CHAPTER
thirty-one

My very earliest memory was of my little sister tottering around the apartment, holding my mother’s pointer finger to steady her balance. After a few steps, Mother took her finger from Clara’s tiny fist, leaving her to stand on her own.

Chubby arms held out on either side, she flapped them up and down as she walked by herself.

That was the first time I feared that my baby sister would one day fly away.

My fear returned periodically over the course of our childhood but had been tucked away in the dusty corner of my memory once we’d grown up and lost touch.

But when the telephone rang in the wee small hours of Wednesday morning, I felt that old anxiety again. Without even picking up the receiver or hearing a voice on the other end, I knew it was about Clara.

In my mind’s eye I saw her with arms moving up and down, graceful as ballet, and rising off the ground, aiming herself for the sun.

Forcing the image away with much blinking, I made my way to the telephone in the kitchen, forgoing my formal response for a simple hello.

“Mrs. Sweet?” the high voice on the other end asked. “This is Nurse Jones from the State Hospital.”

“Yes?” As much of a chill that coursed through my veins, my hands grew sweaty and I was afraid I’d drop the receiver. I lifted my other hand so I could have a firmer grip.

“Your sister, Clara, had a bit of an . . .” She paused, leaving a silence that felt as if it was strangling me. “An incident.”

“Is she all right?” I asked, interrupting.

“She’s in the hospital wing,” she went on. “It seems she’s tried to hurt herself.”

“Will she be all right?”

“We expect that she’ll survive.” She cleared her throat. “Recover, rather. We expect that she’ll recover.”

“Can I come see her?” I asked.

“She’s been asking for you.”

“I can be there first thing in the morning.”

Clara’s bed in the hospital was curtained off from the other five in the room, and for that I was grateful. Even though a thin piece of fabric didn’t provide much privacy, at least I didn’t have to look at the other patients and wonder what it was that had brought them to that place.

Curled up and laying on her side, Clara looked so very small under the crisp white bedsheet. Her hair was a mess, greasy from at least a week of not being washed.

I was tempted to march out to the hallway and insist that they take better care of my sister. That they make sure she was clean and safe and looked after. I had half a mind to let them know that she wouldn’t have hurt herself if they’d done their jobs.

An unfamiliar urge nearly overtook me, making me want to yell and slam and kick and growl.

But the other half of my mind didn’t want to raise a fuss. Not that way, at least. That other, calmer, meeker side of me knew that more flies were caught with honey than vinegar. I’d talk to the nurse in charge, but I’d do it with gentleness even if it took all my power to offer it.

What Clara needed was not a raging bull. I shut my eyes and breathed slow and deep until my temper was eased. When I opened them I focused on my sister.

Her skin was so pale, she almost blended in with the sheets.

I sat on the edge of her bed, remembering when she was small and I’d check on her in the nighttime to make sure she was okay. Of course, then she’d have her thumb stuck in her mouth and her rag doll held tightly in her arms.

If she’d stir, I would run the backs of my fingers across the inside of her arms, soothing her until she fell back into a nice and steady sleep.

I reached over and did so then, surprised by how dry her skin felt against mine.

Clara rolled over, upsetting the sheet that had been pulled over her. Before I had the chance to fix it, to straighten it back over the curve of her hip and pull it up to her shoulders, she took my hand and looked me right in the eyes.

“How are you feeling?” I asked.

She turned her face away from me. “I’m sorry, Birdie.”

Her voice was hoarse, and I thought she could have used a cool glass of water. I thought of offering to find a nurse to get her something to drink, but I didn’t want to leave her even for a minute. Not yet, at least.

Her wrist was wrapped thickly with white bandages, her arm unmoving on the bed.

“You don’t have to be sorry.” I tilted my head, trying to catch her gaze again.

Her eyelids were heavy, and I expected her to fall asleep at any moment.

“I couldn’t bear it anymore,” she said, her voice sounding as dry and cracked as her lips.

“What do you mean?” I lowered myself so that my top half was closer to the bed, almost lying down beside her.

She licked her lips and shut her eyes.

“Living is too hard, Birdie.” She grimaced when she swallowed. “This would have made everything so much easier for everyone.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is.”

“Maybe it feels like that right now,” I said. “But we need you, Clara.”

