| |
Cameron
For the first time, Rain says she’s clearing the table after dinner. I don’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth, but my defenses go up. While I answer an email from the teacher covering my classes, Rain puts everything in the dishwasher. I’m attaching a file for my sub when Rain hovers nearby.
“Can I talk to you?” she asks.
What’s she going to lay on me? “Okay.”
“You’re wondering what I mean to say.”
“Rain, just spit it out.”
“Okay. Jeez. I need to figure out what I’m doing with the rest of my life.”
“That’s good.” I wait for the other shoe to drop.
“I hate the idea of those AA and NA meetings, but I might need them to get started. You’d have to take care of the baby for me while I went to a meeting.”
I’m astounded. “Of course.”
She is surprised. “Thanks.”
That’s the first time the real Rain has said thanks. It makes me long for Shirlene, but I shove that feeling away quickly. “They have online meetings now too.”
“How do you know about this shit?” she asks.
“I don’t live in a bubble. I’m a schoolteacher. My brother is an addict.” I don’t mention Shirlene’s problems. It’s none of Rain’s business. “Just tell me when. I’ll work out taking care of Arlene.”
“Speaking of the little princess, I’m going to go chill out before she wakes up again.”
As I watch Rain disappear down the hall, I wonder what has brought this on. She’s never shown any interest in self-improvement before. I doubt that it has to do with Arlene, although it should. Something is up. My gut churns.
***
On the morning Aimee is released from the Penn Medical Inpatient Rehab, I follow the young woman pushing her wheelchair into the elevator. Once inside, Aimee reaches for the button to the third floor.
“What’s she doing?” The woman, whose name tag reads Krissy, selects the ground-floor button.
“I don’t know.” I shift to look at Aimee. “We’re going home. You’ll be back for outpatient rehab, but we’re going down to the street level now.”
The elevator begins to go down, and Aimee reaches around Krissy and aims again for the buttons.
“What’s on that floor?” I ask.
“It’s the hospice unit.”
“Sweetheart, I’m taking you home.”
Her eyes pool with tears. She points to herself.
“Aimee, you’re not going to die. You don’t need hospice.”
The elevator settles to a halt on the bottom floor.
Aimee slumps as she’s wheeled to my car in the pickup zone. Krissy stops pushing, locks the wheels, and helps Aimee stand. I open the car door, and Aimee slides onto the passenger seat. I shut the door, thank the woman, and dash around to the driver’s side. As I steer out into traffic, I sense Aimee tense up. I reach over and place my hand on hers.
“It’s okay. I’ll drive carefully.” I hate repeating things to her, but I’m not sure she remembers. “Now, we’re not going back to your apartment. I’ve worked it out with Nancy. She’s going to keep subletting and have her sister come in to use the other bedroom.”
Aimee grunts and raises her chin.
“I want to make sure you understand what’s going on.”
She raises her chin again.
“I brought everything I could think of from your place and put it in the studio apartment in my building.” I’m about to say she should tell me if there’s anything she doesn’t like, but she can’t do that. “I’ll be right upstairs, and the Haddads are right next to you.”
We don’t have far to go, and by some miracle, I find a spot right in front of my place. Mrs. Haddad, who usually welcomes everyone who comes in, told me she’d stay out of the way until Aimee was settled. She thought it might overwhelm her. I agreed.
Aimee’s eyes glisten when we come into the hall. She stares upstairs.
“You’re down here.” I unlock the door to the studio. “Here is a set of your own keys for the front door, this door, and there’s one to my apartment just in case.”
Once we’re in her new place, she immediately sits down on the small sofa and leans her head back.
“So, I’d show you around, but it’s all right here. The bath in there.” I gesture to the door next to the refrigerator. I move over to the bedroom side of the studio and open the double doors to the closet. “I hung some of your clothes in here. You can rearrange things. As you can see, I hung up some of your framed posters of favorite operas and performers. My feelings won’t be hurt if you want to change something.”
I’m talking too much. But if I don’t talk, it’s more obvious that Aimee can’t. I sit next to her and force myself to stay quiet, and she sets her hand on my knee. I experience a rush of love for her and the need to bundle her up in my arms, but it’s not good to overwhelm her.
Arlene begins to cry upstairs. Aimee stands and gazes at the ceiling.
“That’s the baby,” I say in an effort to calm her. “Rain will deal with her.”
Aimee opens her mouth. Her eyes are squeezed shut. I assume she is trying to make a sound. It’s heartbreaking to watch. At first, she growls. With a ton of effort, she says, “R.”
Although I don’t know what she means, this is a huge step. “That’s wonderful, Aimee.”
Aimee lifts her chin and says again, “R.”
When it’s clear I can’t possibly understand her, she dashes out the door and up the first few steps to my apartment.
I follow. “R? Arlene?”
Aimee halts. “R.”
“Do you want to meet the baby?”
She lifts her chin again.
I’m not up for putting Rain and Aimee together. “I’ll bring her down.”
The baby cries again.
“R!” Aimee stamps her foot.
“Okay. You go back to your apartment.”
Aimee grunts and passes me on the stairs.
When I reach my apartment, Rain is bouncing Arlene in her arms. “She won’t stop crying. I’ve changed her. I tried to feed her. Nothing makes her happy.”
“Let me take her downstairs for a while.”
Rain immediately hands Arlene to me. “Thanks.” She makes a beeline for the nursery, probably to sleep.
Usually, Arlene settles for me, but she continues to cry as I go down the stairs. Aimee immediately opens her arms. In seconds, the baby is quietly cuddled in. Peace settles over the room. Although Aimee can’t express it, I sense joy in the way she cradles Arlene and kisses her forehead while sitting on the sofa.
Watching them, Shirlene with Arlene comes to mind, but Hattie is sure Shirlene is gone. She said hope is a slippery slope. There is no hope for Shirlene. I need to move on.
Aimee wanted children, but she was afraid her bouts of depression would ruin their lives. Has the stroke changed her? Maybe after I grieve my loss of Shirlene, there’s a future for Arlene and me with Aimee. The problem is I’m too busy taking care of Aimee to grieve.