Since You've Been Gone Read online

  She was right.

  I planned to leave in the morning, and I wanted Lily to understand something I could hardly understand myself. When there was only one box left to move, I sat on the floor next to her.

  “What’s up, Lily Loo? I need to move this box to the garage with all the other ones.”

  She scooted around, her back to me, arms across her chest, looking at her feet. Her polished toenails looked like tiny painted shells peeking out of her sandals.

  I moved around to face her, and after a few times of playing the game, she started to smile. And when she did, she put her hands on the side of her mouth and pulled her lips down. “Sssstttoooopppp, Aunt Wivvy.”

  “If your mommy was sick, wouldn’t you want to be with her?”

  “My mommy’s sick?” Her face collapsed in worry.

  “No, sweetie.” I picked her up off the box and snuggled her on the sofa next to me. “But my mommy is. And she lives far away. I need to drive there tomorrow and stay awhile to help her and my dad.”

  Lily twirled her hair around her finger, her head tilted as she stared, not at me, but through me.

  She climbed on my lap, placed her hands on my cheeks so that we were facing each other, and leaned over and touched my forehead with hers. “I wuv my mommy, too.”

  I closed my eyes to soothe the sting of tears. She echoed what only my heart could have said.

  I hugged Mia for the tenth time and slid behind the wheel of my car. I leaned out my window to tell her something I’d meant to say earlier. “Why don’t you see if the nanny can start sooner than you planned? I think it would help Lily to not have to wait so long to meet her. I know you delayed to give me more time, and I appreciate that.”

  She wiped her eyes again, cursed her mascara that didn’t live up to its promise of being waterproof, and squeezed my hand. “You drive safely. Call or text us as soon as you’re at your parents’ house. And don’t worry about the OB appointment. I’ll call tomorrow and cancel it. For now.”

  Bryce walked over and hoisted Lily up so she could kiss me good-bye. I breathed her in, kissed her all over her face while she giggled. “Come back, okay? I can polish you.”

  “You already have, sweet girl. You’ve polished me here.” I placed my hand on my heart.

  Bryce handed Lily to Mia, kissed my forehead, and said, “Thank you.”

  CHAPTER 25

  My father called to tell me the hospital had admitted my mother a few hours earlier, gave me her room number, and asked what time I’d be in town.

  “If I can get through Lafayette and Baton Rouge without any traffic, I should be there around one o’clock. I’ll go to the house first to freshen up, then I’ll meet you there.”

  “Take your time. Drive safely. We’re all anxious to see you.” Since he emphasized the word all, he was either in my mother’s room or wanted to make sure I understood she was included, or both.

  “I’d rather not stop for lunch. Is there anything at the house, or should I pick up something to go on my way there?”

  “Your grandmother and your mother cooked enough food to feed the entire town and send people home with leftovers. Yesterday they sent me to buy more plastic containers because they cleaned out the cabinet of all the ones we already had. Then our pastor’s wife came over with food and told us we can expect more in the next few days.”

  Bottom line: there was food to be eaten. He asked me to call before I left to meet him in case my mother needed anything. I was bringing myself. Shouldn’t that have been enough?

  I crossed the Sabine River bridge from Texas into Louisiana, where the speed limit was lower, the roads rougher, and home already felt like the garage apartment I’d left behind in Houston.

  It felt odd walking into my parents’ house. Especially alone. Like not seeing a relative for ten years and then having to feel comfortable with each other again. As usual, opening the refrigerator did that for me. Even after I went away to college, the first thing I’d do after kissing my parents hello would be to walk to the refrigerator, bury my head in the coolness, and ask, “What’s good in here?”

  Maybe that’s one of the last frontiers of intimacy outside of sex. You know you’re truly close to someone when, without asking, you can pull open the fridge and stalk what’s in it.

  This time, their refrigerator didn’t look like I remembered it. I opened the door and was mesmerized by the myriad of containers, labeled and dated and stacked in size order. Veggies and fruits were lounging in plastic zipper bags, and bottles of water stood at attention on the top shelf. I checked the outside of the door to make sure I hadn’t missed a chart that listed contents. The only list, attached by a round God Will Always Make a Way magnet, was phone numbers.

  I zapped a small container of lasagna and ate it in between texting Mia and my father to announce I’d arrived safely. I didn’t bother unloading the car, except for my makeup case. I wanted to avoid any comments about looking pale, tired, or grouchy. A speedy dusting of foundation, blush, a swath of lipstick, and I was on my way.

  I called my father as he’d asked, and I picked up the magazines my mother wanted, gum for him, a latte for my grandmother, and treated myself to a cinnamon chai tea latte and a blueberry scone. It wasn’t until I parked the car in the hospital garage that my stomach churned, anticipating the curtain opening on the drama ahead.

  I texted Dad, and he met me in the hospital lobby. His smile stretched across his face, and when he hugged me, it was as if he scooped up the broken parts of me and put them all back together in the safety of his arms. As much as I used to tease him about wearing his cologne, I missed the warm caramel scent of his Old Spice.

