Shooting Stars 01 Cinnamon (7 page)

accounts in the interim?"
"No," I said and hung up quickly.
"He left," I told Clarence excitedly. "Just now!" We hurried back to the lobby and went into the
newspaper and magazine store, pretending to be
looking for something while I kept my eyes on the
elevators. Moments later. Daddy emerged, He walked
quickly toward the entrance and we shot out after him. "We've got to be careful. I don't want him to
spot us," I said as we stepped out.
Daddy was walking briskly down the sidewalk,
his black wool scarf flung over his shoulders. He
looked dapper, as dapper and handsome as Can' Grant
in one of Grandmother Beverly's favorite old movies. "I've seen this done enough on television."
Clarence said confidently. "Just keep a good distance
between us and him and try to stay behind someone." Daddy never looked back, so it didn't matter.
He crossed the street and continued down another
busier street. Minutes later, he entered a coffee shop.
It wasn't a very large one, but it had two big front
windows. We could see everyone in it.
"He's just taking a coffee break," Clarence
muttered. "He's not visiting any new firm."
I nodded, but Daddy strolled past the counter
and paused at a booth. For a moment, because of the
angle we were at, it looked like an empty one, but
when he leaned over, we moved to our right and we
caught sight of him greeting a woman, a very elegant
looking blond- haired woman in a business suit. She
seized his hand and held it as he slid into the seat
across from her and for a long moment, they just
looked at each other. Then Daddy smiled and sat
back. She didn't let go of his hand.
I felt as if the air had just leaked completely out
of my lungs and was quickly replaced with some
steaming hot liquid burning in my chest and up into
my mouth. It seemed like minutes flew by and still,
they were holding hands.
"Maybe it's just a client," Clarence offered
charitably. My eyes clashed with his hopeful look. "You don't hold hands with your clients," I
managed to reply.
We both stood there, gazing through the
window. Whatever they were saving to each other
pleased Daddy. His smile widened and then he leaned
over the table to meet her halfway so they could kiss
on the lips,
I look at Clarence.

Mommy's lying sick and broken in a hospital room, was all I could think. It made my throat close.
I crossed the street quickly, nearly running toward the parking lot now.
"It's amazing that you decided to come into the city and be down here just at the right time," Clarence said trying to slow me down.
I stopped abruptly, so abruptly he almost stepped into another pedestrian.
"No, it's not really."
"What do you mean? You knew about this?"
"No. The spirits in the house made me go. The moment I woke up this morning, it was as if someone had whispered in my ear during the night or just before I woke up telling me to go. I felt pushed along."
"You're kidding, Aren't you?"
"No. I'm not. They look after me," I said. I walked on. Clarence hurrying to catch up again.
"You really believe there are spirits in your house? I thought that was just something you wanted people to believe, something we had fun spreading around."
"It is fun. but I do believe it now. Yes." I said. I paused at the entrance to the parking lot. "You'll come over one night this week and go up to the attic with me and decide for yourself."
"Really?"
"Unless you're afraid," I said.
"No," he said shaking his head. He looked back in the direction of the coffee shop and then looked at me again. "No." he repeated, but this time. he didn't sound as confident.
"I've got to stop by the clinic to see my mother," I said. "Will you be all right waiting in the car?"
"Sure."
"Thanks," I said.
One of my frozen tears broke free and trickled icily down my cheek, but I had turned away in time to hide it from Clarence.
I didn't want anyone to see me crying over what Daddy was doing. Sometimes sadness had to be kept as secret as love.
Sometimes, they were one and the same.

I nodded at Clarence and stepped out of the car. The partly cloudy day had turned into a nearly overcast sky with a much colder wind blowing into my face. I could feel winter crawling up my spine, its icy
fingers sliding over my neck and shoulders. Zipping up my jacket. I started toward the building, not knowing north from south, east from west. I moved like someone in a trance, as though the upper part of me was being carried forward against its wishes. Glimpsing myself in the window of another car I passed in the parking lot. I saw how I was holding my shoulders and my head back.

