Chapter 35
CHAPTER 35
Maura
By teatime my nerves are frayed. There’s no sign of Christy or Dan, and there’s no word from the hospital. Every now and then my imagination veers toward the worst and I hate myself for it. I try hard to hide my worries from the girls.
Elizabeth cries for her mother once, but she is distracted with a cuddle and a game of I-spy. Alice sits in her playpen, busying herself with some building blocks. She only fusses when she’s hungry or wet. Marie, however, is slightly more difficult to placate. She asks questions I don’t have answers to and she’s visibly distressed.
“Is Ma gone to the hospital?”
“She is.”
“Why didn’t she take us? She always takes us.”
“Because I’m here today. And I thought it might be fun to play some board games.”
She regards me with contempt, but slowly her frown curls upward. “Santy brought Snakes and Ladders. We can play that, if you like?”
“I would like that very much.”
The day is long and the flat feels cramped and uncomfortable when the children are restless or hungry. Marie is a great help. She teaches me how to change Alice’s cloth nappy, which is surprisingly more difficult than I anticipated. I struggle with the folds and pins as the baby kicks and wriggles. Marie fetches Elizabeth’s potty when needed. And when Elizabeth pees successfully in the potty and not on the floor, we all clap. Even baby Alice, who enjoys mimicking most things we do.
Marie tells me, “That’s how she learns.”
I cook dinner. A stew, and I hope Dan likes it as much as Christy usually does. I feed the children but I can’t bring myself to eat. There’s no room for anything in my stomach except worry. I set some stew aside for Dan and I spoon some into a bowl and cover it with tinfoil to take home for Christy later. I put Alice and Elizabeth to bed and Marie helps me wash up. She pushes a chair over to the sink, climbs up and dips her small hands in sudsy water, and begins to scrub a pot.
“I can’t wait to be a grown-up,” she says.
“Oh,” I say, thinking back to a time when I had the very same wish.
“I’m going to be a ma, just like Ma.”
“Oh,” I say again, realizing that Marie and I are quite alike. “You know, you could be anything you want. You’re a very clever little girl.”
Suddenly, I feel compelled to tell her this. Maybe it’s the suds pushing past her little elbows that doesn’t sit right with me. Or that she knows how to change a nappy, or fetch a potty. She’s just six years old. Her days should be full of coloring and dollies and not much more.
“What could I be?” she asks.
“Oh, I don’t know. A teacher, perhaps.”
Marie scrunches her face and pokes her tongue between her lips. Clearly school is not her favorite place.
“All right, not a teacher. How about a nurse?”
She shakes her head.
“All right. All right.” I search my brain and it’s oddly difficult to think of a profession to suggest to this curious little girl. I’m not quite sure why that is, but it makes me want to try even harder to broaden her horizons, certainly wider than mine.
“What about a ballerina?”
She smiles.
“Or an artist. You love drawing, don’t you?”
Her smile widens. I see teeth.
I gasp. “I know.” I think about all the times people told me I looked just like Doris Day growing up. “What about an actress?”
“What’s a mattress?”
I laugh. “An actress. Oh, it’s a wonderful job. It’s someone who stars in films or on the television. And they play make-believe all the time.”
Marie’s eyes are wide with delight and she throws her arms in the air, showering us in soapy rain. “I want to be a mattress. I can’t wait to be a grown-up and play make-believe.”
Marie’s happiness fills the air as the door creaks open behind us.
“Da,” she squeals, hopping down from the chair and racing toward her father. “Da, I’m going to be a mattress when I grow up. Maura said so.”
“That’s nice, love,” Dan says.
Dan seems years older than when he left this morning. He stands crouched, as if the weight of the day has whittled inches off him. I fear if he doesn’t sit down soon, or lean against the doorframe at least, he might topple over completely.
“How about you go and draw me a picture of an actress,” I suggest, bending in the middle so I’m face-to-face with Marie.
“Yes. Yes.”
Marie scurries into the living area and fetches her coloring pencils and paper and sets to work. I wait for Dan to step farther inside or to close the door behind him. He does neither. I give him time, but when he doesn’t budge, I close the door for him and cup his elbow. I don’t try words. It’s habit, I know. I don’t speak when Christy doesn’t speak to me first. Dan is a different man. Yet the habit is hard to shake. I guide him to the table and he sits. I heat some stew on the stove and set a bowl down in front of him. He must be hungry after a long day, but he doesn’t touch it.
Finally, I bring myself to try words. Words I can’t hold in any longer no matter what the consequences. “Is Bernie all right?”
Dan swallows. I can almost see the lump work its way down his throat. “She is.”
Relief makes me lightheaded and I have to hold the back of his chair to steady myself. “And the baby?”
Dan doesn’t reply. He stares into the bowl of thick, warm stew and I have my answer.
“Oh,” I say, deflated. “Oh.”
Marie returns with a picture of a rounded person with a blue dress and yellow hair.
“What a lovely actress,” I say.
“It’s Ma,” Marie says. “I drawed Ma. Where is she?”
Dan looks up. His eyes fill with tears as he smiles at his eldest child. He pulls Marie onto his lap and she wraps her arms around his neck.
“Your ma is at the hospital. The doctors and nurses are taking good care of her. You’ll see her in a few days.”
Marie’s eyes narrow and she lets her drawing fall to the floor. “But I want to see her now.”
“In a few days, my love.”
“Come along,” I say, reaching my hand out. “How about a story before bed? Your da needs to eat now.”
Marie hops off her father’s knee and takes my hand as we walk toward the corner of the living area where her sisters are fast asleep. I fetch the mattress leaning against the wall and lay it flat on the floor and Marie climbs on top. I cover her with a blanket and all the while I’m thinking of Bernie and the baby she’ll never bring home. I glance over my shoulder and I can see that Dan is a broken man thinking about the same.