I turn, facing Roy, but I’m unable to look at anything but his shoes. “My ma is sick,” I whisper.
With the back of his hand, he nudges my chin up ’til our eyes meet. “Is she okay?”
“I don’t know. Won’t know ’til after her surgery.” A tear slips down my cheek, and my breath hitches. “I’ve changed, and I’m sorry for all the bad that came with it. But we can find each other again. Please don’t leave me, Roy. I need you. I’m sorry. I’m—”
“Shh.” Roy pulls me against his chest, and I breathe in his familiar scent of Ivory soap. “I’m here, Bonnelyn. I’m not going anywhere.”
I hold on tight, a sliver of a pleased smile cracking my lips.
19
Roy squeezes my hand, most likely to check on me. I’ve been staring at the hospital’s waiting room wall for an indiscernible amount of time.
“This is taking too long,” I say to him and my brother.
Buster’s got his head propped on his hand, elbow on the chair’s arm. He looks up. “Dr. Peterson said it’d take a while.”
“I know.” I breathe out. “But shouldn’t they be done with Ma’s surgery by now? Maybe we should call Billie and Aunt Marie so they don’t worry.”
“And tell ’em what?” Buster says. “I’m sure Billie is sleeping anyway.”
“Yeah.” I recross my legs. “I guess it can’t be much longer.”
Buster shrugs and grabs a newspaper atop a stack of magazines. But I know my brother is worried too. His muscles are too tense. His jaw is too rigid. I exhale again, but it does no good. My mind drifts to dangerous places, to an operating room in Europe, where my daddy died during the Great War.
I don’t know much ’bout that day; Ma made sure of that. But I was home when the uniformed officer came to our front door. I was also secretly there when my aunt raced into town to comfort her. I sat slumped outside Ma’s bedroom door, listening to her wail.
“I can’t picture him that way,” Ma cried. “Dirty, bleeding, helpless.”
“Then don’t,” Aunt Marie said. “Remember him whole, with his wicked smile and his deep, lazy laugh.”
Ma bawled louder after that.
I held back my tears, needing to listen. But how “The surgeons did all they could” and “Henry died during his sleep” became things I regretted hearing. For months, as a seven-year-old, I was afraid to sleep, for fear of not waking. I decided, long ago, that sometimes not knowing is better.
Now I’m ready to throw that theory out of the tiny hospital window into the cool Dallas night.
I squeeze Roy’s hand back, so thankful he’s here with me, so thankful he’s on his way to forgiving me. But I need to stand, to do something, and I free my hand. That something includes pacing ’round the room. I stop to fix a crooked picture frame on the wall.
“Relax, Bonnelyn,” my brother says. “Dr. Peterson and the surgeon said the operation should go without a hitch.”
I cross the room and grab Buster’s wrist, the one without the cast, to check his watch. “I’ll wait five more minutes,” I say. “Ten o’clock. Then I’m finding a nurse.”
“Suit yourself.”
I slump back into my chair, tap my foot, clench the armrests with both hands. “Anything good in there?” I ask Buster, referring to the newspaper.
He flips ’round the paper.
STOCK MARKET INVINCIBLE. “BUY, BUY, BUY!” EXPERTS ADVISE.
“Oh, this fella at—” I stop myself from finishing my thought ’bout how Mr. Champagne Cocktail mentioned the stock market the other week. I sheepishly glance at Roy from the corner of my eye.
He rubs his jaw. “You can say it, ya know: ‘Doc’s.’ You’re allowed to talk ’bout that place ’round me.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“In fact, I’d like to see this Doc’s of yours for myself.”
I smile.
“I wouldn’t mind seeing that article ’bout the stock market, either,” Roy adds.
A nurse with tired eyes rounds the corner into the waiting room. “Mr. Parker, Miss Parker,” she says in an even voice. The smile disappears from my face. “You can follow me. Your mother is out of surgery.”
“How is she?” Buster asks.
“Everything went just fine,” the nurse says, still deadpan. “She’s groggy and heavily medicated, so she’ll be a bit confused. That’s normal.”
The word normal sticks with me. “Normal” should be my daddy whirling Ma ’cross the living room, dancing to music he hums into her ear. Or filling that last chair at the dinner table while Little Billie serves us more than canned beans.
Roy touches my arm. “Bonn.”
I don’t respond, still stuck in my head.
“Bonn,” he repeats.
“Yeah? Sorry.”
“I’ll go call your aunt, then meet you in there, okay?”
“Thank you.” I tuck my hair behind my ears before following the nurse down the brightly lit hall, the hospital eerily quiet this time of night, and into Ma’s darkened room. Three sets of curtains create separate areas. With each one closed, I don’t know who’s inside or why they’re here. That unknown has my skin crawling. The nurse pulls back the third curtain for us to walk through.
Billie and Buster take after our daddy, tall and lean. I have my ma’s height. We’re small-boned, small-chested, and she’s too tiny in this giant hospital bed. A white sheet is pulled high, only her arms and head sticking out. Wires and tubes look like they’re keeping her tied down, as if she’s some prisoner of the hospital.
The nurse brings her finger to her lips, making a Shh sound, then points to the other curtains. I ignore her, saying, “Ma,” and I take her hand, carefully avoiding a tube. Her eyelids flutter. A slow smile spreads ’cross her face before she mutters my name.
Behind me, Buster stands half in the little area, the curtain propped on his shoulder. I motion for him to come closer, and his movement shifts our ma’s eyes to him. In the darkness, Buster’s blond hair appears darker.
“Henry?” Ma says, her voice cracking.
A tear slips down my cheek. Buster stops midstride.
She struggles to lift her head. “Henry, is that you? Are you back?”
I cling to her hand, not wanting to let go, and stare at her pale, hopeful face. I open, close my mouth. I’m not going to tell this woman that her husband, my daddy, ain’t here. I won’t make her relive that moment when her world came crashing down ’round her. I look to Buster, pleading for him to do something, say something. But he’s gone, the curtain settling back into place.
Confusion makes the creases along her forehead more pronounced. But then her features smooth and she smiles. “My Henry always finds his way back to me.”
I raise her hand to my lips, kissing it, and leave wetness behind from my tears.
“Ma…” My lips quiver as I search for something to say. “Little Billie says hi.”
“Sweet girl,” Ma mumbles, her eyelids fluttering once more.
“Bonnelyn.”
I whip my head toward the voice, a head poking through the curtain.
Doc Peterson gestures for me to join him.
I turn back to Ma, her eyes firmly closed. Gently, I release her hand and step slowly away from her bed.
“Let’s go into the hall,” the doctor says.