The First Gardener (20 page)

But this one. Lord, you gon’ have to help me, ’cause I think I’m gon’ lose what left a my good mind. She just always on that last nerve.

I know I been prayin’ me some selfish prayers lately. Ain’t selfish to pray for Miz Mackenzie’s healin’ and all. But her healin’ gon’ get that crazy lady outta this house faster. And God help me, I be prayin’ for that too.

Chapter 22

“Mackenzie Quinn London, I know you’re sick, but you’ve got to eat something anyway. You’re practically skin and bones as it is, and you’ll never get over this whatever-it-is without some nourishment.”

Mackenzie stood in the closet staring at her clothes. “Mama, I’m serious. I can’t. The mere thought of food makes me sick.” She wiped her nose with a Kleenex.

Eugenia threw herself down on the ottoman. “I give up. I didn’t know I could be worn down, but you have officially worn me down.”

“Thank the Lord,” Mackenzie whispered. It was as close to a prayer as she had spoken in weeks.

“I heard that. You may have worn me down, but I can still hear.”

Mackenzie faced her mother, her voice flat. “Mother, I’m in the closet looking at my own clothes. This moment holds the potential of me actually getting myself dressed. I would think we have made huge progress. So I would appreciate it if you would surrender the drama. I’m not in the mood.”

“I’m incapable of surrendering drama. I’m from the South. We created drama. To surrender it would be to amputate a limb. And I’m fond of myself.”

“You’re full of yourself too,” Mackenzie said. As soon as the words came out, she felt a churning in her gut again. It was intense and rising quickly.

She ran past her mother and flung herself across the commode. The orange juice Eugenia had pushed on her at breakfast burned as it came up. She would never drink orange juice again.

She heard her mother at the sink, water running. As Mackenzie leaned over her new porcelain friend, she realized that the sickness had at least gotten her mobile again. For the last week she had been scurrying from the bed to the toilet, from her chair to the toilet. If her limbs had been about to atrophy before, she was well on her way to becoming a track runner now.

The thought fluttered across her mind again—the same crazy thought she’d been playing with for days. She had flung it away at first. It was crazy. It would be too hopeful. And yet it kept coming back, teasing her.

A wet rag came softly against her forehead. She reached up and patted her mother’s hand. “Thanks, Mama.”

Eugenia kissed the top of her head. “You’re welcome, baby. I’m sorry you’re suffering like this. We’ll trust the doctor will let us know what’s wrong. He was pretty confident it was your nerves or some bug, but I’m not letting him out of here today until he tells me what’s wrong with you. You’ve probably contracted some horrible intestinal virus because of that gardener and some mutant species of flower he’s brought you, or because of some crazy Mexican thing Rosa has made you eat.”

Mackenzie felt the nausea subside and sat on the stone floor. Her breast brushed against the toilet, and that familiar pain was there again. “There is nothing wrong with Jeremiah’s flowers, Mother. He is a fabulous gardener. And Rosa’s a wonderful cook. Now hush and help me get dressed.”

Eugenia jerked the wet washcloth from Mackenzie’s forehead and took her good arm to help her up. The cast on her right arm still had another four good weeks. “It’s not nice to tell your mother to hush.”

Mackenzie headed back into the closet while Eugenia stood in the doorway. “It’s not nice to torment your daughter when she’s throwing up.” She used her good arm to sort through her clothing, her eyes settling on the comfortable clothing of the last several weeks. But she resisted the urge and chose a brown cotton wrap dress. She tugged at the sleeve of the dress, trying to pull it over her cast.

Eugenia laid the washcloth down on the dirty clothes hamper and came to her rescue, successfully getting her arm through. “I put a cold rag on your head; don’t forget that.”

Mackenzie’s head was pounding. She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples.

“If you have typhoid fever, I promise the good Lord above that I am firing Rosa and you will only eat what I cook.”

Mackenzie simply shook her head as she went to stand in front of the mirror. Everything about her looked foreign. Her eyes. Her skin. Her drawn face. She had probably lost twenty pounds in the last six weeks, and this wasn’t helping.

“You should put a little makeup on,” Eugenia offered.

