Waiting Read online

  Yeah. That would not go over so hot.

  Chapter 2

  Caris had to pee but kept putting it off. One nasty secret she had not learned until after the birth: doctors told you to lay off the toilet paper. She had a little squirt bottle to help clean herself up but did not see the point. She needed a hose. She was a gush of blood when she peed. The blood reached her thighs, calves, ankles. Caris wanted her body from nine months ago back. She hated her gargantuan vaginal lips, the stretch marks, the sore breasts.

  Molly, the nurse who snapped the Friday the 13th picture, patted a wheelchair. "Pee before we go. You have your squirt bottle?" That was all the nurses asked. Squirt bottle, squirt bottle, squirt bottle. The world would end if she did not have a goddamn squirt bottle.

  "I can wait."

  "Go to the bathroom."

  Caris sucked it up and peed. And bled.

  Afterward, Molly patted the wheelchair again. "Let's go."

  "Can't you forget hospital policy and let me walk?"

  "Afraid not."

  Caris sighed and got into the wheelchair. Ten a.m. had turned into four p.m. Time to visit Dale.

  Caris ignored the inhuman mass and humming of machines and tubes as best as she could. She stared at the spider web of thick, dark stitches marring Dale's scalp. What kind of spider lived there? Tarantula, black widow? Definitely the kind that could kill. What did they eat? Flies, moths, ladybugs. Spiders were arachnids, right? Kind of like insects but with eight legs. Caris remembered her and Jennifer, both five years old, watching as Jennifer's tarantula, Freckles, ate Caris's pet baby mouse, Melanie. She had nightmares for a week. The tarantula had towered above the mouse, and Caris had felt something in her groin, fear, terror, something almost sexual, something bad, she knew. The tarantula lowered its mouth toward the mouse's head. Caris watched, terrified and fascinated, as the mouse squee squee oh God help me squee and then convulsed and was gone.

  This mess was her wife. Dale's head was bare, shaved to let the stitches breathe. Doctors said she probably would not live through the night. They had no idea how she had made it this far already.

  Caris held up the picture of her and the baby. "Donovan Milo Ismay," she whispered. "You win."

  She recalled enough from Lena's mumblings and the haze of conversations with the police and Dale's surgeons to piece together how the accident happened. Yesterday, Lena had broken her wrist, called Dale to take her to the hospital, and afterward, they went to Almond's, a bar. Not the one where Lena worked, which made sense. Why go to the place you work when you're off duty? They had talked a while, and then Dale drove away in her Cadillac. Dale was returning to the hospital to be with her, Caris. Dale stopped at the Almond's parking lot exit, looked left, looked right, forgot to look left again, and pulled out in front of an eighteen-wheeler bearing down on her.

  The eighteen-wheeler swerving, but not enough, plowing into Dale. The sickening, slow mashing of metal on metal, of Goliath pummeling David, hollering in victory.

  The end of Dale, if not literally, then most likely for all practical purposes.

  Caris felt a hand cover hers. "You okay, sweetie? You ready to go back to your room?"

  Caris shook off Jennifer's touch. "I need to stay."

  Phyllis this time: "You need to rest."

  "I'm staying as long as I like. My wife will be dead the next time I see her."

  *****

  Shirley was in Dale's room, reading Dale a story, when Lena tiptoed in about midnight. "Hey, Grandma. Agatha Christie?" Agatha Christie was Dale's favorite author. Shirley's, too.

  "Mmm. The Seven Dials Mystery. Novella. Want me to see about a cot for you, too?"

  "I'm not staying. Just checking in on Mom." Lena sat in a chair, closed her eyes, and listened to the lift and fall of her grandmother's voice. MacDonald looked upon her, and she blushed. She was made to feel that she had taken an unpardonable liberty…

  Unpardonable liberty. Interesting phrase. Lena liked it. She had taken two unpardonable liberties. First, lying to the nurse and doctor about being alone and tripping down the steps. The second unpardonable liberty: not turning over the note once she'd found it. Thank God the truck driver was okay, save for a few deep bruises.

  "Grandma?" Lena asked.

