Chapter Thirty-Four Lillian
Chapter Thirty-Four
Lillian
I sank down on the bottom step of the US Capitol Building, gripping my sign until my knuckles went bloodless as I restrained myself from comforting Grady.
His air of professionalism while he spoke with the EMT workers was undeniable.
The overheated gentleman would be taken to the nearest hospital for a full assessment, but his medical crisis seemed to have passed.
For now. A scary reminder of all the ways we had to look out for Rosalynn.
The siren faded as the ambulance drove away.
The crowd broke out in applause, peppered with cheers and blasts from a couple of air horns.
Grady just nodded without even a hint of his lopsided smile.
I thought of all he’d shared with me about the stressors of his job and of him being the first to reach Rosalynn after her accident.
Yes, Grady’s calm confidence quieted the crowd, but now I understood the high cost of his composure.
My anxious gaze skimmed the clusters of people until I found my daughter. Already Della lifted her megaphone to renew the rally cry. Rosalynn and her new friends were chanting nearly as loudly as my mother.
“A-D-A, all the way.” The chant cycled on repeat.
While I sensed Grady wouldn’t accept comfort, I took advantage of the moment to distract him as he stood on the outskirts. How many times had he distanced himself out of pain and I’d assumed he was pulling away? Blaming him.
With determined strides, I closed the space between us and rested a hand on his dependable shoulders. “Isn’t our girl something to behold? Before the accident, she was always so expressive, using her dance to tell a story. Today, she’s channeling all that power through her voice.”
The lines on his forehead relaxed, and he slid an arm along my waist. “I was thinking about showing her my guitar.”
“That’s an idea.” I leaned into the familiarity of him. Of us. Almost daring to hope. “Just don’t expect her to sing on key.”
He laughed, such a dear sound that rumbled against my ribs. Had he meant it earlier, about hoping our time alone would bring us back together?
That he wouldn’t lose me?
His warm brown eyes said he remembered and meant every word. If I dared to trust him.
Grady gave my waist a squeeze, then reached to retrieve his poster. “We should get back to it.”
The clatter of a wheelchair split the air. My heart plummeted. The past year had conditioned my body to expect the worst.
I pivoted fast, ready to lend a hand. I even started toward a nearby woman who pitched forward from her chair.
Until I saw she wasn’t alone. One after another, protestors abandoned their crutches and assistance devices, throwing themselves onto the steps leading to the Capitol Building. Not just to sit on the steps.
They were . . . climbing?
My fingers lifted to my lips at this new demonstration that suddenly took the day’s efforts to a whole other level. Even a girl younger than my daughter flung her walker away, collapsing onto those stone stairs to climb with defiance.
Rosalynn propelled her chair forward, a determination stamped on her face that I recognized all too well from her days as a dancer.
Another flicker of worry rippled through me, this time from concern for all the ways she could suffer.
All those steps. The strain. The heat. The memory of the ambulance that had just driven away.
Emotions were running high, from the protestors to passersby to law enforcement. A kaleidoscope of concerns spun in my mind. I sprinted past Grady, by my mother, my whole attention fixed on my child.
“Let me help you,” I said, searching for some kind of way to spare her the risk. “Your father and I can carry you.”
Rosalynn pushed my hands away. “I can do it myself.”
I turned to Grady for support. He’d expressed concern for my safety. Surely, he would see the dangers of this move for our daughter.
“Grady? Please,” I said, gripping his arm. This was his chance to rescue our daughter.
Except he didn’t move. He looked at me with an apology that told me I would get no help from him on this. I didn’t even bother appealing to my mother.
“Rosalynn . . .” My throat went tight.
“Mama,” she answered.
She didn’t call me “mama” often. Usually “mom” or “mother,” followed by an eye roll or exasperated sigh.
But today had been about breaching barriers in our relationship too, as we moved forward in this new direction our life had taken us.
She took my hand now. And it almost brought me to my knees to realize she was comforting me.
