by Ros Baxter
And now, Eve was four, and she was. She was almost totally well. And the doctors even felt confident enough to tell me that it was only going to get better.
But there was no denying she was kind of different.
She’d spent most of her short life with doctors and nurses, as well as a cast of adults dancing attendance at her bedside. We’d all talked to her and read to her constantly while she lay there connected up to various machines and tubes. And while I tried to keep it as normal and age-appropriate as possible, I couldn’t be there all the time. I had to work. I needed the money that my part-time teaching gig provided.
And more importantly, the medical cover.
Eve loved listening to people reading to her as she dropped off to sleep, with way too many drugs in her tiny little system, and way too many worries darting through her over-active little mind. When I wasn’t there, people naturally reverted to type. So Emmy shared her passion for Marxist revolutionaries, and read Eve long tracts from the writings of Che and Fidel. I also suspect she read her Alyssa St James. I caught her once, and even though she swore she edited out the dirty bits, I still wasn’t thrilled. But in the end, I couldn’t really blame her. Eve thought it was amazing that her aunt was a real-life writer, and would beg, plead and insist that she be read some of her work.
When it was her turn, Heidi told Eve stories about animals at the shelter. Heidi had taken over several shelters on the island, and was trying to turn them from hopeless little operations into well-run enterprises. I know she tried really hard to keep the stories nice for Eve when she visited her in the hospital, and would bring in pictures of the baby animals that had gotten better and tell stories about how the clever vets had made them well. But Eve had a mind of her own, and — as we’d already seen — a kind of macabre streak, so she would insist on hearing the sad stories too. She wanted to know all about the animals that hadn’t made it, and explicit details of surgical procedures. How many stitches? Exactly how big was the scalpel? How did they know how much anaesthetic to use for a Great Dane? She wasn’t like some serial-killer-in-training. She just kind of liked the excitement of hearing about the risky stuff, so that the happy endings were that much more satisfying.
Luke would go with adventure stories. Once he’d exhausted the usual childhood fare — Robinson Crusoe, pirates, et cetera — he figured he might as well start on real life battles. So he’d read great long tracts from Machiavelli and from accounts of Napoleon’s most famous battles. He even read her Sun Tzu’s The Art of War. One would have thought a little baby, then little girl, would be bored to tears, but Eve once told me she just really liked people to read her the things they liked the best. ‘They always read better if it’s something they like,’ she explained. ‘Their voices sound different.’
She especially loved Uncle Luke’s shifts because he would sing to her. And he really did have the most beautiful singing voice. Even if the song choices worried me more than the reading list.
‘I was in a rock band,’ Luke protested once. ‘I don’t know many lullabies.’
‘Learn some,’ I barked. ‘If I hear the Violent Femmes again, you’re banned.’
Mom was far too wily to ever get caught in the act of telling any inappropriate tales. Whenever I arrived to relieve her, she’d be innocently stroking Eve’s head and reciting nursery rhymes. I gathered over the years that she mostly shared stories about Emmy, Luke and me as kids. Eve seemed to know some details about my childhood that I was pretty sure she could not have gathered from any other source. The day she started asking me about what Uncle Luke had sung at the end of year school concert, I knew she’d been getting some inside information. I assured her that the story could wait until she was older.
As for Dad, he’s not much of a talker. But by the time Eve was four, she could play a mean game of chess, so I guess I know how he spent most of his bedside time with her. Anyway, you can see that it might be hard for a little girl to turn out entirely average with this kind of immersion class from day one. It didn’t matter. I totally understood how other parents got frustrated with their kids. Screamed at them in the park and generally looked like they wished they’d gotten themselves sterilized at birth. But, for me, I relished every irritation, every inconvenience. Mostly, I was just glad she was alive.
And you thought it couldn’t get any worse — Gramercy Park, October, 2006
When we got to Mom and Dad’s apartment after our cemetery crawl, Eve started her usual routine.
‘Well,’ she declared, dropping her bag. ‘Fancy seeing you again so soon, Grandma and Grandpa! Did Mommy tell you I’m staying tonight, and tomorrow night, because Mommy has to go to court, and then Aunt Emmy’s party?’
