Accidents of Marriage (10 page)

Emma steered the kids toward the kitchen.

“Take whatever you want, Em,” Aunt Vanessa said. “If you don’t want the eggs, have cake and ice cream. Sean hides Entenmann’s and pints of Ben and Jerry’s in the back of the freezer.”

Permission to eat cake for supper worsened Emma’s cramping fear. Aunt Vanessa never did stuff like that—her family nickname was the Nutrition Czarina. How badly hurt was her mother for her aunt to let them overdose on sugar? She led her brother and sister to the kitchen
table, where Gracie and Caleb dropped into chairs like boneless dolls. Gracie made a circle of her arms and put her head in the center.

“I want Ben and Jerry’s,” Caleb said.

“First you have to eat eggs.” Emma opened and closed cabinets until she found a frying pan.

“Are you crying?” Gracie asked.

Emma wiped her eyes with a dish towel. The cloth felt stiff and smelled oniony. She took a paper towel, ran it under the faucet, and held it to her face. “I’m okay. Don’t worry.”

Caleb put his arms around Emma’s waist. “It’s okay,” he murmured, sounding like Grandma Anne. “Shah, shah.”

Gracie stood next to Caleb, patting and rubbing Emma’s back.

Their tiny touches calmed her. She took a deep breath and hugged her brother and sister. “Let’s see what’s in the freezer.”

Aunt Vanessa came back, her eyes puffy from crying and black from runny mascara. “You okay?”

“Did my father call?” Emma asked.

Her aunt’s face twisted as if she’d tasted something rotten. “No. No calls. You all set here?”

Emma nodded and continued scooping out ice cream into three red polka-dot bowls. The dishes seemed oddly happy in the gloomy atmosphere. “We’re fine. I’ll put the kids to bed.”

Vanessa came over and planted a kiss on each of them, giving Emma an extra squeeze. “Thanks, honey.”

You don’t have to thank me for taking care of my own brother and sister.
That’s what she wanted to say. But she was terrified it would come out mean and she’d end up sounding like her father.

•  •  •

The silent house felt foreign when Emma woke. The clock showed five a.m. She climbed out of bed, careful not to make a sound.

Violet-pink streaks flamed across the sky as she slipped outside. Sharply delineated flowerbeds outlined the large backyard. Emma’s family had flowers, but not in perfect patterns like Aunt Vanessa’s. Her father called the suburban area where her aunt and uncle lived “city-
light,” emphasizing
light
so no one missed his opinion on the whole thing. Each time her mother rolled her eyes.

Her mother wouldn’t mind living out here with Aunt Vanessa, having what her mother called “guaranteed schools” available. She’d heard her and Kath talking about it, all
oh, marriage is so hard
and
husbands drive you nuts
as they drank wine coolers as though they were still in college or something.
I’m sick of having to research schools. Why can’t I just send them to school, like Vanessa will do with her kids? Why does everything in Ben’s life have to prove something?

Emma learned plenty listening to their conversations. Like maybe getting married wasn’t such a good idea. When they saw her listening, her mother and Kath would shut up, but Emma knew how to hover in the background.

She leaned back in a green straw chair, her thighs poking through the sagging weave. It wasn’t comfortable, but she was too tired to get up and move to the cushioned chaise.

Were wires and junk hanging out of her mother, like the patients on TV? What did it mean when they said “tube her”? Was her mother tubed? Emma slipped her hands under her thighs, letting the cross-hatching cut into her palms, questions and horrible images endlessly running.

When the sun rose, Emma tiptoed to the back door and slipped inside. She crept upstairs to grab her backpack from the guest room. The air-conditioned bedroom was stale. Gracie and Caleb were in one twin bed, facing away from each other, their feet and butts pressed together. An old patchwork cover outlined them, a quilt made by Emma’s great-grandmother, the blue and white squares shredded in spots. Her mother and aunt had fought over that blanket when Grandma Anne offered it up last year. During the argument Aunt Vanessa had ticked off three things that had already gone to Emma’s mother:
one, Grandma Bessie’s mortar and pestle,
as though her aunt would ever use it;
two, Mom’s locket,
which Emma thought especially stupid because Aunt Vanessa only wore big ugly chunky jewelry and the locket was a delicate filigreed piece; and
three, you have Grandma Greene’s old silverware from Daddy’s parents
.

