What? Grace said.
Florence spoke again; a tumble of vowels and consonants. Grace froze.
Oh, God, she said.
Jim? Jim it’s me.
Honey? What’s the matter? You all right?
It’s Duck—she, she—
What?
She can’t talk.
What?
Her words, Jim; she can’t talk.
I’ll be home in an hour, he said. Have you called Lapitus? Call him.
It was a different room, but it looked the same.
Okay, Lapitus said.
Florence was asleep. She looked serene; her almond skin perfect in the retreating light. Grace stroked her forehead. She was so small.
I’ll be back in an hour, Lapitus said. Take some time; have a talk.
Harrison took a seat next to his wife. They sat in silence. After a while, he said, what do you think?
She lay her head on the bed next to her daughter and started to weep.
Hey, he said, sliding his arm across her shoulders. Hey.
They stayed like that for a long time. Outside, it was dark. Grace was thirsty. He poured her a glass of water. There was only one glass so he waited until she’d finished then poured himself one.
Lapitus said it was the measure of last resort, Grace said.
I know, Harrison said.
She looked at her shoes, then the ceiling.
Is that where we are? she said.
He nodded. She held her head in her hands. He drew her near. Over her shoulder, their daughter slept on.
She’s always been strong, Grace said.
He nodded. She pulled away and ran her fingers beneath her eyes.
I’ll tell Lapitus, he said.
Can you stay? she said. The program—
I can stay, he said.
Her smile was weak. They held each other tight. Harrison slipped out of the room and returned with Lapitus.
We’ll do everything we can, Lapitus said. We’ll start tomorrow.
Within two days they knew it wasn’t going to work. Florence was too young, her body too weak. We have to stop, Lapitus told them. She can’t take it. They sat in Lapitus’s office in silence. Harrison looked at the clock on his wall. It marked something, but he didn’t know what. He reached for the pack in his shirt pocket. There was only one cigarette left. He tapped at the pack, fumbled the cigarette and dropped it on the floor. He reached down and picked it up and said excuse me and left the room and walked to the men’s room and stood panting at the sink.
Later, they met with Lapitus and his staff and agreed that the best place for Florence was at home. There were forms that needed signatures. A schedule was drawn up. The nurse booked monthly check-ins September through December and said they could book in more dates in the New Year. Grace picked up on the nurse’s assumption. She clamped her teeth together and tried not to cry.
They drove Florence back to the Mojave late afternoon when the temperature had dropped. She slept, sprawled on the blue leather seat in the back. When they got home, Harrison reached down and scooped her up and carried her to bed. She murmured but didn’t wake. After they’d carried everything in from the car they stood in the kitchen and Grace made them hot milk on the stove that they drank standing up. It was nine-thirty. The house was still.
Every day Florence had a visitor. Pancho usually arrived at breakfast. She brought meat, milk, sometimes tinned fruit, beans. Reverend Irving would stop by and have tea with Grace in the kitchen while Florence played on the floor. By mid-October she couldn’t walk but she could crawl and she laughed as if it were some great discovery. Jenny and Megan came over once to play, but it was awkward, and Grace didn’t ask them back. Every Tuesday, though, she’d dress Florence in a pretty dress and drive over to Grace Walker’s place near Lancaster. Florence would play in the garden, the novelty of new toys keeping her attention while the women sat and talked.
Joe can’t see it, Grace Walker said of her husband on one of these occasions. She held her one-month-old daughter, Elizabeth, on her lap.
The forehead, the smile, Grace said, looking over at them.
I know.
Look at that!
A wide grin had transformed Elizabeth’s face.
Her mother laughed.
She’s so sweet, Grace said.
It’s probably wind.
Treasure it, Grace said.
Can’t help but, she said, stroking Elizabeth’s cheek with her finger.
Grace looked at where Florence was playing in the grass. Elizabeth grunted and started to cry.
I’m going to put her down, her mother said, standing. Do you want to try Florence on some ice cream in a minute?
Sounds good.
Hang on.
She took Elizabeth upstairs to sleep.
Mommy, Florence said. Will you come play with me? I’m making a farm.
Sure, Duck, Grace said.
In the shade, the grass was cool. Grace felt a heavy sadness fall on her. It was so sudden and so powerful she gasped. It was as though her bare feet were touching the floor of existence. She felt black. She stood, took a breath. A voice from the house said, she went down like a dream; shall we try that ice cream now? Grace nodded and called out, sure, and tried not to cry.