Mackenzie pulled her hair back in a ponytail and sat at her bathroom counter. “I look horrible, Mama. Have you seen these dark circles under my eyes?”

Eugenia walked over and took the concealer from her hands, then began to dab it underneath her eyes. “You’ve been through a time, baby girl. I’m proud that you are dressed and have clean hair. Today we will celebrate that.”

Mackenzie let her mother dab some blush on her cheeks, color on her lips, and mascara on her eyelashes; then she walked to her familiar spot by the window. And as she looked outside, she realized that for one brief moment she had forgotten. For one brief moment in that closet, trying to find a dress, she had let go of that day six weeks ago that had brought her life to a screeching halt.

It was only a moment, though, because it was all back now—every piece of it. The blood, the broken window, the smell of gas, the reaching hands. The white figure on the pavement . . .

The green grass blurred into an ocean before her.

“I’ll come back when the doctor gets here.”

Mackenzie nodded but never turned. The doctor. He was coming because she was sick. But perhaps she wasn’t. This felt . . . different. And familiar. And if what she was thinking was true, she didn’t know how she was going to feel about that. She kept teetering between joy and terror, unable to land on either.

“She’s in here, Doctor.” She heard her mother’s voice through the door. She looked up to see Thad Tyler following her mother into the room. “And take it in. She’s dressed in real clothes. We’re believing this is going to be a daily occurrence now.”

Thad gave her mother a kind smile, then saved them both. “Thank you so much, Mrs. Quinn. Do you mind if I check Mackenzie out alone?”

Eugenia gave him a look. A Eugenia look. “That’s my baby girl over there, Doctor. I hear her scream one time, and I’ll be in here quicker than you can say
stethoscope
.”

Mackenzie wasn’t sure if that was fear or humor she saw in Thad’s eyes. Eugenia pointed two fingers from one hand at her eyes, then back at the doctor. That this was a grown woman often amazed Mackenzie.

“Mother. Go.”

Eugenia walked backward to the door and finally out, leaving them alone.

“I came from that,” Mackenzie said.

Thad chuckled. “You’ve been through a lot. She’s just worried about you.”

Mackenzie shifted in the chair. “I’m thinking you’re about to do a checkup on the wrong person.”

He shook his head and grinned. “I’ve known your family a long time, Mackenzie. And I don’t think I’m the right kind of doctor for her.” He pulled the ottoman from the edge of her chair and sat down, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Now, tell me how you’re feeling.”

“I’m feeling pregnant,” she said matter-of-factly.

His eyes registered surprise, and he straightened. “Pregnant?”

“Yeah. It feels just like . . . last time.”

“Are you still on the Pregnyl?”

She shook her head. “I haven’t taken it since Maddie died. I’ve barely wanted to brush my teeth, let alone have a shot reminding me of . . . everything.”

He pulled his stethoscope from his bag. He placed the cold instrument against her chest. “Breathe in.”

She obeyed. Life was easier these days when she was being told what to do. Even being told to breathe helped.

“When was the last time you and Gray were intimate?”

She didn’t have to think about that. She remembered. “The week Maddie died.” Everything in life would now be defined by that experience. Before Maddie died and after Maddie died.

“Were you on the Pregnyl then?”

She nodded.

He moved the stethoscope to her back. “Deep breath now.”

She breathed in deeply, and when she released it, she felt light-headed. And nauseated. The wave came hard. She barely made it to the bathroom. At least now she was well-dressed as she hung over the toilet. When the wave subsided, she stood and went to the sink to wet a washcloth and wipe off her mouth. She pulled out her toothbrush and brushed.

Thad came to the door and walked over to the counter. “We’ll do some blood work to see if you’re right. But in the meantime you could have Gray go buy a pregnancy test for you. They’re rarely wrong.”

Mackenzie spit and rinsed, then straightened to look at him in the mirror. She slowly reached down and opened her bottom drawer. Five pregnancy tests sat neatly in a row inside. “They had a special on them,” she quipped.

“Been a lot of trying, hasn’t there?”

She could buy a car with the money she had spent on those boxes over the years, and the mere sight of them made her knees weak. “Lots.”

