Billie Standish Was Here (26 page)

I waved my hands like I was erasing his words. “You know as well as I do she doesn't
want
to go, she wants to stay here—”

“That's not what I mean.” It was the voice people use when they have a conversation inside a church. It was a voice you don't argue with. It scared me.

“I don't know what you mean—” I started.

But then I did.

“Oh, Harlan . . . oh.” My scalp tingled. “I know I haven't done a very good job, but it's only been three days and I'll get better.”

He looked so calm I wanted to shake him. He said, “You've done a perfect job. You've done everything anybody could do. More. And how many days does it feel like it's been?”

I tried to laugh. “Well, it
feels
like it's been about three months, but—” My voice sounded flat. Even to me.

“How long do you think it's felt like to Miss Lydia, lying there unable to move?” he asked.

I thought about her not meeting my eye and couldn't answer him.

“I know you want to do right by her.” It was clear this was the next line of a speech he had written while I slept.

I lashed out in all directions at once. “How can you—how could I possibly—how
dare
you try to tell me—”

His eyes hadn't left my face. “I know you both pretty well, you know.” He looked so sad. “And I love you both more than almost anything in the world.”

I had daydreamed a whole list of scenarios built around the first time Harlan would tell me he loved me. None of them had looked anything like this.

“Do you really think she wants to live this way?” he asked.

I hadn't considered it. Shame on me.

“She's alive, sweetheart, but that's all you can say. She's got no life,” he said. “And besides that, she knows school starts in a little over a week. You think she wants to put you through all this and still end up going to the hospital?”

Thinking one day at a time had not prepared me for this. I was shaking. “What . . . what are you saying I should do?” It was the voice of a little girl and it sounded like it was coming from elsewhere in the room.

One breath. Two. He said, “I don't think she'll go as long as she thinks you need her, Billie Marie.”

She thought
I
needed
her
? I was the one answering the doorbell, emptying the bedpan, changing the sheets. . . .

But of course she did. Of course she did. Of course.

I was too empty to cry. “I don't know if I can do it, Harlan. I'm not that strong. I just . . . can't.”

We sat there in silence. Hanging over our heads was the knowledge of what Miss Lydia had done for me. What she had found the strength to do. Somehow.

I was a coward and I knew it.

The night passed a little better than the one before, mainly because Miss Lydia made a mighty effort not to buzz as often. And it cost her. I found her soaked when I woke up in the morning and went down to check on her.

There was no longer a thing she could do for herself and she still didn't want to be a burden.

Her good eye didn't crinkle at my songs or jokes and my heart gained a little heft each time it didn't. Every minute she wouldn't look at me felt like an hour. The day crawled on.

Harlan came at the usual time and we went through the motions of our chores like a couple of robots. I don't think we exchanged five words before he left at bedtime. Miss Lydia wouldn't look at him, either.

This morning I took a long time with her bath. I washed her hair and curled it. I brushed it after it was dry and brushed it some more. She always liked that. I searched through her dresser to find her nicest nightgown and some perfume that probably dated back to one Christmas with Mr. Jenkins.

I didn't want to stop touching her.

I made creamed chicken and carrot puree for her lunch and then smacked Harlan's hand away and fed her myself before I went home. I ran the shower as hot as it would get, then stood in the steam and scalded myself raw.

I cursed and prayed, sometimes in the same breath. All at the top of my lungs. There was nobody to hear.

I washed away the last four days.

When my hair was dry I twisted it up into a knot, then dabbed on the first makeup I had worn all summer. I dug through my closet and found a sundress Mama always made me cover with a sweater for church. The dress went over my head and I kicked the cardigan into a corner.

I painted my fingernails bright red, then polished my toenails to match. War paint. I slid on some strappy sandals with a small heel.

I can do this.

I hadn't bothered with jewelry all summer either, but today I pinned the ruby heart to my bodice. Fastened the ruby heart posts in my ears. Armor.

I can do this.

Harlan was surprised when he saw me. Then a look of recognition came into his eyes and I gave him a look as sharp as a slap across the face. This was a mission now. It wouldn't advance the cause to turn all mealy inside.

I said, “I had an idea. How about going through some photo albums, Miss Lydia?” It had been over twenty-four hours since she'd met my eye and there was still no response.

“Harlan?” I said. “I got them out this morning. They're on Miss Lydia's bed upstairs.” He jumped like I had goosed him with a cattle prod.

When he heard me finish “Jeannie With the Light Brown Hair” he knew the coast was clear. He came back with an armload of musty leather.

I picked one. “Let's start at the beginning, okay? This is Joe, and this is Charlie, and this is Robert. . . .” I had heard the story of each photo at least three times. I recited them as closely as I could to exactly as she had told them.

Harlan joined in. “This was the summer the boys took turns jumping off the shed and little Joe broke his arm,” he said. I nodded him my approval and he looked relieved.

We knew them all and we told her own stories to her until our voices croaked. A few times she closed her eyes. After a few seconds we would pause. But each time she opened her eyes, whispering, “Ess,” and we went on.

It was the best I knew to do, giving her life back to her one more time.

By the time we finished she needed to rest. While she slept I cooked a huge dinner and took most of it across the street. I stashed it in the refrigerator, took out a legal pad, and left a note on the table.

Mama and Daddy,

Dinner's in the fridge ready to be heated up. We're having a real good day, so I had plenty of time to cook.