Now, I was sorry I had eaten so much for breakfast. I ate more out of nervousness than hunger, and after seeing Daddy with that woman, all the food in my stomach had turned into balls of lead. It wanted to roll back up my throat and out of my mouth. My legs were so heavy I could barely lift my feet to go up the short stairway to the front doors. I hesitated, took a deep breath, and then entered.

An elderly woman was being escorted through the lobby toward the hallway that led to the elevator. The nurse with her gazed at me and smiled. When the elderly woman saw me, she seized the nurse's hand and stopped walking.

"It's Ida," she cried. She looked like she was an instant away from bursting into happy tears.
"No, no. Rachael. That's not Ida."
"Sure it is. Ida, where have you been? I've been worried sick over you, dear," she told me.
The nurse smiled at me and shook her head.
It was as if there was a button in my head that when pushed would open up the world of pretend. Maybe that was what all actors had in their heads.
"I
was away."
I
said.
"I
came as soon as
I
could."
"Oh, dear. dear.
I
was worried about you, a young woman, all alone in Europe. Did my sister take good care of you?"
"Yes,"
I
said. "And all she
did
was talk about you."
"Did she? That's nice. You have to tell me all about it," she said. She will," the nurse said. "after your nap."
"I
will,"
I
promised. "After you rest."
"Good. Don't forget now." She reached for me and
I
took her withered hand. The fingers were so slim, her paper thin skin seemed to have nothing between it and the bones. Her happiness gave her the strength to squeeze tightly.
"I'm
so glad you came home. dear. It's just the two of us now, just the two of us."
I
smiled at her.
"We'll be fine,"
I
said.
"Yes. We'll be fine." She nodded and then she continued along.
The nurse looked back at me with a smile of gratitude and then led her on toward the elevator.
I had a chill, a shudder running through me for a moment. when I envisioned that old, confused lady could be my mother years from now.
There was a new girl at the reception desk. I didn't pretend to be my mother's sister this time. I told the truth and she called up and then told me to wait because the head nurse was coming down.
It
put a panic in my chest and for a moment. I couldn't breathe.
"Why? What's wrong?" I demanded.
"Mrs. Fogelman will be here momentarily," the receptionist said. She nodded toward the pair of settees behind me. "Why don't you make yourself comfortable?"
I didn't want to sit, but my legs felt like they might simply melt beneath me, so I moved to the small imitation leather sofa and sat, staring at the elevators. Finally, one opened and a short, stocky woman with dark brown hair looking like it had been trimmed around a bowl, came out and hurriedly walked toward me. I rose.
"You're Mrs. Carlson's daughter?"
"Yes," I said. "What's wrong? Isn't she getting well?"
"I'm Mrs. Fogelman. The doctor was here earlier today and left instructions that I should personally greet any immediate family. There's been a little setback." she said.
"Setback? What does that mean?"
"Isn't your father with you?" she asked instead of answering.
I felt myself tighten like a wire being stretched to its limit. She actually looked past me toward the door.
"Unless he's invisible. I'd have to say no," I told her sharply. "What's wrong with my mother?"
"She's drifted into a comatose state," Mrs. Fogelman revealed after a moment of indecision. "However, the doctor feels it is only a temporary condition. We've moved her to our intensive care area and we're monitoring her carefully. I thought the doctor had reached your father and that's why you were here," she added.
"No, I think my father is unreachable at the moment." I muttered. "Can I see her, please?"
She nodded.
"Yes, that might be very good. She should hear your voice," Mrs. Fogelman decided. She smiled and we walked to the elevator.
"Are you in high school or college?" she asked me when the doors closed.
I hadn't been in many elevators in my life, but I always hated the deep silence, the way everyone avoided looking directly at anyone else, and waited uncomfortably for the doors to open again. The quiet moments seemed to put everyone on edge as if being closed in a small area with other human beings was alien to our species.
I barely heard Mrs. Fogelman talking.
"High school," I muttered. Who cares? I thought. What difference did that make now? What difference did anything make now?
She smiled at me and the doors opened mercifully one floor up. She led me down the corridor to the ICU ward and then to my mother's bedside. Her eyes were shut tight, the corners wrinkled..
