Family Interrupted (18 page)

“You’ve seen her?”

I nodded. Colleen had wanted to be knocked out, didn’t want anything to do with natural childbirth and pain. So I’d seen the baby first while Colleen slept.

A brief knock on the door preceded the entrance of our assigned nurse. “Hey, you two. Time for Mama to meet her baby girl.”

Colleen groaned as she pushed herself higher on the bed. I tried to help adjust her pillows and turned to the nurse. “Do all women feel like Colleen after they’ve given birth?”

“Everyone’s different, but Ms. Murphy is doing just fine. She’s had stitches.”

Embarrassed, I knew my face mimicked the same rosy hue on my daughter’s face a few minutes ago. From now on, I’d keep my mouth shut about Colleen’s recovery. I’d been heading for engineering, architecture or business after high school. Medicine had never been in my playbook.

The nurse placed the baby in Colleen’s arms and studied the two together. I watched also, happy to see how carefully Colleen held her daughter and how hard she stared at her, as hard as I had earlier.

“You were right, Ian. She’s a pretty one, for sure,” the new mama finally said. And then she began to sing a lullaby in the soft, clear voice of an angel.
Hush, little baby, don’t say a word...

The nurse’s mouth dropped open. I knew the feeling. Of course, I’d heard Colleen sing many times, but each time she did, she managed to grab me by the gut.

“That was church-bell beautiful,” said the nurse when Colleen had finished. “I’ll leave you guys alone now, but you can expect a social worker to come around soon with some paperwork. So, do we have a name for this baby yet?”

“We sure do,” Colleen replied. “This little gal’s name is Martina Faith Barnes, after Martina McBride and Faith Hill, two of my favorites. I love Shania and Taylor too...but how many names can one baby have?”

I didn’t care about names as long as we didn’t name her Kayla. That would be too painful. “Let’s call her Tina for short,” I said. “But maybe we should have named her Dolly. She looks...”

“I know, I know,” Colleen interrupted with a shake of her head. “And I love Dolly Parton, but I’ve made up my mind. It’s Martina Faith.”

I didn’t see the nurse leave after that. I just focused on my daughter. Little Tina resembled a baby doll Kayla used to play with. One of those dolls that said Ma-ma when the string was pulled. Ma-ma. Ma-ma. Claire Barnes. Damn!
Don’t go there.

I studied Colleen and Baby Tina. I had a new life now. A better life. I started singing a song just for myself—quietly, of course.
Let freedom ring...
I could almost hear the white dove singing his heart out because man, oh man, talk about a day of reckoning.

Colleen joined me and bestowed a quick smile. “See? You like Martina too! Not a bad job, but for the fact you got the message turned around.” Her brow wrinkled and shadows darkened her eyes as she looked from me to the baby. “Today’s not
Independence Day
for us at all. We’ve got a kid now. Cute as pie too, but we’ve lost our freedom, city boy.”

Her tears seemed about to fall, and I felt sick again. “I said I’d help you with everything. I promised fifty-fifty and more.”

“And I’m gonna hold you to it. But...” Her lids closed, and she sighed on such a mournful note that I saw a shudder run from her head to her feet. This time, I knew her pain had nothing to do with childbirth.

“Ah, Ian,” she whispered. “You just don’t know what it takes to care for a baby. And you don’t know what it takes to build a singing career. Ever watch
American Idol
? Even that’s a full-time gig for the contestants. And remember, I’m heading to Nashville one day soon—before I’m too old.”

My chin dropped to my chest. She’d always been truthful about that, but couldn’t her career wait awhile until we figured out how to be Tina’s parents?

CLAIRE

September, Year Two

Second anniversary of Kayla’s death

Another year gone. Another year loomed. As the two-year mark drew closer, tears, tension, and zombie periods ebbed and flowed. I lost track of time. Of where I was supposed to be. Pain enveloped me again, as deep as when we first lost her. No matter what I’d heard about other people’s grief, time wasn’t healing mine.

I expected the family to show up at the cemetery today, but not together. First, it was mid-week. And second, although I hated to admit it and I was ashamed, Judy was barely speaking to me and had banned me from Macy’s.

After identifying that Levine woman six months ago in the store, I couldn’t stay away. Every other week or so, I’d find some excuse to stop in. A scarf. A cosmetic sale. I’d buy anything at all to soothe my conscience for spying. Cohen? Levine? No matter what name she used, she was the one.

