Unto These Hills (34 page)

I was trapped in nothingness.

I was a danged automaton. Going through motions.

The headaches began. Walter’s doctor prescribed me pain pills. Actually, I couldn’t put my ailment into words. Except for the headaches. When they battered me, I tumbled into bed and slept them off. I refused to answer the phone or the door. I instructed Walter and Lee Roy,
God bless Lee Roy
, to say I was not feeling well. I knew Walter felt abandoned but I had nothing from which to draw to give back to him.

Nobody knew the source of my pathos. How could they? I didn’t even know. I was good at camouflage. Had practiced it since Mama’s disappearance. Anyway, everybody said I deserved time to recover from Sheila’s death. Only I knew it wasn’t grief. Not that kind, anyway.

Muffin even stopped complaining when frozen TV dinners replaced my cuisine.

Somehow I kept my newspaper column afloat.

I’m convinced that, in the end, that’s what kept me sane.

~~~~~

“I got my new shoes soaked,” Francine groused, slid the taupe suede slippers from her feet and plopped down, jean-clad legs pretzeled, on my bed where I nursed the beginning of yet another headache, this time escorted by nausea. “Durned storm! It’s raining frogs.”

“Hi, honey,” I mumbled, slurring my words. “You’re wearing a new cologne.”

“Yeh,” she perked up. “Like it?”

“Heavenly,” I moaned, nearly gagging from the sultry smell. I rolled my feet to the floor, rushed to the bathroom and vomited.

Francine followed me, frowning worriedly. “What’s wrong, Sunny?”

I shook my head, washed my face and went to stretch out again on the bed. “Tension, I think.” I had to assuage Francine’s curiosity and concern. But I so did
not
want to talk or analyze.

She bent to hug me gently. “Missing Sheila, is all. You know,” she resettled on the bed, facing me, “I miss her, too. Didn’t ever think I’d feel this way ‘bout her.” She looked thoughtful, then sad for a few moments. “Too bad we don’t learn this stuff till its too late.”

“Mm hmm.” My head began to throb in earnest as I fell victim to the heaviness of an iron anvil that squeezed till all circulation there ceased.

“You think she knows, Sunny? I mean — how I feel about her? How I
miss
her?” Her voice carried a desperation I’d never before heard in it.

“I know she does, Francine. You told her you loved her before —”

“I know. But do you believe in Heaven? Do you think she can hear us?” Her question was so child-like, I blinked away the mist and peered at her. Never a churchgoer, Francine had never given any indication of believing anything remotely connected to a hereafter. If only I were feeling less out-of-it. I hated to let the moment pass.

“I believe in Heaven,” I said, “ and I think God lets those who go there see the good things here on earth. Kinda like He pulls back a curtain when He wants them to see something.”

“Like we’re on a big ol’ revolving stage here.” Francine looked pleased.

“Yeh.” I’d never stopped believing, I’d simply ceased feeling that comforting presence of my childhood days.

“What about that lil’ dickens getting’ all that money from that sex-harassment lawsuit?” She nudged my leg and chortled. “And she didn’t even get to hang around to spend it.” She fell instantly solemn, then choked up. I patted her leg as she cried.

When her tears subsided, I said, “I’m glad she changed her will and left her children their inheritance. Maybe it’ll balance the scales some. They’re set for years to come if they handle it wisely. So is Johnny.”

Francine peered at me through red, swollen eyes. “You know he tried to give his part of the money to the girls but they’re so grateful to ‘im for making their mama happy, they wouldn’t take it.” She gazed into space, thoughtful, and I wondered if she was remembering destroying Tack’s final will and cheating his benefactors out of their inheritance. I sighed and pushed away thoughts of things I could not change. The thrumming in my head accelerated.

Francine left a little while later and I was relieved to be alone. Pain’s cadence, searing and persistent, was not unlike a muffled snare drum metering a funeral dirge. I shut my eyes and began to flow with Loritab euphoria. The tide swept me from harsh shores to float atop a tranquil, slow-lapping wave where pain could not exist.

From that oasis, I heard Muffin’s faraway voice. “Mama?” She demanded my attention. “My car won’t start. I need some medicine. I need you to take me to the pharmacy?” She shook my shoulder. “
Mom!”

Already in twilight
bzzzzz
zone, I simply continued to drift. Limp. Boneless. When finally she gave up and left, I immediately sank into deep slumber, the coma kind. Escape.

~~~~~

“Sunny! You there?” Bambambam.

