by Amy Hatvany
“Okay.” I gulped. I followed my sister into the room, where, if all went well, I was about to become a mother.
• • •
The morning sun radiated through the hospital room’s drapes, casting oddly shaped shadows across the slippery floor. A gift from Nova—a white porcelain vase spilling over with yellow roses, white freesia, and burnt orange tiger lilies—sat on the windowsill across the room from where I gently swayed in a rocking chair, a new life resting in my arms. She was a wisp of a being—four pounds, six ounces—but otherwise, every part of her was perfect and in the right place. Ten fingers and ten toes and intensely blue, black-fringed eyes: the ghost image of my angel sister. She was eighteen inches long, but because Jenny’s placenta had stopped supplying adequate nutrition, the baby was born with virtually no body fat. Her little rear end was flat as a board, her silk-soft skin, red and wrinkled. She resembled a crone from a fairy tale, a wise old woman entering the world under the guise of a child. On the first day of her life, I wondered already what lessons she would teach me.
Both she and Jenny had weathered her birth well; it had been I who wept in fear as the surgery progressed. Jenny had wriggled a bit as the spinal numbed her, but I spoke to her constantly, both in my heart and out loud, so that others would hear my telling her what was happening: that the baby she had carried was being born; that all her discomfort was going to disappear; and mostly, that I thanked her from the bottom of my soul for giving me this gift. When Dr. Fisher held the baby up for us to see and I heard her wail with vivid resistance at being pulled from the safe, wet warmth of Jenny’s womb, my frightened tears melted into joy. The pediatric team checked her vital signs thoroughly before declaring her a healthy, strong little fighter and handing her, warmly swaddled and searching for a meal, to me. Her mother.
“Did you see what you did, Jenny?” I whispered as I rocked. “She’s amazing. Thank you so much.”
My sister lay in the hospital bed, sound asleep. They had placed us in a mother-baby suite, where Jenny would stay until she had healed enough to be transferred to La Conner. Ms. Navarro had reassured me that Jenny’s place was secured and they were looking forward to her arrival.
I still ached with guilt every time I thought of leaving her there; I had become so accustomed to caring for my sister, seeing her every day, hoping for some sign, some blessing that might redeem me. Had I done enough? In coming home, had I made up for the years I had deserted her? I wasn’t sure.
I considered it as I sat there cradling this fragile infant in my arms. A soft rap on the door interrupted my thoughts. “Come in,” I said quietly.
Nova pushed the door open and came to sit next to me.
“Where are the kids?” I inquired.
“With my mom and dad. They all send their love.” She smiled as she slid a finger over the baby’s face. “How’re you two doing?”
“We’re great,” I whispered. “She’s glorious. Do you see how perfect she is?”
“Yes. She’s a beautiful baby. Absolutely gorgeous.” My friend turned her blond head to Jenny. “How’s Jen?”
“She seems fine. Dr. Fisher said the hysterectomy went well, but she’s drugging her up pretty good to make sure she’s comfortable. She hasn’t been awake very much.”
“So your mother decided to go through with the hysterectomy, huh?”
I nodded. “We both thought it would be best. Just in case, you know. So we wouldn’t ever have to worry about this happening again. And so Jenny won’t have to suffer through her periods anymore.”
Nova tucked a stray curl behind her ear and moved her finger over the baby’s face again. “She knows who you are.”
I paused, looking down at the child in my arms, joy and fear and sadness rushing over me in one fluid motion. “God, this is amazing. I just want to savor it.”
“I know exactly what you mean. I’ll get going in a minute.”
“I didn’t mean for you to leave—” I started.
She smiled again. “I know. But you need this time together. God knows you won’t have a moment’s peace once you move in with us.” She stopped as the door opened again and my mother came in, a basket full of fruit, bread, and cheese in hand. She held it up as she spoke.
“Another delivery. From your friend Garret. He’s waiting at the nurses’ desk.” She set it on the table, then gave me a meaningful glance.
I looked at Nova, genuinely surprised. “Did you know he was coming?”
She smiled. “I thought he might show up.”
Panic fluttered in my belly. “Well, he can wait. I’m busy.”