“I need to do this on my own,” Rosalynn continued with a gentle firmness that showed me a facet of the woman she would one day become. “I don’t want people feeling sorry for me. I want them to know that nothing, absolutely nothing, will stop me from demanding what I deserve.”
Fear tangled up with pride, and a realization of how high a price she would pay if I stopped her from reclaiming her life. I crossed my arms tightly over my chest as if I could hold in all my concerns, and I backed away.
Rosalynn pushed up from her chair, her legs trembling, and I knew she had maybe ten seconds at most to catch herself. She angled forward in a controlled fall onto the top step. I winced. There would be bruises.
Just as there’d been so many bruises over the years of dancing. Each mark had only spurred her to press harder. Then again during her recovery, she’d pushed and pushed. And that same grit was going to drive her to take those steps all the way to the top.
Grady moved alongside her, encouraging. “You’ve got this, kiddo. One more. I’m here if you need me. I believe in you.”
I thought of all the times since the accident that he’d wanted to take her to the beach.
To go kayaking. To offer her independence and experiences.
Because we wouldn’t be around forever. A parent’s job was to teach a child self-reliance.
Grady was having more luck than I ever had.
Truth be told, he probably always would.
If it had been left up to me, my daughter would have missed this chance to fight for herself. To show the world the kind of strength and fortitude that had the power to change hearts and minds.
The thought humbled me silent. I folded her wheelchair and carried it to the top of the steps because I knew she would succeed. My daughter with her indomitable spirit. Grady followed her up, encouraging her one step at a time until sweat plastered her hair to her head.
Della jogged two steps higher, leading call-and-answer chants in her megaphone. “Vote now.”
“Access now.”
“Vote now.”
“Access now.”
My lips moved in time with the words, and I’m sure I shouted like everyone else.
Although I could barely hear over the ringing in my ears.
My focus narrowed to my little family until I almost didn’t register the news crews filming and photographers crouching down to zoom in on the faces.
As much as I wanted to sweep away the prying eyes, I also understood the need for documentation.
How many people would open their morning newspaper tomorrow and be motivated?
I became so caught up in thought I almost missed my daughter completing the climb. My mother’s whoop of excitement startled me, and my focus widened again. I dropped onto the concrete and shrugged off my backpack. I fished out paper cups and poured water for my daughter . . . then for others too.
Sweat beaded down Rosalynn’s face as she gulped the entire drink before swiping her wrist across her mouth. “Did you see me, Mom? I did it.”
Her words reminded me of so many other times she’d shown off an accomplishment. But none so powerful as today. I’d never been prouder.
Grady ruffled her hair, his half smile at full wattage and his eyes glinting with restrained tears. “Yes, my girl, you did.”
“Okay, I’m ready to go inside the Rotunda with everyone else.”
I was all too aware of the police stationed around us, who were looking more and more uncomfortable by the moment. But who was I to tell her no? I opened her wheelchair and set the footplates. She reached toward Grady and me for help standing and settling again.
We swarmed into the Rotunda with the others. My gaze swooped up to the Capitol’s magnificent dome overhead. The buzz of excitement quieted into an instant of hushed awe. The history overwhelmed me at a time my mind and senses were already alive from the magnitude of the moment.
Paintings filled the walls. Bronze and marble statues and busts encircled us—Washington, Jefferson, Lincoln.
Not just presidents, but figures like Alexander Hamilton and Martin Luther King Jr. My eyes landed on a group sculpture of women, including Susan B.
Anthony, called the Portrait Monument. I wanted to soak in the efforts of these individuals.
The changes wrought over time by men and women like my daughter. People with strength and vision. People ready to make sacrifices to do good in the world.
As I marveled at those change makers, I felt utterly useless.
I knew I needed to find my role, my individual voice for making a difference.
Yes, for my daughter and this legislation, but beyond as well.
I’d been so zeroed in on this road trip and finding peace for my family, I hadn’t given much thought to afterward.
Now? Faint whispers of dreams floated through my mind of what my future, and yes, our future, could hold. More of that hope swelled inside me and I realized why I’d tamped it down for so long.
Hope could be the scariest emotion of all, since it only increased the potential for loss.