All That Lies Within (5 page)

Celeste recognizes these historic figures as extraordinary beings that have ascended. She views them as non-denominational figures that belong to everyone. When your colleagues think about it, even from a religious perspective, do they think it likely that Jesus would ever say to someone, “I’m sorry, you’re not a Christian, so I’m not going to help you?”

I don’t know you that well, but I’m imagining you laughing at that idea. And so it is that Celeste can be simultaneously non-religious and a great believer in angels, ascended masters, and miracles. I hope this gives you all necessary ammunition to fight the good fight with your colleagues.

Until next time, happy summer vacation (assuming you get one).

Constance Darrow   

“Wow.” In just a few short paragraphs the author had given Rebecca all the explanation she would need to support her   perception of the main character as a spiritual conundrum and that fact being a central theme to the novel. More importantly, for the first time, the author had allowed some of her personality to shine through. “Careful, Ms. Darrow, one might begin to guess that you have a sense of humor and a lighter side.”

As she had many times since reading Constance’s first book, Rebecca let her mind wander to the mystery that was Constance Darrow. “Who are you? What do you look like? Are you bookish and frumpy or a looker? Are you old or young? Blond or brunette? Gay or straight? Tall or short?”

It was a game Rebecca played with herself, since she had no real way to satisfy her curiosity. Innately, she knew that asking Constance anything of a more personal nature would bring an end to their correspondence. No. She would stick to talking about issues relevant to the author’s work, much as she longed to know more about the woman.

Rebecca carefully folded the letter, returned it to its envelope, and pondered what she would ask Constance next.

Dara shifted, trying to make herself more comfortable on the hard seat. Machines and monitors beeped and whirred all around her mother’s head and tubes fed from her hands and arms. She looked so frail, so small, not at all like the proud, larger-than-life figure from Dara’s childhood. Her hair, once so long and lustrous, now was completely gray and splayed limply across the pillow. Her face, once exquisite, was a grotesque mask, her skin lax, and her mouth slightly agape.

Despite her intention to stay detached, an errant tear rolled down Dara’s cheek. “Oh, Mother. You would so hate to see how you look right now.”

Slowly, tentatively, Dara reached out and brushed a bruised hand with her fingertips, then just as quickly withdrew.

“It’s okay to touch her.” Dara jumped and put her hand to her heart. The nurse, oblivious to having frightened Dara, prattled on. “I like to believe she can feel that. In fact, I’ve had patients emerge from comas who’ve told me they were aware of their loved ones holding their hands.”

“How long has she…” Dara waved in a gesture that encompassed all of the medical equipment.

“Been in a coma?” The nurse fussed with the sheets. “She stopped responding yesterday morning. Up until then, she was in full command of her faculties.”

“I’m sorry if she gave you any trouble.”

The nurse paused in her ministrations. “Your mom? She was great. Always asking about my kids and telling me to spend more time with them.”

“
My
mother?” Dara pointed at the still figure in the bed. “That woman?”

Now the nurse turned fully to face Dara. “Of course. Why are you so surprised?”

Dara swallowed several responses.
Because she never bothered spending time with me. Because if they gave awards for the most distant and coldest person, she would win hands-down. Because to her, a child was meant to be seen and not heard—an ornament, a decoration, and a testament to her good genes.

If the nurse thought Dara’s silence odd, she didn’t show it. She resumed fluffing the pillows. “She talked about you all the time, you know.”

Dara could just imagine what her mother might’ve said. “I’m afraid to ask.”

Again, the nurse stopped what she was doing and looked at Dara quizzically. “Are you kidding me? Your mom was so proud of you. She bragged about you and said you were so much smarter than she ever was and that you could be anything you want to be.” The nurse laughed. “I think if you’d told her you were going to run for president, she’d have said you’d win.”

Dara blinked hard as her eyes again started to water. Who was this woman in the bed and what had she done with Dara’s mother?

“She asked me to help her with a project,” the nurse was saying when Dara tuned back in. “Wait here and I’ll find it.”

“Find what?” Dara furrowed her brow.

“I’ll be right back.” The nurse hurried from the room.

Dara studied her mother’s face and wondered how much she really knew of this woman. It had been so long since they’d spoken. Was it possible that she had changed so drastically?

“Here it is. Took me a minute to find it. These dang flash drives are so small.” The nurse held the USB drive out for Dara to take. She must’ve seen the puzzled look because she added, “Your mother made a recording for you. She asked me to give it to you if you showed up.”

Dara looked from the drive in her hand to the nurse and back again. “I’m sorry?”

“I came in the other day to check on your mom and she asked me if I could help her with something. So I said, sure. She wanted to leave you an audio recording, but she had no idea how to do it. She told me technology was a mystery to her. So, on my next shift I brought in my son’s laptop and set it up for her, plugged in the microphone, opened GarageBand, and hit Record.”

Dara tried to imagine her mother sitting up in this bed, a laptop on her lap, talking into a microphone. She shook her head, unable to picture it.

