any snacks in their future. Linden turned on the stove light, looked under the aluminum foil that covered Mrs. Connor’s cookies, and shook his head in dismay. “Only two left. I don’t know if there’s enough.” With their heads on their paws, the dogs watched Linden as he ate the first cookie, but when he started to lift the second one to his mouth, they picked up their heads and gave him mournful looks. Linden laughed, broke the cookie in half, and gave them each a piece. They thumped their tails thankfully. Linden poured milk into the glass from the dish drain, wandered into the small room next to the kitchen, and looked out at the rain. Even though it was coming down in sheets, he could already see a sliver of blue shimmering across the western horizon.
He finished his milk, turned from the window, and switched on the adjustable lamp that was attached to the old wooden drawing table. The table was solid oak and had been rescued from a Vermont roadside, and the threadbare swivel chair in front of it had come from a junkyard in Keene. Linden sat in the chair and ran his hand lightly over the watercolor that was taped to the table. He leaned away and then closer again, trying to decide if he liked it. Several weeks earlier, in frustration, he’d given up on the painting, but now he decided maybe it wasn’t so bad. He stood up and looked at it from another angle. Maybe he’d work on it later.
The rain had stopped, and Linden let the dogs back out and carried a new six-pack down to the river. He slipped five of the bottles into the cold water, unbuttoned his shirt, dried his hands with it, draped it over the back of one of the chairs, and opened the remaining bottle. Then he kicked off his L.L.Bean camp mocs and made his way gingerly out across the shallow current. He stood, sipping his beer and surveying his handiwork. The cairn was almost as tall as he was, but he still wanted it to be taller. He began to wonder if spending so much time alone was making him crazy, and then he remembered an article he’d read one time that said if you thought you were crazy, you probably weren’t. He put his bottle down; looked into the depths of the clear, swirling water; and realized that he’d almost exhausted his supply of large stones. He would have to start carrying them from upstream. He had just started to slosh in that direction when he heard a car pull into the yard.
He looked up and saw Callie’s old Nova parked next to his truck and his heart pounded as he watched Kat and Springer bounding over to greet her. She petted them and looked around.
“Hey,” he called with a wave.
She looked over and smiled. “Hey!”
“You remembered.”
“Well, I thought I remembered, but I made a wrong turn back there”—she motioned in the direction of the road—“and I ended up at a wooden gate. But I finally figured it out.” As she walked toward him, she couldn’t help but notice that he was no longer the slender boy she’d known in high school. His chest and shoulders were broader, and his muscles were more defined. Linden reached for his shirt, and she quickly looked away, suddenly embarrassed.
“Wow! That is a very impressive pile of rocks,” she said, looking over his shoulder.
Linden pulled the shirt on and thought, If you only knew what inspired it!
“I shouldn’t have come,” she stammered.
“No,” Linden said, fumbling with a button. “I’m glad you did.”
She searched his eyes. “I really shouldn’t have come,” she blurted, “but I don’t have anywhere else to turn. I know you offered to help, Linden, but you probably didn’t expect me to take you up on it so soon.” She paused to take a breath. “Please say no if you can’t ... or you’re busy ... or you just don’t want to. I will completely understand.”
Linden gave up on the buttons and stepped closer. “Callie, what’s the matter? What happened?” Callie started to explain, and Linden caught on immediately. “No problem, Cal. I’m happy to watch Henry.”
She nodded and bit her lip. “It’s not that simple, Linden,” she continued. “Henry’s not like other kids. He’s not easy to look after. He takes off, and he has terrible tantrums and ...” She paused, trying to find the right words. “He doesn’t talk.”
“Oh,” Linden said. “Well, I’m sure we can manage. I do enough talking for two people anyway.”
Callie looked puzzled. “You?”
Linden smiled and shrugged. “Did you want to leave him here now?”
“Is now okay?”
“Now is fine.”
They walked over to Callie’s car. “This is crazy. I can’t believe I’m doing this to you. I don’t even know how he will react to new surroundings, especially without me here. He’s an escape artist, and he disappears in the blink of an eye. You have to watch him every second. Are you absolutely sure you want to do this?”
“Yes, I’m sure. We’ll be fine.” Linden insisted. He searched her eyes. “Your dad needs you too.”
Callie leaned into the car and u
nstrapped Henry’s car seat and woke him. As she lifted him out, he started to kick and scream, but when he saw Linden he immediately stopped.
“See,” Linden said with a smile. “I have the magic touch.”
“Yes, I know... .” She bit her lip again. “Well, we’ll see if you still feel that way when I get back.” She looked at Henry. “You’re going to stay with Linden for a little while. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Be good!” She turned to Linden. “Thank you so much.”
20
As Callie pulled away, her mind raced with all the things that could go wrong and all the things she’d forgotten to mention about Henry. She looked at her watch and realized it was almost suppertime. He’s probably hungry ... that alone could send him into a tailspin. And he probably needs to use the bathroom ... what if he wets his pants? And then there’s that river ... why didn’t I mention that he’s never been in water deeper than a bathtub? Callie began to wonder if she should go back. What if something happens? Oh, God, please don’t let anything happen! Please take care of them... .
Callie tried not to worry as she hurried down the hall toward the nurses’ station. She glanced at her watch and realized the evening shift must have taken over, because she didn’t recognize a soul. A nurse looked up from her clipboard, and Callie asked her if it would be okay to visit Ben Wyeth. The nurse scanned the list of patients as Callie tried to read the list upside down. Just then, a doctor pushed through the swinging double doors at the end of the hall, and the nurse stood up. He was looking down at a chart, but Callie immediately recognized him as the older gentleman in the white coat who had approached her in the parking lot. She turned away quickly, hoping he wouldn’t recognize her, but the nurse said, “Dr. Franklin, this young lady would like to visit Mr. Wyeth.” She turned back to Callie. “Are you his daughter?” Callie nodded, and the doctor held out his hand and smiled.
