The Moment Between

by Nicole Baart

  For a while, Hailey almost seemed to reward Abby for her decision to stay. She was polite and solicitous to Abby, giving her a wide, respectful berth that afforded her a little room to breathe. Danny was never mentioned by name again, though once when Melody asked about that “nice young man” Abby had been seeing, Hailey gave her such a verbal roasting her mother never interfered in her daughters’ love lives again.

  The tirade surprised Abby, for it bordered on an admittance of wrong on Hailey’s part. Why should she dislike Danny so vehemently? so openly? But Hailey was oblivious. Instead of catching her obvious slip, she caught Abby’s eye and gave an almost-imperceptible nod. Abby took it to mean that Hailey thought they were conspirators and she had just taken a courageous stand against their nemesis, the evil but heartbreakingly handsome villain.

  If there’s a villain, Abby thought, it’s you. It’s always been you.

  But what was done was done, and Abby didn’t care to give any more thought to what had happened or why. Her role in the family was so clearly defined she only caused herself and everyone else unnecessary heartache by disrupting the order of things.

  By fall, life had entered a predictable holding pattern for the Bennetts. Abby had classes at the community college on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, and she worked as a part-time bookkeeper and administrative assistant at Newcastle’s only dentist’s office on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Since she lived at home, she studied in the evenings and didn’t have to worry about details like laundry, cooking, or a life.

  Abby tried hard not to think about how different things would have been if the threat of Hailey’s imminent, self-inflicted death didn’t hang over her head. She tried not to be resentful. Sometimes it worked.

  Two things that helped Abby in her quest to be understanding of her sister’s needs were Hailey’s most recent diagnosis and her confirmation.

  Shortly after Hailey overdosed on ibuprofen, Dr. Madsen came to the conclusion that she suffered from more than simple ADHD. Depression was added to her list of ailments, and Dr. Madsen introduced a second pill to Hailey’s daily regimen.

  Though Abby wasn’t at the appointment when Dr. Madsen explained the possible side effects of Hailey’s new prescription, Melody outlined everything for her eldest daughter in terms that were both comprehensive and serious. “Panic attacks, anxiety, aggressiveness—”

  “We’ve been there before,” Abby muttered.

  “Be serious.”

  “I am. This is supposed to help?” Abby asked incredulously.

  Melody pursed her lips and fluttered the papers. “There’s more, but we’re most concerned about new thoughts of suicide.”

  “Suicide?” Abby was indignant. “Isn’t that exactly what we’re trying to avoid?”

  “You’re not a doctor,” Melody said. She squeezed her eyes shut and sighed. “I trust Dr. Madsen.”

  “I do too.”

  “We’re a Prozac family now.” Melody smiled faintly, attempting to lighten the dark cloud that had settled over them.

  “Prozac? That’s so cliché,” Abby teased, trying to meet her mother halfway. But she took the papers from Melody and studied every word so she knew exactly what to watch for in the coming days and weeks.

  Thankfully, on the new medication Hailey’s suicidal tendencies seemed to dissipate rather than increase. Abby thought her sister seemed a bit dazed at times, wide-eyed and not quite vacant, but placid to be sure. It was okay for the time being; everyone was just happy that a transitory calm had once again been achieved. And though Abby secretly hoped for a continuation of the blessed monotony they had experienced all summer, when the leaves began to change in September, Hailey announced that it was time for her confirmation.

  Abby’s confirmation had taken place when she was thirteen years old, and she had participated in the sacrament not because she comprehended it but because her parents made her. She couldn’t really claim to grasp what was happening, that the sign administered in her baptism was now being sealed by her confirmation. All the talk about grace and the safeguarding of the Holy Spirit were merely words that filled the six hours of classes she had to take before the bishop could perform the sacrament. When he anointed her head with the aromatic oil and breathed on her cheeks, she didn’t feel a rush of holy awareness. She only felt a tinge of concern about the greasy mark on her forehead.

