Thorns of Truth (32 page)

Sylvie brought a hand to her chest. A cold heaviness sat squarely over her heart. Not painful exactly—more like a dull ache. She took slow, careful breaths, consciously relaxing her body as she’d been taught. But the anvil above her heart wouldn’t budge.

Softly, she said: “I know what it’s like to lose someone you love.”

The thought of Rose gleamed like some ancient, unalloyed mineral below the heavy layers of her shame. All these years, believing time healed all wounds, she’d only been fooling herself. Rose would never forgive her. And why should she? Sylvie couldn’t forgive herself.

Iris, she saw, was now eyeing
her
with concern. Pulling herself up straight, Sylvie added, “The important thing to remember is that you
are
loved. Not just by Drew. Your mother and father would do anything for you. And I hope I don’t have to tell you how
I
feel.”

Iris dropped her head into her hands. The muffled voice that emerged from between her fingers sent a chill through Sylvie; it was as hollow and desperate as that of a prisoner behind a locked door. “You’re the only one I can talk to, Grandma, the only one who understands. Rose hates me. And Mom and Daddy … they act as if my getting engaged is the answer to their prayers. I
can’t
disappoint them.”

“Nonsense.” Sylvie reached across with both hands and lifted her granddaughter’s face as she would a drooping rosebush in need of staking. “The only thing that matters is whether or not
you’re
happy. Now, let’s begin at the beginning. Tell me everything.…”

Iris took a deep, uneven breath. “Once in a while, I have these … weird blackouts. Usually, it’s when I forget to take my medication. But I can’t always predict when it’s going to happen.” The color had drained from her face, and Sylvie saw she was trembling, her whole body, as if in the grip of a fever chill. “One night, I locked myself in Drew’s bathroom, and … and I … just blanked out. All I remember is that it—it smelled like something was
burning.
But there was no fire. Drew told me—after he broke the door down—that I’d only imagined it. But I
didn’t
see the razor. I didn’t know it was there, on the bathroom floor, until Drew showed me. Oh, Grandma,” she whispered, her teeth chattering as she hugged herself. “What’s
wrong
with me?”

Sylvie felt her alarm slip over into panic. It was as if a puzzle she’d been struggling with—the puzzle that was Iris—had suddenly revealed itself to be more complicated than anything she, or anyone, could solve. They’d all been clinging to the belief that her therapist knew what he was doing. That, in time, and with proper medication, Iris would be able to lead a normal life. Even that Drew’s love could save her somehow. But, Sylvie knew now, that simply wasn’t the case.

Her granddaughter’s confession had shocked Sylvie deeply. What shocked her even more, however, was that all this time, while Iris had been gradually disintegrating, practically before their eyes, not one person in the family had done a thing to prevent it. Least of all herself.

I should have done what Rose asked,
she thought in anguish,
I
should
have spoken up.

By holding her tongue, she’d failed not only Iris, but both her daughters as well. Iris was
sick.
Clearly, the time had come for drastic measures.…

She would gather the whole family together for a summit meeting, Sylvie decided then and there. Drew and Rose, too. Together, they would decide what was best.

But by the time Iris had left, Sylvie was too exhausted even to pick up the phone. It was all she could do just to crawl into bed.

Now, after a whole night and half a day of sleep, Sylvie felt no less tired. Lord have mercy. How would she ever summon the energy to mobilize an entire family into action?

Hearing the muffled thud of footsteps on the stairs, she felt her spirits lift. Nikos. He would help. If only to soothe and encourage her. Long ago—in another lifetime, it seemed—she’d hesitated to lean on him, but now the thought of his strong shoulder brought real tears of relief to her aching eyes.

In response to his light knock, she called, “Come in, dear. I’m awake.”

The door swung open … but it wasn’t Nikos who stepped inside. Sylvie didn’t immediately recognize the silhouetted figure emerging from the dark hallway into the bright room.

Then the figure moved out of the glare and into focus … materializing at once into a slender middle-aged woman with light-brown hair threaded with gray, wearing a stylish black coatdress with gold buttons that flashed in the sunlight.

Rachel.

Sylvie smiled, her spirits lifting. “Just who I wanted to see.”

“Did I wake you?” Rachel approached the bed as any doctor might have, briskly and with a sense of authority, but her blue eyes were soft with concern.

