“It’s all you used to talk about. I can tell you about the others if you want.”
Something told me to let the moment be. And soon Rose closed her eyes again and drifted off. Despite my mother’s insistence that she felt fine, as we drove on in the dark, it became apparent she was anything but. In the course of my childhood, I couldn’t recall another occasion when she came down with anything more than a case of sniffles. My father was the one who fell prey to the flu and bronchitis and strep, not to mention the troubles with his back. Rose and I carted home the expected stomach bugs and fevers from school. Always, my mother had been the one to deliver ginger ale and soup to our bedsides, to smear VapoRub on our chests and slip a thermometer in our mouths, so it felt strange to see her so ill.
For the remainder of the trip, the radio stayed off. Instead of preachers bellowing about how to avoid an eternity in hell, my mother’s soft, suffering moans filled the car. She pressed her cheek to the window, because the glass felt cool against her skin. Thirty or forty minutes a stretch—that’s the most we were able to drive before she asked to pull over. Each time, my father clicked on the emergency flashers and stopped on the side of the highway. In a frenzy, my mother unbuckled her seat belt and burst from the door. Cars and trucks roared past, headlights brightening and receding over her as she carried that doll—more loosely than before—into the tall grass. In the silence between passing traffic, we could hear her heaving, until growing quiet and emerging from the shadows to climb into the car once more. Somehow, my sister managed to stay asleep the entire time. But my father and I remained alert, silent except when it came to asking my mother if there was anything we could do.
“Let’s just get home.” That was her response each time. “I’m fine.”
And so, after making countless stops, we turned into our driveway just as the sun began sifting daylight into the sky. More wearily than before, my mother unbuckled her seat belt and climbed out of the car. I woke Rose, and we got out too. My father took my mother’s arm and led her to the door, where he found an envelope wedged between the knob and the frame. He squinted at the words before shoving it in his pocket.
Once the door was unlocked, my mother entered first, moving through the dark to the kitchen. I heard her fill a glass of water while my sister shot up the stairs. My father followed, carting our luggage to the second floor. I used the time to move around the living room, snapping on lamps. When I was done, I saw him at the bottom of the stairs again, the letter from the door in his hand. His face looked grim, and I couldn’t help asking if something was wrong.
“Huh?”
“I was wondering if something is wrong? You look worried.”
“Things are fine, angel.”
I might not have asked who had left a letter for him, but I felt tired enough from the long night that the question slipped out.
“This?” He held it in the air. His normally neat hair was mussed, and I could see in his eyes that he was worn out from the trip too. “Oh, it’s just from that reporter. Sam Heekin. I’ve been letting him interview me for his book.”
The two of us must have sensed her standing there, between the kitchen and living room, because we both turned to see my mother. Now that we were home, I kept waiting for her to put down the doll, but she carried it with her still. “What about Sam Heekin?” My father folded the letter, tucked it back in his pocket. “We can discuss it later when you are feeling better.”
“I feel fine,” she said, but she went to the sofa where she settled in with Penny on her lap. “I think I’ll just rest here awhile, though.”
“Wouldn’t you be more comfortable in your bed?”
She leaned back, closed her eyes. “I would. But the thought of climbing those stairs. I can’t just yet. You go ahead. I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“Sylvie, sweetheart. Is that you?” She said the words without opening her eyes, and I had the impression she’d gone blind, a woman left to feel her way around the world. “What are you doing up? After the night we had, you should be in bed asleep.”
“I’m on my way. But I’m worried about you.”
“No need to worry. Now good night to you both.”
I looked to my father, who hesitated before adjusting the pillows on the sofa so my mother could lie back. When she was comfortable, he tugged a blanket off the armrest and draped it over her. Over Penny too. He leaned down and kissed my mother’s forehead. “It was a long day for all of us, but especially you. So get some rest.”