“She rang the call bell when she was done, and I saved the file for her. Then she gave it to me for safekeeping and asked me to make sure it got to you. So here it is.”

Dara closed her hand around the drive. “Thank you.” She touched the nurse on the arm. “Thank you for taking such good care of my mother and for helping her with this.”

“You’re welcome. It’s been my pleasure. Like I said, your mom was a special lady.” The nurse patted Dara’s hand and moved away. “I’ve got to look in on a few other patients. If there’s anything you need, just ring the call button.”

What would her mother have wanted to say so badly that she enlisted the help of a near stranger to do it? Nothing the nurse said sounded anything like the mother Dara knew. She stared at the drive in her palm. She was grateful that her computer likely was safely tucked away in the hotel room Carolyn and Stan secured for her. Otherwise, she might’ve been tempted to listen to the recording right now.

“Ms. Thomas?”

Dara turned to see a handsome, middle-aged man in a lab coat striding through the door. “Yes.”

“I’m Doctor Emanuel. We spoke on the phone.”

“Of course.” Dara stood and extended her hand. “Thank you for contacting me.”

The doctor glanced down at the iPad in his hand that contained her mother’s medical files and nodded grimly. “As I explained to you on the phone, your mother’s prognosis is not good.”

“I understand.”

“Your mother has a Do Not Resuscitate order on file.” The doctor’s look was compassionate.

“Okay.” Dara let that information sink in. “What happens now?”

“That’s entirely up to you. You are your mother’s health-care proxy, so the decision is yours to make. What the DNR means is that your mother has asked that we not take any extraordinary measures to save her life.”

Dara regarded all of the tubes and machines.

“These machines are not considered extraordinary measures,” the doctor said gently. “They are simply maintaining her present condition.”

“I see.” Dara swallowed. “And if they were removed?”

“Most likely your mother would pass away within twenty-four to forty-eight hours.”

“And if all things remain as they are right now?”

“You mean, if the machines stay in place?”

“Yes.”

“She likely would continue as she is for an indefinite period of time.”

“But it’s your professional opinion that there’s no chance of her recovering?”

“I’ve been involved in many cases similar to your mother’s. I’ve never seen a patient in this circumstance recover once they’ve progressed to this stage.”

“Oh.” Dara slumped down onto the chair. After a few seconds, she asked, “Did you have a discussion with her about this? Did she say what she wanted?” Somehow, Dara felt unqualified to make choices for this woman who had been a stranger to her for so many years.

“I’m sorry, apart from the DNR and the health-care proxy, she left no specific instructions.”

Dara weighed her options. What would her mother want? She glanced up at the doctor. “Do I have to decide right now?”

“No.”

“If it’s okay with you, I’d like to take a little time. This,” Dara’s gesture encompassed the room, “is a lot to take in.”

“Of course.” The doctor turned to leave. “I’m sorry to meet you under such difficult circumstances.”

“Thank you, doctor.”

When he’d left, Dara rubbed her tired eyes. “Mother? What do you expect me to do here?” Briefly, she wondered if having her make this decision was her mother’s way of punishing her. Finally, she rose from the chair. She was too exhausted to think clearly. It was time to go to the hotel and rest. She gathered her things and rose. Impulsively, she leaned over and brushed her lips over her mother’s forehead. Then just as quickly, she turned and ran out of the room.

“What’s the latest from your pen pal?”

“Who?” Rebecca feigned puzzlement. The steady sound of her running shoes pounding against the pavement gave her a familiar sense of comfort as she ran stride for stride with her colleague and closest friend, Natalie Runyan.

“Come on.” Natalie shoved Rebecca playfully in the shoulder, nearly knocking her off stride. “How many pen pals do you have?”

Rebecca arched her eyebrows suggestively. “Maybe I have a secret life you know nothing about. A pen pal in every port.”

Natalie chortled. “Nice alliteration, but I’m not buying it. Nor am I going to be dissuaded by your evasive tactics. Come on, Bec. Give.”

Not for the first time, Rebecca regretted having told Natalie about the correspondence with Constance. It was a weak moment. She’d had one glass of wine too many and still was basking in the glow of the newness of the dialogue. Well, there was no way around it now. “If you must know, I just sent her another letter. At her invitation.” Rebecca wasn’t sure why she felt it necessary to add the last.
Probably because you don’t want her to think you’re stalking the poor woman.

“She asked you to write again?” Natalie whistled, as they made the turn at the covered bridge. “Why don’t you just ask the woman out, already?”

The blush crept up Rebecca’s neck. “As if…”

“Hey, you never know. She might welcome the possibility.”

Rebecca bristled. “First of all, we don’t even know that she’s a lesbian. Second, she’s practically the most private person on the planet. I’m sure she’d run for the hills at the first hint of any personal line of questioning. And what makes you think I’m looking for a relationship with her? Maybe I just enjoy the conversation and accept it at face value.”

Still, Rebecca’s heart thudded a staccato beat at the idea of something more than a discussion about books with Constance.