  Shirley glanced up. "Mmm?"

  Lena's throat squeezed. "Mom never had a single speeding ticket or wreck. The accident doesn't make sense."

  Shirley furrowed her brows. "What are you saying?"

  "Maybe it wasn't an accident."

  "Of course it was. Your mother wasn't thinking. She was in a hurry to be with Caris."

  No, she wasn't. Mom looked left one last time. I saw it.

  Shirley gave Lena a smile and returned to the story.

  Lena fished the letter out of her Nintendo tote bag. The ER waiting room had been hell. The seconds were molasses, and Lena's mind was going crazy with thoughts. She'd read the letter maybe a hundred times. Probably had it memorized, but she felt the same nauseating dread every time she read it. Dale must have sneaked the letter into the tote bag while Lena was in the bathroom.

  Lena,

  I love you. I know I have not been a good mother. You deserve more. I look at you sometimes and I think: "Wow. This is my child. How did I get so lucky?" You're beautiful, strong, passionate, determined. You're very much like your father.

  I've been thinking about you a lot these past few months as we've gotten closer and as I prepared to have another child. I hope someday you change your mind about wanting kids. You will be a fantastic mother. If you're afraid you will repeat my mistakes with your children, stop being afraid right now. You have learned from my mistakes and are the better for them.

  You were, and are, magic in my life. Please always know that.

  I wish three things for you. Happiness. Love. Laughter. Don't make the same mistakes I have when it comes to love.

  I was thinking about Candy the other day. Candy Reese. Remember how I used to call her Reese Cup? I was also thinking about Melissa, and Joan, and Carmela. You know my sins, so I won't list them here. If you happen to see them again, though, please tell them I really did love them.

  Please look after your little brother or sister after I'm gone. Please love that child the best you can, and please tell him or her I was a good person.

  I love you,

  Mom

  Why hadn't she contacted the police about the note? Shock, maybe. That this couldn't really be happening. That her mother had left a suicide note. But her mother couldn't have known the truck would show up when it did. No matter. If not the truck, then something else.

  Interesting that her mother had not mentioned Nakeem Joseph and Aron Michelle in the note. Maybe not so interesting, actually. It was likely that Dale did not think about them anymore. Or perhaps Dale liked to pretend Lena might not think about them anymore. Nakeem Joseph and Aron Michelle popped up in Lena's mind and in her heart at the most random times, like when she was serving a customer wine or when one of her professors was setting up a PowerPoint presentation.

  Nakeem Joseph.

  Aron Michelle.

  She could call them "the twins." Their parents probably did. But they were two separate people with two separate, equally cool names. Nakeem Joseph and Aron Michelle was what she called them. Significant, nice names.

  Anyway, so what was going through her mother's mind while she was waiting to pull out in the street? Maybe she had decided not to do it. She'd decided she wanted to live, but looked left one last time, saw a truck, and something, something, took over. She did it even as her body, her brain, were shouting: "No! No!"

  Or maybe it was a cry for help. Daelyn Ismay was a planner. If she wanted to end her life, she would damn well end it the right way. She would leave nothing up to chance. For example, she would jump off a bridge.

  Cry for help. That's what it has to be.

  "Sweetie?" Shirley's voice jarred Lena out of her reverie. "I'm going to bed."

  Lena kissed her grandmoth
er goodbye. "Sleep well."

  She made her way home. Driving with a cast was not too bad as long as she took turns slowly and carefully. She flopped onto her bed. She felt like a cardboard cutout. Princess Diana, next to the office nook across the bedroom, had a friend. Lena had bought the Diana cutout for $20 two years after the royal's death. She was not sure why. Diana's death had touched her, sure, but she did not lose herself in the wall to wall coverage. Did not stay up to watch the funeral.

  Cardboard Diana's hair was short. No tiara, but she wore jewel-studded earrings and a matching necklace. She held what looked like a program book and a bouquet of white flowers. A black evening dress traveled the full length of her body, concealing most of her shoes. Her smile was bright and white. Caroline had laughed when she saw the cutout. "You had a crush on Di?"

