Isabella smirked a so there at my father, who rolled his eyes in response. He picked up another card. “Double blue!” He slid his piece to the final square on the board and grinned. “Grandpa wins again!”
Isabella’s face scrunched, readying for tears. “You cheated!”
Mama Peg shook her head at him. “You couldn’t let her win?”
I kissed my daughter’s cheek. “Just because someone else wins doesn’t make them a cheater.” I eyed my father. “It might make them a jerk, but not a cheater.”
“So,” my father began, “we’re going to fight on my last night with my granddaughter?”
I snorted. “It’s all about you, isn’t it?”
Isabella crossed her arms and turned her back on us all.
“Just like her mother,” my father mumbled.
Mama Peg moved faster than a woman in her health should be able to, reached across the table, and flicked his forehead.
“Ow!” He slapped his hand over the spot. “What was that for?”
She glared at him. “Grow up.”
Craig stepped into the living room, dressed for bed in a white T-shirt and cotton pajama bottoms. “Just wanted to pop in and wish our girl good luck on her new advent—” His smile melted as he browsed our faces. “Why does everyone look peeved?”
I pushed myself off the floor and stood. “Dad beat Isabella at Candy Land.” I looked at him with disgust that I hoped he could feel right down to his marrow. “Twice.”
Craig raised an eyebrow at him. “That’s quite a victory, man.”
Mama Peg adjusted her tubing. “Yes, we’re all very proud of him, as you can imagine.”
My father sighed. “I don’t believe in throwing a game. Any game. What would that teach her? Losing builds character even more than winning does.”
I snatched the board up and dumped the game pieces into the box. “Well, Bella ought to have lots of character, then, with all she’s about to lose.” I shoved the lid on.
“That’s your doing,” he said coolly.
I slammed the box back on the table, making the game pieces rattle. “My doing? Do you think this is my doing? You think I want this?”
Craig leaned into me and laid his hand on my arm. His warm breath fell on my ear. “Not now.”
My father pushed off the coffee table. “She shouldn’t be leaving us. This is wrong.”
“Why is that?” I shook Craig off me. “Because you say so? You’re not the expert on what my daughter needs.”
“Why are you so angry with me?” he asked.
“Me angry with you? You’ve been angry at me ever since Mom died.”
“That’s not true.”
“No?”
His gaze darted around, taking in everything but me.
I smiled bitterly. “You can’t even look at me.”
“I can look at you.” He forced himself to stare at me for an uncomfortable second, then looked down.
“See! Am I that detestable to you that you can’t even stand to see me?”
He mumbled something that I couldn’t hear, then walked away. As usual.
We all stood for a moment, silent.
Finally Craig scooped Isabella up and planted a kiss on her forehead. Her pink cotton-clad legs dangled midair. “You are going to have such a good life with your daddy and Lindsey.”
Isabella tried hard to suppress a smile. “Will you come to visit?” she asked.
He squeezed her tight. “So much that you’re going to get sick of me.”
An unabashed grin spread across her face. “Daddy says he bought me a princess bed.”
Craig winked at her. “Well, of course. Where else would a princess sleep?”
She bit her bottom lip, looking almost as smitten with him as I was. We should be a family, I thought. Craig, Bella, and I should— I obliterated the thought before it could finish forming. I was not in a position to dream. Not for myself at least.
I glanced at the clock on the mantel. “It’s almost ten. We should go to bed now.”
The room fell as quiet as a morgue.
“Kiss Mama Peg and Craig good night.”
Each good night was drawn out and morose. I doubted my funeral would be as depressing. I heard the back door open and shut.
“She’s just going a few miles away. You’re still going to see her,” I said.
My father leaned against the doorjamb. “It won’t be the same.”
Heat flooded my cheeks. “Why do you have to do that? Why do you have to make everything so—”
“He’s right,” Mama Peg said. “It won’t be the same. Just because he’s your father doesn’t mean he’s always wrong.”
