My Sweet Audrina

  Arden came into the room just then. He seized Vera by the shoulders. “What are you saying to her? She might be able to hear! Her doctors tell me sometimes a patient in a coma can see and hear and think and no one knows it. Please, Vera, even if she dies, I want her to die believing in me and loving me still.”

  Again she laughed. “So it is true, you were there, and you did nothing to save her. What a boyfriend you turned out to be. You ran, Arden, ran! But I can understand, really I can. They were so much older and bigger, and you had to think of yourself.”

  Confused, I tried to put all this together—at last I knew the secret of the First Audrina, who had not been nine years older. But why had Papa told me such a silly lie? What difference would it have made just to tell me the truth? That meant Vera must have played with the First and Best, and truly she did know her and had liked her so much I could never take her place. But then I must have known her, too! My head began to ache. Lies, my whole life constructed on lies that really didn’t make any sense.

  Day after day Vera tended me with loathing, looked at me with disgust, brushed my hair ruthlessly so that much of it came out. With unsanitary methods she inserted a catheter, even when Arden was in the room. Thank God he had enough respect for me and the decency to turn away.

  But often when Vera was somewhere else in the house, my husband came to me and talked softly as he gently moved my arms and legs.

  “Darling, wake up. I want you to recover. I’m doing what I can to keep your legs and arms from becoming atrophied. Vera tells me it won’t do any good, but your doctors say it will. She doesn’t like for me to talk to them unless she’s there, too. For some reason they seem terribly reluctant to say anything; perhaps Vera has been trying to protect me from knowing too much. She nags me every day to pull your life support system. She doesn’t have the nerve herself. Oh, Audrina, if only you could save yourself and save me from doing something that will ruin the rest of my life. She tells me I’m weak … and maybe I am, for when I see you day after day like this, I think perhaps you would be better off dead. Then I think, no, you’ll recover … but Audrina, if you grow much thinner, you’ll wither away to nothing, even if Vera and I do nothing.”

  He was weak. He’d failed her, and he’d failed me. Despite all his declarations of love, he still went to Vera every night.

  Then one day when I’d just about given up hope, Papa came into my room with tears in his eyes that fell onto my face like warm summer rain. I tried to blink my eyes to let him know I was conscious, but I had no control over my eyelids. They popped open or closed without my will.

  “Audrina,” he cried, falling down on his knees and clutching at my thin, slack hand, “I can’t let you die! I’ve lost so many women in my life. Come back, don’t leave me alone with only Vera and Sylvia. They’re not what I need or want. It’s always been you I’ve counted on to last. God forgive me if I’ve put a burden on you by loving you too much.”

  I was tired of Papa, too.

  If Papa came to me again, I wasn’t conscious. The next time I woke up it seemed weeks later. But I was now as I had been as a child; I had no sense of time, so how could I know? Again I was in the bed. My room was empty but for me. The house was so quiet; it felt so huge and empty all around me. I lay there paralyzed and tried to think of what I could do to escape while Vera was occupied elsewhere.

  The door opened and Arden and Vera came in together. She was talking to him in an irritated tone. “Arden, sometimes you are more of a boy than a man. There must be some legal way we can force Damian to leave you his money when he dies. Certainly he must realize Audrina can’t outlive him and wouldn’t benefit from his millions.”

  “But Sylvia will always need care, Vera. I don’t blame Damian for looking out for her. If, or when, Audrina should die, he’s having it drawn into his will that if Sylvia is put in an institution, or dies, my share that would come from Audrina’s will be cut off. He’s putting it in a trust fund so it will be doled out monthly. I don’t care if he leaves me anything. I can always earn enough to keep us fed, clothed and housed.”

