by Nancy Werlin
She'd taken a breath. "Hi, Zach." Then, at last, Soledad's gaze went to the duct tape mannequin with the felt shirt on it. "Oh. You did it." She squinted. "Hmm."
"Hideous, isn't it?" said Lucy chattily. "But it is seamless." She folded her hands together and moved her fingers nervously. Zach could see her knuckles whiten. Her voice, like Soledad's, was too rapid. "We were just wondering how we'll know if it worked. I guess we won't. I was sort of hoping for some magical sparkle or something. Ta-da! And a voice saying, You have completed task number one! But that hasn't happened. Not yet, anyway."
"I'm sure it's okay," said Soledad. But her voice was uncertain as she regarded the thing. "You could make another …"
Lucy's knuckles whitened again.
"I think it's great," said Zach. "It's going to fit me perfectly when it dries. And it's seamless and made without needles. Done."
Soledad was frowning at the shirt. "It shouldn't be allowed to dry out like that. It has to be washed in the machine, on the gentle cycle. The agitation action on the wet felt is what fuses the felt together. We—you—should run it through the machine now."
"Oh, right," said Lucy. "You did tell me. I forgot. Maybe the magical moment will happen when we take it out of the washing machine later on."
"Or not," said Zach heartily. "And that's fine, if there's no magical moment. It's magical right now, I bet."
Soledad's gaze darted from the shirt, to the door, and then back, indecisive, to the shirt. It was plain as could be that while she wanted to see the shirt finished, she also really wanted to go to see Miranda.
And, Zach thought shrewdly, also to see that new doctor she'd mentioned.
He remembered what Soledad had said about medications during the family conference. She'd be hoping now that that would be the way out. That this doctor at world-renowned McLean Hospital would find the right psychiatric drug to restore Miranda's sanity. And that medication would, of course, be the answer for Lucy too. If need be.
It was hard to pin your hopes on an ugly felt vest sitting clumsily on a duct tape dummy, when there was a specialist at McLean Hospital willing to talk to you. He understood that, and he wasn't a medical professional like Soledad.
"Can we put it through the washing machine later?" he asked her practically.
"Yes." Soledad looked relieved. "Of course we can. Even if it dries out in the interim, it'll still work. We could just soak it again before we take it off the dummy."
Zach had turned to Lucy. "Luce? What do you want to do? Soledad could go alone while you and I stay here and finish the shirt. If you don't want to go."
"Let's all go," Lucy said.
"Oh, there's no need for Zach—" Soledad began.
"Zach's coming with us," Lucy said firmly.
And he had.
Leo was sitting in the waiting room as they arrived. Zach imagined Leo's gaze flickered an extra time between Lucy and him. It was barely a second, though, if indeed it did happen.
Soledad wasted no time. "Can we see her?"
"As soon as she's finished with her evaluation. Dr. Sabada said he'd come here to talk with us then. I told him Miranda's daughter was on her way."
"Does he understand that you and I are family too?" Soledad sat down next to Leo.
"I explained the situation." Leo put a hand on his wife's shoulder. "He said we could see Miranda while she's here, so long as it's advisable for her to have visitors at all."
"How long do you think she'll be allowed to stay for evaluation and treatment?"
Leo shrugged. "It's unclear. But Soledad, it's not likely she can stay here for months."
"I know." Soledad's shoulders slumped, and then straightened. "But they could figure out something for her during the time she is here. Then we could try again having her with us …"
"Yeah. We'll see. Don't think too far ahead, honey."
Lucy, meanwhile, had taken a seat. Zach stayed upright. He felt better that way.
Then a woman in a beige suit came in. "Lucinda Scarborough?" Her eyes rested on Lucy, ignoring the others.
Lucy got to her feet. She saw the woman register her pregnancy in a swift glance, without her face otherwise changing.
The woman smiled. "You want to see your mother now? She's doing okay, by the way. And you'll meet Dr. Sabada too." She made a gesture toward the door. "We're going to another building."
"All right," Lucy said.
But Soledad had jumped up. "My husband and I are coming too. We're Lucy's foster parents."
