12

The quiet in my hospital room didn’t help. I sat on the edge of the bed. Come on, Scott, let’s go home. The C-section incision stung, so I’d asked Scott to bring a loose skirt. We needed to fill a pain prescription. Then we could go home on Exit 477.

I couldn’t wait to get the babies to the inn and into the nursery we’d so lovingly created. Scott’s smart idea to set up in the Sweetheart room would save me the stairs. We’d matched the cribs’ bedding to the pink hearts already on the wallpaper. Baby Paul needn’t worry, because I’d found the cutest fabric with blue hearts on it, as well. Hearts everywhere.

I filled my lungs with air and tried to block out the horror. How did one have a heart swelling with motherly love and joy, and a broken heart? I felt better when the babies were with me. Nurse White insisted the babies be kept in the nursery when they weren’t feeding so that I could rest.

But rest time equaled thinking time.

The gunshot went off in my head if things got too quiet. That memory fought with the knowledge that I had a dying twelve year-old sister. I wanted neither to have prominence in my heart.

I wondered if she knew about me and if the news would hurt her. Possibly she had more life and death matters to consider than a sister she never knew about.

A tentative knock sounded at the door.

“Come in.”

A gray-haired lady with sad brown eyes tiptoed in. She hesitated just inside the door. The gray-haired lady, the one who’d saved me, peered at me. The grandmother I never knew.

She looked nothing like my Gran. Gran was tall and stately, wore her gray hair like a crown. Well spoken, or some might say outspoken, but confident in her bearing. This woman standing before me seemed like a skittering mouse that might run at the slightest provocation.

“Mrs. West, may I come in?” The low rasp of a long-time smoker grated into the room.

“Of course. I’m glad to have the opportunity to thank you. You saved our lives.” I motioned for her to sit in the chair next to me. Strong, sweet perfume mixed with cigarette smoke tempted me to crinkle up my nose. I couldn’t tell her to call me by my first name.

She nodded and took a seat. “I’d been playing piano and singing. If I hadn’t stopped to make a cup of tea, I might not have heard the horn honking. God is good.”

“Yes, he is.” An awkward silence followed. Time enough for me to wonder why she’d never contacted me. She didn’t seem of the same ilk as my father. Did I even want to know? It dawned on me that her son was dead. This was too difficult.

She looked down at her feet and shuffled the tips of her shoes back and forth. “Did he say anything? I mean before,” she began, but looked up at me instead.

My mouth opened, but nothing would come out. I didn’t want to have this conversation. I pulled my purse into my lap and hugged it. I wished someone would come in.

“I’m sorry, I can imagine it’s the last thing you’d like to think about right now. It’s just that he was my son.” She covered her face with both hands and wept.

When her sobbing subsided, I ventured to speak. She was his mother, but would this help?

“He said something about being sorry, and to tell Brenna he’s sorry. That’s really all he said. He wanted money to help his daughter. I don’t really have any, but I promised to get it for him. I don’t think he believed me, and then he became incoherent. He just walked into the bathroom and…” I stopped, because I couldn’t say it. The gunshot rang through my head with a vibration that caused me to close my eyes.

Her crying began again, and this time the floodgates released. She sobbed openly, and kind of loud. I was surprised no one came in. Normally I’d seek to comfort someone in that condition, but I sat stunned and mute, trying to make sense of it all.

She attempted broken sentences in the midst of her tears. “He was the sweetest little boy, but he was no match for his father. Mrs. West, my husband, beat him senseless, time after time.”

That revelation got my attention. I don’t know how, I never did. That sentence my father spoke in his final, insane discourse broke my heart. He didn’t know how to love. If he’d been beaten, no wonder he was such a hard man. It didn’t excuse him, but my mind began working in a different direction. Why hadn’t she done anything about it?

“I was afraid of him. Kevin’s father, I mean,” she said, as if she’d read my mind. “He beat me, too. I was too weak to do anything about it.”