Mom bent down to caress her grandchild’s downy head. “And how’s Grandma’s sweetie doing? You’re a hungry bugger, aren’t you?” Nova moved to the window seat that doubled as an extra bed, and Mom sat down in the chair next to me. “Have you thought of a name for her yet?”
“I was thinking maybe Kyah.”
Nova tilted her head thoughtfully. “What does it mean?”
“Forgiveness,” I said, and my mother’s eyes glossed with tears.
Jenny groaned a bit from her bed, her eyes fluttering open at the sound of our voices. She blinked laboriously, glancing around until her gaze rested on my face.
“What do you think, Jen? Is our daughter’s name Kyah?” I interpreted a wide, wet smile as her blessing before she drifted back to sleep.
“Okay, this is killing me,” Nova said. “Can I tell Garret to come in?”
I softly fingered the pulsing spot on the top of Kyah’s head. “Do you know what he wants?”
“Well, duh. He wants to see you. And the baby.”
“Is Jackie with him?” I held my breath, waiting for her to answer.
“Jackie’s gone.”
I looked up to witness her smug grin. My heart banged a fearful rhythm behind my ribs, still unsure of what he might want. Knowing me well enough to take my silence as assent, both Nova and Mom left the room. Kyah had fallen asleep, her blue eyes closed, her tiny mouth open. I continued to rock, breathing deeply. A moment later, Garret appeared. He had dressed casually, jeans and black T-shirt; his hair hung messily around his handsome face. He entered without a word, his soft brown eyes reflecting a trace of the same hesitance I felt.
“Where’s Lucy?” I asked politely.
“With Nova’s parents. She’s very excited to see the baby, but I told her she’d have to wait for the next visit.” So there’d be another visit? I pondered. What did that mean? Did he want to give us another try? Or did he just want to be friends?
Garret stayed by the door, stepping uncomfortably from foot to foot. He waited for a moment before bobbing his dark head toward Kyah. “She doing well?”
I nodded. “Perfect.”
“How about Jenny?” He kept his voice low as he glanced at my sister’s peacefully sleeping form.
“Her, too.”
“I’m glad.” He took in a deep breath, his hands linked behind his back, pausing a bit before speaking. “What’s her name?” We were keeping the conversation safe; I felt the pressure of what we needed to talk about hanging over me.
“Kyah,” I told him, searching his face for what he might be feeling, the reason he had come. We were quiet for a moment, not looking at each other. I finally broke the silence, again choosing a safe topic. “Thanks for the basket. It’s lovely.”
“My pleasure.” He looked down, fiddling with the fold of his jeans.
“Do you want to sit down?” I offered. He nodded his dark head and moved to the window seat, lowering himself slowly, then turning his gaze to me.
I shifted Kyah over my shoulder, one hand resting softly on her fragile spine, feeling her little body expand and contract with each new breath she took. The thought of the tense first weeks I’d spent not talking with my mother about what truly needed to be talked about convinced me it was time to jump into the thick of things. No time like the present to get to the truth. “So,” I said, “Nova tells me Jackie’s gone.”
He nodde
d. “She left a few days ago, actually.”
“She stayed with you the whole time?” I tried to keep my words light, uninterested.
He paused, then nodded again. “Lucy wanted as much time with her mom as possible, so … ”
“That was big of you.”
He blinked at this comment, apparently offended. It seemed too complicated to try to explain that I’d meant it as a compliment. We sat in silence for several minutes, the only sounds in the room our breath and the quiet whir of the hospital machines. “Well,” Garret finally said, referring again to his ex-wife, “we had a few things to work out. She wants to see Lucy more often.”
“That’s why she came?”
“Did you think she was here for some other reason?”
“Of course,” I told him, my words firm but quiet, so as not to disturb Jenny or the baby. “You told me she called you that night at the restaurant…. ” I trailed off, my face flushing at the memory of our kiss. His gaze was intent on me as I continued, driven by the anger that had been stewing in me for weeks. “Then suddenly she shows up after you had the gall to act offended by Shane’s being at the party—”
“Wait a minute, now,” Garret interrupted.