Loud pounding at the front door sliced through my stupor. “Wh —” I blinked at the wall clock. Five o’clock. Already dusk in November. I struggled to my feet as another series of raps exploded, jarring my eardrums. “Walter?” I called weakly. Why wasn’t he answering the door? He’d been complaining of tiredness. But what about Lee Roy? I peered into his room. Neither he nor Lee Roy was there.

“Sunny!” called a familiar male voice from my front porch. “Sunny! You there?”

On wobbly legs, I blinked back gray webs as I made my way across the room. I unlocked the door. “Fitzhugh,” I croaked, “what’re you yelling about?” I squinted at the tall, sandy-haired man in police uniform. Fitzhugh — pronounced Fitch-you — had kept us villagers safe all through the years. Was like a daddy to us all.

“Can I come in, Sunny?” he asked, fidgeting with his uniform cap.

Alarm slithered through me. A foreboding. “Sure. Come on in, Fitzhugh. Have a seat.”

He entered but continued to stand. Through migraine haze, I squinted to read his solemn face. “What’s wrong?” I whispered.

“There’s been a wreck, Sunny.”

“Wh — is it Muffin?” my voice cracked. She’d been trying to get me to drive her to the drug store for medicine. Drugs. My breath felt suddenly cut off. Oh God!

Fitzhugh’s face gentled as he took my elbow and seated me on the sofa. “Muffin’s got a mild concussion but she’ll be okay. It’s Walter.”

The breath wheezed from my lungs. “Walter? But — he’s here somewhere. With Lee Roy.”

He squatted before me, taking my icy hands in his. “Muffin said Lee Roy left for home same time she and Walter did. Walter drove Muffin to Eckerds Drug Store because — well, she’s been drinking. On the way back, the car hydroplaned and left the road, crashing into a tree. Walter’s hurt bad, Sunny. I’ll drive you to the hospital.”

My hands flew to my mouth. “Walter’s afraid to drive in bad weather…he panicked. Oh…my…God.” I let Fitzhugh help me to my feet. “Just a minute, Fitzhugh,” I said thickly, “gotta make a call.”

Déjà vu. Walter’s long ago accident flashed before me: the thing that stole my daughter from me. I wouldn’t’ve thought it possible, but my body’s numbness grew more pronounced. I glided across the room to the wall phone, jointless, an apparition. No floor beneath me.

“I’ll call Doretha. And Daniel,” I rasped. Is that my voice? It came from far, far away, echoing and bouncing around in my brain. I picked up the receiver and then everything turned black.

~~~~~

Daniel’s face swam above me. Doretha’s ashen, thin features joined his and something cool and wet stroked my face. A damp cloth in Doretha’s gentle hand slowly scattered the darkness and, like a magnet, pulled up the physical me.

“You’re back with us, ain’t you?” Doretha’s soft voice soothed me, made the fact of me stretched out on the hard floor okay. My confusion showed because she said, “You fainted. Fitzhugh called us to come over. Said you was about to call us before you passed out.”

It all rushed back in on me, the accident, Muffin…she was all right, Fitzhugh said.

I struggled to rise. Daniel rushed to assist me onto my wobbly legs. “Walter?” I murmured, my voice so feeble it sounded like a sick bagpipe.

“Don’t you worry none,” Doretha crooned. “We’ll get you there. Here, let me get you bundled. You’re cold to the touch.”

“Take it easy, “ Daniel muttered, keeping a firm grip on me as Doretha got my coat from the closet and helped me into it. Then my scarf.

“I’m going to start the engine so the car will be warm,” Daniel said and dashed outside. He returned within moments.

“It’s uncommonly cold tonight,” Doretha softly explained. And it was, for early November, as I discovered outside. The air was like ice and just as brittle. It caught and lifted my short tousled hair. Chill spasmed through me. Doretha and Daniel’s breath exhaled snowy vapor trails while mine, shallow and rapid, emitted puny little gray puffs. My wandering attention latched onto them, desperate for diversion from what was to come.

Daniel drove us to Spartanburg Regional Medical Center in record time. The car was warm and I sat strapped in the front passenger seat, tilted back a little. Doretha worked steadily, trying to stabilize me; continuing to use the damp cloth on my face, neck, and wrists. Feeling slowly began to seep back into me.

“How’s your headache?” Daniel cast me a concerned glance.

“Gone,” I muttered, “thank God.”

God. Where are you?

~~~~~

Once at the hospital, I made a beeline for Muffin in the ER. I had to see for myself that she was okay.

