“So pitty.”
“Pretty.”
“I say dat. Pitty.”
Clarice chuckled with the others and stared in delight at her carving. Pitty was right. The light orange lines glowed against the uncarved skin in a face alive with laughter.
“That is indeed beautiful.” Roger stopped beside her.
“Thank you. When did you get back?”
“In time for the lights to go out. Almost went to check the fuse box.”
“How’s Hope?”
“She can come home tomorrow.”
“So she’ll be here for the Halloween party.”
“As long as she stays down. Any running around and … ”
“She knows what can happen.”
“You know that, and I know that, but some kind of emergency happens here, and she’ll forget all about herself and jump right in.”
“Then the rest of us have to get so good at dealing with emergencies that she won’t have to do that.”
“Right, and then she’ll feel like we don’t really need her. You can’t win.” Roger ran a hand through thinning hair. “I must be growing taller.”
“Huh? I mean, what?”
“Well, see, my head is coming up through my hair.”
Clarice blinked. Roger, trying to be funny? She chuckled—finally.
“That went over like a lead balloon.”
“Uh, yeah.”
The lights came on again, and they blew out the candles. Mothers guided small children up to bed, and the others joined in for cleanup, most of them coming up to Roger to ask about Hope.
Several gathered around to talk about the Halloween party and what they could do to help.
“I could do face painting, if we had some paints.”
“Anyone have any games we could play?
“Pin the tail on the donkey, if anyone can draw a donkey.”
“We used to have costumes. I was Snow White one year.”
We should have started this a lot sooner, Clarice thought. “We used to bob for apples.”
“What’s that?”
“You have a tub of water with apples floating, and with your hands tied behind you, you have to try to pick one up with your teeth.”
“But you’ll get wet.”
“That’s part of the fun.” Clarice glanced around the group. Since Roger had gone to answer a phone call, no one seemed to take charge. They could sit here talking all night, but nothing would get done.
“Okay, Celia, would you please get us some paper to write on, pens, too? Each of you, think of one thing you could do to make this a fun party for kids of all ages.”
By the time Roger returned, everyone had their assignment, and they were all heading for bed.
“What happened?” he asked.
“Got the work done. See you in the morning.” Clarice had her master list in hand. “Why don’t you look at this and tell me if we are missing anything.”
“Now?”
“Before morning.”
He glanced down the list. “I have one question.”
“Yes?”
“Who’s going to pay for all this? As usual, we have more month than money. The budget is busted.
“Oh, I know a couple good angels who want to see everyone have a good time.”
“They couldn’t go by the names of Andy and Julia, by any chance?”
“Could be. There’s a letter came today.”
“Not again.”
“ ’Fraid so. I put it on the desk.”
“Did you open it?”
“No. Celia said we should just rip it up and pretend we never heard from those skunks.”
“I wish to heaven it was that easy.” Roger tapped her arm. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” Clarice watched the last of the girls head for bed, then turned out the lights. Whoever would have thought that I’d be here at a women’s shelter on the opposite side of the country and having more fun than I have since the days we were building our business? Herbert, honey, did you have a hand in all this?
She did face and teeth and all the nighttime rituals, said her rosary, and slipped into bed. Thinking back on the evening, she had to smile. She did a pumpkin so differently, all because of a picture she saw in a magazine. And it turned out fine. She wiggled her fingers, fingers that were good on a computer keyboard and a deck of bridge cards but had never been used to draw or carve. Never been used to comfort a child, or at least not in a long, long time. She rubbed the tips of thumb and forefinger together. Her hand had cramped from holding the knife steady for so long. God, am I to believe that You had a hand in all this? She rolled over on her side, the narrow bed creaking in protest.
Someone coughed. Another whimpered. These girls. Never would she have dreamed she’d be not only rubbing elbows with druggies and prostitutes, but working in the kitchen with them, laughing at their jokes, and even carving pumpkins.
