“I know. To me, too.”
“I don’t mean it that way, it’s just that you were always so squeamish. I once had to take a splinter out of your foot after you girls walked around town barefoot. You screamed your head off. I thought one of the neighbors was going to call the police. Now you’re going to be doing surgeries. That is quite a switch.”
Shelby remembers the splinter incident. Mrs. Boyd gave her an ice-cream sandwich afterward, but she was crying so hard she couldn’t eat it. Now Diana Boyd is at the back door watching them.
Mr. Boyd waves to his wife. “She probably thinks the circus came to town and dropped off a dog act.”
“Let me get them back into the car,” Shelby says.
“I don’t mind them. They add some life. After the accident everything just stopped here. Helene’s in her bedroom, so her mom thinks she’s still here.”
“Maybe she is.”
“If you’re going to be in medicine, then you know what her situation is.” When Shelby makes a funny little sobbing sound, Mr. Boyd pats her on the back. “Don’t go choking on me now.”
“Do you think Mrs. Boyd would mind if I went in to see Helene?”
Mr. Boyd calls to his wife. “It’s Shelby Richmond. She’s here to visit Helene.”
“Shelby. Come on in.” Diana Boyd motions to her. “But not with those dogs.”
“I’ll throw a tennis ball around for them,” Bill Boyd says. Shelby looks at him, mutely. She feels a sort of terror inside her. Mr. Boyd misinterprets her hesitancy. “I’ll take good care of them.”
When Shelby goes inside, Diana Boyd hugs her. “I’m so sorry about your mother. I recognize Buddy out there.” They both gaze out the window to watch the poodle chase a tennis ball. “I used to visit her when she was getting her treatments and I’d take Buddy for walks when I could. At least a couple of times a week.”
Shelby is surprised by how little she knows about her mom’s day-to-day life.
Mrs. Boyd smiles wanly. “Your father had already taken up with that nurse.”
“He married her. They moved to Florida.”
“I know, dear. Mr. Boyd and I went to the wedding.”
“There was a wedding?”
“It was just a little gathering at the house before they moved. Patti made all the refreshments. They probably didn’t want to upset you by inviting you. You know, your mother came here to see Helene once a week. For a while she brought Buddy over every day.”
“She did?”
“She said Helene was like another daughter. Helene had spent so much time at your house growing up, and she always loved when your mom came by. Her whole face would light up. Sue was such a kind person. Kindness like that radiates, and Helene could feel it.”
“I know I should have come to see Helene before this,” Shelby says. “I’ve thought about her every day since it happened.”
“We’ve had plenty of visitors. So I’m sure Helene hasn’t minded.”
As they head down the hall, Shelby can hear the pumping of the oxy-gen machine. Her heart is beating too fast and she tries to slow it to an even rhythm. There is the same wallpaper Helene chose when she was thirteen, with rosebuds that have never bloomed. Another volunteer is sitting beside Helene’s bed knitting, an elderly lady in a gray suit.
“Mrs. Campbell, this is Helene’s old friend, Shelby,” Diana says to the volunteer. “Sue Richmond’s daughter.”
“Well, isn’t this a good day with an old friend here to visit,” Mrs. Campbell says to Helene. “Don’t be afraid to talk to her,” she tells Shelby. “She loves when you do.”
Shelby can hear the thud of her own pulse. Helene is in bed beneath the white sheets. She was such a skinny, coltish girl, but now she’s heavier. Her hair is still beautiful, masses of thick auburn. Helene is facing the wall, staring at it. There are patterns of sunlight coming through the window. A shadow that looks like a rabbit, one that’s a square, another that looks like a garland of leaves. Shelby stands at the foot of the bed. For the first time in years she is not stuck in that moment inside the snow globe. She is right here.
“Helene,” she says. “It’s Shelby.”
Helene blinks.
“She knows you’re here,” Diana Boyd assures Shelby. “She definitely does.”
Shelby can hear the dogs barking in the backyard. Helene shudders.
“She never did like dogs,” Diana remarks. “Even as a little girl.”
But she did, Shelby thinks. She wanted a little Westie and cut out pictures from a magazine. “I think about you every day,” Shelby tells Helene.
“She appreciates that,” Diana says.
“I wish it had happened to me,” Shelby says. A broken sob escapes. Helene shudders again.
“She doesn’t like it when people are upset,” the volunteer warns Shelby. The volunteer who never even knew the real Helene.