Last month, I finally introduced myself to the slender brunette. I simply walked over and said, “Sarah? Sarah
Levine
?”

She caught my emphasis and grasped the countertop, the tips of her fingers turning white. She stared, eyes narrowing as she tried to identify me. “Y-yes. Can I help you?” Her customer service training shone through. I knew I had the advantage, and it wouldn’t be a fair fight, but Kayla hadn’t had a fair chance either.

“My name is Claire Barnes,” I said slowly. “Mother of Kayla Barnes.”

I heard her gasp, and her overall skin tone quickly matched her pale fingers. So ghostly white, I could almost see through her. She peered over my shoulders then turned in a circle. “Am I under arrest?” she whispered when she faced me again. “Are the cops incognito?”

Obviously, the shrink hadn’t helped her. Or maybe her husband had fed Jack a bunch of baloney about a doc and a rabbi. Not my concern.

“No cops...today. I just wanted to see you up close. To see the woman who killed my daughter.” I stared at her hard and gave her credit for not flinching. When a customer interrupted, Levine’s hands shook as she rang the sale.

“I’ll be back,” I said when she was done.

“Come as often as you want,” she said. “I won’t be here.”

And with that, she bent down, took her purse, and headed to Human Resources. Judy’s office. And that’s when the dirt hit the fan and where Sarah Levine managed to touch a corner of my heart.

The woman faced me in Judy’s office, her dark eyes shadowed, cheeks caved, her stricken expression for all to see. “I know you hate me,” she said. “I don’t blame you. I hate myself too. In my tradition, to save one life is the same as saving the world. So what does it mean to take one life? That I’ve destroyed the world?”

First she looked at Judy, then at me, and answered her own question. “Yes. Of course it does. I’ve destroyed the world. I can never forgive myself because I-I can’t fix it. Forgiveness for this tragedy is beyond any human being.”

At which point, Judy interrupted. “But I can fix this particular situation,” she said, pointing at me. “You, Claire, are no longer welcome in this store. Sarah is an excellent employee, and I will not tolerate your behavior toward her.”

Now I was the one taken aback. “You’re kidding,” I finally said to Judy. “I’m your sister and a loyal customer. I’ve been shopping here for years.”

She reached for the phone. “I hate to do it, Claire, but I can’t overlook this. I’m calling Security.”

“See, it’s true!” cried Sarah. “I am destroying the world!” With a jerk of her arm, she ripped the name tag from her shirt and threw it on Judy’s desk. “I don’t belong here. I don’t belong anywhere. There’s no place for people like me. I quit. Now you two can be friends again. Good-bye.”

Light on her feet and moving faster than a hummingbird’s wings, Sarah Levine disappeared. But her voice still rang in my head, her words a portrait of despair.

Judy offered to rehire her, begged her to return, but in the end was unsuccessful. Sarah’s departure didn’t affect my status, however. I was a nonentity at Macy’s—all locations.

On the second anniversary, I forced a smile at Jack and reached for the colorful wreath I’d bring to Kayla today. “Ready?” I asked, stepping toward the back door.

“Always ready to visit with my daughter.”

“Always?” We didn’t go to the cemetery together during the year. “Do you visit her sometimes on your own?” If so, he’d never mentioned it.

Jack popped one of his pills and said, “The gravesite? No.”

“It works for me. You could come.”

But he shook his head. “I don’t need a stone marker to remind me she’s gone.”

“Well, that’s true enough.” I reached for his hand. “It’s the heart that doesn’t forget, isn’t it?”

His Adam’s apple worked hard before he managed to grunt something affirmative.

We entered the car in silence and belted ourselves in. “You know what, Jack?”

“What?”

“We finally agreed on something.”

#

IAN

Long rays of sunlight stretched across the park-like grounds when I finally arrived to visit Kayla. I’d knocked off work an hour early—my boss had no problem with that because he liked how I took on projects. “I’m countin’ on you, college boy,” he’d say at least once or twice a week. So far, I’d never let him down, and today he repaid the favor.

I figured that early evening was the best time to show up. My folks would be gone by now, so there’d be no emotional scenes between us. I needed a break from ongoing scenes. The baby’s first month at home had been tough. Colleen had the post-partum blues. Anyway, that’s what she said, so I looked it up online, and she was probably right. She had no spark, no joy, and cried for no reason. She was just going through the motions of being Tina’s mother.