“I’m just a problem.”

“No. Clara, we love you.” I squeezed her hand. “You have to know that.”

“I’m suffering, Birdie.” A tear ran down her face sideways. “It will never stop.”

I lifted my hand, putting it on her cheek and feeling how cold she was. “Do you want a blanket?”

She didn’t answer, so I got myself up out of the bed, pausing until the starburst in my eyes cleared from getting up too fast. Parting the curtain, I tried to catch the attention of a nurse to ask for a couple of blankets. There were none in sight.

“I want to die.”

It was so matter of fact, so frank. There wasn’t a hint of emotion behind it, and that was what startled me most.

“Don’t say that . . .” I started to say.

But when I turned toward her, I saw she’d rolled away from me and I knew she was done talking.

I stayed at the foot of her bed as if keeping watch over her would fix her, would convince her of my love. There I would have remained until the end of the day were it not for a nurse bustling in, a stack of tightly folded linens across her arm.

“Visiting time is over,” she said to me. “She needs some rest.”

“Five more minutes,” I asked. “Please.”

The nurse looked at Clara before placing a clean set of sheets at the foot of the bed.

“Five minutes,” she conceded. “Not a second more.”

I waited for her to leave before I sat back down beside my sister.

“Hugo needs you, Clara,” I said, keeping my voice quiet and calm.

“But he has you now, Birdie,” she answered, not meeting my eyes. “He doesn’t need me anymore.”

“I’m only his aunt.” I reached for her hand, trying to be as gentle as I could so as not to hurt her. “He needs his mommy.”

She breathed in through her nose, and for a moment I thought she might cry, that she might let an ounce of emotion crack through the flat exterior.

But she didn’t.

“Do you remember the dog you and Norm had right after you got married?” she asked. “Mitzi?”

“Of course I do,” I answered. “She was a good girl.”

“Remember how her hips got bad and she had a hard time walking?” She swallowed hard, flinching at the pain of it.

“Do you want a drink of water?” I asked.

She shook her head, shutting her eyes. “Do you remember how much pain she was in?”

“Yes. It was awful.”

“And Norm took her to have her put down.”

“That was a horrible day, wasn’t it?” I put my free hand on the center of my chest where the regret still settled from the loss of that good dog.

“But it had to be done.”

I nodded.

“Norm said she needed to be put out of her misery,” Clara said. “Because it’s cruel to make an animal suffer.”

“I remember how hard you cried.”

“But you said it was the right thing to do, and I believed you.”

The nurse pushed through the curtains, that time empty handed, and consulted her watch, sighing, I assumed, because our time was up.

I had no plans to leave Clara’s bed until I was good and ready. The nurse must’ve sensed that, and she exited the room.

“Do you still think it was right?” Clara asked.

Lowering my eyes to my lap, I sighed and told her that I did.

“What about when people suffer?” She met my eyes and I nearly gasped at the fierceness, the cutting in those ice-blue irises. “Life is more than I can bear, Birdie. It’s too hard and I don’t want to fight anymore.”

“Don’t say that,” I said again, my voice weak and anemic. “Please.”

She closed her eyes, turning her head so that her face was hidden in the pillow.

I didn’t wait for the nurse to come get me. I leaned over Clara and kissed her cheek before taking my handbag and walking out the door.

The nurse stood at a desk, her eyes focused on a file she held in her hand.

“Excuse me,” I said.

She looked up at me. “Yes?”

I couldn’t remember ever seeing anyone who looked more worn out than that woman.

“I wondered how often my sister will get a bath.” I smiled. “I hate to complain, but her hair seemed a bit dirty.”

“We try to get them into the showers once a week.” The nurse glanced toward the room I’d just come out of. “It was her turn a few days ago, but . . .”

I raised my eyebrows.

“But she resisted,” she said.

“I’m sorry?”

“She wouldn’t let the orderly go in with her.” The nurse sighed. “She said she was perfectly capable of taking a shower by herself.”

“Then why didn’t you let her?” I asked.

“That’s not our policy.” She looked down at her paperwork. “Your sister is . . .”

She paused and let out a stream of air between her lips.

“Yes?” I asked.

“Your sister is a fighter.”

She said it as if it was a bad thing.