  "No. Maybe the queen. Elizabeth II. There's a stoicism, a beauty about her, especially in her younger pictures." Caroline laughed, and they fell onto the bed, beginning to fuck.

  Diana had died in a car crash. Looked like Dale would, too.

  Caroline. Caroline. She was damn good in bed. Good enough for Lena keep her around months past her expiration date. The two of them had started off great. Caroline used to be full of laughter and understanding. The opposite of clingy. She had been perfect for Lena, not an easy task with Lena's crazy busy schedule of school and work.

  Lena told herself she was glad they were over. Caroline had become a nag. Insecure. A mean drunk who, lately, drank way too much. Plus, the last few times they'd had sex, the magic was gone.

  But Lena's chest hurt. She had loved Caroline and maybe still did. Her heart was not a switch.

  Lena re-read her mother's message on the cast. Plenty of fish in the sea.

  "You should've left these as your last words," Lena mumbled. She got the letter back out. How was she going to tell Caris? Her grandparents? Should she?

  Lena sat at her computer. Time to type her own letter, to Caris. She would get every word right, then handwrite it to make it personal.

  Caris:

  I don't know where to start. Maybe six months ago, when I found out Mom was a man in a woman's body. She walked into Azizi. Midnight, Wednesday. The bar was pretty empty.

  "Just water," Mom said, but I knew that.

  I took a break, and we sat outside. "I love you," Mom said.

  I could not say the words back. We talked a bit, and then...

  "I'm like your friend Karl," Mom said. "You treat him like he's normal. I love you for that. More than you will ever know."

  I did not understand at first. The realization dawned gradually, a brain cell here, a brain cell there, and…

  Aw, hell. No point in typing the whole sob story. She's transgender, she asked me not to tell anyone, and she was too chicken to tell you.

  Lena bit her lip, selected all the text and deleted it. She continued typing.

  Caroline was right. I am in love with you. Pretty goddamned pathetic, I know. Happened the first time we met. Your smile. You smiled, a slightly lopsided grin, one end up more than the other, and held your hand out. "Lena," you said, your voice soft and delicate and eager. "I'm so happy to meet you at last."

  I scrambled to my feet and shook your hand. Here I was, trying to come to grips with this sudden young woman who was engaged to my mother. I had pictured someone my mom's age. Not this. Not you. You smiled some more. Your smile did funny things to me. My heart. My stomach. I felt instantly sorry for you, though. This young beautiful woman was in for hell. I could warn you about what my mother was like in a relationship, but you probably wouldn't believe me. And Mom would be furious. She did not realize how she was. Sweet and caring and perfect at first, then later, controlling and distant.

  You smiled your smile many times that night. Lucky Mom.

  Here's something silly. I don't care about Mom not playing with Nakeem Joseph and Aron Michelle. (Did she tell you about them?) Sometimes, though, I picture you with them. The three of you laugh the same way. Smile the same way, too. Weird. Maybe not. After all, there are only so many ways to smile.

  Whatever happens, you can do so much better than Mom. (And certainly better than me, too.) I'm jealous of Mom. The look you get in your eyes sometimes when you stare at her, and you think no one's watching…

  I hope someday someone looks at me like that. I hope I look at someone like that someday.

  Lena re-read what she had typed and deleted it.

  Chapter 3

  In the morning, Caris packed for her and Donovan's discharge. She could not wait to escape. She was claustrophobic with the hovering, as if people thought she would slit her wrists and her stomach and smear the floor with her entrails. Plus her breasts throbbed. The pain was persistent, ever-present. Her son, this child who burst from her, was greedy. He needed to go home.

  Lena showed up. Great. As if Jennifer, George, Shirley and Mom weren't enough.

  "On your way out?" Lena asked. Her face was pinched, and lines of exhaustion were etched under her eyes—which were green today. Made sense; her shirt was green.

  "Going home."

  "Could I have a minute alone with you?"

  Once Jennifer, George, Shirley and Phyllis were out of the room, Lena proffered a gift certificate to Chili's. "Fifty dollars. I figured you wouldn't feel like cooking for a while."