A scream woke her in the middle of the night. “No! No!” The scream rose and fell, making the darkness pulsate with evil.
Clarice threw back her covers, the hair standing on her arms and the back of her neck. Who? What?
“It’s okay, easy. Hold on to me.” The soft murmur came from the same part of the room.
Other girls sat up, questions, grumbles. Someone turned on a lamp.
“Turn it out,” someone else hissed.
Clarice made her way in the dark, lit only by the slight glow of streetlights through the high windows.
“It’s Tasha, flashbacks, she’ll be all right.” Cassandra sat with her back propped against the wall, holding the sobbing girl, stroking her dark hair and leaning her cheek on the twitching girl’s head.
“How can I help?”
“Not the first, prob’ly not the last.”
Clarice started to turn back to her bed, then sat down on the one that was still shaking from the girl’s shudders.
What do I do now?
Pray.
As if whispered over her shoulder, the voice spoke again. Pray She knew no one else could hear it, but what was she to pray about? How much easier it would be if she were in the chapel, lighting candles for her petitions, using her rosary. Jesus, You know this child. I don’t. I know You love her. Help. Oh, God, help.
She laid her hand on the girl’s leg and felt the twitching. Lord, she is Your child, such a messed-up child, and she is wanting to live a better lift now. Please take away this nightmare, this flashback. You can wipe clean her mind, and I ask that You do so. Heal her body, heal her mind, help her to know that we love her, that You love her just the way she is.
A jerk, a convulsion that seemed to last for minutes, but had been only seconds. She started to rise. “I’ll call 911.”
“No. She’s over it now. Doctors can’t do nothin.”
The girl whimpered again, then she coughed and gagged.
Clarice stood and headed for the bathroom. A cup of water and a cold cloth might help. She had to do something.
She brought them back and laid the folded cloth over the girl’s head. Setting the cup of water on the bedstand, she put her hand on the girl who was comforting the other.
“She’s about asleep.” Cassandra stroked wet hair back from the girl’s forehead.
“Will she remember this in the morning? Will she be able to go to school?”
“Sometimes. She’ll likely be tired. It takes a lot out of you. Been a long time since the last one.”
“What causes it?” Please, Lord, she’s been clean and sober, at least since I got here. She’s one of the real possibility ones.
“Who knows. Some people have flashbacks for the rest of their lives.” Cassandra slid out from under her friend’s shoulders and laid her back on her pillow. “Most times we get Hope, and she get us through.”
“But you did it this time.” They kept their voices to a whisper so the others could sleep.
“I guess.”
“I’m right proud of you, honey.” Clarice caught a yawn beh
ind her hand. “Get to bed, or you won’t be able to wake up in the morning either.”
Back in her own bed, she tried to settle, but after flipping from one side to the other and turning her pillow twice, she lay on her back and stared at the ceiling.
How different her life had been, BG, Before Gregor. But before Florida, back in New Jersey. Herbert, why did you have to go and leave me like you did? Sometimes I get so mad at you that if you weren’t dead, I’d have to kill you. And you better not be in purgatory either, because I need you to go directly to the Head Man to get all this straightened out. Looks to be beyond anyone’s power but Him. He could send a few angels, had He a mind to.
She sighed and turned her pillow again. Perhaps she should just get up. She could work in the office without bothering anyone.
I need to write to Nadia. A postcard, that would do it. And get another change-of address card. How could Gregor do this to me? How could I have been such a dupe?
Doctor Cheong stared at her over the clipboard in her arms.
“I know, I know. I have to stay down at least one more week.” Hope felt like she was six years old again, with a case of the chicken-pox, and her cajoling wasn’t working.
“What is your idea of staying down?”