  “Fed, clothed and housed? Is that all you want out of life? There’s a world of glamour and pleasure beyond the walls of this museum. Go after it. If you don’t, I will. Arden, look at me. I’m twenty-five, one year younger than you are. Life moves so swiftly. Soon we’ll both be thirty. It’s now or never. What good does lots of money do when you’re too old to enjoy it? What good are beautiful clothes and expensive jewelry when your figure is gone and your neck is wrinkled? I want it now, Arden, now! While I’m still pretty enough to feel good about myself. Decide, Arden. Decide what you want. Do something positive for once in your lifetime. You’ve allowed guilt to rule you because you failed that day in the woods … and in a way you failed again when you were stupid enough to marry Audrina. Say it now, that you take me and not her. I want out of this miserable situation—today!”

  Appearing torn by indecision, Arden glanced at me, at Vera, then stared at Sylvia, who shambled into the room. She meandered over to my bed and tried with clumsy hands to brush my hair even as she tried to say my name. But Vera was there, and she couldn’t even make her hands stop trembling. Appearing deeply troubled and frustrated, she slowly turned around and spread her arms wide as if to protect me.

  “Whenever she can, Sylvia sneaks up on me and jumps me. She clamps her teeth into any part of my body she can grab hold of. I hit her, kick her, stomp on her toes and pull her hair to make her stop, but she hangs on like a bulldog! She’s crazy.”

  On and on Arden stared at her without speaking. Then he turned his eyes on me lying like a stick of wood, my eyes half open, my lips slack. The IV dripped its solution into my veins, and my hair lay in limp, dull strings on the pillow. I knew I couldn’t appeal to him now.

  “Yes,” he said heavily as the mists began to form around him and Vera, “I guess you’re right. Audrina would want to die rather than live on as she is now. She’s so young to have suffered so much. Isn’t it a terrible pity that I’ve never been able to help her, when all I ever wanted to do was save her from more suffering. Oh, God, if only I could have done differently, then maybe none of this would have happened.”

  His head bowed. The last I saw of him this time he was kneeling by my bed, his hand clutching mine, and on our clasped hands he rested his cheek that was wet with his tears.

  And just barely, before I floated to that nowhere they called sleep, I felt the warmth of his face, the wetness of his tears. I tried to speak, to tell him I wasn’t going to die, but my tongue stayed frozen and all I could do was drift away.

  Last Rites

  On what I was to find out later was a clear summer day it came to me as in a dream that my death was at hand.

  The purposeful way Vera strode into my room that morning told me so much. She came to my bed and stared down into my face. I kept my eyes almost closed, knowing my lashes would give me the appearance of being asleep. Her cold hand touched my forehead to feel its warmth.

  “Cool,” she said, “but not cool enough. Are you recovering, Audrina? Your skin looks better today—why, you almost look half alive. I do believe you’ve put on some weight. Though I’m sure Arden won’t notice that.” She giggled. “He seldom sees anything but your face, even when he sneaks in here to move your arms and legs. Papa does that, too, and his eyes are always so full of tears he can’t see anything, either. The two of them are so burdened down with guilt it’s a wonder they can still get up in the mornings and go to work.”

  She glanced at Sylvia, who’d taken to sleeping on the floor near my bed. “Get away from there, idiot!” She made some movement that I took to be a kick. Sylvia squealed in pain, then jumped up and staggered over to her favorite dim corner. There she crouched down to keep a suspicious eye on Vera.

  “Last bath time,” sang out Vera. “Wouldn’t want the coroner to think I neglected you. ‘Gonna wash that man right out of your hair,’” she sang gaily, “gonna paint that face and make you look pret
ty … but not so pretty he’ll cry too long.”

  Like a musical farce she was making my death, as she came toward me bearing a basin of warm water and several towels. Quickly she disconnected the IV and eased me around so my head dangled off the side of the bed into the basin of water. She used several pitchers of warm water to rinse off the lather. Next I was moved back onto the bed, bathed, and over my head she tugged one of my prettiest nightgowns. She seemed to notice some difference in the flexibility of my body. She looked disturbed, hesitated, then shook her head and began brushing and arranging my dried hair.

