These Things Hidden (18 page)

C
harm is sitting in the empty bathtub, fully clothed. It seems to be the only place she can go and not hear the rattle of Gus’s chest. She knows she should be brave, should go out there and sit with him. She’s going to be a nurse, after all. But all of her training could not prepare Charm for this. Gus is dying in a way that no one should have to—even the meanest person in the world should not have to suffer the way he is. He is suffocating, slowly, painfully, right in front of her and there is nothing she can do to help him, even though he looks up at her desperately. She imagines his blackened lungs squeezing in his chest, desperate for air. The pneumonia settled in so quickly. His skin has turned a sickly gray and his whole body has wasted away until he’s just bone. He reminds her of those pictures of
concentration camp survivors that they saw in history class. The only part of him that isn’t thin is his face and neck. There he is all puffy. Sometimes it’s hard to find him in that swollen yellow flesh, but once in a while he smiles and she sees him again. The fun, energetic Gus who came to every school event Charm ever had, the one who taught her how to shoot free throws and how to make
kolache.
Now he looks like a stranger.

Charm considers calling her mother, but isn’t sure what she would say to her. Charm has only truly needed her mother two other times in her life—when her mother’s sicko boyfriend cornered her while Reanne was at work and when Allison left Joshua with her. Both times, her mother wasn’t there.
I could use a mother now,
Charm thinks. Someone to help her take care of Gus, to tell her that everything’s going to be okay. Unfortunately, Reanne Tullia is not that person.

Charm climbs from the bathtub and looks at herself in the mirror. Her eyes are bloodshot and little crevices are forming around lips that she knows she keeps perpetually pinched in worry.
I look so old,
she thinks.
I am twenty-one and I’m starting to look like an old woman.

Charm told her instructors at school that she needed to take some time off so she could help care for Gus. They were very understanding. She knows that the next time she returns to class will be after Gus’s funeral. She reluctantly leaves the refuge of the bathroom and goes to Gus. His eyes are slightly open and she pulls a chair up to the bed and sits next to him. Charm carried his old TV set into his bedroom and they watch silly sitcoms and old reruns of police dramas. It doesn’t really matter what they watch, just as long as the volume from the television covers up the teakettle wheeze that comes from his chest. When Gus starts one of his coughing fits, Charm carefully helps him sit up and rubs his back in small circles, like she saw him do with Joshua when he was with them. Charm pats Gus’s back over and over and whispers encouraging words to him, as if he is now the baby. “It’s okay, it’s okay. Get it out.” Gus clenches and unclenches the blankets with his thin, skeleton hands. When the hacking finally stops Charm gives him a sip of water, fixes the pillows behind his head and gently replaces the oxygen mask over his nose. She sits back down again until his breathing calms and he falls asleep.

Jane arranges to have the people from the hospice program come in and Charm is grateful. They are very nice and helpful; but it’s still Charm that Gus looks to. It is Charm his watery blue eyes follow around the room as if begging her to help him. He speaks nonsense much of the time and he calls Charm by her mother’s name, which physically pains her. Doris, the hospice volunteer, tries to tell her that it is Gus’s cancer and all the pain medicine that makes him talk like this.

Fall has come to them hard and angry, expelling sharp slashes of rain, like spit. It rains all the time now. She finds it depressing, sitting in the little house day after day. Charm wants to go back to school, but she can’t stand the thought of leaving Gus at the house with strangers. She knows that he could die at any moment and is determined not to desert him, like her mother did. She wants to be there with him until his eyes close and don’t open, until he doesn’t have to struggle for every bit of air.

Gus’s double bed has been replaced with a hospital bed. It makes it easier for the hospice workers to care for him and change his sheets. Makes it easier for them to wheel him out when he dies, Charm thinks to herself. He looks like an empty cocoon lying there, his skin cobweb-thin and pulled tight against his bones. His coughing has quieted and he lies so still that at times the gentle rise and fall of his chest are her only indication that he is still alive.

Charm wonders if her mother knows that Gus is dying and if she cares. She wonders what she will do, where she will go, what will become of her. Though she has always been independent, without a true mother or father, she always had Gus.

She feels a small movement beside her and turns on the table-side lamp so she can see Gus’s face. In the dim
light, with the shadows surrounding him, Gus looks almost like himself. Youthful, handsome, happy.

“How’re you doing, Gus?” Charm asks him in a whisper. The mere act of listening seems to cause him pain. “Can I get you something?” His eyes are open and clear and he tries to lift a hand to pull away the oxygen mask. “Let me get it,” she tells him and removes the mask that she once teased him made him look like Horton, the elephant from the Dr. Seuss books. Gus had laughed. He licks his dry, cracked lips and Charm presses a straw between them and he sips. The effort it takes him to do this is exhausting. “What else?” she asks. “What can I do?” Charm tries to swallow back the emotion. She has seen patients die, seen children die, but no one she has known. No one she has loved.

