Blackout (23 page)

“Everyone out!” one of the nurses shouted. Alice, Betty and Thomas looked at each other hopelessly. The nurse had to pry Thomas’s hand away from Lettie’s unresponsive one. Another nurse savagely ripped Lettie’s nightgown away from her chest.

“Out!” the nurse shouted again, herding Alice, Betty, and Thomas out of the room. They stood in the hall by the door as a doctor came running toward them, lab coat flapping. He ignored them completely as he swung the door wide and entered Lettie’s room.

“I guess we should go sit somewhere,” Betty said in a dull voice.

Thomas shook his head. “You go ahead. I’ll wait here.”

Betty didn’t move, just remained standing next to him, leaning against the wall.

Alice could hear the muffled sounds coming from the room, and she could visualize what was going on because she’d seen it enacted several times on TV. She heard the command “Clear!” and knew everyone stepped away as the doctor applied the paddles to Lettie’s chest.

Then silence.

“Again,” the voice came through the wall.

More silence.

Alice clenched her hands, her nails biting into her palms. She wanted to leave but felt rooted to the floor.

Thomas’s face had turned ashen, and Alice feared he might collapse right here in the hallway.

“Again,” the voice repeated.

A feeling of helplessness and regret swept through Alice. She knew somehow it was over, that she’d never see Lettie alive again. “Do you know me?” The words kept echoing in her mind.

Tears came, then, and she found herself being hugged by Betty, held tight, a little comforted, but still shocked and sad and upset.

“Come on,” Betty insisted, taking one of Alice’s hands and one of Thomas’s. “We’re going to wait in the waiting room. That’s what it’s for.”

After Alice sat down and got as comfortable as possible in the stained brown chair, she closed her eyes, trying not to think about anything anymore.

A sudden longing for her mother overcame her. For the first time since she’d started remembering, she really knew her mother had died. She’d passed before Nana and Grandpa had. But she couldn’t remember her mother at all. Except…except for those pictures.

She remembered reaching into the bottom drawer of her bureau just before her father came home, pulling out the photo album. She had been sitting on the bed, slowly turning the pages.

Baby pictures filled the pages. Her fingers brushed her mother’s face with a shot of her holding Allison in her lap when Allison was about three. Her father stood stiffly behind them, his hand on her mother’s shoulder. Pictures of Nana and Grandpa showed them to be an odd couple. Grandpa was tall and thin with a pointy face. Nana was short and plump, her full face somehow managing to seem stern, prayerful.

After Allison’s seventh birthday party, there were no more photos. Allison had her mother’s old Kodak, though. She got up and retrieved it from the bureau. Turning it over in her hand, she accidently hit the button that opened the back. Surprised, she saw the film still inside. Quickly, she closed the camera and wound it. She wondered what the pictures in the old camera were of, but she couldn’t remember.

She looked at the last photo in the album. In it, she stood stiffly in front of the old farmhouse, frowning into the sunlight, a skinny, dark-haired girl of eight in a dress that was too short for her. Her mother stood on one side of her, her father on the other. They were smiling, and she felt a long-denied ache in her chest as she stared at the photo. She remembered how much she’d loved her mom and dad. Her grandmother had taken the picture a month or so before Allison’s mother died and her father disappeared.

Why had Allison’s grandparents moved from the farm in Iowa that had been in Grandpa’s family for three generations to this one in Missouri? Allison had long ago stopped asking questions. She never got any answers.

When she opened her eyes, Alice didn’t know how long she’d been remembering. The doctor who had rushed into Lettie’s’ room stood in the doorway. His face gave nothing away, but his shoulders slumped with fatigue and he didn’t smile.

Alice, Betty, and Thomas slowly got to their feet as he approached.

“I’m sorry,” he said at last.

Thomas groaned and bowed his head. Betty took Alice’s hand and squeezed.

“We did all we could. Do you want to see her?”

Thomas nodded.

Alice shook her head. “Oh, no,” she whispered.

“You stay here,” Betty said. “We’ll be back in a few minutes.”

She watched them leave and slowly sank back down into the ugly brown chair.

Lettie dead. Betty thought she’d been attacked, Alice remembered suddenly. And Lettie’s comment about the pillow probably proved it. Murdered.
Like Mom
. The scene came flooding back.