Miss Lydia seems to need more sleep today, though, so please don't call tonight. You might wake her up.

I'll call you if I need anything.

Thanks,

B.

It was a long walk back across that street.

I fed Miss Lydia pureed roast beef, mashed potatoes, and gravy for dinner and she ate better than she had since the second stroke. I blessed each bite she managed.

Then she napped again. Harlan and I sat across the kitchen table from one another and rearranged the food on our plates in silence, like a couple whose marriage has outlived their interest in one another.

When I stacked the dishes I saw pink fingers reaching across the sky out the window above the sink. I checked to make sure Miss Lydia was still sleeping and slipped out the back door.

I didn't know Harlan had followed me until I felt his arm around my waist. I patted his hand and squeezed it. That was all the conversation we could muster.

When the last slice of orange disappeared over the horizon, I turned and hugged him. “You go on,” I said.

It was clear he didn't want to. Before he could say anything I gave him a quick, hard kiss.

“Please, Harlan. Go home,” I said. “We'll manage just fine.”

He looked doubtful. But he ambled away, head hung low.

I held Miss Lydia's hand until she woke up and then I whispered her name to bring her all the way back to the room. She looked at me with no emotion I could detect.

I sang her favorite hymn, “In the Garden,” during bedpan, but my voice fell flat and she was avoiding my eyes again.

After my hands were washed I stared into the bathroom mirror. Just until my face started to change. I told her, “You can do this.”

I sat beside the bed and took Miss Lydia's hand again. I said her name. She stared at the opposite wall.

“Miss Lydia, I need you to look at me. I have something important to tell you.”

Her eyes moved until they met mine, but they held no questions.

I leaned closer. “Miss Lydia,” I said. “I want you to know that I understand now about loving someone. I can see it, loving somebody all the way from
A
to
Z
.”

I waited. A look of cloudy confusion was my answer.

“I want to, with Harlan. I love him that much.”

The clouds showed no sign of clearing.

“You know,” I said, “a man and a woman. Together. I want to, with Harlan.”

Her brow creased. Then her good eye registered a look of raw terror. God help me, I almost chuckled.

“No, no, no, now. Don't be scared for me,” I told her. “I didn't say we were
going
to. Not any time soon for sure, maybe never. I don't know.”

A silent question in response.

“I have lots of things to do first. I know that. Finish high school, maybe travel some. And Miss Lydia, did you know I'm going to college?” I summoned all the sunshine I could and beamed it into a smile.

Her face relaxed. I squeezed her hand.

“But I want to, Miss Lydia,” I told her. “I understand wanting to now. And isn't that what really matters?”

Ever so slowly, the left corner of her mouth rose a fraction.

“I'm okay. You don't have to worry about me anymore.”

I can do this. I can do this.

“I know you're tired,” I told her. “You're so tired. Get some good rest now. You've earned it.”

Her hand started twitching. I let go. She bent her index finger upward. I frowned my stupidity.

With a mighty effort she said, “Arr.”

Ar. I rolled this around in my mouth and finally thought I understood. “Heart?” I asked her.

She blinked several times. “Ess,” she said.

I took her hand and laid it on her breast. Straightened her finger. Rested it at her heart.

“I love you, too, Miss Lydia. So very, very much.” I kissed her cheek.

Her left eye crinkled.

“Now it's time to rest,” I reminded her. “Good night.”

It always takes me by surprise when I catch up to my thoughts and realize I haven't planned any farther, but Miss Lydia likely knew that about me by now. She didn't let it go so far as to let me start doubting myself. Or become afraid of what came next. She showed me kindness right up to her last breath.

It came a little less than two hours after I told her good night. She simply took a breath, and then she didn't. She stopped, that was all. With so little fanfare and with such peace you would wonder why all the fuss is made about it by the living.

I sat with her until I could bear to look away.

I've been up here in my pink bedroom all night memorizing the last five years. Writing it all down. Trying to digest every detail before something gets away and I lose any little bit of her. What I have now will need to last me from now on.

I thought she should have one last night at home. She deserves that. Come morning, soon now, I'll call Harlan to come say good-bye to her. He will appreciate that.

We'll tell them he woke me by knocking and that's when I found her.

And then it will all begin.

Life as I will come to know it.

An adventure I would not have been able to imagine five years ago, no doubt.

I'm nervous, but I'm not afraid. I know I will miss her with every fragment of my soul as long as I live. But I also know this: she left me with everything I need to live without her.

She left me knowing who I am without looking into anybody's mirror. She left me believing I deserve to be loved. She left me the ability to trust.

And that is worth more than anything in her will, more than all the money in the world can buy. That is her true legacy to me.

Sure as rain.

Thank you to the fine writers who read early drafts—Dan Roettger, Terrance Griep, and Mary Logue. Jennifer Flannery, thanks for being so good in every sense of the word. Eternal gratitude goes to Emily Meehan for breathing life into this book.

I recognize the good fortune that makes Dave Lybarger my friend as well as my favorite brother, and am grateful to our parents, Charlie and Anna Jean Lybarger, who never let me believe there was anything I couldn't achieve.

Barbara Felt and Pete Barber, your endless offerings of support speak of the pompitous of love. Thank you.

Charlie, my son, you make me want to be the best I can be, every day of my life. I'm so glad you picked me.