  The truth was, the Bennetts attended church regularly, but they were far from devout Catholics. Lou was a relatively new convert who went through the motions because it seemed like the right thing to do. Melody’s grandmother had tried to raise Melody in the Catholic church, but her experiences at Mass were limited to the times the imposing Mrs. Van Bemmel could lay hold of her before her parents whisked her off to some more exciting Sunday morning activity. But since Melody’s childhood experience was all she knew of church, St. Mary’s was the only logical home for them.

  Most of the time they were simply conscious of a vague understanding that the world was filled with right and wrong, good and evil, and they wanted to be on the winning side. Baptism, first communion, confirmation, and even the stoic books of written prayers were oddities that they could barely wrap their minds around. Once Melody had tinkered with a pretty beaded rosary because it reminded her of her grandmother. Following Mass the Sunday after she bought the rosary, someone teased Melody that it wasn’t a necklace. The slender décolletage ornamented by the beads flushed. Melody removed the rosary and never wore it or touched it again.

  So when Hailey announced that she was ready for confirmation with an uncharacteristic enthusiasm, faith took on an entirely new meaning for the Bennetts. Lou contacted Father Timothy at once, and although no one else in his small parish seemed ready to partake in this particular sacrament, he set aside six consecutive Saturday mornings for Hailey’s personal instruction.

  While Hailey faithfully attended the mandatory classes, Melody rushed to research confirmation. “Did you know that some bishops confer a confirmation name?”

  “Excuse me?” Abby was sitting at the kitchen table, poring over a finance textbook and trying not to listen too closely to her mother.

  “It says here that sometimes a confirmation name is given when a child is confirmed.”

  “Hailey’s not a child.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Abby didn’t feel like participating in this particular discussion, but Melody was keen to share her newfound knowledge with someone. “What’s a confirmation name?” Abby asked dutifully, stifling an inward groan. She turned back to her books.

  “It’s generally the name of a favorite saint. It’s representative of the continued path of Christian initiation and the strengthened link to the church.”

  “Hmmm . . . ,” Abby muttered, entering a number in her workbook ledger.

  “It has something to do with the impartation of the Holy Spirit.”

  Abby grunted.

  “And it makes me think about the . . . the corporate aspect of our faith,” Melody went on, and it seemed to Abby that she was trying to fit what she was learning into the flimsy framework of belief that she had built over the years. “You know, our togetherness.”

  “Togetherness,” Abby echoed.

  “Do you know any saints?”

  “Not personally.”

  “Abigail Rose,” Melody chirped.

  After a moment Abby commented, “I never got a confirmation name. Maybe I could go by Mary Martha. Or Martha Mary.”

  Melody looked up from her papers and fixed Abby with a solemn gaze. “It’s different with you,” she said quietly.

  Abby watched for a moment as her mother struggled for words. But Abby was anxious to steer the conversation back toward less dangerous ground, so she waved her hand dismissively before Melody could continue. “I know.” Then she added, “Find a good one.”

  Melody smiled faintly. “Thanks, Abby.”

  Initially, Melody set out to discover a saint that would hold personal meaning for Hailey’s tumultuous
life. But the more widely known saints didn’t seem to quite encompass everything about Hailey. Eventually, Melody found that there was a patron saint of mental illness and thought that Saint Christina the Astonishing presented her with the possibility of a lovely name. After all, Hailey Christina just rolled off her tongue. But on further investigation, the astonishing saint seemed merely disturbed, and Melody’s fervor faded entirely when she unearthed Saint Zita, the patron saint of lost keys, and Saint Magnus of Füssen, the patron saint of caterpillars. The idea of a confirmation name was abandoned, but none of the excitement was diminished.

  Abby was the only one who didn’t catch the confirmation spirit. It wasn’t that she begrudged her sister the attention or even that she was skeptical of her budding devotion. In fact, Abby was grateful that Hailey had found something to hold on to. She was somewhat envious that Hailey had stumbled on a point of connection, a launching pad from which to reach for something larger than herself. In many ways, Abby longed for the same thing. What kept her from embracing Hailey’s newly conceived faith was the step before the impending confirmation: the sacrament of reconciliation.

