The Other Life (34 page)

DURING THE CAR RIDE BACK TO THE CITY, QUINN TOLD NAN about the other journeys, and how the water had to be colder every time she went back. She told her about the fissure in her basement, behind the ancient ironing board, and how she had sensed its presence from the first moment she approached it.

Nan wanted to know more about the house and her life. Was Lewis good to her? How was their marriage? Was Hayden okay? Was he still with Cordell? Did she speak to her father often? Had he moved on? Question after question tumbled from Nan, and Quinn had to struggle to keep up.

As she drove across the Fifty-ninth Street Bridge, Manhattan’s magnificent skyline rising in the distance, they both went silent. The crisp early-morning sky provided a perfect backdrop, and Quinn’s eye, as usual, went from the Empire State Building—easy to spot with its spire reaching high above the jagged silhouette—to the Chrysler Building, perpetually celebrating in its chrome Art Deco tiara. Today, though, the vista felt different, and she knew why. Her mother would never see it again.

Quinn glanced to her right. Nan was staring, tears running down her face.

“I don’t have to do this,” Quinn said. “I can stay here with you.”

Nan shook her head, resolute. “No.”

Quinn gripped the steering wheel, trying to pull strength from wherever she could.

“Tell me about Isaac,” Nan said. “Start at the beginning.”

And she did. She told Nan that she took a home pregnancy test one morning while Lewis was still asleep. When she saw it was positive, she removed Lewis’s toothbrush from its holder above the sink and replaced it with the test stick. Then she woke him for work. She sat on the bed, waiting for a reaction, and laughed when she heard a loud whoop from the bathroom. She knew she would later get complaints from the mean couple in the apartment next door, but she didn’t care. She told Nan about her labor and delivery, and how Isaac was a little jaundiced when they brought him home, and had to be kept by the window in a bassinet, which they moved hourly to follow the sun.

She told her mother how quickly he got fat, his little hands turning into meatballs. She explained how he started to slim down as soon as he learned to walk, and now was so skinny she had trouble finding jeans that didn’t slide down his bottom. She told her about the time he had to get stitches in his forehead when he was only two, after falling in a playground. She told her that he was a gifted little artist who had been drawing from the time he could wrap his tiny hand around a crayon. She told her Isaac had an infectious giggle, and liked playing with action figures and building sets more than with cars and trains.

“He likes believing in the tooth fairy,” Quinn said, “but he’s skeptical. The wrestle between his heart and his mind is something to see.”

“Did he ask you about it?”

“He did. But it was funny how he phrased it. He didn’t come right out and ask me if she was real. He said, ‘If the tooth fairy wasn’t real, would you tell me?’ It was like he wasn’t sure he wanted the truth. He just wanted to know if he could trust me.”

“What did you say?”

“I think I gave him the right answer. I said, ‘If you
asked
me I would tell you the truth.’ Then I waited for him to respond, but he didn’t, so I said, ‘Do you want to ask me?’ It took him about a full minute to answer.”

“What did he say?”

Quinn smiled thinking about it. “He said no, and then took out his crayons and started coloring.”

Nan laughed. “What a delightful boy. And I’m glad he turns to art for comfort.”

“I gave him a sketch pad from your studio,” Quinn said. “It’s his favorite thing to draw on.”

“Give him everything,” Nan said. “My paints and brushes, my palettes, my canvases, my charcoals. Whatever I left behind.”

“I will.”

“And don’t give him art lessons too soon. Let him just create.”

Quinn felt she could barely breathe. “Okay.”

“Make sure he gets to experience the natural world. He needs to see mountains and lakes.”

“Right.”

“Bring him to Jones Beach in the winter,” Nan said. “He’ll love the light.”

“Yes.”

“Do you take him to the art museums?”

“Of course.”

“What does he like?”

“The moderns. I mean, he likes everything. But twentieth-century art drives him wild.”

“Good. He’s reacting viscerally. Is he smart like his mama?”

“Smarter.”

“Does he call Phil ‘Grandpa’?” Nan asked.

“Calls him Papa Phil, and he loves him to pieces.”