“The sofa? I thought Roger could put a sofa in my office, and I could … ” She saw Dr. Cheong’s eyes narrow. “Please don’t say I have to stay in bed. I don’t know that I can take being cooped up in the apartment. I’ll stay down any way you want me to, as long as it’s not in the apartment.” Hope sucked her lower lip between her teeth, then huffed a sigh. She knew by Dr. Cheong’s raised eyebrows that she was considering not releasing her from the hospital.
“I don’t know … ”
“You know you can trust me,” Hope said, using their longstanding relationship as a ploy. “This baby is the most important person in my life right now. I’ll get rest, rest, and more rest. But can’t I walk out to the common room and watch the kids carve their pumpkins?”
Dr. Cheong sucked in her right cheek, appearing to give the request some thought. “Only if you promise to stay on the couch once you’re there.” She raised her hand and shook her finger. “I mean it, Hope. Pumpkins and bathroom breaks are the only reason to have your feet on the floor.” She jotted a note and glared over her half glasses. “And keep those to a minimum. Otherwise, there will be a potty chair by your bed.”
“Yes, ma’ am.”
Roger leaned against the doorframe and scowled at Hope. “Are you giving her a problem?”
“Not me,” Hope answered. “I wouldn’t do that.” She stuck out her lower lip in a pout. She knew she was acting like a scolded teenager, but when she thought about all she had to do, it made her want to tear her hair out, one braid at a time.
“All right.” Dr. Cheong turned to Roger. “You may take your cranky wife home, and may God have mercy on you and everybody else at J House.”
Hope gasped in mock surprise. “That’s no way for a doctor to talk.”
Dr. Cheong leaned over, grabbed Hope’s right ankle, and squeezed it. “When said doctor has been your friend as long as I have, I have full liberty to say what I want. I’ll get your chart turned in, and as soon as the nurse comes back with your discharge papers, you can leave—by wheelchair.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Hope saluted.
Dr. Cheong shook her head, then threw Hope a departing smile and patted Roger on the shoulder.
Roger crossed the room to sit on the edge of the bed. “Anything new I need to know?” He kissed his wife, lingering over her lips, before kissing the tip of her nose.
“Oh, I’m sure the warden will leave detailed instructions.”
“Feeling a bit prickly, are we?”
“No, we aren’t the one lying in bed. I feel fine. I feel like an idiot. I have tons to do.”
“Not as much as you think. The Girl Squad pitched in and whittled your paperwork down to one small stack.”
“But how—?”
“Those are some very intelligent, hard-working women. What they didn’t know how to do, they left, and that amounted to one small stack.”
Hope couldn’t fathom a clean desk with only one small stack of paperwork. She would have to see it for herself to believe it. She felt like a heavy weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Those stacks of forms, rules, regulations, and documentation meant that she could put hours and hours back into her life. Not for a minute did she think she wouldn’t be able to locate the papers if she needed them. Clarice had developed a filing system that even Celia had been impressed with—and willing to learn.
“I do have one piece of interesting news. Blakely Associates upped their offer by a hundred thousand dollars.”
Hope stared into her husband’s eyes. “Good thing we own tide. If the church still had tide, we’d be looking for a new home tomorrow.”
“To tell you the truth, I’m wondering if looking for a new home might just be a good idea. We haven’t had one offer of help.”
“I thought we made a firm decision on this.”
“We did, but time is running out, and we’re running out of options.” He took her hand in his and stroked her fingers with his other hand. “I just want you to think about it, that’s all.”
Her eyes caught and held his. “Those people are sharks. They … ”
Roger lifted a finger to silence her. “I’m not talking about them. Believe me, they aren’t the only ones interested in buying J House.”
They talked awhile longer, and an hour later, Roger looked at his watch. “I think I’ll go check on those discharge papers.”
When he finally held open the door to their apartment, exhaustion rolled over Hope like a tidal wave. She could hear children playing in the common room, but she had no desire to see them. She dropped to the edge of the bed and slid her feet out of her sandals before lying back on the pillow. She could hear Adolph bark as Roger let him out of the run, then she heard his toenails clicking on the hall floor. He whined as he approached the bed.