"She looks like she's in great pain," I moaned. Mrs. Fogelman didn't deny it.
"Mental pain," she said, trying to make it sound like it wasn't as bad as physical pain, but there was no hiding the truth. Mommy was in agony.
I reached for her hand and held it tightly in mine. Then I leaned over the bed railing and wiped some strands of hair from her forehead.
"Mammy, it's me, Cinnamon. Please, wake up. Mommy. Please."
Her face seemed frozen in that grimace of anguish. Her lips were stretched and white.
"What are you doing for her?" I demanded.
"We've got to be patient," Mrs. Fogelman said. "She'll snap out of it soon."
"What if she doesn't?"
"She will," she insisted, but my urgency and concern made her sound less confident.
"Do they always snap out of it?" When she didn't respond. I said. "Well?"
"Let's not think the worst. dear. The doctor is watching her closely. Keep talking to her," she advised and walked away quickly to seat herself behind the sanctity of the central desk where she busied herself with other things and glanced my way only occasionally.
"Mammy,"
I
pleaded. "please get better. You've got to get better and come home. I need you. We've got to be together again.
"Grandmother is taking over the house, just as you always feared. I want you to come home and make her put everything back the way it was. Please. Mommy. Please get better."
I sat there pleading with her until I felt my throat dry up and close. Then I kissed her on the cheek and looked at her face. Her eyelids fluttered and stopped.
"How are you doing, dear?" Mrs. Fogelman asked, coming up behind me.
I shook my head.
"Is your father on his way?" she asked.
I stared at her, bit down on my lip, and then smiled.
"The moment he gets an opportunity," I told her. "He'll rush right over."
She stared at me. Hadn't
I
said it right?
Or was it the rapid and constant flow of tears over my cheeks and chin that confused her?
I
flicked them off, smiled at her again, looked back at Mommy and fled.
Clarence was so involved in his reading he didn't hear or see me until I opened the car door. By then,
I
had stopped crying, but he couldn't miss my red eyes.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"She's worse. She's in a coma."
"Oh no. What do they say?"
I
looked at him.
"They say what they're supposed to say. They say, 'Don't worry.' They say pretend this isn't happening. They say go on with your life and ignore it, ignore all of it, put on a good act, recite your lines, stay in the spotlights so you can't see the audience."
I started the car.
I saw rather than heard him mouth a curse.
I drove him home. He kept asking me what I was going
^,
to do now and I kept saying, "I don't know." He especially wanted to know if I was going to confront my father with what we had seen today,
"Would you?" I asked him.
He thought a moment and shrugged.
"I probably wouldn't be as surprised by it as you are," he finally replied. ''But I'd like to help you." he said when I pulled up to his house. "Just don't be afraid to ask me for anything."
"Thanks, Clarence."
"Am
I
still coming over tomorrow night to meet your spirits?" I smiled at him.
"Sure," I said. "We'll talk about it in school."
"I'll call you later," he promised. He leaned over to kiss my left cheek and then got out. I watched him walk away. He paused at his front door to wave goodbye and then I drove home. I don't know how
I
managed it. The car must have known the way by itself. One moment I blinked and the next I was pulling up the driveway.
The house never looked as lonely and dark to me as it did now. I didn't go inside. Instead. I walked around to the rear and then up to the knoll where the Demerests were buried. I stood before the old tombstones remembering the times Mommy and I were here.
The wind was blowing harder, the sky looking more bruised and angry, reflecting my mood. I could feel the cold rain threatening. We might even have flurries tonight. I thought. but I ignored the frigid air. Anger made my blood hot anyway. I could never understand the rage Medea felt toward her husband. Jason, when he betrayed her in the Greek tragedy, Now, I thought I could.
I charged toward a broken tree branch, scooped it up and dug into the ground, scratching away the earth like some madwoman searching far buried treasure. Finally, exhausted.
I
stopped. The hole
^,
was big enough for what I wanted anyway.
I reached around my neck and undid the charm necklace Daddy had bought me on my sixteenth birthday. I dropped it into the hole and covered it up.
It was as if I was burying him.
I jammed the stick into the ground like a grave marker and then I walked away without a backward glance.