She got back to the porch without waking anyone, and then dug through her backpack until she found her phone and large silvery barrette. Heavy humidity had turned her unbraided hair into an itchy cape. She gathered it at the back of her neck, clipped it up, and called her father.

He answered as though the phone were already in his hand.

“Daddy?”

“Emma? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Emma crossed her legs on the sagging chair. “Why didn’t you call us?” She couldn’t bring herself to ask the real question—
Is Mom alive?
—convinced her father hadn’t called because her mother had died in the night. She couldn’t remember the last thing she’d said to Mom, but the likelihood that it had been bitchy and mean haunted her.

“Mom is out of surgery. She’s in the intensive care unit. I’m still at the hospital.”

Alive!

Still, Emma listened to her father’s lawyer words carefully.
Mom is out of surgery.
What did that mean? “Is she okay?” Her father didn’t answer. “Is she?”

“The doctor says she’s holding her own.” His words were slow and measured.

“What does that mean, Daddy? Did you talk to her?” Emma leaned her chin on her knees, gripping the sweaty phone.

“She’s still unconscious. They had to give her a lot of anesthesia, honey. Later we’ll know more—I promise. Are you okay? How are the kids?”

“Fine. What happened? Is her brain . . .” What was the right word?

“I told you, we’ll know more later. Go back to bed, honey.”

“Daddy, call me as soon as she wakes up. Promise?”

“I promise.”

After hanging up, Emma realized he hadn’t told her what to do. Was she supposed to go to work, or should she stay with Caleb and Gracie? They could be here with Aunt Vanessa, but Emma thought they’d be happier if she stayed too. Anyway, she didn’t want to go to work.

She’d call Kath.

Oh, God, had anyone thought to call Kath? Maybe her father hadn’t. And how about Olivia?

If they knew, at least there’d be people to ask questions.

She went back into the house, poured a glass of orange juice, and carried it to the study. The computer was already on. She guessed they never turned it off. Her father would kill Emma for doing that.

She logged in on Aunt Vanessa’s icon. Weight Watchers came up as the home page. God, her aunt was such an obsessive. Emma paused, and then typed
brain surgery
in the search box, immediately overwhelmed by an endless list:

ABC’s of brain tumors

Aneurysm

AVM

Arteriovenous Malformation: formed during fetal development

Aneurysms of the Brain. Meningioma

Surviving brain injury in the family: depression, frustration, speech loss

Emma clicked on the last one.

Family members in the hospital setting:
Patients may not know where they are. Be careful to speak in short simple sentences.

Emma tried to speed-read about keeping the hospital room simple and helping patients adjust gradually, until she gave up and printed it. Before leaving the site, she emailed herself the URL.

Clicking back, she scanned a list of types of brain surgeries until she saw the one she’d heard Grandma Anne say to Daddy,
craniotomy
. She dug deeper, looking for something, somewhere that would tell her that her mother would be okay.

Craniotomy (krā ' • nē '• ä '• t ə • mē): Surgery performed on the skull where a portion of bone is removed to gain access to the brain, and
the bone is put back in its place. Craniectomy (krā '• nē • ek'• t ə • mē): Surgery performed on the skull where pieces of bone are removed to gain access to the brain, and the bone pieces are not replaced.

Baruch Atah Adonai, Eloheinu Melech Ha’Olam, please keep my mother alive.

In a craniotomy, the skull is opened to relieve the causes of increased pressure inside the skull. Causes may be fractured bones, blood clots, or swollen brain tissues.

Emma visited a virtual hospital and landed inside a brain, watching a virtual operation in full color, skin and bone pulled aside to reveal photos titled “obliterating an aneurysm.” Did her mother have that?

“What are you doing?”

Emma leapt up as though she’d been caught surfing porn.

Aunt Vanessa’s hair hung in ragged clumps. An edge of faded red underwear showed beneath her oversized white T-shirt. Without makeup, Aunt Vanessa looked plain and worn. Melody laid placidly in her arms, chewing a corner of her blanket, her bright green eyes so similar to Uncle Sean’s that it seemed as though Aunt Vanessa held a tiny version of her husband.

“Nothing.” Emma hit the X in the corner of the screen, making it all go away. “I was just checking my email.”