I felt guilty leaving her for two nights. We’ve rarely been apart for so long.
‘Well,’ I insisted. ‘Technically, I’m here with you tonight, so it’s only one night.’
‘Yes Mommy,’ she said, sighing and shaking her head at me. ‘But you aren’t staying over so actually, it doesn’t count.’
‘But I’ll be here to put you to bed,’ I insisted.
‘Don’t worry, Evie,’ my mother intervened. ‘Your mother always did have to have the last word. Later on I’ll tell you about the time —’
‘Ahem,’ I cleared my throat. ‘I’m still here, remember?’ Then I looked at her tiny little body, still smaller than other children her age. ‘Actually, maybe Eve should come home with me tonight. I can bring her back over in the morning. Or maybe I won’t go to Emmy’s.’ I hated to be away from her.
Mom looked at me with pursed lips. She knew I was over-protective of Eve and had been trying to encourage me to loosen up a little these last few weeks, insisting that it’s good for Eve to get out, sleep over, do some normal things.
‘I promise everything will be alright,’ Dad assured me, patting my shoulder. He was about to say more when Eve intervened.
‘Don’t be silly, Mommy,’ she breathed with a cluck. ‘Of course you must go to the party. Poor Aunt Emmy. She’d be sad if you didn’t. It’s for you.’
Yeah, right. Emmy’s got her own agenda. I just need to find out what it is.
Eve could tell I was prevaricating, and she pressed home the advantage. ‘And, anyway, you know Grandpa and I always watch the chess championships together. It won’t be the same if you’re here. You always eat too many of the Oreos, doesn’t she, Grandpa?’
Dad nodded his head in agreement. ‘Indeed, Eve. She’s always been a regular little cookie thief. Go to your party, love. I’m afraid there just aren’t enough Oreos to go around.’
‘You’re sure you’re alright about this?’ I checked for the fiftieth time. ‘I know you’d really like to be there tomorrow, but it’ll really help knowing you’re looking after Eve.’
Mom just came over and held me, putting her finger to my mouth.
That settled, we all sat down to eat. Eve kept everyone entertained with tales of Clark’s new girlfriend. She didn’t sound too bad, actually. It emerged that she’d let Eve have her blotter to draw pictures on, and she’d made chocolate pudding for dessert. More than I ever managed for any man. But Eve was merciless. Even though she was trying to be nicer about Martha since Heidi’s chat, I could tell the jury was still out. She couldn’t believe Clark would be interested in anyone so old. Apparently, Martha was ‘at least 35’.
Through the happy chatter, I kept thinking I was missing something. Mom and Dad were as besotted with Eve as ever, and responded perfectly to her stream of questions and comments. But you know how you feel when you’re trying to think of a word, and it just disappears from your mind? You know, that frustrating sense that an idea is hiding out there, and you just can’t quite manage to grab the end of it and pull it in to you? Well, that’s how I felt, like there was something in the room with us, and I was missing it. So when Eve finally went to bed, happily exhausted after her day with the dead, I approached it directly.
‘Okay. What’s going on?’
But Mom, as e
ver, was the master of diversion. ‘We’re just wondering how you’re feeling about tomorrow, sweetheart. We hate not being there. Are you worried?’
Why is it that people who love you have the power to undo you with a few words? It’s like when you’re feeling sad, or worried, and you’re totally holding it together and then someone really nice, or someone that you love, says in a really soft, concerned voice ‘are you okay?’ and suddenly you’re blubbering and spluttering like the world’s about to end. That’s what this was like. One moment I was determined to find out what’s going on with Mom and Dad, the next it was all pouring out.
‘Oh, Mom, of course I’m worried. I’m so scared. I know jail’s a pretty slim probability, but I couldn’t bear to be away from Eve, not even for a minute.’
Before I realized it, I was crying. Not the kind of crying you see heroines do in movies, either, where their eyes remain clear and elegant while little tears roll down their somehow-amazingly-still-made-up cheeks. Big, ugly bawling. I once had this friend who was a social worker for children’s protective services and she always said that anyone can fake a cry, but no-one can fake a snot cry.
‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ I snivelled. I absolutely hate crying in front of people. I hate knowing people are feeling sorry for me.
‘Don’t be silly, my darling,’ Dad said, pulling me to him. ‘Of course you feel like crying. You’ve been through so much…’
And then I was really undone. My Dad always had the capacity to unravel me with his kindness, and his gentle, gentle way. Fluid started leaking from every hole on my face. I was pretty sure I was even dribbling amongst it all. It was like a giant floodgate had been released, and everything came pouring out.
‘It’s not just court,’ I managed to get out between great, shaky, shuddery sobs. ‘It’s more than that. It’s the whole thing. My life. I’m such a dismal failure.’ And then I found myself reprising my lament to Wayne and Heidi from earlier in the day. ‘I’ve achieved nothing. All this trouble, all this stress, all this potential for disaster. And for what? I really thought I was going to change the world, you know? There were so many things I wanted to fix, and…’
I blew my nose noisily on the handkerchief Dad passed me. ‘Don’t look at your snot after you blow your nose, dear,’ Mom chastised me. I guess you never stop being a mother.
‘Sorry,’ I apologized automatically. I guess you never stop being a contrite five year old. ‘And…what have I done? Nothing except getting arrested. I’m such a failure…’ I honked loudly into the hanky again, but resisted the temptation to examine it afterwards.
Mom waited until I finished with the nose blowing, then she turned my seat around towards her. Very gently. She looked me in the eyes and held my hand.
‘My darling girl,’ she started. ‘You’ve been a little busy for the last five years, don’t you think? You’ve been building a person. From the ground up. And you’ve done an amazing job. Against all the odds. And the rest of your contribution to the world has barely even begun. But already you’ve changed it. You change it every time you meet someone.’
I looked at her and frowned.
She went on. ‘Every time you meet someone, and they fall in love with you, and come to understand things differently through you, because of you.’
Huh. She sounded like Wayne earlier in the day.
‘Not to mention how you’ve changed the world by making Eve. And you keep forgetting that lesson.’
‘Huh?’ I’d become incredibly inarticulate. ‘What lesson?’
‘Everyone can make a difference and together we can change the world. Together, Lolly. It’s not all your responsibility. You need to let people in, let people help. You have this amazing network of people who love you. Use them. Plan with them. Now that life is settling down…’
Dad cleared his throat as if to say ‘well they’re not really so settled right now’.
Mom corrected herself. ‘Well, you know what I mean. It will settle down, after court… But I meant with Eve. Now that things are improving, think about what it is you want to do, what feels right. And let the people close to you help you work through it.’
I closed my eyes and nodded. She was right. What would I do if I could choose anything? And why couldn’t I choose anything? What was I good at? What could I offer? I began to feel something stirring inside me.
‘Now,’ Mom went on briskly. ‘Enough self-pity, sister. Should we have some chocolate?’
Mom broke out the really good gear too, the Bollinger of chocolate, and even Dad got in on the act. He would have preferred cake, but he’s nothing if not adaptable.
When I got up to make coffee to wash it down, I noticed the little appointment slip. It was wedged under a stack of bills and a ‘Don’t blame me, I voted Democrat’ paperweight. I don’t know what it was that drew my attention to it. It was for a medical center, and I think it was the universal Red Cross hospital logo at the top that drew my eye. My internal radar had become finely attuned to all things medical over the last few years.
I picked it up.
The appointment was made out in Mom’s name — Millicent Murphy — and the subheading at the top, under the name of the hospital in which the clinic was situated, read ‘Specialist Oncology Center’. Huh. Oncology. I’ve been around hospitals enough over the last five years to know what that means: cancer.
Suddenly I had an awful feeling about the funny vibe that I hadn’t been quite able to grasp, and why Mom and Dad had look so strained when I insisted Mom would not have had a tragic secret to share with Benson down at the precinct.
‘Mom,’ I whispered. ‘What’s this?’
‘Oh, Lola,’ Dad answered.
Mom looked away and said nothing.