“No, dear … but you should have called,” Sylvie chided gently. “I’d have been up and dressed if I’d known you were coming. And here I am indulging myself as shamelessly as a lazy old cat.” She patted the mattress beside her. “Come, sit with me. And stop looking at me like you’re afraid I’ll shatter if you breathe on me.”

Rachel looked unconvinced by Sylvie’s display of light-heartedness, but she didn’t argue. Something else was troubling her, Sylvie could see. And, unfortunately—for in many ways Sylvie believed that ignorance truly was bliss—she had a pretty good idea what that might be.

Sylvie became aware of her heart laboring in a way that was truly frightening. She considered asking Rachel to fetch her the vial of Hytrin from her medicine chest, but decided to wait.
It’s probably nothing,
she told herself,
and I wouldn’t want her to worry.
Instead, she smoothed the covers over her lap, staring down at the bumps of her knees under the lace duvet, which made her think of tree roots buried under a blanket of snow.

Sylvie thought:
I can’t protect her.
The realization—long overdue, she supposed—brought a bittersweet pang.

Rachel hiked herself onto the bed, which as a child she used to make believe was a wooden ship, its four carved posters the masts by which it sailed to far-off lands. Peering closely at Sylvie, she observed with her usual bluntness, “I don’t like your color, Mama.”

Who am I fooling? She’s a doctor. She knows a sick person when she sees one.

“I haven’t been able to spend as much time outdoors as I’d like,” Sylvie confessed lightly. “But, heavens, you didn’t come all this way to listen to me complain.”

“When was your last appointment with Dr. Choudry?” Rachel folded her arms over her chest, refusing to be diverted.

“Tuesday of last week,” Sylvie informed her. “So, you see, you have nothing to worry about. I’ve been examined from head to toe. Nothing new to report, except that he and I have become quite chummy. Did you know that in England, where he went to college, Tinoo Choudry was a nationally ranked polo champion? Personally, I find it fascinating. To think of someone so athletic choosing medicine instead. He told me—”

“Mother … you’re changing the subject.” Rachel was trying to look stern, but couldn’t keep from smiling. “If you won’t tell me, I’ll have to put in a call to this famous Dr. Choudry myself.”

Sylvie knew, without even having to ask, that Rachel had done so already. She also knew that Rachel couldn’t have learned much. Dr. Choudry was a man of his word—Sylvie was too good a judge of character to be wrong about this—and would honor his promise not to reveal to her family how sick she was.

“I’m only trying to put you at ease,” she soothed. “There’s nothing wrong with me that a little rest won’t cure.”

“I’m not here to check up on you.”

“You’re a wonderful daughter,” Sylvie shook her head, “but a terrible liar.”

Rachel smiled back. “Okay. But that’s not the
only
reason I came.”

“Fair enough.”

“Mama … there’s something I need to talk to you about.” Rachel looked pale and tired herself, Sylvie noted as she covered her daughter’s hand with her own. “Brian and I have been having some problems.…”

“I know,” Sylvie stopped her before she could go any further. “Iris stopped by yesterday. She told me.”

Rachel’s eyes widened in alarm. “Iris?”

“She seems to think it has something to do with Rose,” Sylvie hedged delicately.

Rachel’s face flushed an unattractive mottled pink that made Sylvie remember when she’d had the measles as a child. “I didn’t mean for her to hear. Oh God. It’s all so embarrassing.”

Embarrassing?
Sylvie found herself growing impatient. Rachel, since she was a little girl, had been this way—understating when she should have been shouting, always holding her cards close to her vest.

Sylvie lifted an eyebrow. “I would have thought suspecting your husband of having an affair would be more painful than embarrassing.”

Seeing Rachel’s face twist with a pain deeper than any she could have put words to, Sylvie immediately wished she’d kept her thoughts to herself. Rachel’s visible struggle to hold her emotions in check was so huge, it exhausted Sylvie just watching her.

Finally, Rachel said, “I never would have believed something like this could happen. Not
now,
after all these years. That’s the worst part. I feel so
stupid.…
”

The thought of Gerald flashed across Sylvie’s mind, the stricken look on his face the day he’d surprised her coming up the steps from Nikos’ basement room. “Don’t,” she advised, more sternly than she’d intended. “Whatever happened. Whatever you imagine—it’s not something you could have prevented, believe me.”