  Several times she used her thumb and forefinger to spread my lids and peer into my eyes. “Did I just see you move? Audrina, I could swear I saw you move. You winced, too, when I pulled your hair. Are you only pretending to still be in your coma? Well, I don’t give a damn. Keep the game up and pretend long enough and in your grave you’ll find yourself. Already you’ve pretended too long, Audrina. You’re so weak now you can’t do a thing to help yourself. Too weak to walk, too weak to talk, and Papa and Arden have gone away on a daylong conference in Richmond. They won’t be home until late. Soon I’ll be rushing off to the beauty parlor in Arden’s car, and our new maid named Nola will be instructed to look out for you.”

  Every sense I had quickened, became sharper.

  My survival instincts came alive as I quivered with apprehension, wondering how she planned to kill me and what I could do to save myself.

  Seconds later Vera used my dressing room to apply my makeup to her face. I caught the whiff of my own French perfume, smelled my own dusting powder. Then I heard her fumbling around in my closet. Finding what she wanted, she came into view wearing my best summer suit.

  “It’s August, Audrina. August in Paris, what a honeymoon that’s going to be. Before this month is over Arden Lowe will belong to me … and he’s got enough evidence on Papa to have him locked away in jail. He doesn’t want to use it, for dear Papa has reformed and no longer cheats and embezzles. Your noble Arden made him quit. I don’t really want Papa in jail anyway. I want him where I can put my hands on him and make him pay, and pay, and pay. And when I have all his money, into an old folks home goes dear Papa, and dear little Sylvia will get her just rewards, too. I think it’s very romantic for you to die in the summer. On your grave we can lay all the roses you love. Remember that first box of Valentine candy Arden sent you? And I ate every piece? I hated you for attracting him even then, when I was more his age. You’ve been unconscious three months … do you know that? I pray you can hear. According to your husband, you and he finally ‘found each other’ just before your fall down the stairs. Really, Audrina, you do know all the right ways to mess up your life. Too many people fall in this house. Someone should have Sylvia locked up before somebody else takes a tumble. You shielded a killer, Audrina. But you won’t have to worry about anything after today. I’m driving to the village, making a big show of myself. While I’m gone … the job will be done. I’ll come home to find you dead.” She laughed and then turned to look hard at Sylvia.

  The clickity-clack of her high heels on the floor sounded ominous as she went out the door.

  I was alone now, except for Sylvia.

  I tried to speak, to call, and though I made some gurgling, throaty noises, nothing coherent came out. Sylvia, I willed, come to me. Do something to help me. Don’t let me be here when Vera comes back. Please, Sylvia, please …

  In her corner Sylvia played with several prisms, using them to send separate light rays that crossed. Looking up every once in a while, she vacantly stared my way. I had to find my voice. Desperate need gave me the strength to speak. “Sylvia … help me …” It came out as little more than a moan, but Sylvia heard and understood.

  Sluggishly she rose to her feet. Excruciatingly slowly she wandered not to my bed but to the dressing table, which was not reflected in the mirror over the dresser. But I could hear her fiddling around with the pretty jars and bottles. She squished the perfume atomizer, wafting to me the scent of jasmine.

  Sylvia, I moaned again. Help me. Take me away. Hide me. Please, please … Sylvia … help Audrina.

  Something had her attention. Now I could see her reflection in the dresser mirror. She was looking my way. Startled, almost scared appearing. Inch by slow inch she ambled toward my bed. In her hand she carried my silver hand mirror, and from time to time she glanced at her own reflection, as if fascinated by the pretty girl in the glass—and no wonder. When she held her head high and threw back that tangled mop of hair, she was breathtakingly lovely.

  I found my voice again, weak and trembling. “Billie’s cart, Sylvia … the little red cart—find that cart. Put me on it.”

  Slowly, slowly, she came to gaze with unfocused eyes into my face. Then she looked in the hand mirror. I could tell what she must be seeing. She looked more like me now than I must look like myself.

  “Please … Sylvia … help me,” I whispered.

  The door opened. My heart almost stopped beating. Vera was back so quickly. What had gone wrong? Then I saw her reason for coming back. She held a plastic bag full of cookies. The very kind of cookies that Sylvia had such a passion for.