“No,” Gus croaks. “Just sit here.” He weakly pats a spot next to him on the bed. Charm hesitates. She’d have to lower the side rail that prevents him from falling out and there isn’t much room, even though he is as thin as the switch grass outside his window.

“It’s all right,” he says.

Charm lowers the rail and gently moves him. He doesn’t make a sound, but his face fills with pain. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Charm winces, but he pats the bed again to let her know he is okay. Trying to make herself as small as possible, she eases in next to him. “Do you want to watch television?” she asks, reaching for the
remote. He shakes his head. “Do you want your mask back on?” Charm asks, knowing he can’t go for very long without it, how he tends to panic, which makes it harder for him to catch his breath.

Again he shakes his head. Because of the swelling, the sharp angles of his handsome face are gone. His dark hair stands in stark contrast to his pale skin and his shaggy eyebrows make his eyes appear smaller, more sunken. A blue pond among the reeds.

“Talk,” he orders in the way that he has. He can still get away with sounding bossy without sounding mean.

“Well,” Charm begins. “I start on the orthopedic floor next week. And I’ll be on the pediatric oncology floor right around Halloween. Everyone dresses up in costumes, even the doctors.”

Gus nods and they sit in silence for a moment. They both know he will be gone by Halloween.

“The little boy,” Gus says, his voice like sandpaper.

Charm’s heart plummets. She knew the subject of Joshua would come up, needed to come up one more time.

“I’m sorry.” His words are breathy and are emitted with more difficulty.

“Why?” Charm asks incredulously. “Why are you sorry? It was Christopher’s fault. It was Allison Glenn’s fault. Not yours. Joshua is safe. He is happy. He is with people who love him.” She angrily ticks the points off
on her fingers. “His mother went to prison for drowning his twin sister, you knew Christopher would never come back to take care of him, and God knows my mother is useless!”

“Shhh,” Gus breathes, and softly places his hand next to her cheek. “Shhh, now.” This is too much for Charm, this kind, desperately ill man trying to comfort her. She was the one who begged for more time with the baby. But a few hours had turned into a few days, then into three weeks. Charm kept on pleading with Gus for more time, sure that her brother would come back for the little boy she had quickly fallen in love with. She begins to cry.

“I’m sorry. I should have told you,” Charm sobs. “I should have told you I was taking him to the fire station.” She looks helplessly at her stepfather. “I couldn’t do it anymore. I wanted to, but I couldn’t. I was so tired. I knew I’d waited too long to take him to a safe haven place and I was afraid you could get in trouble, so I didn’t say anything to you.”

“You’re a good girl, Charm,” Gus murmurs. “You’re smart and brave. Braver than I ever was.” Charm looks at him. Over the years, Gus has described the many harrowing fires he fought. The smoke, the flames, the heat. “You kept looking after that little boy, even after you left him at the fire station. You made sure he was safe.”

“You didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye.” Gus
is silent. The conversation is tiring him. “Sometimes I wish she’d never brought him to our house,” Charm says, finally voicing out loud what she’s been feeling for so long. “Sometimes I wish I never held him. I wish I never knew he had a little sister that was thrown into the river. I wish you would get better.” Charm swallows hard, trying to hold back the tears, and hides her face against his brittle shoulder.

With great difficulty Gus brings his other arm around her.

“Daughter,” Gus rasps. There is nothing left to say. They lie there a long time, Gus softly patting her back and Charm soaking it up, like a cat trying to find the last patch of fading sunshine.

E
ver since Joshua’s glitter incident and the way I came to the rescue with the magic tape, he is constantly at my side when I’m working, offering to hand me books to shelve or to count the pennies in the register. In a very short time I’ve discovered the long list of things Joshua hates and loves. He hates when his fingers are sticky, the smell of bananas, thunderstorms and cleaning his room. He loves Truman, playing with Legos, drinking Dr Pepper—even though his mom says it will rot his teeth right out of his head—and building things with his dad.

I know I should try to keep him at arm’s length. Getting close to him will end in nothing but disaster. I should tell him to beat it, that I need to focus on my work, but I don’t. “What about soccer?” I ask, thinking
about the picture of him in his green uniform. “Do you like playing soccer?”

“It’s okay. I’m not very good at it,” he says a little sadly. “Someone always gets the ball away from me.”

“I could show you some tips,” I offer. “I used to play soccer all the time.”

“Okay,” Joshua says, bending down to pet Truman. “I’ll bring my soccer ball tomorrow.”

“I don’t think your mom will want us playing soccer in the store,” I tell him, instantly regretting my offer. For a minute Joshua looks deflated.

“You can come over to our house,” Joshua says, perking up. “You can teach me soccer and I can show you my room and my dad’s workshop.”

“I don’t know …” I look away from Joshua when I hear a customer come through the door, grateful for the distraction. I’m getting too close, too involved.