“That’s not the way Brian sees it.” Anger seemed to lend her a welcome refuge from her vast, formless dread, but the refuge proved temporary. Her shoulders sagging, Rachel gripped the bedpost. “Oh, Mama, I’m afraid he’s going to ask me for a divorce.”

In spite of herself, Sylvie gasped. “Whatever would possess him to do a thing like that?”

“He thinks I don’t love him.”

“Well,
do
you?”

“How can you ask that?” Holding on to the bedpost, Rachel hauled herself up and stood swaying slightly on her feet, like a sailor testing his land legs. “Mama, I don’t know what I’d do if Brian ever left me.”

Sylvie instinctively pulled back on the throttle; right now, her daughter needed a dose of good sense more than a mother’s outrage. “Well, for heaven’s sake’s, why wait until then? What’s keeping you from doing something about it
now
?”

Rachel looked at her askance, as if not quite sure what to make of this new, sharp-tongued mother. “You sound angry, Mama. Are you all right?”

“I wish people would stop asking me that. You have no idea how tired I get having to reassure everyone all the time.” Suddenly Sylvie
was
angry.
Good for me,
she thought. It proved she still had a few drops of gas left in her tank.

Rachel shook her head with a helplessness that was almost jarringly out of character. “I want to change things. I just don’t know how. It’s like I’m on this giant hamster wheel, and the more I try to get off, the faster it turns.”

“Then you haven’t tried hard enough.”

It hurt Sylvie to be so harsh … but it was essential that she get the message across. Not only for Rachel’s sake, and Brian’s … but, indirectly, for Iris’. Rachel needed to focus on something even more pressing than her marriage. She had to find a way—just as Sylvie herself was attempting to do now— to help her child.

Sylvie, with great difficulty, drew in a deep breath. “There’s something else you should know,” she said. “Iris didn’t stop by just to chat. She was terribly upset. And not just about you and Brian.”

As if an alarm had sounded, Rachel gave a little jerk, becoming instantly alert. “Did she say why?”

“Sit down, darling,” Sylvie urged gently. “I’ll tell you everything I know. But first, you must understand what’s involved. Iris is … well, she’s beyond what a weekly appointment with her therapist can handle. Frankly, I’m not even certain this doctor knows what he’s doing.”

Sylvie’s heart was thundering in her chest, and suddenly she felt dizzy.

“Mama … Mama …” She could hear Rachel calling her, but it seemed to be coming at her in a blizzard, muted by snow and howling wind.

Sylvie squeezed her eyes shut. Her chest felt tight and clogged, as if she were drowning, her lungs filling with water. She tried to breathe, but no air was getting through.

A sharp pain exploded just below her windpipe, spreading downward in a fiery arc. She clutched at the front of her nightgown, clawing at it, as if this thing that was burning its way through her could somehow be dislodged. Her mouth opened, then snapped closed. Rachel’s face grew fuzzy … then loomed once again into view. The four-poster bed she’d shared with Nikos for more than twenty years—and her husband, Gerald, before that—canted sideways, becoming the imaginary ship of which Rachel had once been the captain … and which now was threatening to capsize.

The room turned gray, then black, as Sylvie felt herself dissolve into thousands of bright pinpoints, like stars in some distant galaxy, far beyond human reach.

Sylvie struggled mightily, swimming her way up through blackness toward the faintly glimmering surface just over her head. She heard voices, but they were distorted and droning, like an old-fashioned phonograph played at the wrong speed. Wavery shapes above her materialized slowly into faces. Rachel … then Nikos.

Rachel was pale as an egg. But she was also a doctor, Sylvie comprehended in some corner of her brain. Rachel would fix whatever was wrong. She would know what to do.

“Mama … can you tell me where it hurts?” A cool hand pressed against Sylvie’s chest, where her nightgown had come unbuttoned. “I can help you, but you have to help, too. Can you talk?”

Sylvie turned her head toward Nikos, kneeling beside her, his weathered face, like old, rubbed leather, shining with tears. Slowly, almost reverently, he took her hand and lifted it to his mouth. The warm pressure of his lips against her knuckles caused the fiery pain in her chest to recede slightly.