Chapter 15 The Tree #3
“Baker,” Hannah pleads, insistent tears spilling down her own cheeks, “Baker, please, don’t cry. Please don’t. You’re going to hurt yourself more. You broke your rib. Please.”
Baker gasps and heaves, and Hannah tries in vain to steady her shaking shoulders. She leans into her until she doesn’t know whose tears are making her hair wet.
“I hurt you,” Baker sobs. “I hurt the one person I love more than anyone else in the world.”
The swelling in Hannah’s throat threatens to explode. Her sinuses prickle; her body rushes with uncontrollable feeling.
“I hurt you, Han. I hurt you.”
The sobs burst out of Hannah’s throat. “Yeah,” she cries, choking on the word, hating that she needs to release it. “Yeah, you did. You hurt me. You hurt me really badly.”
Baker’s face contorts with anguish. Her chin trembles and her eyes bleed with agony. “I’m so—” She heaves. “I’m so—”
“But, Baker,” Hannah says, brushing away her tears, “you also saved me.”
Baker’s body convulses with sobs, fresh and ugly and necessary. She touches a gentle hand to her ribs and looks Hannah straight in the eye. “You saved me, too.”
It takes long minutes for Baker’s sobs to subside. Hannah holds her the whole time, crying along with her.
And then everything is calm. Their sobs soften into normal breaths. Hannah tries to inhale through the blockage in her nose and hears Baker doing the same thing.
“You all right?” Hannah asks.
“Yeah,” Baker says wetly.
“Let me get some tissues.”
She brings a trash bin, too, and the two of them sit on the bed, Baker under the blankets and Hannah next to her feet, both of them blowing their noses and wiping their eyes, until, after each of them has gone through five tissues, they both start to laugh.
“Now you don’t look like a prom queen,” Hannah says.
Baker smiles like Hannah is the greatest person in the world.
“What do we do now?” Hannah asks a while later.
Baker casts her red, puffy eyes to the hospital blanket. Despite everything they’ve been through that night, Hannah has the distinct impression that Baker has become suddenly shy. “Well, first…,” she says tentatively, still focusing on the blanket, “I think you should lie here for a minute.”
Hannah smiles and crawls up next to her, taking pains not to brush against her injuries. She stretches out so their bodies are parallel, their heads level on the flimsy hospital pillow, her hand resting gently across Baker’s hospital gown.
“How do you think they choose the shapes?”
Baker leans her head into Hannah’s. “Hmm?”
Hannah plucks the thin fabric of the hospital gown. “Who chooses the shapes? I mean, look at this nonsense. Black snowflakes? In May? In Louisiana?”
Baker laughs through her nose. “You’re so stupid.”
“You love it.”
Baker goes quiet. She takes Hannah’s hand, threading their fingers together. “I do.”
They doze in the dim lamplight, letting the distant hospital sounds wash over them. Hannah loses herself to the steady rhythm of Baker’s breathing, of her thumb rubbing circles into Hannah’s palm.
“Your parents will be back soon,” Hannah says quietly.
“I’m surprised they’re not beating down the door.”
Hannah considers telling Baker about her conversation with Mrs. Hadley, but she decides they’ve weathered enough tonight.
There will be time for nuanced conversations later.
Right now, she wants nothing more than the safety of lying here together, touching each other’s skin, exhaling for the first time in months.
“I think, after this…,” Baker says a little while later, “I’ll probably need some time.”
Hannah draws her fingertips over the cuts on Baker’s hand. The idea of another separation should scare her, but for some reason, an expansive peace settles over her heart. “I thought you might say that.”
“Only because I want to make sure I’m ready,” Baker continues, squeezing Hannah’s hand.
“I don’t want to run away again. I want to be brave.
I want to be my realest self.” She pauses, turning her head farther into Hannah’s, speaking softly into her ear.
“If I’m going to be with you, I want to do it right. ”
Hannah looks down to their intertwined fingers. She thinks of her shame, of her anger, of her broken friendships. “I probably need that time, too.”
They rest in silence for a while, just looking at each other. And then Hannah knows it’s time to leave. She climbs reluctantly out of the hospital bed, shifting gingerly around Baker’s bruised and bleeding body. Then she leans over to kiss Baker’s forehead with a lingering, tender touch.
“Take all the time you need,” Hannah says.
Baker kisses the back of Hannah’s hand. “You, too.”
Hannah’s parents send Joanie to bed when they walk into their silent, darkened house. “We need to speak to Hannah alone,” Hannah’s mom says.
Joanie trudges up the stairs without a word.
