Taz
“You’re nervous.”
I look up from the kitchen sink where I’m hand-washing the few dishes we used for lunch. Nicky, who’d fallen asleep on the couch earlier, is now watching me.
“A little.”
I’d slept a restful ten hours sprawled out in the king-sized hotel bed last night. Not surprising, since I’ve spent most of the past almost decade on narrow cots and barely-there mattresses. It was tempting to simply stay in bed indefinitely, instead of facing my family again.
As luck would have it, my parents already went home last night, so there was a little less tension in the room when I walked in. Most of the morning was spent getting Nicky released and ready for the trip home, and sorting out her medication at the hospital pharmacy. The drive to Eminence had been relatively quiet, something I was grateful for, since the increasingly familiar landscape of the Ozarks brought on a full range of memories for me. Good and not so good.
My parents had been waiting at the house I grew up in when we got there, but they didn’t stay long. They moved to a small bungalow in town when Rafe bought the clinic, and with it the house, nine years ago. Shortly after Dad was diagnosed he retired, determined to get as much traveling in as his condition would allow.
Rafe didn’t hang around long either. He had some work to do at the clinic before Kathleen dropped off the children. Nicky was visibly tired but wanted to stay on the couch, not ready to let me help her into the hospital bed set up in front of the bay window in the living room.
“They’ll love you,” she says, a soft smile on her face before worry replaced it. “But for the record, I’m nervous too. Now that I’m home, I’m second-guessing if this was such a good idea.”
I drop the dishrag in the sink and wipe my hands before joining Nicky on the couch.
“I’ve learned that in most of Africa,” I start, taking her hand in mine, “death is seen more as a transition than an ending. They don’t look forward to the inevitable, but focus instead on the living that is left. Those who die continue to exist in a spiritual way as part of their family. They don’t believe death is final, but rather an unending circle.”
“I like that.” Nicky sniffles, and I hand her the box of tissues off the table.
“Me too. I like the idea we don’t stop being part of a family, simply because we’re no longer there physically.”
I don’t realize the double meaning of my words until I feel my sister’s hand squeezing my own.
“I like that even better,” she whispers. “You may not have been here, but you were never gone from my heart, Taz.”
I blink a few times when my nose prickles with the tears that want to come. No time for that with the kids on their way home.
“Ditto,” I respond in a raw voice, before clearing my throat and changing the subject. “I’m not a parent, but maybe it would be easier to let the kids come with their own questions about what is happening. From my experience, kids are not stupid and often more tuned-in than we think. Let them indicate what they’re ready to hear. We need to take their cues and be honest in our answers.”
Nicky nods and opens her mouth to answer when the front door slams open and a tow-haired little boy comes barreling through.
“Mommy!”
My heart pounds in my ears as I watch the little Rafe replica advance on his mother, throwing his spindly arms around her neck. Pleasure and pain display in stark contrast on Nicky’s face as she closes her arms around his small body. I have to swallow hard.
Not far behind, Kathleen guides in Spencer’s more restrained big sister. Last time I saw Sofie she was a precocious toddler with a ready smile for everyone. There’s no smile now, only suspicious eyes and a sullen look on her face.
“Oh my God, Taz.” Kathleen lets go of the girl and I can barely get to my feet before she throws herself in my arms. “It’s so good to see you,” she sniffles in my neck, and I have a hard time keeping my own emotions in check.
Over the past years my friend has kept me informed on the welfare of my family. Pride had prevented me from reaching out myself, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t lapping up every little tidbit of information Kathleen shared with me.
She lets me go and takes a step back, her hand reaching up to tug on my dreadlocks. “When did you get these?” she wants to know, her fingers rubbing over the odd beads I had woven into my hair.
“Years ago. It was either this or shave my head. I wanted something with the least amount of daily fuss. One of my patients put them in.”
Over Kathleen’s shoulder I see Sofie finally approach her mother and sit beside her on the couch, her eyes still full of suspicion as she stares at me.
“Your hair looks funny,” her brother points out. “Like rope.”
Before I have a chance to answer, Kathleen does. “They’re called dreads. They look like rope but are really soft, come feel.” A smile plays around my sister’s mouth as she releases him so he can reach out when I bend down. His little fist closes on my hair.
“How do you brush it?”
“I don’t have to brush it. It stays exactly like this,” I answer, smiling down at him.
His head whips around to his mom. “I want dreads too,” he announces.
“You just don’t want to brush your hair,” his sister snaps, speaking up for the first time.
“So?” her brother fires back, but before the siblings can take the bickering any further, their mom jumps in.
“Guys, this is your aunt, Taz. Mommy’s sister.”
“Hi,” Spencer says, looking at me with even more curiosity, but his sister stays silent.
“Sofie?” Nicky prompts.
“Yeah, hi.”
My niece’s brush-off response doesn’t offend me in the least. I understand it. I see the awareness in her eyes and nothing she sees bodes well, and she knows it. My presence here is simply additional proof that things are not all right.
“You guys hungry?” I ask to break the tension.
As expected—he’s male after all—Spencer is quick to confirm with enthusiastic nodding of his head.
“Come on then,” I tell him, noting my sister’s eyes are closing again. “Let’s see what we can drum up.” I take the boy by the hand and start walking out of the room. “Sofie?” I throw over my shoulder, purposely casual. “I think your mom is ready for a nap, want to see if you can help her into bed?”