  “So happy you’re here, Livvy.” He stood back, his hands on my shoulders, and measured me with his glance. “See you’re . . . um . . .”

  “Growing?” I smiled and placed my hands on my pouch. “Yes. Your grandchild is taking over my body now.”

  “My grandchild,” he whispered. He looked like someone who’d held a lottery ticket for weeks and finally checked the numbers to discover he’d won.

  I didn’t expect the same reaction from my mother, which was fortunate because it didn’t happen. Instead, she thanked me for the magazines, kissed me on the forehead, and commented that I seemed to have put on a few pounds.

  “She is pregnant, Scarlett. My goodness. I know you didn’t forget,’” said my grandmother, who’d already rubbed my belly like I was some sort of good-luck Buddha. “I know she just arrived, but I’m going to steal Olivia to walk with me to the cafeteria and find some sugar for this.” Ruthie held up her Starbucks cup.

  She nodded toward the door, and I gratefully followed.

  “In thirty seconds, I’ve managed to feel resentful and then ashamed because I feel resentful. How am I going to make it through weeks with her?” I stabbed the elevator button. “Are you sure she’s your daughter? Does compassion skip a generation in this family?”

  “If it does, then you’re safe,” Ruthie said. “We need to make sure before the next generation arrives.”

  Instead of getting off on the first floor, my grandmother nudged me out on the third. “Let’s do this instead.” She pointed to her right. “The atrium’s on this floor, and it’s much more pleasant sitting outside. I’ll pick up a sugar packet at the nurses’ station on the way.”

  We walked through glass doors into an open space filled with tables, some circling trees, white and lilac azaleas spilling over tall ceramic planters, and the hum of classical music.

  Ruthie steered me to a table. “Now, tell me all about Lily and your Houston adventures.”

  “If I’d known you were plotting a getaway, I would’ve brought my tea and scone with me.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” She started to stand. “We can go back—”

  “Sit down, Ruthie,” I said. “I’m sure you didn’t want to talk to me alone just to hear about what I’ve been doing.”

  “Of course not. Your mother isn’t the only one who can specialize
in ulterior motives.” She found a sugar packet on the table and emptied it in her coffee, peering over my shoulder as she did. “Now that’s a Dr. McDreamy sitting at that table all alone behind you.”

  I turned for a quick look. “Granted. But he looks like he could be my father.”

  “I didn’t mean for you, honey,” Ruthie said and sipped her coffee. “I’m old, not dead. And dating younger men seems to be quite the rage these days.”

  “Lucky for you, you look ten years younger than you actually are. Guess that’s lucky for me, too, assuming I inherit those genes.”

  “I better tell you why I wanted to talk to you because if we’re gone too much longer your mother’s going to suspect I’m up to something. Which I am. But I got distracted window-shopping.”

  The gist of it was that my grandmother knew my coming back to a place where I didn’t feel wanted was difficult. She asked if I could extend my mother some grace while I was here, because her surgery and her recovery affected all of us.

  “Look, I’m not going to give you that ‘your mother is like an onion, you gotta peel back the layers’ foolishness. Your mother’s more like . . .” She closed her eyes, then opened them and looked up as if an answer would be floating within her sights. “Maybe this is a stretch but, you know, your mother’s like a pineapple. There’s a lot of good waiting inside for people who aren’t afraid to get past that thorny exterior.”

  “I’ll do it for you. As for that pineapple analogy, I’ll just tell myself she’s not ripe yet.”

  “Your mother does miss you. I can see it in her eyes when your dad tells her that he’s talked to you. I don’t think she really expected you to come back. Right now, your mother sees you and her faith as two trains about to have a head-on collision. She can’t figure out a way to save you both. But she will. I know she will.”

  I didn’t want to spoil my grandmother’s fascination with analogies, but I don’t think my family realized that this train had already jumped the tracks.

  CHAPTER 26

  My experiences entertaining Lily paid off in my distracting Dad during the almost three hours my mother spent in surgery.

  We had breakfast in the cafeteria, we walked around the hospital grounds, we watched the news, we talked sports, we watched sports, he checked and rechecked his email and voice messages, we went to the cafeteria again for snacks. At the brink of desperation, I even offered a mani-pedi.

  My grandmother was absorbed in An Absent Mind, an appropriate title for how inattentive she was in helping me occupy my father’s time. But knowing she was reading a novel about Alzheimer’s made me wonder if she was doing personal research.

  During one of my father’s many hall walkings, I was sitting next to Ruthie checking my messages when she leaned sideways in her chair and told me, “All we can do is pray that pain medication works; otherwise, we might all need to ask for some.”

  When the intercom in the surgical waiting room called for the Kavanaugh family to meet the doctor in conference room one, the blood in my father’s face must have rushed to his toes.

  “Why the conference room? Something’s wrong. I’ll bet something’s wrong,” he said, knocking over his stack of magazines, frantic to leave.

  “Relax,” my grandmother said as she patted his back. “That’s what they do here. Not like the old days when bringing family to a room meant bad news.”