  The memory of her own act of reconciliation before confirmation was somewhat foggy and indistinct. But Abby remembered Father Timothy questioning her about unconfessed sins and the rush of understanding that flooded over her when she realized that she was supposed to feel guilty for the things she had done. It was one of her first experiences with the double-edged sword of shame and culpability that would pierce her so often in the years to come. However, at that point guilt was an imprecise emotion for Abby, and instead of giving his question adequate thought, on the spot she came up with a short list of jealousies, white lies, and examples of disobedience. He had laughed gently and directed her to the confessional for a time of rededication. Abby did as she was told and tried to be penitent for things that seemed inconsequential.

  But Hailey was an entirely different story. What litany of transgressions would she be held accountable for? What list of sins would stand between her and the grace that she suddenly seemed so eager to receive? Confession was something the Bennetts avoided

  when they added religion piecemeal to their lives. How would Hailey deal with it now, and more importantly, would it leave scars?

  But for all her worrying and wondering, as far as Abby could tell, Hailey’s reconciliation went just fine. If there were any residual insecurities or feelings of inadequacy or shame, Hailey certainly didn’t let on.

  And at Mass one Sunday in late October, Hailey stood for her confirmation. Her Sunday school teacher kept watch beside her, and Hailey seemed downright blissful when the bishop murmured, “Be sealed with the gift of the Holy Spirit.” She even sighed when he breathed on her.

  Abby was stunned to feel her chest tighten at the sight of that bowed head, and she even went so far as to let her soul whisper a fumbling, flightless prayer for her troubled sister. “Keep her safe, Lord. Keep her safe.”

  †

  The night Hailey was confirmed, Abby stole down the hall after midnight and peeked into her sister’s dark room. The door was open just a crack, and Abby could hear Hailey rustling the sheets as she rolled over. Abby couldn’t tell if she was awake or not, and she didn’t want to rouse her if she was asleep. She lingered in the doorway and listened, waiting for the slightest indication that Hailey was stirring.

  When she caught her sister whispering to herself, Abby pushed the door open with her toe.

  “O my God, relying on thy almighty power and infinite mercy and promises, I hope to obtain pardon of my sins, the help of thy grace, and life everlasting, through the merits of Jesus Christ, my Lord and Redeemer. Amen.”

  Even though Abby had wished for some sign of life from Hailey so she could slip inside the room and talk, something about hearing Hailey’s simple prayer stopped her cold. “Pardon of my sins,” Hailey had said.

  Abby knew the prayer. She had learned it in Sunday school as a child. If she remembered correctly, it was called Act of Hope.

  Suddenly Abby realized why Hailey’s confirmation and her unpretentious act of hope gnawed at her spirit and made her uncomfortable. As a little girl, Abby had learned that someday everyone would stand before the face of God and be held accountable for the sins they had committed. Knowing she was a bold-faced sinner—a rotten, fickle, faithless lout—was something Abby could accept. But as much as she hated Hailey sometimes, as much as she resented her and blamed her for the things that went wrong, Abby had a very hard time believing that Hailey could be held responsible for the acts of a broken mind. How could God possibly fault her for the way he had made her?

  Rather than going to sit beside Hailey as she had planned, Abby noiselessly pulled the bedroom door shut and made her way back to her room.

  Though she had thought it a thousand times before, with culpability and lies and now faith steadily building impassable roadblocks between them, Abby was convinced that she had never been further away from her sister.

  Lou’s hand was warm and soft when I reached for it. The nurse at the triage desk had informed me that he was asleep, but instead of waiting in the atrium like I usually did, I went straight to his room and sank into the chair by his bed. I was glad that he was sleeping. Not only did it afford me a bit more time, I was also able to do something that I hadn’t done in years. I was able to look at him. Really look at him.

  I took in the fine wisps of downy white hair that clung to his mottled head in a feathery semicircle above his ears. I studied the delicate creases of skin that lined every inch of his broad face in deep folds like wrinkled crepe paper. I held his hand and my eyes consumed it, devouring the long fingers that had been so tough, so powerful, when I was a little girl.