I didn’t know what to say.

“It was a different time. I’d been raised to obey my husband. But one really bad time I threatened to turn him in. He beat me to a pulp that night, and I kept my promise. I went to the police. He was arrested, and died of a heart attack in jail that very night. Kevin was only twelve. They took him away from me for a while, but I got him back and we squirreled a life together. When he became an adult, he started showing the same anger, but he never laid a hand on me.” She looked at me with questioning eyes.

“No, he never beat me, and I’m pretty sure he didn’t hurt my mother, not physically. He was just angry and distant. He left us and never helped us or even showed up until my wedding day. I didn’t even know about that. My husband kept it from me.”

“I’m so sorry for what happened. He forbade me to even mention your name, or your mother’s name. I had no idea he’d try to get help from you. What made him think you could help him?”

“I received a large insurance settlement when Pinewood Manor burned down. I’m sure he saw it on the news and thought I had money. But it’s all tied up in a missionary retreat we built and in a college scholarship.” I couldn’t even begin to find a place in my brain for the nagging thought that she had a granddaughter she’d never tried to see.

Her tear-stained gaze darted from me to the floor and back. The same desperate, wild-eyed disappointment I saw in my father’s eyes told me that she’d hoped I could help Brenna. Her expression hardened, and a deep sigh culminated into a shudder. She slumped into the chair and dropped her head into her hands.

“Mrs. Brown?” I can’t bear this.

She shook her head and then looked up at me. Her eyes still seemed to plead, but her face softened. “You know, I raised her. Brenna, my little angel. Her mother left them early on. Brenna was only five. I’ve never been sure what happened, or why she’d leave her child. They seemed happy, but you never know what goes on behind closed doors. Maybe he was more like his father than I feared. When Brenna got sick, he came back and did everything he could. I secretly wondered if he was trying to make up for what he’d done to you and your mother.”

He couldn’t make up for it. I’d gotten over the years of thinking that the breakup of their marriage was my fault. Typical of a child to think so, but the last time I saw him he was raging to my mother about me being a fat little kid. But I’d gotten peace. At least until this week. He’d ruined the dream of my childbirth experience, and left me with this nightmarish ache in my heart, just when I was supposed to be enjoying my babies.

Brenna was only five when both her parents left her? I was only five when Daddy left me. She probably suffered the same rejection and low self-esteem. This is way, way too much.

“You said ‘he came back.’ So he hasn’t been there all her life?” The old hurt had reared its ugly head, only worse now, and no daddy left to confront about it.

“No. He couldn’t control that anger. He left a few months after her mother did, and left her for me to raise. Not that I’ve minded. She’s been the one bright spot in my life. But now I’m losing her, too.” The tears began again. “He came back last year when she got sick. He poured everything into trying to save her. Her only hope now is an experimental treatment that insurance won’t cover.”

Thus the desperate move to get money. Too much sadness. I stood and walked toward her. Part of me wanted to embrace her, but as I approached her I realized I couldn’t take any more that day. I took both her hands and she stood facing me. “Thank you for coming. I’m sorry for your loss.” A dumb thing to say. I sounded like a person on the outside looking in. How I wished that were true. I put my arm around her and led her away, feeling horrible about it, but I needed her out of my sight. We stopped at the door.

“So, there’s nothing you can do to help Brenna?” The profound pain in her eyes tore me to pieces.

“I…I don’t know.” Please, lady, please just go.

Her whole body seemed to slump with disappointment. She reached up and steadied herself, holding on to my arm. “I’m sorry. Mothers will do anything for their loved ones. I better get back up to Brenna’s floor.”

“Get back to her? You don’t mean…,” I said, my heart pounding.

“Well, honey, didn’t they tell you? She’s here in this very hospital. She was transferred here a few weeks ago. Marshall is closer to our cabin than Dallas.” She turned and walked out the door without another word.

Scott walked in just then, and I collapsed into his arms.