I see Devin walking slowly toward me. Gone is her usual brisk, businesslike pace. She looks almost hesitant. Not like herself at all. She knows. She knows about Joshua. Brynn called her and told her that I’m his mother. She’s coming to tell me I’m going back to prison. I’ve been free for three weeks and now I have to go back. I think I’d rather die first.

“Josh, why don’t you go do your homework,” I say as Devin stops in front of me. Something is wrong. Very wrong.

“Who’s that?” Joshua asks, staying at my side.

“Joshua, are you bothering Allison?” Claire’s voice comes from behind me.

“No, I’m helping,” Joshua insists.

“Allison,” Devin says gently. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

Claire looks at us with concern. I know I should introduce them to each other, but the words are stuck in my throat, so I just nod and follow Devin as she leads me outside. I close my eyes and wait for Devin to tell me that she’s taking me to the police station. The air is cool and feels good against my hot cheeks and I try to memorize the feel of it.

“Allison?” Devin says, and I open my eyes. She is biting the insides of her cheeks, struggling to speak, and I wonder if I’ll be able to say goodbye to Claire, to thank her for giving me a chance. I wonder if I’ll ever see Joshua again. “Allison.” She reaches for my hand. “It’s your father.”

“My father?” I say in confusion. I look down at Devin’s hand in mine. A large sparkling diamond is on her ring finger. She’s getting married, I think to myself. I begin to congratulate her when she interrupts me.

“He collapsed at his office today,” Devin explains. “He’s at St. Isadore’s in intensive care. They’re not exactly sure what’s going on yet, but it looks like a heart attack.” I look at her questioningly and, like always,
Devin seems able to read my thoughts. “Your mother called Barry. Mr. Gordon.” I nod my head. This makes sense. My father and the senior partner in Devin’s law firm, Barry Gordon, have been friends for years. “Do you want to go to the hospital?” Devin asks. “I can drive you over there.”

I think back to my last encounter with my father, remember how the house had been erased of any existence of me. “I don’t know if they want me at the hospital,” I say in a small voice.

“What do you want, Allison?” Devin asks me. “What do
you
want to do?”

Suddenly, I have to see my father. What if he dies? I can’t let the next time I see my mother be at my father’s funeral. I quickly explain the situation to Claire and she sends me off with a hug. “Let me know what’s happening. Don’t worry about work. You go be with your family.”

I can’t tell her that, in the few weeks I’ve been back in Linden Falls, she feels more like family to me than my parents. “Thanks” is all I can manage. “I’ll call you later.”

Devin drops me off in front of the hospital. She offers to come with me, but I tell her no, that I’ll be okay. But I’m not really okay. I just didn’t want Devin to have to witness my first meeting with my mother. I have no idea how she’ll react to me showing up at my father’s hospital
bed. I don’t know if she’ll welcome me with a hug or order me to leave.

The last time I was in St. Isadore’s Hospital, I was recovering from giving birth and was under arrest for the murder of my newborn baby girl. I left in a wheelchair that was pushed by a corrections officer and my hands were cuffed together. The bustle of the hospital is the same as I remember. Nurses and doctors move purposely through the hallways, visitors more tentatively. I stop at the information desk to ask which floor my father is on and then take the stairs to the fifth floor. The thought of stepping into an airless, cramped elevator, which reminds me of my prison cell, takes my breath away.

I see her first. She is sitting alone on a long sofa in the intensive-care waiting area. Her hair is the same shiny blond color I remember, but cut shorter in a severe blunt bob that stops just below her chin. She is wearing jeans and her mud-caked garden clogs. She must have been working in the yard when she got the call. She must have been in a hurry to get to the hospital. My mother never wears jeans out in public, never wears her gardening shoes out of the yard. She is staring at the wall of the waiting room, her clear blue eyes still unaware of my presence. Her face has softened some since I saw her last, though she is thinner, more fragile-looking. For once she looks unguarded and I know if I don’t speak now, I’ll lose my nerve.

“Mom,” I say softly, and the word ends with a raspy hitch.

She startles and looks up at me. With the full weight of her face on me, I now see how much she has aged in the past year, though she is still beautiful. “Allison,” she says, and I think I hear a note of gladness in her voice. It’s all the invitation I need. In an instant I’m at her side on the couch, my arms wrapped around her thin shoulders. I breathe in her scent, a combination of the lily-of-the-valley perfume she wears and the soil she must have been working in when she got the call.

“How’s Dad?” I ask through my tears. “Is he going to be okay?”

My mother shakes her head from side to side.

“I don’t know,” she says helplessly. “They aren’t telling me anything.” She looks down at her hands. Her once long, slim fingers are wrinkled and beginning to thicken at the knuckles. “He’s still in surgery.”

“I’ll go ask in a minute,” I tell her. “See if I can get an update. Did someone call Brynn or Grandma? Are you okay? Have you eaten?”

She shakes her head and looks down at her feet. “I forgot to change my shoes.” Her chin wobbles and she covers her eyes with her hands and begins to weep. “He’s all I have,” she cries. “He’s all I have left.”