  “Look, Sylvia,” charmed Vera in her sweetest voice. “Pretty Sylvia hasn’t had a treat like this in years and years, has she? Mean Audrina won’t let you eat cookies, but nice Vera will. Come, pretty Sylvia, eat your cookies like a good girl and I’ll bring you more tomorrow. See where your half-sister puts your cookies … under the bed.”

  What was she up to?

  In another few moments Vera was on her feet, picking up her purse, which was really my purse, and, softly chuckling to herself, she headed once more for the door.

  “Goodbye, Audrina, goodbye. When you get to heaven say hello to your mother for me. If my mother is there, ignore her. Dying won’t hurt much. Your food supply will stop, that’s all. The machine functioning for your kidneys will shut off… it won’t hurt. Maybe when the respirator stops you’ll just stop breathing… it’s hard to tell, but you can’t last long. All that grieving for Billie helped run down your health long before your fall. And did you know I contributed a little drug to your tea? Just a little to keep you in a constant apathetic state …”

  Bang! She slammed the door.

  No sooner had she closed the door than Sylvia was on her knees and under the bed. When next I saw her she was munching on a handful of cookies—and in her free hand was the single plug that connected all my machines to the outlet. Good God! Vera must have fastened the cookies to the plug with the picture wire I saw dangling from Sylvia’s hand. Sylvia plucked the wire from the cookies, threw it down, then stuffed her mouth again. I felt strange, really strange. Sylvia was growing fuzzy, fuzzier …

  I was dying!

  Do you want me to die, Sylvia? Desperate now, I concentrated every last bit of will power I had on controlling her. Determined to live, I fought the drowsiness that tried to take me down, down.

  As if consolidating her strength, trying to focus her eyes and keep them that way, my younger sister touched the tear that slipped from my right eye. “Aud … dreeen … naaa …?”

  She loved me. The bread cast upon the waters of Sylvia was coming back a thousandfold. “Oh, Sylvia, quickly.” Vera could come home sooner than I think. And Sylvia was so slow …

  Excruciatingly slow. It seemed like hours passed before Sylvia came back with Billie’s little red cart that had splintered badly when it had clattered down the front stairs. “Baaa … ad Vera …” mumbled Sylvia, tugging on my arm and trying to lift me off the bed. “Baa … ad Vera …”

  Panting, gasping, I managed to make a small sound that sounded like, “Yes,” and then I willed Sylvia to try to pick me up. Certainly I couldn’t weigh much. But her strength was so minimal that she couldn’t manage to do more than tug and pull on one arm and one leg. She succeeded in pulling me off the bed so that I landed on the thick piling of the soft carpet. The jolt sent rippling waves of shock throughout my body. Ripples th
at reached every nerve ending.

  “Aud … dreeen … na …”

  “Yes, Audrina wants you … take her away … Down the hall to a safe place.”

  I was difficult for her to manage. When she had my buttocks on the cart, my head and upper body were off, and my legs dragged. Sylvia studied me with a puzzled look. Then she leaned to shove up my knees, and since that seemed to work, she gave a grunt of pride and with struggling efforts pushed me into an upright position. But when she let go, I fell sideways. Again she shoved me back on the cart, then looked around.

  I slumped over on my pulled-up knees and tried to latch my fingers together to keep my legs in position. My head lolled heavily, jerkily, when I wanted to lift it. Every small movement I made was so difficult, so painful that I wanted to scream with the agony of doing what used to come so easily. Desperation made me frantic, yet it lent me an unexpected spurt of strength. I managed to lock my arms together with my fingers in such a way that I kept my legs from straightening out. I was like a crudely wrapped package. Wringing wet with perspiration, I waited for Sylvia to begin pushing me out of the room.

  “Syl… vee … ah, Aud … dreen … na,” she happily murmured as she got down on her hands and knees and began to shove. Fortunately she’d left the door open when she came back with the cart. Talking all the time in her mumbling way about me being her baby now, she mentioned again that Vera was baaa … ad.

  The grandfather clocks in the lower hall began to chime in all their myriad voices. The clocks on the mantles joined in, the clocks on the tables, dressers and desks tolled the hour of three. Someone had finally synchronized all our clocks.