“I bet Arlene eats him up,” Nan said, referring to Lewis’s mother.

Quinn could tell that her mother was trying to be strong, but her voice had gone soft. Quinn glanced at her face. This had to be so hard for her.

“They’re very close,” she said.

Her mother nodded. “I’m glad he has a grandma.”

“I’m sorry . . .” Quinn began, and had to stop. She was crying too hard to get the words out. She took a long, jagged breath. “I’m sorry you never got to meet him.”

“Me, too.”

It was a Saturday morning and traffic was pretty light, so they made it to Manhattan quickly. Quinn parked the car in the garage beneath her apartment building but wasn’t ready to get out. There was still so much to talk about. She cut the engine and turned to her mother.

“I found something in your room. A package with a newborn outfit inside. You had written my name on it.”

“I remember,” Nan said. “I was getting rid of your baby clothes, packing them up for charity. Your father kept telling me to save them in case we had another daughter one day. But you were growing out of things so fast and I was overwhelmed by the clutter. You know me—if I’m not using something, it’s
out
. Anyway, I had a rare moment of sentimentality when I was packing up that tiny outfit. I had brought you home from the hospital in it and it felt so precious, like you were still in it. I just couldn’t give it away. So I wrapped it and stuck it someplace, but I never remembered where I put it.”

“You put it in a dresser drawer and it fell behind. Must have been back there all these years. It’s in my house now. I thought . . . I thought it might bring Naomi good luck.”

Nan grabbed Quinn’s hand. “I hope it does.”

“I’m scared, Mom. I’m scared that she’s going to die.” She paused to swallow. “And I’m scared that she’s going to live.”

“You’re stronger than you think.”

“Am I?”

“I’m not saying it will be easy,” Nan said, “but you have a hell of a partner there.”

“I know.”

“You’ll get through it together.”

Would they? Quinn still couldn’t imagine what it would be like to spend the rest of their lives as parents of a damaged girl. “Do you think I can do it? Do you think I can be a mother to a disabled child?”

Her mother touched her face and Quinn closed her eyes. She didn’t want her to stop. She wanted to stay in the car underground with her mother’s hand on her cheek for the rest of her life.

“When did you fall in love with Isaac?” Nan asked.

Isaac
. Just thinking about him made Quinn feel that she would be pulled apart. How she wanted to hold him again! And yet. She took her mother’s hand and kissed it.

“Right after he was born,” Quinn said. “They cleaned him off and put him on my chest. He turned his little face and . . . I was flooded.”

“Did you love him because he was perfect?”

Quinn shook her head.

“You’ll feel the same way about Naomi.”

“I will!” Quinn said, crying.

Nan leaned in and embraced her. “Let’s go,” she said.

Quinn took a deep breath, and then another, trying to gather strength with each one. “Okay,” she whispered.

By the time they reached the apartment, it was empty, as Quinn had expected. Eugene was obsessive about getting to his Saturday-morning appointment with his personal trainer.

Quinn led her mother straight to the bathroom, where she turned on the tub’s cold water tap.

“I’m going to need to add ice,” she said.

Nan followed her into the kitchen, where Quinn held a glass under the ice dispenser on the refrigerator door and filled it to the top.

“Is that going to be enough?” Nan asked.

“Not by a long shot, unfortunately.”

“Then let’s not fool around,” Nan said. She opened the freezer and removed the entire bin from the ice maker.

They went back into the bathroom and dumped all the ice into the tub. What had looked like a large quantity seemed dwarfed in the deep bathwater.

“I don’t know if that’s going to be enough,” Quinn said, testing the water with her hand. “What are we going to do?” She knew of a store three blocks away that sold ice by the bag, but she was afraid that even if she ran there and back, Eugene would beat her home. She didn’t want to have to try to explain any of this.

“Doesn’t have to be ice,” Nan said, and went back to the kitchen. She opened the freezer and started rummaging around. She found the three ice packs Quinn and Eugene used in their beach cooler. She also pulled out several unidentified packages of meat in plastic bags, a bottle of Grey Goose vodka, and four bags of frozen vegetables. “I think this should do it,” she said.