She was eight again, and secretly, her mother had let her stay home from school, only because it was the first day of spring. Both grandparents were out, and she and her mother were playing hide-and-seek. Allison hid behind the drapes, holding the camera she had found there on the sill. She planned to jump out and scare her mother, then take her picture. She watched with delicious excitement when Mommy entered the sun-filled parlor, hunting for her. While her mom stood in the middle of the room, Grandpa came in and grabbed her. He swung her around. As she struggled, he kissed her firmly on the mouth. She gasped and panted and hit at him with her fists, but he easily pushed her to the floor and began tearing at her clothes. When her breasts were free, Allison looked away, hiding her face in the drapery material, trying hard not to make a sound.

But she could hear her mother’s muffled cries and her grandfather’s grunts and groans.

Suddenly, her grandmother’s voice, louder than Allison had ever heard it, shouted, “What are you doing?”

Allison dared to look. The three adults seemed to be frozen in time and space. Her mother lay on her back, a small trail of blood escaping her mouth, her white breasts heaving. Grandpa lay on top of her, his head turned toward Nana.

Nana had the fire poker in her hand, her arm raised to strike.

“Don’t!” Grandpa yelled as he rolled away.

The poker came crashing down, hitting Allison’s mother with a sickening sound. As Nana raised the poker again, Allison could see the gash in her mother’s face.

“Stop! Stop! Look what you did!” Grandpa shouted. “What are you doing?”

“I aimed at you. How could you? In our own house!” The poker clattered to the floor as Nana sank to her knees next to her daughter-in-law. She began to pray. “Our Father,” she intoned as Grandpa pulled on her arm. “Forgive us our sins.”

“Come on,” Grandpa shouted. “We’ve got to get out of here!” Tugging, he pulled her along the floor.

Keening, praying, Nana allowed Grandpa to pull her upright and push her toward the door. Allison noticed she held the Kodak. She pointed the viewfinder at the scene, thinking, “Surprise! Surprise!” Her grandmother glanced back toward the body, loudly praying. Click. They were leaving the room, Grandpa still yelling. “Get moving. Let’s get out of here!” Click. Her mother on the floor. Somehow it was easier to look at her through the viewfinder. Click. Click.

Car doors slammed. The engine started; the truck drove away. Allison put the camera back on the windowsill and crawled over to her mother. Maybe she was still alive. But her mother didn’t move, and Allison knew her mother couldn’t have survived.

An hour later when her father arrived from the fields, she sat in her mother’s favorite black rocking chair, rocking, rocking.

Thomas held the door open for Betty as they went into Lettie’s hospital room. The whoosh of the door closing behind Thomas was the only sound. The heart monitor had been removed, the IV taken out of Lettie’s arm, leaving a bruise. With relief, Betty noticed Lettie’s arms were placed along her sides, not across her chest.

Someone had arranged everything as carefully as these things can be arranged. Betty looked around at the baskets of flowers and plants, the few greeting cards displayed on a shelf. No bedpan, vomit basin, or anything else to jar the sensibilities had been left lying around. She knew she took all this in so she wouldn’t have to really look at Lettie.

Every death of a resident came hard to her. She always felt the loss but told herself how lucky she had been to know the person, remembering what she had learned from them, gained from knowing them. But this death was particularly difficult. She’d loved Lettie. Everyone had. And now she knew Lettie had been attacked, that she hadn’t had to die at this time and in this way.

Finally her eyes rested on Lettie’s face. All anxiousness had been erased by death. Lines smoothed, hair a beautiful white halo around her head.

She heard a slight sound and turned to Thomas. His shoulders heaved as he tried to prevent the sobs from escaping his throat. Unlike Lettie, his face contorted with anguish, and Betty felt a lump form in her own throat.

She groped for his hand, and suddenly he was in her arms, sobbing, saying over and over, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Betty soothed him. “It’s all right. It will be all right.” She found herself patting his back, hugging him as hard as she could, wishing men didn’t have such a rough time crying. It sounded so painful. At the same time, a small doubt tugged at her mind.
Sorry for what?
She knew he loved Lettie and was sorry she died. But was that what he meant, or did he mean something more sinister? She hated having these thoughts.