  I wasn’t angry at him, not anymore. In fact, with his mouth slack in sleep and his chest sunken and hollow beneath the line of his clay-colored blanket, I pitied him. I remembered the days when he was formidable, a man to be reckoned with, and I felt a twinge of compassion for him.

  For a moment I feared that this would break him. I worried that he would wake, I would tell him, and he simply wouldn’t be able to go on. That he’d leave me alone in the world.

  It was a selfish thought. Me. Alone. There were other things to agonize over, more important troubles at hand. But weren’t there always? Was there ever a time in my life when I was able to grieve for myself? worry about my own sorrows? spend a sleepless night contemplating something, someone other than Hailey?

  He woke up coughing, hacking and choking as if his last cigarette were hours, not decades ago. I let go of his hand quickly and sat back in my chair, clearing my throat so I wouldn’t startle him with my presence. Lou’s eyes flicked to me, but his coughing fit was far from over and he looked away immediately, clutching great handfuls of his blanket with blue-tipped fingers. I waited for it to pass, not daring to touch him.

  When Lou could breathe again, he fell back against his pillows and glared at me. “Why didn’t you help me?”

  It crossed my mind that I should defend myself, remind him of all the other times I did reach out to help and he batted me away. But it wouldn’t do any good. He either wouldn’t remember or he wouldn’t care. I knew exactly how he would respond if I stuck up for myself: he’d say that he had wanted help this time; couldn’t I see that? My complete inability to know what he needed and when he needed it was a road we had traveled down a hundred times before. I couldn’t let him drag me down it again. Not today.

  I leaned forward and met his gaze with far less ferocity and far more fear than I meant to. I laid my palms on his bed, being careful not to touch him but mindful that my hands were close enough to reach if he wanted to. An offering.

  “Dad,” I said, and though I tried to be collected, my voice broke on the word. I tried again. “Dad, she’s gone.”

  The words were stark, definitive. And he knew exactly what I meant. He had steeled himself against those very words for years. When I said them, when he finally knew that he had not pr
evailed in beating his sweet Hailey to the grave, something inside him burst. The leaky dam that held back all his worst nightmares fractured and split. I watched it happen in the golden brown sunset of his broken eyes.

  Lou crumpled. He seemed to deflate as he exhaled in one lingering, low moan. Then he shook with noiseless sobs, wordless groans.

  I stood and boldly wrapped my arms around his brittle shoulders. I held him and he didn’t push me away. Maybe he didn’t have the strength.

  We cried, but we didn’t cry together.

  X

  Thankfully the Navigator wasn’t as bad on the inside as the exterior suggested. Either Tyler had done an admirable job of cleaning it, or it had been well kept for years even as it languished on blocks in Eli’s tiny yard.

  Abigail suspected that someone frequented the old trailer. Someone who paid careful attention to the soft suede duvet on the queen-size bed and who took the time to seek out wildflowers for the rough-cut, rectangular glass vase on the small table behind the captain’s chair. But Abigail didn’t ask. It wasn’t her place, and even if she wanted to, she couldn’t—Tyler had disappeared in a faded blue pickup with a lift kit and fat off-road tires only minutes after he left her standing alone in front of the trailer.

  It took Abigail a grand total of ten minutes to get settled into her new home. After she snooped around a bit, she hung her clothes in a miniscule closet and lined up her shoes by the door. Her toiletries stayed in a canvas bag that she hung on a hook next to the sink for easy access. Then she opened all the windows except for the one in the bathroom since the screen was missing. It wasn’t like she could use the bathroom anyway, Abigail reasoned, and she closed the bathroom door altogether.

  Once she was situated, Abigail did the only thing that made sense to her: she went for a run. She wished she had a destination in mind, a place to go or a friend to visit, but just as suddenly as she craved a connection, she was grateful that she didn’t have one. Friends were not what Abigail sought in BC, and she decided it would be much better for her if she avoided any ties that would have to be severed when she left. She made a mental note not to take Jane up on her offer of ice cream. And she also determined to step back from the relationships she was beginning to foster at the winery.