Dad came over to me, and put his arms around me. I smelled his ironed shirt and heard his voice through it. ‘We’ve only just found out in the last couple of days ourselves. We wanted to wait until tomorrow was out of the way before we talked to you all about it. We know you’ve got enough on your plate.’
‘Dad,’ I said shakily. ‘Don’t be so ridiculous. If there’s something going on, I want to know about it. Now.’
Mom was back on her game. ‘Look, Lola. We don’t know that much yet. But we do know I’ve…’ A slight hesitation. ‘I’ve got cancer.’
‘What kind of cancer?’ Okay, maybe not the most sympathetic response I could have mustered, but I’m just after facts at this point.
‘Bowel cancer.’
She waited for me to take it in. But I couldn’t. It didn’t seem possible. Mom never got sick. And she can’t bear hospitals, and doctors, and the whole medical thing. I know she used to really steel herself when she would go in to spend time with Eve, to make sure there was no way Eve could tell she was absolutely revolted by the whole place.
‘What does it mean?’ I was still whispering. I took my glasses off and leaned them on my t-shirt. It was hard to find a clean spot after the day’s events. ‘Is it big? Is it bad?’
Dad sighed. ‘Yes, sweetheart,’ he confirmed. ‘It seems it’s both. Big and bad. But Mom’s scheduled to have some exploratory surgery initially, the day after tomorrow. We’ll know more after that.’
‘But why did you get it?’ I shook my head, willing my brain to catch up, and rammed my glasses back on my nose. Doesn’t the cancer know what it’s up against? No one takes on my Mom.
‘Huh, don’t even get me started on that one,’ Mom sniffed. ‘Your father’s been hearing my views on that issue for the two days. Who knows why? It’s outrageous, really. So many horrible people in the world, and it happens to me.’
‘Yes,’ Dad agreed. ‘We’ve been drawing up a list to make ourselves feel better. People who really deserve to get cancer. Your Mom keeps waking up in the night to add names to it.’ He laughed. ‘Really, though, I think some of them are harsh. Just because you voted for the welfare-to-work bill, doesn’t mean you deserve to get —’
Oh my God. Were they actually joking about this?
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‘Yeah, okay Dad,’ I interrupted. ‘As noble and all as that is, I’m really much more interested in what it all means. I mean, what’s the prognosis?’
They were both quiet. They looked sad, and smaller than normal. I couldn’t bear it.
‘They think the cancer’s quite advanced. Your Mom’s been tired and not really well for a while. I’ve been telling her —’
‘Oh Jesus, don’t you dare start this lecture,’ Mom warned darkly.
‘No, no, I wasn’t going to,’ Dad lied. ‘Anyway, they think, but they’re not sure, that it’s quite advanced. They’re not sure how far it’s spread.’
‘Worst case?’ I demanded.
‘Worst case they can’t get it all, even with a colostomy. If that happens, there are very few other options.’ Dad looked bleak.
‘Okay,’ I went on, trying to brighten my tone. I really should play some part in trying to make them feel better, rather than sitting here thinking about my own fear and misery. ‘What about best case?’
‘Best case,’ Dad continued. He seemed to have been elected chief discusser-of-the-detail. ‘Best case they can get it all. But it will still be very radical surgery. Your Mom will have a colostomy bag. And she’ll have a pretty serious course of chemotherapy.
‘Don’t worry, darling,’ Mom reassured me. ‘I’m sure it can’t possibly be as bad as morning sickness.’
I wanted to say something cutting back, but it didn’t seem right. In fact, I wasn’t sure at all about the right thing to do. Or the right thing to say. My brain just kept getting stuck on it isn’t possible it isn’t possible it isn’t possible.
For all her wildness, her contrary moods, her shamelessness, my Mom was still the most impressive person I knew. She had this astonishing clarity of vision. She frightened the hell out of people, sure, but they also adored her. When something happens to me, I want to tell her to make it real. With her, I always feel like I can navigate my way through the world. Without her, I’d be rudderless. I knew in that instant that, even if she died when I was a hundred years old, I’d still feel lost.
