“Good girl,” Albert said. His eyes drooped, but he forced them open, trying to keep his spark. He really wanted so much more time, so much more life. My heart squeezed painfully.
“I actually tried it inverted just to get the feel for it,” I said. “So gloomy and dark that way. Made me think of you.”
His mouth twisted as half of it smiled. “Good.”
Talking was clearly painful and difficult for him, so I decided to just keep up my end of the conversation. “I got to ride in an ambulance with a rock star, his crew, Jenny in labor, Corabelle, and a pissed-off EMT while Jenny and Chance got married en route to the hospital.”
One of his eyebrows lifted.
“Darion and I were painting.” I gestured to my spattered shirt with my free hand. “But we caught up with the ambulance and jumped on.”
Albert’s eyes glittered. He was enjoying the story.
“She literally refused to get off the ambulance until they were legal. That girl is so nuts.” I rolled my eyes. “The baby is early, so she’s small, but apparently everything is okay.”
“Good,” he said. “But you?”
I let out a sigh. “I’m keeping up appearances. The way you spend your days is the way you spend your life.” I kept my focus on the wreath over his head, refusing to meet his gaze. “I’m trying to spend them happy.”
He shook my hand from side to side until I turned back to look at him. “Process,” he said. “Feel.”
Albert was one person I tried to always be honest with. “I don’t want to feel those things too much. The path is slippery and dark. It’s a long fall.” I flipped my wrists up, even though you couldn’t see the fine lines in the gloom. He would know.
He let go of my hand and wrapped his trembling fingers around my wrist. They were warm where they had been in contact with mine, chilly where they had not. It didn’t escape me how important that was. Holding on to another person is what kept us alive and strong. Otherwise we would struggle in the chill of solitude.
“You won’t go there again,” he said.
“I don’t know that,” I said. “I feel like I’m always one bad day away from the worst.”
His eyes bored into mine. He didn’t have to say anything. We’d had this conversation before.
“I know. I have Darion. And Corabelle and Jenny. And my work.” I glanced around his room. “But I also have this black hole inside me.” I couldn’t really put into words what I felt. But I could picture it. It always floated just outside my vision. I was too frightened to look directly at it. And I would never paint it, never make it real.
His voice had more strength when he said, “Life is dancing around the blackness.”
I wanted to picture this. I tried to see myself, striped tights, spriggy ponytails, cavorting on the edge of the blackness, a colorful sprite laughing in the face of the siren call of despair.
But I wasn’t sure I could do it. I wasn’t sure I would ever be able to do it.
“Go see your friend’s baby,” Albert said. “Paint your pain. Leave it on the canvas. Remove it from your soul.”
He closed his eyes and his hand slid from my arm. His breath escaped in a long sigh. I squeezed his fingers one more time and stood.
Albert had been saying the same things as long as I knew him. Paint my pain. I’d gone through so many canvases, so much drawing paper, so many tubes of oils.
But maybe everyone was right. I’d left that dark hole on the periphery of my vision. I hadn’t even stared into it, much less danced in its shadow.
But now the life I thought I’d lead was right in front of me. Jenny. Her baby. Darion would want a family eventually. I had no idea how I could face the idea of losing another one.
Just thinking about it, I was quite sure I’d rather stare into the depths of the pit. At least it was familiar.
Chapter 7: Jenny
Motherhood was a piece of cake.
My dad put away the leftover casserole in our fridge, which was stuffed with food my mother’s friends had brought over.
Mom rocked the baby in the corner of the living room. The glider was new, a gift from my old boss Frankie. The hot-pink chenille fabric with little silver threads running through it made it the most fabulous piece of furniture I could ever have imagined.
My phone buzzed. I glanced down at it. The stupid old hospital administrator again. For some crazy reason, you weren’t supposed to check out without giving your baby a name. I argued until I was blue in the face that you couldn’t rush a decision of this magnitude. I had to get the right baby vibes. Little Miss had to show me her personality.
The last thing I wanted to do was saddle a Mavis with a name like Penelope. Or an Anastasia with Jane.
So I had sort of left. With the forms.
Which apparently was some big deal.
So what?
I mean, it wasn’t like taking my time was a crime. What did they expect me to do? Toss any old name on the paper? Forever?