Leo was on his feet too. "We're also Lucy's legal guardians. When I spoke to him on the phone, Dr. Sabada said we could all be treated as family for Miranda Scarborough."
There was no way he could count as family, Zach realized. Not yet.
"Oh." The woman smiled professionally. "I'll have to check, of course, but that will probably be fine. I'll come back in a few minutes."
"No, wait," Lucy said. "I'll go with you to my mother right now. My parents can join us after you do your checking."
"But, Luce—"
Zach's voice mingled with the similar, protesting voices of Soledad and Leo. But Lucy spoke right over them.
"I'd like to see Miranda without any of you there," she said. "Just for a few minutes, in private. You understand, right?"
CHAPTER 42
You understand, right? Lucy had once joked with Sarah about how effective that was, strategically. Nobody wanted to say: No, I don't. This meant that you'd be off doing whatever it was you wanted to do before the other person had a chance to regroup.
The sentence had stopped her parents and Zach long enough for Lucy to leave the room with the woman in beige. "We have a five-minute walk across the grounds," said the woman kindly.
"Okay." Lucy looked around as they walked. She'd noticed when they'd driven up that the psychiatric hospital wasn't what she had expected. It looked almost like a college campus, with lawns that would be green and lush in summer, and that now, with the trees ablaze in fall colors, was even more spectacular. Scattered around were both small and medium-sized buildings, some of them stately brick-and-ivy edifices, others seeming almost like regular houses. Paths crisscrossed the grass.
They approached a solid-looking brick building with a white portico. The woman in beige was talking about how the rooms here were private, each with its own bath, and that the patients staying here all had "behavioral health issues." Now, that was a phrase. It revealed nothing. Lucy supposed that was the point.
She wondered what the woman in beige would think if she said, "My mother's issue is that our family line was cursed by a demonic elf."
How long would it be before she did say things like that in front of people? It could happen anytime, Lucy thought. Oh, not to a stranger like this. Not until she really had lost it anyway. But to Sarah, maybe. Sarah, who thought she knew everything that Lucy was going through, who was doing everything a good friend could possibly do, and all in total ignorance. It hurt. It hurt not to be able to trust Sarah completely.
But she couldn't. Lucy had to guard her reputation—her reputation for sanity—the way that a woman a hundred years before would have had to guard her reputation for virtue. She was hyperconscious of it in everything she said and did. What would later cause people to say, "You know, I didn't think anything of it at the time, but now I remember that Lucy did X or Y, and isn't that strange?" It was enough to drive you crazy even if you weren't cursed by a demonic elf.
But at least there was her family to talk to. That would save her sanity, if anything could.
And, of course, there was Zach.
The little warming glow of joy as she thought of him took her by surprise. She let herself feel it. She let it spread through her. Zach knew everything and he loved her. He wanted to marry her. He wanted to help and he wasn't just saying that. He was acting on it.
She followed the woman into the building and up a flight of stairs. She was introduced to another woman, who wore the name tag "Janis" and was dressed in jeans. Then,
as she turned to leave, the woman in beige smiled at Lucy, dropped her voice, and said, "Is half an hour enough?"
"What?"
The woman's eyes were compassionate. "Is half an hour alone with your mother enough time? I can stall your foster parents for as long as an hour if you just say the word."
Lucy flushed. "Half an hour is fine. You're so kind. Thank you."
"No worries. Dr. Sabada will be around at some point soon too. Just so you know to expect him."
"This way," said Janis.
Lucy followed Janis down another hallway to a room that was labeled 211. Just below the number was a placard that said MIRANDA SCARBOROUGH. The door was open.
"Your mom has been very calm," Janis said. "Which isn't surprising; she's had a mild sedative. I'll leave you alone with her. You can call if you need someone; there's a buzzer in the room by the bed. Leave the door open, okay?"
"Okay," said Lucy. Then Janis was gone. Lucy bit her lip, rapped lightly at the open door, and stepped inside.
