Home Before Dark (23 page)

“What's that?”

“We all cleaned out our brushes and stuffed the hair through a crack in his car window. It made quite a pile, right on the driver's seat, as I recall.”

Lila laughed and brushed at her tears, but the levity was soon crushed beneath the dead weight of worries. “It's not only Heath. I'm suspended from cheering because I missed practice—like, well,
excuse
me for getting into a car wreck. It's not like I planned it. But it's worse than that. Since this happened, Heath started hanging around with the religious kids.”

“What?” Jessie frowned.

“A group at school. They're all like, if you don't walk with Jesus, you can't sit at my lunch table.”

“I hate when that happens,” Blair murmured, cracking her gum.

“Heath barely went to church in his life, and now he's going around saying he's forgiven and saved. In the meantime, they all blame me, and I wasn't even driving.”

“So why do you think they blame you?” Jessie asked.

“Because they need to blame someone who's not the star quarterback of the football team. He told everybody it was my idea to go out to Seven Hills that night, and my idea to go launching. He even said I told Dig to give up his seat belt to Kathy. They're all treating Heath like some kind of war hero.”

“Never mind that, love. Today is your day.”

 

On the way into the salon, Jessie spotted a familiar book in a shop window, and insisted on buying it.

“Pat the Bunny?”
asked Lila.

“For Amber. It's the perfect toddler book—you read it by touch. I bet you don't remember that I sent you one for your first Christmas.”

“Nope. You're dating him, right?” Lila asked with a sly smile. “Amber's dad.”

“Is one date considered dating?”

“It is if he looks like that.”

Jessie laughed. She wanted to tell Dusty he'd passed the Lila test. She wanted to tell Dusty everything. If she was smart, she'd avoid him completely.

Ah, but she wasn't smart. She'd never been smart.

The spa restaurant served everything in tiny, artistic portions. The food came painstakingly stacked, with lines of raspberry vinaigrette drawn on the plates. They dug into their
lunches, Lila savoring every fussed-over bite, Jessie barely eating at all. No wonder people spoiled their kids, she thought. Taking delight in the pleasure of the child created a quiet satisfaction she'd never before experienced. Lila's obvious enjoyment of the meal and her anticipation over the salon were only the beginning. With her photographer's eye, Jessie took memory pictures, studying Lila's hands, face, expressions. It was strange and sad and fitting, Jessie reflected. She was spending her last official day as a sighted person with her daughter.

She left Lila for a half-day treatment, giving her a hug as a woman dressed as some sort of New Age acolyte brought a glass of herbal tea and turned on a set of magnetic chimes.

“This is
so
awesome,” said Lila.

“It's supposed to be three hours of awesome. I'll meet you back here around four. We might have time for a little shopping, and then we'll take a taxi to your dad's office.”

“Aunt Jessie?”

The tentative note in Lila's voice put Jessie on alert. “Yes?”

“As we were driving in, I noticed—well, we passed the hospital. So I was wondering—”

“Don't ask, Lila. Please, don't ask.”

“I just—”

“No.” Jessie knew she had to put her foot down. Why was that so hard? Then she wondered if Lila might sneak out of the spa and go to the hospital on her own. With everything else Jessie had to do today, she couldn't afford a crisis with Lila. “Don't betray me,” Jessie said. “I need you to not betray me.”

“Jeez, you're turning into a drama queen.”

Jessie took a panicked breath of air and summoned up a cocky grin. “I've been wanting a change of careers.”

The salon was a stroke of genius. What a perfect cover, Jessie thought as she walked the four blocks past the UT main campus to the Beacon Eye Institute. She wouldn't need to explain her errands in the city at all.

The concrete edifice of the building dominated an entire city block. She entered through swishing automatic doors and stepped into an extra-wide, accessible hallway with polished floors and sound-cushioned ceilings. Feeling like a rat in a labyrinth, she followed the color-coded stripes and arrows on the hallway floors, eventually finding her way to the ophthalmology wing. A long bulletin board outside displayed information about Eye Health. The
E
s were stenciled backward to imitate the symbols on an eye chart.

“Cute,” she muttered under her breath, and entered through the glass door. She shut her eyes as she waited, not wanting to acknowledge the pamphlets and brochures about the importance of wearing safety glasses and getting regular eye checks. Ten Facts You Need To Know About Retinitis Pigmentosa.
Living With Ushers Syndrome. Controlling Diabetes. Managing Anger. Oh, there was a good one.

There was a word she didn't see printed on any pamphlet or brochure, but it was like an elephant in the room.
Blind.
Such a simple word, used so frequently. Blind ambition, luck, rage. Venetian blind, duck blind, double blind. Blind fucking date. Taste tests, random samplings, justice. So many things were blind. She'd be in good company.