Her words had a special sting to them when she took his side against me. I was never quite prepared for it. Not possessing the energy needed to argue, I just piled this new hurt on my already-heaping mound. “Bella, kiss Cowpa.”
My father knelt before her on one knee as though preparing to propose. He took her cheeks into his hands, brought her forehead to his lips, and kissed it. “You’re going to visit us every other weekend regular, but if you want to come home, home-home, if you don’t like it there . . . if for any reas—”
“Oh, for pity’s sake.” Mama Peg rolled her oxygen tank over to him and grabbed his ear.
He grimaced. “I’m just saying, if she’s not happy—”
She twisted his lobe, silencing him. “You tell that child everything is going to be okay, that you love her, and that we’ll see her soon. And that’s all you say.”
My father looked like a little boy fresh from a spanking as he yanked his ear free and stood. “See you soon, princess.”
I could see Craig holding back laughter, and apparently it was contagious because a snicker escaped me before I could contain it. I tucked my lips inside my mouth and turned away.
“It’s going to be just fine, everyone.” Mama Peg scanned our faces, making deliberate eye contact with each of us. “We’re all going to be just fine.”
“Come on, sweetness.” I put my hand on the small of Isabella’s back and led my daughter up the stairs.
She started for her own room. I took her hand, stopping her. “Sleep with me tonight.”
She looked down at the ground as if embarrassed. I lifted her chin, forcing her to look at me.
“I want to sleep by myself,” she said softly.
Surprised, I jerked my head back. “Since when? You ask me every night to sleep with me.”
Her lips disappeared inside her mouth as she looked to the side. I realized then that she might be trying to pull away from me and that this was probably a healthy response, even if it was painful.
“Okay, you can sleep in your own bed if you want, but can we snuggle awhile?”
She paused, then nodded. I turned the tiny knob of the bedside table lamp, flooding my bedroom in golden hues. I reached over the bed, pulled back the afghan, and patted the cool sheet twice, encouraging her to crawl in. When she did, I joined her.
We wiggled into the covers until they enveloped our shoulders. There I lay, nose to nose with the child from whom I’d never been separated for more than twenty-four hours, wondering how either of us would survive this. It wasn’t an issue for me, of course; I was dying anyway. How would she fare? I wondered. Her warm breath puffed rhythmically against me, still hinting of the brussels sprouts we had eaten for dinner.
“Oops,” I said. “We forgot to brush our teeth.”
She reached to pull the covers off.
I grabbed her hand. “It’s okay just for tonight.”
She relaxed.
“But brushing your teeth is important.”
She blinked at me. “I know.”
“And so is saying your prayers. God misses you when you don’t talk to Him.”
She yawned. “I know, Mommy.”
“And going to church. There’s so much you need to learn. Promise me you won’t give Lindsey a hard time about going. I made her promise that she’d take you.”
/>
She yawned again. “Okay.”
“That’s important, Bella.”
“I said okay.” She closed her eyes, then jerked them open, looking like she remembered leaving an iron on that might be burning down the house.
“What is it?” I asked, alarmed.
“I need to sleep in my own bed.”
With a heavy heart, I ran the back of my hand down her soft cheek. “Oh, okay.”
She crawled out of bed and stood over me, her face cast in shadows as she studied me. “I love you, Mommy.”
“I know, sweetness.”
Her sad little smile looked just like my mother’s. “Good night, Mommy.”
“Good night, baby. See you in the morning.”
She paused in the doorway, turned around, and looked at me for a moment before disappearing around the corner.
I lay in bed for what felt like hours, tossing and turning, fighting unconsciousness. I somehow thought that the sooner I fell asleep, the sooner morning would come, and the sooner she’d be gone. I didn’t realize that sleep had overcome me until I was jolted awake by a scream.
Chapter Twenty-five
My eyes flashed open. I squinted at the digital numbers on my alarm clock—5:00. Propping myself up on my elbows, I listened. In my sleepy state I couldn’t decide whether the scream had been real or dreamt.