My own mom could teach her a thing or two. In the old days, she was our biggest cheerleader, Kayla’s and mine, no matter the activity, no matter how important or small our role. She used to attend every school game we were in. When I was driving at the fifty-yard line, I could hear her from the bleachers.

Suddenly I was rubbing away tears.
Damn memories. Don’t go there, Ian. You’re dealing with enough right now, and you’re doing fine.

I approached Kayla’s flower-strewn resting spot, the large stone engraved with two angels and inscribed with Kayla’s name, dates of birth and death, Beloved Daughter-Sister-Granddaughter, Rest in Peace. It was beautiful, and I had to give my mom credit.

Lost in my thoughts, it took me awhile to notice the other two visitors camouflaged by the evening’s shadows. A woman sat cross-legged on the ground maybe ten feet away, her lips moving. Was she talking to Kayla? A man stood a short distance from her, his back toward the woman. He was gazing out at the horizon. They hadn’t noticed me yet either, and I kept still because the woman looked familiar. With my second glance, I knew who she was.

“Hello,” I said softly.

She jumped to her feet, panicked, eyes wide and wild.

I put my palm up and stepped back. “It’s okay, Mrs. Levine,” I crooned. “Don’t be afraid. I thought you might come round again. Last year, you brought a wreath and wrote a nice card, didn’t you?”

She tugged at her clothes, looking like she didn’t understand a word I said, looking anywhere but at me. Then she spoke.

“I have a better plan this time.” Her hands fluttered this way and that, her fingers raking her hair. “Today’s my last visit. I won’t bother you anymore.” She tiptoed closer to me and whispered, “I’m going to see Kayla soon. I’ll take care of her.”

“What!” Now I was the one panicking. The woman was talking crazy, and what could I do? I hoped to God the guy standing there was her husband. I opened my mouth to call him, but the woman spoke first, this time at a normal volume.

“If I take care of Kayla, then everyone will feel better,” she continued, “not only me but your mama too.”

The man approached quickly then, his distress palpable, his face a network of sorrowful lines. He put his hands on the woman’s shoulders. “No, Sarah. No. That’s not going to happen. Come on, sweetheart. Let’s go... ”

“But ma’am, you already took care of Kayla,” I interrupted, my frightened thoughts chasing each other faster than cars at the Indy 500. “You did a great job. When the accident happened, you told me to call the police, you told me to get a blanket, you told me not to move her.
I
didn’t know what to do, but
you
did. And we did it. And when you spoke with the cops, you gave them the whole story. You left nothing out.”

Breathless now, I waited and watched. Her eyes were bigger than hubcaps, so she must have been listening. Her husband’s painful expression had changed too. He looked interested, eager.

“Did I really do all that?” she asked. “I don’t remember much more than shaking hard and throwing up.”

“But that was afterwards,” I said. “After you did everything right.”

She stared at me. “Everything right?” she whispered.

I nodded so fast my head almost snapped from my neck.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, ma’am. I had a brain freeze. I was glad you were there.”

And then she cried. Her husband held her, but she couldn’t stop the tears. “But we knew all this, Sarah,” said the man. “The officers said so.” He looked at me. “You spoke with the police too?”

I nodded, remembering.

“Sarah, Sarah,” he said, holding her, his hand slowly rubbing her back, “no one could have done more than you.”

“So, I’m not a bad, bad person?” She appealed to her husband, then to me, her voice high and childlike.

“No! Never,” said Mr. Levine. “You’re the sweetest, best, most loving person in the...in the...” And then he lost it.

“But am I forgiven?” She was looking at me now, and I wanted to howl.
I’m just a kid!
What do I know about these big questions? Where was my dad? Where was
the man
? I glanced around quickly, hoping for a miracle, but got none.

I took a deep breath and figured there was only one answer to give a woman who lived on the edge of sanity. “I forgive you, Sarah. You didn’t mean to hurt Kayla. You weren’t drunk. You weren’t speeding. It was a god-awful, terrible accident. You’re not evil. So, yes, I forgive you.”

Desperation mingled with hope, all illuminated on her face, a search for salvation. Once more, I couldn’t stop my own tears from falling.