  Caris took it. She touched Lena's elbow lightly, to express her gratitude. "Thank you. You look nice with your hair down."

  A sheepish grin. Caris enjoyed it. Lena needed to smile and laugh more. "Hard to pull my hair back with the cast."

  "I have a scrunchie. Want me to pull your hair back for you?"

  "Um…nah. No need."

  "You sure?"

  Lena sighed. "Okay. Knock yourself out."

  Caris got a scrunchie and a mini-brush from her travel bag. She pulled Lena's hair back. It was sleek and shiny, and darker this close up. Smelled like strawberry. "You okay in the shower?"

  "I put plastic over my cast."

  "Your hair's pretty. I could braid it sometime."

  "I don't do fancy."

  "I know." Caris worked quickly and replaced her brush. "Thanks for yesterday," she said. She replayed Lena's warmth on hers and wished for it again. "For coming to tell me in person. It means a lot."

  Lena's brows flickered. "I'm not a total Neanderthal. Although that would be cool. I'd get a lot of money making public appearances."

  "You'd be the oldest woman alive."

  Lena giggled—actually giggled—a strange sound coming from her. She did not let the levity last, though. "About yesterday, I…" Lena rubbed her cheek. "My arm. I was trying to leave my apartment building, Caroline didn't want me to and was trying to block me. We got into a tussle. She accidentally pushed me down the steps. I didn't want Grandma and Granddad to hear."

  Caris searched Lena's face, but Lena would not meet her gaze. Caris wanted to ask many questions: Why are you telling me? Why were you and Caroline fighting? Was it really an accident? Did you tell the police? Questions tended to shut Lena down, but Caris risked one. "Are you still with her?"

  "No. We're done."

  "Good."

  "You can say it," Lena said. "Told you so."

  "I'm not going to say that. Your mother was the one who—" Caris stopped. "Is the one who…"

  "Yeah." Lena inclined her head. "Right. You're Switzerland. Anyway. In other words, hope you enjoy the gift card. Call me if you need me to bring food over from Chili's." Azizi, where Lena bartended, was next door to Chili's.

  "You want to come tonight for dinner?"

  "I have class."

  "You don't have class."

  Lena's nostrils flared. "You think I'd lie to you about having class? After what happened to Mom?"

  "Well—"

  "Shit," Lena muttered under her breath.

  Caris said nothing. She could remind Lena about the lunch and coffee dates they had made when they first met. Dates to get to know each other before Caris became Lena's stepmother. D
ates that Lena canceled on. Each and every one, until Caris stopped asking.

  Now was not the time to bring up old history. "Don't go back to Caroline," Caris said.

  "I'm not."

  "I'm here if you want to talk. Anytime."

  Strained smile. "Thanks. Well, see ya."

  "Wait." Caris placed her hand on Lena's forearm. Lena stiffened, but Caris kept her touch where it was. She wondered what Lena was like in her natural element, with friends. Probably gregarious, witty, talkative.

  "What?" Lena asked.

  "When can you come over for dinner? Or lunch or something?"

  "I'll let you know."

  Great. Same old.

  "I'll call. I promise. We'll have dinner. I'll let you know."

  "I used to be with a woman named Susan. She was a tiny thing, but she could—she really could—she gave me a black eye. The next day, she was contrite and seemed genuinely sorry. Her behavior was so abnormal, I forgave her. The next week, I got another black eye, and I was out of there. I should've left her the first time. This is serious, Lena. Domestic violence."

  "I know what it's called. That's not what happened with Caroline. It was an accident."

  "Okay," Caris said quietly, but something in Lena's expression scared her. Lena and Caroline had been on and off for about a year. Who wasn't to say they would be on again tonight? Lena was exhausted from this ordeal with Dale. Weak. Vulnerable. If Caroline, nice and familiar, showed up saying the right words, bearing the right gifts, wouldn't Lena be putty in Caroline's hands? Especially if the fall truly had been an accident.

  Lena's life. Don't be a mother hen.

  "Call me anytime or stop by anytime," Caris said. "Breakups aren't easy."

  "I'm not crying into a tub of ice cream."