“Hannah,” her mom says, gathering her into her arms, “Hannah, my sweet girl—”
Hannah’s tears come in full again. They rush up with unexpected force, flooding out before she can stop them. Her dad wraps his arms around her, too, and she closes her eyes and nestles farther into her parents’ embrace.
“We’re sorry,” her mom whispers.
“We should have done better,” her dad says.
“I’m sorry,” Hannah says. “I’m sorry for putting you through this—I’m sorry for not telling you—I’m sorry I couldn’t just be an easy, uncomplicated kid—”
Her mom pulls back. She clutches Hannah’s shoulders, and there is a fierce, protective gleam in her eyes. “Don’t you say that. Don’t you ever say that. You are the exact kid we prayed for.”
Her dad looks at her straight on, and his expression is resolute. “God knew exactly what He was doing when He created you, Hannah.”
She can’t fall asleep, no matter how exhausted she is. She tosses and turns, her mind buzzing with agitation, until she finally slips out of bed with a yearning to be somewhere else. She dresses in the early-morning darkness, tugging an old St. Mary’s pullover over her head.
And just as the sun is coming up, while the whole world is still sleeping through the earliest hours of the morning, she drives to the St. Mary’s chapel. The air is already heavy with heat. The birds are already singing.
She finds a single unlocked door at the back of the chapel.
The air inside is stuffy the way it always is in churches, like stale incense and long-forgotten books.
She walks behind the pews, trailing her hand along the smooth wooden surface where the faithful rest their backs.
The chapel is dark, but the early-morning sun brings a faint glow through the stained glass windows.
She chooses a pew near the back, kneeling on the floor just as she did in the hospital chapel. Her thoughts are still in overdrive, words and ideas and questions wrestling with each other in the deepest recesses of her mind.
And then she whispers a word without meaning to.
“Gay.”
She opens her eyes in surprise, tasting the echo of the word on her tongue. She raises her head to the statues of Mary and Joseph to see if they heard, but they merely stare back serenely.
“Gay,” she says again, louder this time.
The life-sized statue of Mary Magdalene, the one that looms in the corner, shimmers with morning sunlight.
“Gay,” Hannah says, her voice at its normal volume now. “Gay.”
The chapel stays silent. The statues do not reprimand her. She raises her eyes to the crucifix that hangs above the altar.
“Gay,” she says, her voice swelling in her throat. “Gay! I’m gay!”
The Jesus on the crucifix stays motionless, his face anguished.
“Did you hear me?!” Hannah says, shouting now. “I’m gay! I’m GAY!”
A door slams shut behind her.
Hannah whips around, terrified, to find Ms. Carpenter standing frozen in the back of the chapel, one hand still clutching the doorknob. For a long moment, they simply stare at each other. Then Ms. Carpenter smiles.
“Hi, Hannah.”
Hannah grips the top of her pew, her heart still pounding. “Hi. What are you doing here?”
“Well, I’m here to pray,” Ms. Carpenter says simply. “There’s usually no one else here this early.” She steps into the heart of the chapel and scrutinizes Hannah. “Are you okay?”
Hannah hesitates. She can’t find it in herself to say yes.
Ms. Carpenter nods knowingly. She genuflects on the stone floor and slides into the pew behind Hannah, and Hannah turns around, still stunned at the sight of her teacher.
“Everyone missed you after you left,” Hannah says, the words tumbling out of her mouth.
Ms. Carpenter smiles sadly. “I missed all of you, too. It was really hard to leave.”
“I’m sorry I lost you your job.”
“You didn’t lose me my job.”
“But if … if it hadn’t been for that email, they wouldn’t have been able to fire you.”
“They would have found a way sooner or later. I knew as soon as I read the email that something like this would probably happen, but what was there to do? There is no way in the world I could not respond.”
“But you loved it here.”
“I did,” Ms. Carpenter says, nodding. She clears her throat. “But I’ll love it somewhere else, too. And this isn’t about me. This is about something much bigger. You know what I mean?”
“Yeah.”
Ms. Carpenter’s eyes tick over Hannah’s face, scrutinizing her again. “How are things with you, Hannah?”
Hannah looks away. She prepares to tell Ms. Carpenter that things are fine, that she’s getting along okay, but a different answer comes out instead.
“Things have been pretty bad,” she admits. The words taste honest, but she’s surprised to find there’s nothing frightening about them.
Ms. Carpenter stares intently at her. “So I heard. Mrs. Shackleford called me.”
“She did?”
“Late last night, when she was on her way to the hospital.”
“Why didn’t you come?”
“You were in good hands, and I didn’t want to make the situation any worse. I figured I’d come here instead.”
“Did you come to pray for us?”
“I’m always praying for you all.” She pauses. “Hannah. Are you okay?”