Miranda was curled on her side on the twin-sized bed, her back toward the door, a light blanket covering her from the shoulders down. Her dark hair tumbled behind her over her pillow. It was longer than Lucy remembered it being, and somebody had brushed it so that it was smooth and silky. However, there were many more gray threads in it than Lucy had noticed before.
"Miranda?" she said tentatively. "Uh, Mother? It's Lucy."
Miranda did not move. Lucy walked farther into the room. It wasn't at all what Lucy had imagined when Soledad said that this hospital was nice. The room was spotless, but its furniture was institutional and sparse, and there was nothing on the walls. Lucy remembered Miranda using the contents of her shopping cart as projectiles last May, and supposed there couldn't be anything in a.place like this that might double as a weapon.
She couldn't help comparing it to her own room at home, the room that had once been Miranda's too. Her closet and bureau full of clothes and shoes; her old stuffed teddy bear; her posters and photographs; her computer and music and books and jewelry. And sure, things were only things; they couldn't make you safe. But having things of your own around you, well, that wasn't unimportant either.
Miranda had nothing of her own.
Except me, thought Lucy.
This thought helped her be less scared. It helped her know that she was doing the right thing, being here alone, if only for a few minutes.
She came around the foot of the bed and walked up next to where Miranda was lying. She squatted down so that her face was level with Miranda's. She watched the blanket moving gently with Miranda's breathing.
Miranda's eyes were closed. Her face was browned and reddened from having been exposed in all weathers to the sun and the wind. Fine lines starred out from the corners of her eyes and mouth. Up so close, though, Lucy could see that the shape of Miranda's nose and mouth were very like what she saw in the mirror every day. And she could so easily—too easily—imagine that one day, she might be the one heavily medicated and confined to an impersonal room.
I'm in week twenty, Lucy thought. Out of forty. She put a hand on her stomach. Inside, the baby fluttered.
"Miranda?" Lucy said again.
Miranda's eyes opened. Unclouded by sleep or surprise, they looked directly into Lucy's. And if there was nothing resembling recognition in them, there was also no hostility. Lucy felt herself relax a little.
"Hello there," Miranda whispered dreamily.
"Hello." Lucy tried to smile. Was Miranda smiling back? No. Miranda had closed her eyes again.
"Miranda!" Lucy said. And then: "Mom!"
Miranda opened her eyes once more. "I'm tired," she said simply.
"Me too," said Lucy. "I'm not sleeping well these days."
Miranda blinked at her. Her eyes seemed to focus somewhat. Then she shifted back on the bed and moved her hand gently over the emptied space in what might have been an invitation. There was just enough space on the narrow bed for Lucy to fit there too.
Lucy hesitated. Then she stretched out, facing Miranda. There were inches still between their bodies, but their noses were nearly touching. Lucy became aware of her heartbeat. It was suddenly pounding.
And the baby was awake. Moving. Kicking.
Lucy reached impulsively to take Miranda's hand. It seemed an entirely natural and right thing to do. Miranda resisted her for a second, but then calmed, and Lucy moved her mother's hand to her stomach.
"Can you feel the baby?" Lucy whispered. "She's trying to turn over. She's getting good at it. I guess she's about three pounds now. And she's more than twelve inches long. And she has lungs."
She watched Miranda's eyes close again, as if, although not able to get away physically, she was trying to retreat emotionally. But then Miranda's hand on her stomach moved. At first, the hand only moved a little bit. Then it was stroking Lucy's stomach, gently. Pausing. Moving. Feeling the baby.
Lucy whispered, "I know what you did for me, Mom. I understand now. You carried me like I'm carrying her. You were afraid, like I am, but you did everything you could for me anyway. You even found me parents to take care of me when you couldn't. You were a good mother. I can only hope I'll make as good decisions for my baby as you did for me. I'm trying, though. I'm doing everything I can. And even if I can't—even if, you know, even if there really is this curse and there's no way out for me—well, we can hope about her, can't we? We can hope for her like you hoped for me.
"And I realized something else, Mom. I love you. Now that I understand what happened to you, and what you did for me anyway, I love you. I always will."