“I guess at your age it gets checked even when your mother’s in the hospital, huh?” She planted an absentminded kiss on Melody’s forehead.

As though anyone uses email.
Sometimes the ease with which you could fool adults pained her. She crossed her arms and gripped her elbows.

“I didn’t mean that as an insult, hon. Honest. I’d probably do the same thing if I could,” Aunt Vanessa said.

She swung Melody around, switching hips. Her shirt rode up, revealing more of the red underwear, more of her ropy muscled thighs.
Aunt Vanessa seemed exaggerated to Emma, especially her blue eyes, just like Grandma’s, but so sharp on her aunt that they reminded Emma of a doll’s. Her mother’s warm dark ones were better. People referred to Aunt Vanessa as a knockout, but Emma thought people were more comfortable around her mother. She didn’t have to paint herself pretty.

“Here, help me out.” Aunt Vanessa held out Melody as though she were a UPS delivery. “I’m desperate for coffee.”

•  •  •

Breakfast was a bleak affair that held no reason to rush, as nobody was going to work or school. She’d never seen Uncle Sean in pajamas before, and it made her feel shy, despite the fact that he had more flesh showing when he wore shorts and a T-shirt.

“Shouldn’t we call Kath?” Emma asked for the second time. She placed bowls in front of the kids. Melody alternated pounding a foam hammer against her high chair tray and throwing it on the floor for her never-tiring cousin Caleb to retrieve.

“Your father called her already.” Her aunt’s answer scared Emma. Calling Kath last night made it sound too serious—like notifying people about a funeral.

“Shouldn’t I tell her I’m not going to be at camp? What if she needs me? Maybe I should go.” Now Emma wanted nothing so much as getting dressed and walking the fifteen minutes to the train, just to be someplace where her mother wasn’t sick.

Uncle Sean put a plate of cut grapefruit in front of Aunt Vanessa, who seemed increasingly frustrated at trying to coax mashed banana into Melody’s mouth.

“Caleb,” he said. “Don’t be picking up the hammer for Melody now. You’re getting her all excited and she won’t want to eat.”

Bran Flakes was the only cereal Emma found in the cabinet. Aunt Vanessa offered to make French toast, but the offer sounded pro forma—Emma’s current favorite word from the legal vocabulary her father taught them. Emma could have made the French toast, but she didn’t want to cook while her aunt watched—her movements became
stiff and jerky every time her aunt eyed her. Instead, Emma cut up bananas and put them in Caleb and Gracie’s cereal, topping the mixture with heaping tablespoons of brown sugar.

“Are we going to the hospital to see Mommy?” Gracie asked.

Emma tipped the milk carton back up, stopping midstream, and waited. She’d been afraid to ask, not wanting to hear no.

“Pour,” Caleb said. Emma drenched the sugary cereal with milk until it threatened to spill over and her uncle quietly urged the carton upright.

“I’m going over right after breakfast. Uncle Sean will stay with you.”

“Why can’t we go?” Gracie asked.

Thank you, Gracie, thank you, thank you, thank you.

“Your poor mum hasn’t woken up yet,” Uncle Sean said. “You’ll be better off here with me, and anyway, you can help me entertain Miss Sourpuss.” He made a face at Ursula, who wrinkled her nose.

“Why is she still sleeping?” Caleb asked. “Don’t people wake up from operations?”

“Of course they wake up, son. However, they do it at different times. Everyone’s body reacts differently.”

Emma peeked at the clock. It was seven thirty. Her mother’s operation had been hours ago. Even if all her medical information did come from watching television shows, Emma was sure they should be upset if Mom hadn’t woken by now. It couldn’t be a good sign.

“Don’t worry,” Emma told her brother and sister. “I spoke to Daddy, and he said everything would be okay.” Lying seemed the kindest way to go. Mom would do that, right?

“You spoke to your father?” Aunt Vanessa asked.

The question made her feel strangely squirmy and defensive. “Yes.”

“Did he say anything to you?”

“About what?” Emma put the spoon down.

Uncle Sean put a hand on her aunt’s arm, as though stopping her.

Her aunt pursed her mouth and shook her head. “Never mind.”

“It’s about Grandpa, right?” Gracie said. “I heard you talking to Uncle Sean.”

“Didn’t anyone teach you not to sneak around eavesdropping?” Aunt Vanessa asked.