At the outset, her appointment was entirely predictable, almost comfortable simply because it was so familiar. She knew exactly when and how to jut her chin on the brace of the slit lamp. The devices and tests, the questionnaire on a clipboard. Dr. Margutti had prepared herself by reviewing the mountain of data and history forwarded from the facilities in Taipei and Christchurch. She carefully documented the progress of the blindness, working with a perfect balance of competence and compassion. The doctor in Christchurch had provided nearly everything they needed in advance—physical and psychological tests, a complete case history, enthusiastic recommendations regarding her potential. “He probably couldn't wait to get rid of me,” Jessie said. “What did he write? Jessie Ryder will make a great blind person?”

Margutti ignored her sarcasm. She had the gentle, sensitive hands of a concert violinist and the firm voice of an experienced lecturer. The tests were a case of déjà vu, as was the sinking feeling in the pit of Jessie's stomach. Nose to nose with the doctor as Margutti evaluated Jessie's almost nonexistent visual field, she braced herself for the electroretinogram—the numbing drops, the hour-long exam in the dark. The probes resting on her eyes felt like eyelashes.

“The response to the flash in your right eye is significantly diminished.”

“Yes.” Jessie wanted to despise the doctor for being un
able to offer hope. Instead she maintained a neutral attitude as Margutti explained the things she already knew. But the moment of truth, though expected, came without warning.

“You'll have to use an occluder to obscure the last of your vision during training. The sooner you start, the better. If you'd like, we can enroll you early at the Beacon.”

“No.” Jessie's answer was swift, angry. Months ago, she had known this day was coming, yet the terror was as fresh as ever. She hated that this scared her so. She had scaled impossible mountains, sailed treacherous seas. She had dined with international criminals and traveled in the company of dangerous men. She had survived malaria, tsunamis, dysentery and body cavity searches. This was simply another thing that was happening to her, another thing to survive.

“Ordinarily a member of our staff makes a home visit,” said the doctor.

Jessie thought about bringing a stranger to Luz's place to poke around, ask nosy questions, point out hazards and shortcomings. “At the moment, I don't have a permanent residence. I'd like some help finding a place after I finish the program,” she said.

“Of course.”

“Thank you.” Jessie had coldly and dispassionately determined that the most important thing in her life was her independence, and had sought out the best way to reclaim it despite what was happening to her. One of the most successful programs in the world happened to be right here, at the Beacon. It was an eight-week program—the first four in residence, training with a guide dog, followed by four weeks of intensive independent living classes. Everything was all set to go.

Everything except Jessie.

“All right,” said Dr. Margutti. “You'll want to take full
advantage of your visit today. My receptionist will show you how to get to the working campus. You'll have a tour of the facility and meet some very special people.”

Down the elevator, across a footbridge and into a shuttle bus for a short ride to a low-key residential campus. A sign designating it as the Beacon For The Blind, Est. 1982 flanked the main gates. She'd seen pictures of it, but she could never envision herself here. Who would ever imagine a stint at a place like this?

The compound was dominated by a large building which housed common areas, classrooms, laboratories and a student and instructor wing. Footpaths of brick and gravel and packed earth crisscrossed the area, some of them marked with orange cones and obstacles, and through it all wound a busy paved road. She felt the hard bite of angry resentment as she walked down the halls to meet her doom. Each splash of color, each movement on the grounds, with their stately pecan trees, manicured lawns and contoured hills, fed her rage.

Even though she had begun planning this months ago, Jessie balked at the door.
I don't belong here. This is a place for blind people.
She bit back a scream of protest, passed through the foyer and entered a conference area that resembled a cozy living room furnished with an overstuffed sofa and chairs and an adjacent lounge and dining room. French doors framed a cedar deck.

A woman crossed the foyer. “Jessie? I'm Irene Haven.”

Jessie recognized her voice instantly from their many phone conversations. “So here I am…at last.”

They shook hands. Irene's grip was as calm and strong as her voice. She had clear green eyes, abundant dark hair, olive-toned skin and a face that was both attractive and kind in a no-nonsense way. “Let's go out on the deck. I told Sully we'd join him there. We're having such beautiful sunshine today.”

Jessie had also met Malachai Sullivan, the assistant director, via phone and e-mail as well. When she and Irene stepped outside, they found him seated at a large round table draped with a bright red cloth and littered with paperwork.

He was good-looking in an older-guy-in-shades-and-Levi's way. “So you made it, little lady,” he said, greeting Jessie with a genial smile. He seemed to be a classic Texas gent, with a lazy drawl and engaging manner, and an intent way of focusing on Jessie as she took a seat across the table from him and Irene.

“I made it,” Jessie said. “I can't believe I'm here.” She was awash in uncertainty and fear. This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening. She didn't belong here, with blind people stumbling around, stripped of dignity and purpose. Except that she didn't see anyone stumbling around. In the distance, two people walked along together, crossing the street, but they didn't appear to be blind. Somewhere, the sound of barking dogs erupted, but she didn't see the herds of noble, hardworking, harnessed beasts she'd expected.

“I know you're familiar with our program,” said Irene, “but this is your first visit, so Sully will give you the VIP tour, as we do all our prospective clients.” She poured three glasses of iced tea. “Jessie, Sully, here you go. Welcome to the Beacon.”

Jessie took a sip of her tea, and Sully drank his practically in one gulp. “All right,” Jessie said. “Now what?” She laughed at the nervousness she heard in her own voice. “My God. I haven't felt like this since rush week at UT.”