“It’s like some crazy frozen stew,” Quinn said, as they stood over the tub with the strange assortment of items floating in it. She took off her shoes and socks and put her right foot in the water to test it. The cold was so painful it felt like a burn, but Quinn kept her foot in until it started to go numb. She pulled it out, and as her flesh thawed in the warm air of the bathroom it felt as if she were on fire.

She threw her arms around her mother. “I don’t think I can do this!” she said, weeping.

Her mother held her tight for a long time. Quinn felt her resolve weakening. Maybe she should stay here after all. Nan pulled back and looked into her daughter’s eyes.

“You’re going to do this,” she said.

Tears dripped over Quinn’s lips and into her mouth. “Mom . . .” she began.

“I know,” Nan said. “I love you, too.”

“I can’t say good-bye to you.”

“Then don’t. Just get in the water.”

Quinn did as her mother said, stepping into the cold bathwater amid the strange assortment of objects. She left her clothes on, even though she knew they wouldn’t really do anything to keep her warm. She sat.

“Oh, God. It’s so cold.” Her teeth chattered.

Her mother leaned over and kissed her forehead.

“I guess this is it,” Quinn said. She kissed her mother back. “Thank you,” she whispered. She took a long, deep breath and lay down, submerging herself in the icy bath.

She kept her eyes closed, fighting the instinct to sit up and escape the terrible pain of the cold. Her limbs were on fire. How long would it take before she felt a tug? And what if she didn’t? She could die of a heart attack or hypothermia within minutes.

I should sit up, she thought. To hell with this!

“Give Isaac a kiss for me,” she heard her mother say.

Isaac! Of course. If she didn’t die first, she might get to see him very, very soon.

The burning was giving way to numbness. If she could only hold on! Her chest began to feel heavy and Quinn wondered if she was having a heart attack. She wanted to sit up and take a breath, but worried that she wouldn’t be able to force herself down again.

And then she felt it. It was just a slight tug, but Quinn recognized the sensation. She was leaving. She opened her eyes. It wasn’t too late to change her mind. Her mother was still there, hovering above her.

I can’t do this! Quinn thought. I can’t leave my mother! She tried to sit up but couldn’t. She realized, then, that her mother had her arms pinned to the bottom of the tub. Nan was holding her down.

“Good-bye, Quinn,” Nan said.

Quinn felt herself sucked into darkness with a powerful, violent jerk. She opened her mouth and took a hungry breath. She was alive.

But just like that, her mother was dead. Quinn could sense it immediately. There was no more Nan. Period.

Quinn was now naked and shivering as she barreled back toward her other life. Soon she would reach her basement wall and find out whether she could squeeze through and get back to her family, or if she would be stuck in this dank, hellish mid-place forever.

Light. It was Quinn’s first bit of hope. The fissure hadn’t sealed completely.

When she was upon it, though, she couldn’t imagine how she would be able to squeeze through. It was so small.

Still, she had to try. Quinn put her head through, but her shoulders were just too big. It wasn’t going to work. But maybe if she put her arms over her head like a diver she could make it.

Quinn backed out and tried again, leading with her hands and squeezing her head between her arms. She scratched the skin of her arms and back on the rough concrete, but she did it—she managed to get her shoulders through. She winced in pain as she pulled her tender breasts over the scratchy surface. Her bloated belly would be the hard part. It was just too large and round for the narrow slit. Quinn grabbed onto the ironing board with one arm and pulled as hard as she could, ignoring the ripping of flesh on her middle. At last, her belly was through, then her hips and her legs. It was over.

Quinn had made it. She was home.

QUINN STOOD IN HER LAUNDRY ROOM, NAKED, WET, AND cold. She closed her eyes and put both hands on her belly. Her injuries were all surface wounds. Naomi was still alive. She could sense it.

Quinn gathered her pajamas and went into the bathroom, where she took a luxurious hot shower. She dressed her tender wounds, put her pajamas back on, and climbed into bed with Lewis. She expected to feel happy to be alive and grateful to be safe and warm. But as she stared at the ceiling, grief hit her in a giant wave. Her mother was dead. Gone forever. And Quinn felt that she might drown in her own sorrow.