“I hear you, big dog. How are you?” She laid her hand palm up on the bed, and he laid his muzzle on it. She could hear his tail swishing the floor. After a moment, he wiggled closer, put his paws up on the spread, and stretched his neck out to kiss her cheek.
“Good dog, Adolph. I’m all right.” She patted his broad head and accepted his snuffles. “I know, I smell like hospital.”
Roger came in, carrying her bag. “Do you want something to eat?”
Hope kept her eyes closed. “Not now, thanks. I’ll sleep for a bit, and then I want to talk with Celia.” She turned over on her side and smiled at the scent of lavender that permeated her pillow from the sachet she’d placed underneath it. It was so much more comforting than the disinfectant smell of the hospital sheets and pillows.
“Come on, boy.” Roger snapped his fingers.
Hope could hear the dog’s tail thumping the floor. “You know he’s not going to leave me.”
Roger muttered something about how even the dog didn’t listen to him, then carefully closed the door behind him.
She woke to the sound of small children giggling—close by—and Adolphs snores. He was stretched out on the bed beside her.
“All right, you monkeys, what’s going on?” Hope kept her eyes closed. Adolph thumped his tail. Another giggle, and the door clicked shut.
Hope tossed back the throw someone had put over her and headed to the bathroom. While she felt fine, still she dreaded finding evidence that she was bleeding again.
No spots. She heaved a sigh of relief. Lord God, thank You for protecting this baby. She glanced in the mirror and made a face. Talk about bed head. Braids or not, she had hair sticking out every direction. Would Dr. Cheong consider a shower too much, after all she’d done today already? “God’s love surrounds you, little one, little one.” The beginning of a new song floated through her head, complete with tune. Once back in bed, she lifted her Bible from the nightstand, propped pillows behind her,
and flipped to Psalms. Surely since God could see David hiding in a cave, He would keep this little life hidden and safe in the womb until the time came for birth.
She read Psalm 22 again, then turned to 139. “For You formed my inward parts; You covered me in my mother’s womb.” She closed her eyes and laid her clasped hands on the open Bible. I praise You. In Your time, oh Lord. In Your time. Forgive my restlessness. You, who know all thing, for some reason You think this is necessary. Right now, I commit these months to You and to this child. I rest in Thee.
A feeling of being totally loved welled up so fiercely in Hope that tears overwhelmed her sniffs and rolled down her cheeks. No matter how many times she blinked and sniffed and wiped them away, the deluge continued. No sobs, no sorrow. Just liquid proof of pure joy.
Roger peeked around the door. “What’s wrong?” Seeing her tear-streaked face, he rushed to the bed, concern warring with terror in his eyes.
“Nothing. I’m just so full of joy, it’s brimming over, and I”—she sniffed again—“c-can’t stop it.”
“Ahh, joy?”
She reached for his hand and laid her cheek against the back of it. “Remind me of this when I get all grumbly and frustrated.”
He sat down beside her and wiped the tears away with his thumbs. “Thank God. You scared me out of ten years’ growth.”
“Can she come out now?” Alphi’s voice was a loud whisper.
“Yes, she can come out now,” Roger said, his tone mocking the little boys excitement.
Hope smoothed her hair back and walked slowly to the door. “Are you sure I can come out?”
More giggles.
Hope opened the door to the hallway and gave Alphi a hug, which made him blush and sputter. “Lead the way, mon,” she said. He took her hand as if afraid she might break.
“You gonna be okay?” he asked, looking up at her, his little face full of concern.
“I’m going to be just fine.” She ruffled his hair. “Something sure smells good.”
“Mrs. C been cookin. Now close your eyes.”
Mrs. C? Clarice? Hope did as told, letting Alphi guide her.
“Okay!” he said a moment later, then tugged on her arm as though it was a pull string to make her eyes open.
Saturday Morning Page 25