Consulting a thick file of notes about Jessie's case, Irene said, “You've been through a lot, but you have strong advocates in Dr. Hadden and Dr. Tso. Both of them supported your application vigorously, Margutti signed off on you, so you're good to go.”

“You mean you actually reject people?” Jessie was incredulous.

“Absolutely. The success of the program depends on effective use of our time and resources, and it simply doesn't work for some people. So. Here are the essentials. The goal is to provide you with strategies for independent living.”

“Independent. How can I be independent if I can't even fucking drive?” Jessie snapped, her anger spilling out.

“For one thing, you'll redefine independence for yourself,” Irene said calmly. “What's driving, anyway? It gets you from point A to point B. Sitting behind the wheel of a car isn't the only way to do that. You'll learn to look for other options. With your instructor and our staff, you'll cover every aspect of living, from the moment you get up in the morning to the moment you go to bed. After four weeks on campus, you're launched.”

“You can always come back here for support and retraining,” Sully pointed out. “This will be your home base, your resource center.”

“Great,” said Jessie, hating herself for her attitude, but hating even more the fact that she was here at all. “Hold the phone while I count my blessings.”

Sully refilled his tea glass. For all his charming ways, he was a bit of a slob, hooking an index finger over the rim of the glass as he poured. “You can't stop this from happening. You can decide what you're going to do about it. But I think we'll skip the lecture on how blind people live productive lives and find meaning and fulfillment in their new situation.”

“Thank you. I don't think I could stand that.”

Irene patted him on the arm. “Sounds like you can take it from here, partner. Take care, Jessie. See you at enrollment.”

See you.
Jessie shuddered as Irene went inside.

Malachai Sullivan folded his hands on the table and gave
her his complete attention. It was gratifying, the way he focused on her. For a moment, she flashed on the idea that her father, had he lived, might look something like Sully, with his neat salt-and-pepper hair, a face lined by experience and a fine mouth that managed to be pleasant even without smiling.

“It's a rough transition for anyone,” he said. “It's hard on families as well, but you'll need their support at this crucial time.”

“Not me,” she said swiftly, appalled. “In the first place, I don't—” Even she couldn't finish that part of the lie. “Look, my relatives are not going to be a part of this. I'm coming here alone, and things are going to stay that way.”

“Is that how things were before you became blind?”

“Actually, yes.”

“And is that the way you want things to be?”

She thought of Luz, Lila, the boys. Dusty and Amber. Her heart nearly burst with yearning. It took all her strength to say, “Yes. Is that a problem?”

“Maybe, maybe not. To be brutally honest, sometimes the most loving family members or spouses actually hinder the blind. They try too hard to help, and do too many of the things you're perfectly capable of doing for yourself. Eventually you lose your skills and motivation to succeed. So a too-helpful relative can be harmful.”

The exact profile of Luz, Jessie realized, always doing for everyone else. She knew then that when she left, she wouldn't tell Luz where she was going. She'd spare Luz the heartbreak and frustration. “I want to make it through the program on my own,” she told Sully. Then she stood. “So is this where I get my tour? I always wondered where they put the blind. I guess it doesn't matter.”

“Very funny.”

Sully got up from the table and carefully, deliberately,
pushed in his chair. Reaching down, he grabbed something from under the table, and Jessie was astonished to see that it was a short leash attached to the U-shaped harness of a large German shepherd, which hastened to its feet and snapped to attention.

Though Jessie made no sound, she must have betrayed her surprise somehow.

“This is Fred,” Sully said. At the sound of his name, the dog swished his bushy tail.

“Oh. I—um— I didn't realize—” Flustered, she broke off.

“That I was blind?” He gave the dog a hearty pat, and Fred went around to Sully's left side. “There are times when it hardly matters, like when I'm drinking a glass of iced tea or talking to a friend on the phone. Other times, it's a major consideration, like when I'm crossing the street or playing shuffleboard.”

“Playing—” She looked up and down the shady quadrangle, seeing a network of footpaths and gardens.

“I really suck at shuffleboard.” He murmured a command, made a nearly imperceptible motion with his wrist and Fred forged to the edge of the walkway. “But I'm a remarkably good bowler.”

 

The campus of the Beacon was tauntingly close to the University of Texas main campus. Jessie remembered the traffic warning signs along the street: Blind Pedestrian Crossing. Years ago, she'd roared through that intersection without a second thought.

Sully gave her a tour of the facility, which was set up to address a blind person's day-to-day routine, from organizing the bathroom to avoid brushing teeth with hair cream to labeling stove knobs and spices with Braille strips.

“You mean I'm going to cook blind?” Jessie whispered, watching an instructor help an old woman make an omelet.

“Sure.”

“Pretty amazing. I never could before.”

There was a bewildering and ingenious array of devices in what was known as the library, though it was damned noisy for a library. The new technology was incredible—talking books, narrated movies for the blind, computers that took live and recorded dictation and read text aloud.

“Some work better than others,” Sully explained about the movies.