“You knew she was coming when you kissed me,” I said before he could finish. “You had a few unresolved issues of your own.”
He stared at me, his arms outstretched and hands cupping his knees, obviously contemplating what to say next. After a moment, he spoke. “You’re right.”
I squinted at him, unsure what I’d heard. “Excuse me?”
He shrugged, leaned forward to place his elbows on his knees, and laced his fingers together loosely. “I said, you’re right. I knew she was coming to figure out her visits with Lucy. But as far as Jackie and I are concerned … ” He paused. “Well, there isn’t a ‘Jackie and me.’”
My heart felt suddenly lighter in my chest, hope rising like a balloon inside me. “There isn’t a Shane and me, either,” I told him. “I ended things the day after the party.”
“I know. Nova told me. I’m sorry for the way I reacted to him.” He paused, sitting up straight again, his face open and sincere. “For the way I reacted to you.”
I ducked my chin, unable to look at him, fearful he’d see the hope in my eyes. I didn’t want to scare him away.
He went on. “Nova also told me you’re moving in with her for a while. Do you know what you’re going to do for work?” Though his expression had relaxed, his eyes were still guarded. I met them with what I hoped was confidence in my own.
“I’m looking into getting certified as a therapist again.” I had made a couple of calls and found it wouldn’t take much to meet Washington’s licensing standards. I was looking forward to starting a new practice when Kyah was a few months old.
Garret nodded. “Nova told me that, too.”
“So you came to brush up on your already-held-conversation skills, then?” Hesitantly, I allowed a touch of playfulness into my tone.
He took a deep breath, letting the words out of him in a rush. “I came over to offer you a job. I was thinking you could work nights at the restaurant and just bring the baby with you. My chef is starting to feel overwhelmed during the day trying to get all the management stuff done for the kitchen and doing the desserts, too, and seeing as you already know what you’re doing, I thought you could help me out for a while. At least until your therapist gig works out.” He looked at me expectantly.
“Do you really think it would be a good idea for us to work together?” I asked.
After a moment’s pause, he corrected me. “You’d be working for me.”
I took a deep breath before responding to him, annoyed by his proclamation. “Oh, well. That makes the offer much more attractive. Thanks.” Kyah stirred in my arms, and I jiggled her lightly until she settled.
“I meant that I’d barely be around,” he explained. “You’d be there after hours, mostly after I’d be gone for the night. The pay won’t be tremendous, but I thought it might help.” He shrugged, then stood, holding his hands out, palms up. “But if you’re not comfortable with the idea—”
I stopped him. “I’m comfortable with it. It’d actually be ideal. Are you sure there won’t be a problem between us?” I fingered Kyah’s blanket nervously until he finally responded.
“Why would there be a problem? You’re a baker. I’m a restaurant owner who needs a baker. No problem that I can see.” His tone was laced together with even strings of teasing and gravity; I couldn’t unwind one from the other.
It struck me then that maybe the job offer was the only reason Garret had come, that even though he had apologized for his reaction to seeing me with Shane and explained about Jackie, he had changed his mind about the two of us. I straightened in my seat, suddenly businesslike. “Well, then. If that’s the case, I’d be happy to work at the restaurant. Thank you for thinking of me.”
Garret sat back, a sly smile spreading across his lips. “Of course, there’d be certain requirements of the job, things I normally wouldn’t ask of an employee.”
“Really,” I said flatly. “Like what?”
He paused, then stood to take a step toward me, his brown eyes finally smiling. “Well, there would be a beginning-of-the-shift kiss for the owner. That goes without saying.”
Hope coursed through me again, and I responded with a tentative smile. “I think I might be amenable to that.” My smile grew wide, and I laughed out loud. “Yes, sir,” I said. “I think I could handle that just fine.”
Epilogue
I stood on Nova’s front porch, a December storm whipping at my hair, twisting it around my face in a blinding whirlwind. I made sure Kyah’s blanket was securely tucked around her cherubic face, then huddled my shoulders over her as I dashed toward Garret’s waiting car, grateful when he jumped out to open the door for me. I arranged my peacefully sleeping daughter in her car seat, then trucked around the vehicle to the front passenger seat.