When I heard nothing, I figured I must have had a nightmare. I laid my head back on the pillow. Distant sirens, so muted that I thought I might be imagining them, encouraged my eyes open once again. As the hum grew into a wail, I stopped questioning their existence and slid my legs over the side of the bed.
As secluded as we were from the rest of Tullytown, we seldom, if ever, heard sirens. I planted my bare feet on the cool plank floor, wondering to which of our unfortunate neighbors the trouble belonged.
My father’s muffled scream stopped my heart. “Jenny!”
My only thought was that he needed me. I tore down the steps. My ankle twisted on the last stair, sending a burn through my foot. I didn’t get my hands up in time to protect myself, and my face hit the wall. Ignoring the pain, I wiped wetness from my nose. Mama Peg stood in the hallway just outside her bedroom, looking bewildered. Her long charcoal hair lay draped across the shoulders of her nightgown. “What’s going on?” she asked. “Why are you bleeding?”
“I’m fine. Where’s Dad?”
She looked around and shook her head.
I scanned past her to the front door, which stood wide open. Panic seized me. Had we been broken into? Was the intruder still inside? Had my father been hurt, or . . . Acid rose in my throat as I considered the or. I held my breath and panned our unremarkable surroundings. “Go in your room and lock the door.”
Her eyes grew wide. “I’m not leaving you out here. What’s happening?”
Blood trickled onto my lips. I rubbed it against the shoulder of my T-shirt.
The sirens grew louder and louder until they vibrated through the whole house, while flashing lights cast everything in an eerie red glow. They were right outside. One of us was hurt. Dad? Recalling our last words to each other, I cringed.
I charged out the open door. Cool air struck me, along with blinding lights spinning from the top of an ambulance. “She’s over here!” Craig screamed in the distance.
She.
The only unaccounted for she was Isabella. But she was in bed sleeping.
The deafening sirens fell suddenly silent. Paramedics jumped from their vehicle and ran up to me as if I were the one needing attention.
I touched the blood on my face, shook my head, and stepped back.
My father stood halfway between the house and the pond, looking like he’d witnessed a murder. “Over there!” He pointed toward Lucas Lake.
Beyond him knelt the silhouette of a man. His back moved up and down as though he were doing push-ups. A flurry of confusion, lights, questions, and sobs surrounded me. I couldn’t make sense of any of it.
The kneeling man yelled, “Over here!” Craig. It was Craig.
Someone turned on the ambulance’s headlights, flooding him in bright white. Drenched, Craig’s T-shirt clung to his chest as he leaned down. A soaked, limp Isabella lay beneath him on the ground. Somehow my heart understood before my brain caught on. Isabella’s outstretched arms made no sense even as panic raced through me like quicksilver. I heard my breaths come in small, quick pants. Why was Isabella lying on the ground?
When Craig blew into her mouth, I finally understood.
I ran, screaming, toward her.
I fell before my daughter. Craig thrust the heel of his hand up and down into the center of her chest. Water spewed from her mouth. Then vomit. He pushed her on her side. Her arm fell listlessly to the ground. Her eyes didn’t open and her chest didn’t rise. A medic asked Craig how long he’d been at it, then took over. The other’s rough hands pried me off my daughter’s shoulders.
“No!” someone screamed over and over.
Me . . . it was me screaming.
Stop screaming, my mind told me. It’s not helping. You’re not helping. They tried to perform CPR around my clutching hands. Let her go, I thought. You’re in the way. You’re going to kill her. But I couldn’t. She was all I had. She was all that mattered.
The medic pulled my arm. “Get off and let us help her.”
I wanted to let go. I tried. I couldn’t. Someone grabbed my waist and yanked me backward. Clawing the air, I screamed and tried to get back to her.
Her lips were black.
* * *
From a small screen, a television news anchor droned on as the fluorescent lights of the pediatric ICU waiting room flickered above us. Craig sat next to Mama Peg in one of the bolted-down chairs provided, while my restless father stood, sat, and stood again. Feeling no desire for comfort, I occupied the hard floor.