She watched her mother's face, hoping for some kind of acknowledgment. But Miranda kept her eyes shut. But then, after a minute, she took her hand from Lucy's stomach and put it instead around Lucy's hand, and tightened, so that her fingers formed Lucy's into a fist.
CHAPTER 43
Ten days later, on the night before her wedding, Lucy eased herself into the small passenger seat of Sarah's mother's little car and pulled on the seat belt until she got it lengthened and fastened. "Okay," she said to Sarah. "I'm in. Now we can go wherever it is we're going. You and your secrets."
Sarah snickered. "Right. Like you haven't micromanaged the whole evening, except for letting me pick where." She started the car and navigated out onto the road, steering competently.
Lucy gave Sarah an anxious look, which went unseen in the dark. "You didn't really mind changing the plans, did you? I appreciate the thought. But I just couldn't have a bridal shower. It's too, too—" Lucy waved a hand aimlessly. "Then I realized that what I wanted most of all tonight was to have some time alone with you. We haven't really talked about what's going on. You haven't pushed me; you've been so great, Sarah. But I know you must have been hurt when I, well, when I got all silent on you. And then, I know you were so surprised when I told you about me and Zach getting married. And, I—well. I'm sorry."
Sarah turned the car left onto Main Street. In the brighter lights of the streetlamps, Lucy could see her profile. She gave Lucy a quick glance, and Lucy saw with relief that she was smiling.
"There's nothing to apologize for," said Sarah. "I knew you were going through a lot, and that you would talk to me when you were ready." After a few seconds, she added, "And Lucy? It is absolutely okay with me if you need to keep some secrets. I've been thinking about this and I decided that a best friend is someone who, when they don't understand, they still understand."
Some of the tension Lucy had been holding in her shoulders relaxed. "I'm lucky to be your friend."
"Me too, being yours," said Sarah. "And you know what? I'm really, really, well—honored to be your maid of honor tomorrow."
"I wanted you," said Lucy. "Nobody else would do."
They were silent. It was a silence full of meaning, but somehow, still easy. And then they drew up in front of Sarah's house, and Sarah parked. "Surprise," she said. "We're staying home. I'm making pasta, and I got us green ice cream. Pistachio and mint chocolate chip,
both. My parents went out; dinner and a movie with friends. So we have the whole house to ourselves for a few hours."
"Perfect," said Lucy.
"I thought so too."
After dinner, the girls sat on opposite ends of the living room sofa, facing each other. They had just finished eating their ice cream, and were sharing an enormous afghan in sunset colors that Lucy recognized as one that Soledad had crocheted, once upon a time. Sarah had also put on the gas fire, so it was gorgeously warm.
"So." Sarah reached out under the afghan with one stocking-covered foot and nudged Lucy's calf gently. "Do you want to talk for real? We don't have to. But it seemed to me that there was maybe something in particular you wanted to say."
Lucy patted Sarah's calf back with her own foot. "Yes. There was. Is." She felt sleepy and peaceful. Being at Sarah's home with Sarah felt like such an oasis. Part of her wanted to hang out and talk with Sarah of nothing.
But instead she sat up. "Okay, here's the thing. I don't want advice. I'm going to do what I've decided to do. But I want your opinion on it anyway, even though, I'm telling you right now"—she heard her voice get defensive—"I bet I won't take it."
Sarah kicked Lucy, but gently. "But you don't even know what I'm going to say."
"Right, but—"
"Never mind. I'll do my best to tell you what I truly think. Once I know what it is you're asking about." Sarah's eyes were clear and curious.
Lucy did think she knew what Sarah would say. But it would be okay anyway.
She couldn't tell Sarah everything. Lucy had accepted that. She couldn't tell her about the curse and about Miranda. But she could talk to her girlfriend about Zach, to some extent. And she wanted to.
She began slowly, choosing her words with care.
"Zach loves me. He's totally in love with me. And I'm going to marry him. It's the right thing for me, and it's the right thing for my baby." Without even realizing she was doing so, Lucy put her hand on the stomach lump that was her daughter. "I believe this. Anyway, that's the thing I won't let you talk me out of. I'm going to marry Zach Greenfield tomorrow."