“Whoo!” I said as I fastened my seat belt, shaking out my now soaking wet head. “It’s raining cats and dogs out there!”
“Eww, Nicole!” Lucy exclaimed from behind me. “You got me all wet!”
“You were already wet, peanut,” Garret comforted. “I put the heat on high, so we’ll all be dry soon.”
“Before we see Jenny?”
“Yes, before we see Jenny. We have to drive for a while, so there’s plenty of time to dry off.”
“How long do we have to drive?” Lucy whined, kicking the back of my seat as Garret revved the engine and pulled the car out from the curb.
“A little longer than one Sesame Street,” I said, having learned this handy trick of children’s time-telling from the past four months spent under Nova’s roof. It depressed me a bit that kids learned to gauge time passing by the length of television shows, but at least it worked. “I have a job for you, though, okay, Lucy? Since you’re sitting closer to her than I am, I need you to keep an eye on Kyah and let me know when she wakes up. Can you do that for me?”
“Yes. Can I wake her up now?”
Garret twisted his head around to glance sternly at his daughter. “No, you may not. You may read your books and talk to Nicole and me if you want, but do not under any circumstances start poking at that baby—you hear me, Lucy Mae?”
“Okay, Daddy.”
I reached over to squeeze Garret’s hand, smiling. He smiled back at me, pulled my hand to his mouth and kissed it. We were taking things slow, he and I, spending lots of time talking, learning all we could about each other in the brief moments we were able to be alone. He sometimes kept Kyah and me company the nights I worked at the restaurant, leaving Lucy at Nova’s. Through cloud-like puffs of flour and over the roar of the industrial-size mixer, we told each other our respective stories, weaving together the thin strands of communication that form a lasting bond. The first time we made love was a revelation; I finally understood what all the fuss was about. Then, of course, Kyah began to wail like a banshe
e in the other room and Garret and I laughed, stepping down from our personal heavenly cloud to rejoin the reality of life.
It was, however, a reality I had quickly grown to love. With how busy I was caring for an infant, working, and gearing up to start a therapy practice, I often felt crazed, though utterly fulfilled. I had finally fallen into a rhythm of life that made sense to me. And though this was only my third trip to see Jenny, I was excited to bring her back home with us to celebrate Kyah’s first Christmas.
My sister had adjusted well to life in Sunshine House, thriving under the homelike routine and detailed care she experienced there. Mom went to visit her every weekend; Kyah and I made the trip once a month. Jenny lit up whenever she saw the baby, her eyes glittering with a happiness I recognized as the one singing in my own heart since Kyah came into our lives.
She was an amazing little baby. I found wonder in every minute thing she did: her soft cooing, the surprisingly loud gas she passed from both ends of her tiny body, the crinkle of her indigo eyes when she blessed me with a gummy smile. It was my touch she longed for when she cried, my skin, my voice; no one else would do. It thrilled me to know that the comfort she took from me was something only I could give her, an emotional connection irreplaceable by anyone or anything. It reminded me of what I had always shared with Jenny, this unbendable, unbreakable link.
My few months as a mother had taught me many things about myself, about what was truly important. But perhaps most important of all was the realization that my coming home to Jenny wasn’t a matter of needing redemption. Maybe between those who love each other—sisters, friends, mothers, daughters, lovers—trespasses are simply forgiven by feelings that can’t be severed. The connection is always there, and no matter what pain or time or distance separates you, the language you’ve shared is held in your heart, waiting to be spoken once again.
THE END
Author’s Note
My sister, Angie, was one of the first individuals in the United States to be diagnosed with a recently discovered neurological disorder called Rett syndrome (RS). While it is important to say that this story is a work of fiction and both the characters and the events in the novel are products of my imagination, I wrote it with two purposes in mind. First, I wanted to testify to the emotional truth of a family’s experience of living with a special-needs child. Second, I hoped to publicize the characteristics of a disorder that occurs in as many as one out of ten thousand female births yet is often misdiagnosed as autism, cerebral palsy, or nonspecified developmental delay. For more information and support, please contact the International Rett Syndrome Foundation (IRSF) at www.rettsyndrome.org.