“Mama,” she groaned and reached for me, hugging my neck as I leaned over her bed, kissed her cheek, and nuzzled her neck as I’d done when she was a baby. I inhaled her fragrance, a blend of nicotine, booze, hair spray, and some sexy Victoria’s Secret formula.

In that heartbeat, I didn’t care that she was flawed, didn’t care that this affection came so rarely. I simply seized the moment and celebrated life with her.

Then, quite suddenly, she pushed me away to scan me. “How’s Daddy?” she rasped, her cerulean eyes, like clear, endless mirrors, reflected worry.

“I’m going to check on him now,” I soothed. “You just rest and maybe they’ll let you go home tomorrow.”

Not to be mollified, she grasped my arm, surprising me anew with her strength. “Daddy’s hurt
bad,
Mama. And it’s all my f-fault.” Astonished, I watched the harsh planes of her face slide into tearful guilt.

This side of her only revealed itself during Daddy-related crisis. I battled the jealousy that flooded and shook me to the core. I’d forgotten Doretha was present till she brushed against my elbow to draw near to bedside. “You can’t take the blame, Muffin,” she said softly, sensibly. “Accidents happen to ever’body.”

“But if I hadn’t insisted he drive me to —”

“Doretha’s right, honey,” I took her rigid hand in mine. “If the weather hadn’t been so lousy, the wreck wouldn’t have happened.” I gently massaged her fingers to relax them and smiled at her. “You’re not responsible.” Her grateful gaze pulled compassion from my soul that oozed through and filled me till it pushed out the ugly jealousy.

Doretha spoke. “Sunny, why don’t you go see about Walter. I’ll stay with Muffin.”

I opened my mouth to tell Doretha that Walter was her brother and it was only fitting that, since he had serious injuries, she come with me. But something in her eyes made me stop, close my mouth and nod.

~~~~~

Daniel kept vigil at Walter’s side while Dr. Wood, a surgeon, gave me the facts of my husband’s injuries. “A ruptured spleen. He needs immediate surgery to stem the bleeding.”

I nodded, signed some release forms and within minutes, followed as they wheeled Walter to the doors marked
Operating Room
. There, we stopped and said good-byes. He looked so pale and helpless as he peered beseechingly at me through pain-glazed eyes.

“You’re gonna be okay, Walter,” I reassured him as calmly as I could and leaned to kiss him lightly on the lips.

“That’s right,” Daniel said, capturing Walter’s hand in his for a firm, reassuring squeeze. I choked a little at how close they’d become. Walter’s gaze swept from my face to Daniel’s and back and I saw a sweet peace relax his taut features.

“They gonna fix my spleen,” he said happily, as though going out for a hot dog. The lump in my throat grew bigger. “When I come out, I’m gonna be good as new.”

Daniel husked, “Got that right, buddy.”

“Tell Lee Roy I’m gonna be okay, Sunny.”

“You got it,” I rasped, pasting on a smile.

A grin slid across his face as his lids lowered. It was still there when they whisked him through the OR door.

~~~~~

Muffin convinced Doretha to round up a wheelchair, deposit her in it and transport her to Walter’s room. We waited together for news from the OR. Still in green scrubs, Dr. Wood appeared shortly after midnight.

“Mrs. Stone, your husband’s spleen has been removed and the bleeding has stopped. That’s the good news.”

“Thank God!” Muffin gushed, closing her eyes in relief. Doretha rubbed her shoulders gently.

“The bad news is —” Dr. Wood turned grim, “we found a problem with his liver.”

He gave that a moment to sink in as my knees nearly buckled and my hands flew to my mouth. “Oh God,” I whispered.

“What?” Muffin demanded, rising from the wheelchair, despite Doretha’s efforts to subdue her. “Did the wreck cause it?” Now sober, she advanced on the doctor, frantic.

“No, no,” he quickly replied. “It’s a condition that’s been there for some time, by the looks of things.”

“W-what is it?” my voice quavered.

“It’s called Silent Cirrhosis because it gives little to no warning before its last stages.” He patted my arm. “I’m sorry. I wish the news were better.”

Muffin sank back down into her chair, her expression pale, stunned.

“He’s been extremely tired lately,” I murmured. “And he’s complained of stomach aches. But on the other hand, he’s grown two pants sizes so I figured….”

“Abdominal swelling,” said Dr. Wood. “I suspect liver failure.”

On her feet instantly, in two giant steps, Muffin was in his face. “Liver failure?” she shrieked, whirling to glower at me. “And you couldn’t
tell he was sick
?” she accused. “I can’t
believe
you!”