This is it. Clem is going to be kicked out of her school. She’ll have to move mid school-year to a school in a rougher area with kids she doesn’t know. Worst of all, she won’t have Legs by her side anymore.
The silence, punctuated only by my sobs, continues for a perilously long time. I start to wonder if Ms. Donnelly is even still there when she clears her throat. “You know,” she says thoughtfully, “I keep telling my optometrist that I need new lenses.”
I take a breath. “Pardon?”
“My eyesight,” Ms. Donnelly explains. “It’s terrible. I’m always reading things wrong. Perhaps you’re not at 82 Forest Hills Drive. Perhaps you’re at 83? Or 87?”
I swallow. “Uh…”
“Yes,” she says. “Yes, I’m sure that’s what is says. Eighty-seven. I do apologize.”
“Ms. Donnelly—”
“Please,” she says. “Call me Kathy.”
“Kathy,” I say. If we weren’t on the phone, I’d have grabbed Ms. Donnelly and hugged her. “I don’t know what to—”
“It’s not easy, being a single mother,” she says, and I hear the kindness in her voice. “Tell Clementine we’re looking forward to seeing her on Monday,” and she hangs up the phone.
*
That afternoon, when Rosie arrives, she looks terrible. Blue circles ring her eyes, and her lips are peeling. Clearly I’m not the only one this has been taking its toll on. She gestures for me to follow her into the nurses’ room, and I do, passing Clem cartwheeling along the hallway on our way.
“I’m so sorry,” I say to Rosie as soon as the door shuts. “I feel terrible.”
“Why? You took all the blame.” She lifts her bag off her shoulder and falls into a chair. “I’m surprised to see you, actually. I thought Eric would have—”
“He gave me one last chance. He thought last night was the first time it happened.”
“Wow. That’s good, I guess.”
“Did you know about Clara?” I ask.
Rosie’s expression is guarded.
“It’s okay, she told me she’s dying,” I say.
Rosie’s head falls back in her chair, and her eyes close. “Yes, I knew. She has breast cancer. Very advanced.”
“How long has she got?”
“I’d like to say months,” Rosie says, her eyes still closed, “but I suspect it’s more like weeks.”
Even though Clara told me herself, it’s still shocking to hear. Weeks. Could it really only be weeks?
“She wants to reconcile Laurie with her sister,” I say. “Apparently, they dated before he met Clara and she’s been carrying the guilt around all these years for stealing Laurie away.”
Rosie opens her eyes. “I’m sorry to say it, but I doubt she’ll get the chance.”
It isn’t good news, not at all, but for some reason this pleases me. The idea of Clara handing her dying husband over to her sister in her final days is something I can’t seem to stomach. “So what happens now?” I ask.
“What do you mean, ‘what happens’?”
“With Anna and Luke,” I say. “What happens now?”
“Well, we don’t have a lot of choice, do we? We’re going to have to keep their doors locked. We can’t very well let them be together after what happened today.…”
When I don’t respond, Rosie looks up.
“Can’t we?” I whisper.
Her eyes bug. “You’re not serious, Eve? After all this trouble? After Eric said this is your last chance?”
“I know it’s not ideal but—”
“Eve, I like my job, okay? I can’t put it at risk anymore, I’m sorry.”
“But … I promised her.”
Rosie looks like she wants to see through the skin on my forehead and into my brain, where perhaps she’ll get a clue of what is going on in there. Perhaps for this reason, I decide to spit out the thought that’s been spinning around in my head all day.
“It’s just that … if another person kills themselves because I left when they needed me … It will kill me.”
43
Clementine
Cartwheeling makes your head hurt after a while. It’s been almost twenty minutes, and May and Gwen are still watching. I’m starting to think that if I don’t stop, we might be here all night. I tell them I have to go, and they give me a little clap and shuffle off. Then I peek around Rosie’s door, looking for Mom.
“So what happens now?” Mom is saying.
Rosie says, “What do you mean, ‘what happens’?”
“With Anna and Luke. What happens now?”
“Well, we don’t have a lot of choice, do we?” Rosie says. “We’re going to have to keep their doors locked. We can’t very well let them be together after what happened today.…”
“Can’t we?” Mom says.
There’s quiet for a moment, then Rosie says, “You’re not serious, Eve? After all this trouble? After Eric said this is your last chance?”
“I know it’s not ideal,” Mom says, “but—”
“Eve, I like my job, okay? I can’t put it at risk anymore, I’m sorry.”
“But … I promised her.”
It’s quiet again. I wonder if they have noticed me standing there. But then Mom continues. “It’s just that … if another person kills themselves because I left when they needed me … It will kill me.”