He reached into the drawer and pulled one out. “I’d like you to take this for me.”

She shook her head. “I don’t want to.”

“I know you don’t, Mackenzie, but let’s just see what it says.”

She caught her reflection in the mirror. The look on her face was panicked. “What if it’s negative?”

“Like I said, we’ll do blood work as well. That will tell us definitely. But this could save some time. We need to find out what is causing this nausea anyway.”

She took the box from him as if it contained a nuclear weapon. He gave her a reassuring smile as he slipped from the bathroom.

She hated these things. For her, they held such unfulfilled possibilities, such crushing disappointments. Five times, she’d seen tiny pink lines, and only one time had the little pink line actually resulted in life. The other four times, the pink promise had ended in miscarried pain. Still, each time she’d seen a pink line, even knowing that heartbreak could follow, something inside her had come to life in a completely new way.

She pulled the wrapper from the box. The noise felt like it echoed from every corner of the room. She did what you do to get the results on things like these and then stood up to wait. As she waited, she realized this was different from any time before. Every other time, she’d had Gray waiting right outside the door. This time she hadn’t even told him her suspicions. She had just watched him grieve with her and over her for the last six weeks. And now he was consumed with worry since she had gotten so violently sick.

She wasn’t sure why she hadn’t told him. But she hadn’t wanted to tell
anyone
. It was another piece of this new life that she had decided to keep to herself. Just like her anger, her fear, and her pain. Sharing with anyone, even Gray, felt too dangerous, like opening a wound that would never stop bleeding.

The edge of a pink line forming on the stick in her hand arrested her thoughts. She felt her breathing stop. And she didn’t exhale until a completed pink line was staring back at her.

Chapter 23

The stainless steel handle was cold beneath Gray’s fingers, the light of the refrigerator bright in the dark kitchen. “Thad was here today,” he said into the phone, “but I don’t know what he said. I was at the office until about an hour ago, going over some budget stuff with a few of the clerks. Did you get my message about Raymond Field’s $150,000 project to study the life cycle of cicadas here in Nashville?”

Kurt’s voice came through the other end. “Are you kidding me? Wouldn’t his district love to know when the state parks close or we have to lay off police officers that at least we’re figuring out when the next round of cicadas are coming?”

“I can tell them that for free.” Cold air from the refrigerator filtered out onto Gray’s face. “Some come out every thirteen years and some come out every seventeen, depending on what kind of cicadas they are. There, I just saved us $150,000.”

“Get some rest, friend.”

“I will. Talk to you tomorrow.”

Gray ended the call and laid his phone on the counter. He turned back to the contents of the refrigerator and realized that two months ago everything there would have looked good to him. Tonight he just knew he needed to eat because he had worked through dinner and his body required food. He closed the door, deciding to settle for a banana. That at least would quell the growling.

He turned and jumped at the shadowed figure in front of him, illuminated by the outside lights shining through the large bay window. It was Mack.

“You’re working late tonight.”

He walked around the island that separated them, his hand sliding across the wooden top as he went. “What are you still doing up? I thought you would have gone to bed hours ago. You think you could eat something? I’ll fix you something.” He took the edges of her white cotton robe beneath his fingers.

She patted his hands. “No, I’m good. I actually got some soup down tonight. Thad gave me some medicine that seems to have stopped the vomiting, but it knocked me out. Just woke up a couple of hours ago.”

“Do you want to tell me what he said?”

Mack pulled out a barstool and sat, so he pulled one out for himself. She was quiet, and in the darkness it was hard to make out the expression on her face. She finally spoke. “Babe, I’ve never hurt like this before.”

His hand instinctively went to her knee. His hunger had completely dissipated. “I know,” he said. “Me neither.”

She placed her hand on top of his. “I’m so sorry. I’ve seen your hurt. I’ve felt it in bed at night. But it’s been all I can do to breathe, let alone feel for someone else.”

“But I needed you.” He heard the break in his own voice. “No one around here but you understands how hard this is. Not really. I don’t want to eat. I do everything in my power to work because I know I have to. Then I come home, and I can’t even talk to you. I can’t ache with you. I can’t cry with you. Instead, I’ve felt like you just want to grieve alone.”