I can see her hesitation as she looks from me to the hospital bed on the other side of the room, before her eyes settle on her mom. I catch Kathleen’s eye, who seems to easily understand my silent communication.
“Come on, Sofie. Let’s tuck your mom in,” I hear her say, as I lead Spencer into the kitchen.
Fifteen minutes later Nicky is sleeping, Sofie snatched a banana and headed up to her room, Spencer is in front of the TV in the rec room downstairs, and Kathleen comes walking into the kitchen.
“Where is Rafe?”
I steel my shoulders, knowing a third-degree was coming. “Had to check on things at the clinic,” I answer, feigning a casualness I don’t feel.
But instead of the probing questions I was expecting, she mumbles, “Hiding already,” and slips out the back door.
From the kitchen window I see her stalking over to the clinic next door.
Rafe
I’m a coward.
I saw Kathleen pull up and my kids get out of her van, but instead of heading home, I ducked my head and kept going over the notes Rick Moore, a colleague from neighboring Winona who’d looked after my practice, had left for me.
Not that I was really processing anything I read, my mind still trying to come to grips with the upsets of this past week. Hiding out in the clinic had become a habit I’d grown into over the past year already and is a safe place to slip back to with life throwing a bunch of curves.
I plan. That’s what I do.
From when I was first placed with my foster parents at nine years old, I started plotting what my view of a perfect life should look like, since up to that point mine had been far from it. My foster parents—both since deceased—were kind enough, but being older and without kids of their own, remained detached during the ten years I lived with them. I craved the sense of family but realized early on I would have to rely on myself to create it.
I had it all worked out in my head. When I came to Eminence and met the Borans for the first time, I thought I’d found it. The town and the clinic were exactly what I’d hoped for, and the family it came with seemed perfect—as did their daughter.
Then I met Taz: younger than her sister by a couple of years and as different as the sun is from the moon. Opinionated, stubborn, irreverent, and uncontrolled, she was like turbulence on a smooth flight. Disruptive and jarring, but at the same time brightly exciting in an almost forbidden way.
Alive and effortlessly tempting. Like a moth to the light, I couldn’t help but be drawn in by her and it terrified me.
I was almost relieved when Nicky ended up pregnant. Even though unexpected, it was something I was able to fit into the future I’d always envisioned.
Look at me now. Oh, the irony. My marriage a contrived farce, the mother of my children dying—and to top it off—the one woman who can make my heart beat out of my chest with just one of her crooked smiles shows up out of the blue.
I’ve lost all control.
The door to my office flies open.
“How long are you gonna hide in here?”
Kathleen has never been a big fan of mine. She’d been a friend to Taz long before she became one to Nicky, and neither of those roles has won me any favors. Whether intending to or not, in one way or another I’ve hurt both sisters and she knows it. She probably knows more than I do.
“It’s work, Kathleen. I’m hardly hiding,” I lie.
“Right,” she scoffs, clearly not buying it. “Well then, when you’re done working you may want to go check in on your kids, instead of leaving them to someone who’s a stranger to them.”
“You’re the one who asked her to come,” I fire back, realizing instantly I’m acting like a two-year-old.
“Yeah, I did, because Nicky asked me to, and because—whether you like it or not—your family needs her. That doesn’t absolve you, though.”
I know she’s right. Like I said, I’m a coward.
I drop my head and run my hands over my face. “Let me check in with Lisa. I’ll be right over.”
“Okay.” Her voice is suddenly much softer. “I’ll just say my goodbyes and be on my way. My kids are waiting at home.”
“Thanks, Kathleen,” I mumble, looking up at her.
“Sure thing. Any time you need a swift kick in the ass, I’m your girl.”
“Why is she here?”
I sit on the edge of Sofie’s bed, nudging her hip. “Scoot over, Pipsqueak.” When she does, I stretch out beside her, tucking her close. “I assume you’re talking about your mom’s sister? She’s here because your mom loves her very much. She needs someone to help her, and it so happens your aunt is a nurse.”
“How come she never visits?”
I should’ve known it would be my daughter—with a natural inclination to challenge everything—who asks the hard questions. So much like the aunt she’s grumbling about, it’s almost painful.
“Not so easy when you’re living in Africa, Sofie. You’ve heard of Doctors Without Borders, right?” I know she has, because I heard Nicky proudly talk about the work they do, not that long ago. She nods almost reluctantly. “Your aunt, Taz, works as a nurse for them. She’s been in several countries in Africa, running clinics and looking after people who don’t always have access to medical care.”
Her reluctant interest is piqued. “What countries?”
“I know she just came from the Congo, and other than that I’m not sure, but I think she may have been in Ghana at some point too. You should ask her yourself.”
Her answer to that is a shrug. “I still don’t get why she has to come all the way from Africa to help Mom.”
Now I recognize the fear in her voice and I tuck her even closer, resting my chin on her head.
I had a chance to check in with Nicky earlier, while the kids were getting ready for bed. She mentioned Taz’s suggestion to let the kids guide when a good time to tell them would be. Sofie’s comment indicates to me she knows the answer to her own question but is not ready to hear it. So I’m careful in my response
“Don’t you think it’s better to have family than a bunch of strangers in your house?”
She looks at me, the lashes framing her pretty brown eyes batting tears away.
“I guess so.”