Joy and Pain Eden
Joy and Pain
Eden
I am admittedly surprised and dismayed to see Brooklyn under such duress.
Yes, it’s a relief that the breathing machine has been unhooked, and her mouth is visible again.
Visiting her has been disconcerting, to put it mildly.
The wide tube snaking into her mouth, the one up her nose feeding her, the lines running into her arms, the leads from her chest and head, have been breaking Margot’s heart, and mine, too.
But Brooklyn doesn’t seem happy to see me. She’s staring at me like I’m some sort of nightmare come to visit, her eyes wide, her face pale. I mean, technically, I am the ghost of Christmas past, but it’s clear she doesn’t know why.
“Who are you?” she rasps—oh, her poor voice. Her throat must hurt so badly.
“I’m Eden, Brooklyn. Don’t you recognize me? From Atlanta?”
Margot is holding Brook’s hand. I make my way to the bed and take up residence on the other side. Her skin feels like paper, soft and dry.
“I was so relieved when Margot texted to tell me you’d woken up. You’ve given us quite the scare.”
Brooklyn slowly wrenches her hand out of mine.
“I’m sorry. I don’t remember you.”
Margot is watching us with concern. I give her a gentle smile. “It’s fine! That’s fine. You had quite a bang on the head. I’m sure you will remember once you’ve had more time awake.”
“She’s already recalling a lot,” Margot says with pride. “She’s going to own this place in a day or two.”
Brooklyn drags her eyes to her sister. “Um . . . you were saying, about Trey?”
“Oh, let’s not talk about that right now,” she replies, and I have to say, I agree wholeheartedly.
Andrew Locke is a thorn in all of our sides.
After what he did to his parents . . . and look at the pain he’s causing Brooklyn and the children, running away instead of facing me like a man. Then again, that’s his MO.
“The kids are going to be so excited to see you,” I tell her.
“Where are the kids?” she asks, with an odd sort of longing in her voice. I don’t blame her—I’d miss those cherubs, too, if I hadn’t seen them in three days.
Margot answers, glancing at her watch. “If Eden’s here, that means Neve is at ballet, and Four is at hockey.”
“Ballet . . .” I can tell Brook is trying to remember the details. “And Four plays hockey? I don’t remember that.”
“He does now,” Margot says, grinning. “Eden took him to the rink in Bellevue yesterday, and turns out he can skate like a maniac. He’s had one lesson and he’s already talking about going pro. You should see him. Incredible.”
“Yes, he is quite incredible,” I add. “So athletic. Just like his father.”
“His father?” Brooklyn looks utterly baffled.
“Oh, yes. Andrew was captain of the football team, don’t you remember? Had scouts, scholarships, the works. He was baseball captain in the spring, too. An absolute powerhouse athlete. Everyone was so shocked when he went to the Air Force Academy instead.”
“We don’t call him Andrew,” Brooklyn says. Her voice is flat, unengaged. It must be all the medicine.
Margot frowns. “This might be a lot of information for Brook to handle all at once.”
“Oh my gosh, you’re right. Anyway, all that to say, don’t worry about the kids, Brooklyn.
Margot and I are taking turns with them, so someone’s always here with you.
We don’t want a repeat of what happened in Atlanta.
Oh, Brook. It’s such wonderful news.” I take her hand again.
“We’ve been so worried about you, all of us. ”
“Margot,” Brooklyn says, again pulling her hand from mine, “can we speak in private?”
That’s my cue. No sense torturing the poor girl.
She looks so confused. The injury might be worse than anyone anticipated, and that would be such a shame.
Such a shame. Brains are delicate, fickle.
They are unknowable. They said she’d recover, but what if she never remembers?
What if she becomes a shell of herself, a walking ghost?
What if the grief and the accident and the betrayal are too much, and something terrible happens?
What if she slips? What if she decides she can’t handle this life anymore and tries to exit, permanently?
I scratch at my wrist. My nail is sharp, and I feel the bead of blood begin to ooze.
I put my wrist to my mouth, suck it away.
I understand the urge to depart this world more than most. And for Brooklyn to try suicide, that would be simply horrible.
I won’t let that happen. I can’t let this go awry.
I will be here for them. I looked away once, and my sister died. History will not repeat itself.
My therapist’s voice: “Stop catastrophizing, Eden.”
Yes, that’s what I’m doing. Catastrophizing.
But isn’t this a catastrophe? Isn’t this horrible?
A woman was nearly killed. In front of me, in front of her children.
There was blood everywhere. Her brain was smashed into the concrete like a wet melon.
I will never get that sound out of my head.
You would think the most vivid memory would be the scream, or the screech of the tires, but no, all I hear is that wet, thick thunk. It’s terrible.
I need to get out of here.
“Margot, you know what? I’m happy to wrangle the kids tonight. Why don’t you stay here and catch up? You can fill Brooklyn in on what we’ve discovered about Andrew—sorry, Trey.”
“Are you sure?” Margot asks.
I trail a hand along her shoulder. “Of course. You know I love babysitting. Auntie Eden to the rescue.”
“You’re the best.” Margot gives me a hug, and I smile at Brooklyn over her sister’s shoulder.
This is the first time I’ve really seen them side by side properly, both awake, eyes open, and focused on me.
Gosh, they really are identical. But Margot has a different spark in her.
A light that burns brightly inside, where Brooklyn’s eyes shelter darkness.
She’s hiding something. I realized it at the airport, before all of this happened.
When we were leaving, she was so anxious to get away from me, and when she needed me, even then, I could tell she was only there because she had to be.
She didn’t choose me. She wouldn’t be my friend if she didn’t have to be.
Margot is different. Warmer. Sunshine and kindness.
I’d wager Brooklyn knows what Andrew is up to.
Well, a few more nights at the house might help me figure that out, too.
I listen from the hallway while they talk. Brooklyn is unhappy with my presence. “I have no idea who this person is, but you are calling her Auntie Eden?” she says to Margot, who replies in her calm, unflappable way.
“Hey now, no need to get upset. She’s been a huge help.”
“But who is she? What does she have to do with Trey?”
“When he left the airport, she was helping you. She was on your flight from Nashville to Atlanta. Turns out she went to high school with him, and stranger still, he was married to her sister.”
“He wasn’t married before me. Was he?”
“Yeah, honey. Sorry, we hadn’t quite gotten to that point in the remembrances. I know it’s a strange connection, but she feels responsible for the kids and for this situation in general. He bolted because . . . Okay, this is kind of a long story. Here’s what’s happened.”
Moments later, there is a shriek, then sobbing.
Time to go.
I wind my way to the elevator. Stopping at the nurses’ station, I let them know Margot is staying instead of me—the unit only allows one of us at a time—then sign out and head to the rink to pick up Four.
I think the kids deserve tacos tonight. They do love them so.