Finally, he quieted. The door opened and a nurse peeked in. Betty shook her head at her, and the door closed once again.

Thomas moved away from her and, taking a handkerchief from his pocket, wiped his eyes. He wouldn’t look at her. Instead, he went to stand by the window, staring out, his back to Betty.

She stood, helplessly, her empty arms at her sides, waiting. Finally, he turned around and went to Lettie again. He touched her cheek.

“Good-bye, sweetheart. I’ll miss you forever.” He turned to Betty. “We can go now.”

She said nothing, just walked in front of Thomas to the door. Yanking it open, she held it for him, and they left. Left Lettie. Betty fought her own unshed tears as they went back to the waiting room to get Alice.

Then it was time to get practical. “Do you have someone to call?” Betty asked Thomas as they stepped into the waiting room. “Someone who can stay with you?”

He nodded. “My sister lives in San Francisco. I’ll telephone her. She can be here in a couple of hours. She told me to call her if…” Tears stood out in his eyes again, and he swallowed hard, shaking his head.

“That’s good,” Betty said quickly. She glanced at Alice to see if she was all right. She had a faraway look in her eyes but seemed composed enough.

“Would you like us to go home with you until your sister arrives?” Betty asked.

“Would you? I’ll go call her now so she can start out.”

“Of course we’ll stay with you.”

The same nurse who had talked to them before entered, a plastic sack in her hands. “Her belongings,” she said, handing the bag to Thomas.

He seemed bewildered for a moment, then reached out for the package. “Oh,” he said softly.

“Do you want me to carry that?” Betty asked.

“No. No, that’s all right,” Thomas told her. He turned to the nurse. “Thank you. Is there anything else I have to do?”

“No, you’re all set. You filled out all the paperwork before.”

“Yeah. That’s right. Well, thanks again.”

The nurse started to leave. “I’m sorry about your loss. If there’s anything we can do, questions we can answer…”

“Thanks. No, there’s nothing.” He turned to Betty and Alice. “We can leave now, I guess.”

Yes, it was time, Betty thought gratefully. She wanted to get out of the hospital and into the fresh air. They stopped by the bank of public phones on the way out so Thomas could call his sister.

Darkness greeted them when they left the hospital. In the car, Betty asked Alice, “Are you doing okay?” She realized with a stab of guilt she hadn’t given a thought to how this might be affecting the girl.

“I’m all right,” Alice told her in an unconvincing voice.

“Do you want me to drop you off at the house?”

“No, that’s all right. I’ll go with you to Mr. Black’s.”

Betty nodded as she stayed about two car lengths behind Thomas back to Valleyview. She guessed Alice didn’t want to be alone.

At last they pulled into his driveway. Inside, a tiny black dog of indeterminate parentage greeted them exuberantly as they entered. “Lettie’s dog,” Thomas said sadly, patting the pup on the head.

He led them down a short hall to the living room which had, over the fireplace, an oil painting of Lettie and Thomas. They must have been in their thirties. She sat in a wing-back chair, her hands folded in her lap. He wore a suit and stood next to her.

Thomas offered them iced tea and went to make some phone calls in another room. Betty and Alice sipped their drinks and looked around the room. Touches of Lettie were everywhere. A small upholstered armchair by the fireplace must have been hers. A sewing basket sat next to it, and reading glasses had been placed on the small drum table next to the chair. Both Betty and Alice instinctively avoided sitting there. Opposite was Thomas’s chair, larger, more worn. A stack of travel magazines had been placed on the square table next to his chair. A ragged cork coaster and a wide-band radio took up the rest of the space.

Lettie had collected boxes. Betty counted an even dozen placed around the room. Made of wood, ceramic, cloisonné, crystal, tin, and ivory, they were beautiful.

Thomas came back and stood in the doorway, running his hand through his hair. “Can I see you a minute in the kitchen?” he asked Betty while the dog panted at his feet.

“Of course,” Betty said, getting up off the couch, tea in hand. “We’ll be right back,” she told Alice.

Thomas waited for her to cross the room, then led the way to an immaculate kitchen, closing the door behind him.

“I’ve been thinking and thinking about what Lettie said about the pillow. Do you have any idea what she meant? Everything happened so fast, and I didn’t want to say anything in front of Alice.” He gazed at her expectantly.