Craig rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand. The same hand that had saved my baby’s life . . . if she lived, that was. The if doubled me over in anguish. Everyone was so entrenched in their own grief that mine went unnoticed. When I felt collected enough to speak my first words since the car ride over, I asked Craig to repeat what had happened.
He leaned back and stared at the ceiling. “Something woke me. Sounded like a kid yelling for help, but when I listened, I didn’t hear it anymore. I thought I was dreaming.” He shook his head. “I should’ve . . .”
Breathing even heavier than usual, Mama Peg laid her hand on his arm.
He looked down at it but made no response. “Anyway, I tried to go back to sleep, but it kept nagging me. I figured the only way I was getting any rest was if I checked it out. I really didn’t think . . . Once I got outside, I heard splashing. I ran as fast as I could.” He looked at me with eyes so haunted I couldn’t bear to hold his gaze. I wanted to comfort him but had nothing to give.
He let out several deep breaths before continuing. “I saw her go under and went in. It took so long to bring her to shore. I don’t know how she got out so far.”
It felt like I was moving out of hell into purgatory as numbness replaced grief. I turned to my father. “When did you . . . ?”
He stopped pacing and leaned against the wall. I don’t know whether it was the harsh lighting or the circumstances, but he looked so very old.
“I heard Craig cry for help. I ran outside. He told me to call 911. I didn’t know what happened.” He looked at me then, and I felt that for the first time in a very long time he actually saw me. “I yelled for you, Jenny, but you and your grandma sleep so heavy.”
I buried my face in my knees, trying to process it. A picture of my daughter thrashing in the water, panicked for air, played like a horror movie in my mind. It was too much to bear.
Mama Peg slipped one hand into mine, the other into Craig’s. “Jack, come pray with us.”
Through sobs and whimpers, each of them petitioned God for healing. How many times, I wondered, had they prayed the same for my mother? for me? How many times had I prayed this f
or myself? And yet I was still dying.
When it came my turn, I did not bother with this seemingly impotent request. One simple plea ascended from the deepest, most anguished part of my soul—Have mercy.
Afterward, we took turns speculating why Isabella would be in the lake. My father assumed that she wanted to swim in it one last time. Mama Peg considered that it might be some sort of symbolic baptism into her new life. Craig thought maybe she was rebelling somehow.
It was clear to me that all of these theories were faulty. She was still terrified of submersion. I had only recently coaxed her back into taking a bath instead of a shower. I wondered if, in her childish rationalizations, she thought I was sending her away because she had done something bad, and as a punishment, she made herself do what she feared most.
The possibility sickened me, but it was the only thing that made sense.
We waited at least an hour for someone to tell us what was going on. When my father stopped a nurse in the hall, she said, “We have time to save your granddaughter or explain, but not both.”
He let her go.
I sat on the floor, hugging my knees. Mama Peg rubbed my back. “Jenny, please sit up here with me. No telling what kind of funk is growing down there. Think of your immune system.”
“Good,” I muttered. “I hope I catch something.”
Dressed in the ridiculous combination of sweatpants and wingtip shoes, my father paced to and fro. He traced the same path over and over, stopping in front of the TV, then the empty magazine rack. TV. Magazine rack. TV. Magazine rack. TV. Rack. Click click clack. Click click clack. Click click clack.
I couldn’t take it anymore. “Will you sit down already?”
He continued on as if he hadn’t heard me.
I slapped my palm on the seat of an empty chair.
Mama Peg squeezed my shoulder. “Jenny, he’s grieving too.”
Craig slid off his chair and took a place next to me. He laid his arm across my shoulders. “She’s going to be okay,” he whispered in my ear.
I looked into his eyes. Red and swollen, they offered no comfort, only a reflection of my own fear.
“If she lives, it’s because of you,” I said.
He licked his lips. “No. It’s a miracle I even heard her.”