  Dr. Epstein, a petite woman whose firm handshake was as disarming as her youth, told us the surgery went well, that my mother was in the recovery room, and we could expect to see her in an hour or so. “She’s on some heavy duty pain meds—”

  “That’s a relief,” said my grandmother, as if Dr. Epstein had announced that a Category 5 hurricane had skirted around us.

  When we all turned and looked at her, Ruthie said, “Oh my. Did I say that out loud?”

  “Yes, you did. But yes, having the drip for pain is a relief,” Dr. Epstein said and smiled as if she’d been in on the joke all along. She told us physical therapy would start sometime the next day, and Mom would be home in four to six days.

  My father thanked her so many times, none of us would have been surprised if he’d picked her up and twirled her around the room.

  Hours later, my mother was settled back in her hospital room, though we were sure she had no idea where she was or who we were. Between IV drips, the compression stockings around her legs that inflated and deflated, the large dressing that wrapped around her, the foam pillow between her legs, and her sallow postsurgery complexion, she deserved to be on pain meds. It hurt just to look at her.

  Dad said he planned to spend the night with her, so I dropped my grandmother off at home before going back to my parents’ house.

  We hadn’t left the parking garage when Granny said, “Okay, it’s just the two of us again. Tell me what’s really going on with you.”

  I stared straight ahead, not even wanting to glance in her direction, because my eyes would tell the truth my words didn’t. “I’m okay. Not great. One day at a time and all that.”

  “Olivia. Cut the crap. It’s me who’s asking. Not your parents. And the fact that you’re doling out that malarkey tells me more than you think.”

  “I know. I know. I guess as long as all these thoughts and feelings are still inside of me, I can pretend they’re not real. Talking about them, it’s like slicing myself open. And then what? I’ll never go back together the same way.”

  At the signal light I turned left and realized I was heading home. Not to my grandmother’s or my parents’ home, but to the one Wyatt and I had shared. Even after all this time away, my heart wanted to take me to what was familiar. Comfortable. Safe. I didn’t think I could bear driving past my old house. I made the next U-turn, but my grandmother didn’t question my correction.

  “I don’t want you to start getting upset while you’re driving. Not a good idea for either one of us. Tell you what. About a block ahead is a supermarket. I’ll dash inside and get us some pints of Ben & Jerry’s. We’ll kick back in our pj’s at your parents’ house with our ice cream, and I’ll spend the night with you.”

  When we were settled later, I told her about the call from Babycakes, then getting the package and stowing it in my car with the other one. About Mia and Bryce telling me to stop searching for what I might never find. About hating Wyatt for being selfish and careless. About wanting and not wanting to know the truth, because I didn’t know which one I could survive.

  “There’s one step I haven’t taken. And, really, it’s all I have left.”

  Until I looked up from scraping the bottom of my ice cream carton and saw Ruthie’s face a study in anxiety, her spoon suspended over her Triple Caramel Chuck, I didn’t realize the meaning she’d attached to what I said.

  “Relax, Ruthie.” I threw my empty Ben & Jerry’s carton away. A shame. The only two men I could count on in my life, and they were doomed to be trashed. “I meant someone I work with recommended a private investigator, one she used.” I found the card in my wallet, its paper edges frayed from my indecision, and handed it to her.

  She glanced at it. “Is this what you want to do? You. Not your family or friends.”

  “I do. But what if he tells me something I don’t want to hear? Maybe never being sure of something will be easier to live with . . .”

  “Do you call what you’re doing right now living? Holding on to this card, the gifts, what you want to believe about Wyatt? Has that worked for you?” She poked her spoon in my direction with every point she made. “You’re more like your mother than you realize.” She shook her head from side to side and then went back to eating her ice cream.

  Those words flew at me like a nest of wasps I had just disturbed. “No. I’m nothing like my mother.” I retrieved the card from the coffee table where she had set it down.

  “Try this on. You’re both afraid to let go. You think you’re in control, protecting yourself. I can hold on to you with fierceness, even in love, but if my hands are around your neck, e
ventually I’ll kill the very person I want to save.” She reached her hand to grasp mine and tugged me to the sofa until I sat next to her.

  “Mia and Bryce had good intentions. They love you, and they don’t want you to be in pain. But they’re wrong thinking that letting go means giving up or that you should accept living in a fog. Letting go means you stop trying to control the universe of outcomes. That you’re willing to accept whatever it gives you. It doesn’t mean you’re a weak, sniveling lump. There’s so much more strength and courage in surrender.”

  CHAPTER 27

  She is not going to be happy when she sees this. Or that.” I pointed to the new additions to my parents’ house.

  “This” being the straight-back chair that replaced my mother’s reclining one next to my father’s. And “that” being the elevated toilet seat my father had just purchased and was now carrying into the bathroom to install. An item we asked the doctor to tell her she had to use was her walker because, as Granny said, “I’m too old to dodge that thing if she throws it across a room.”

  My grandmother was at the hospital with Mom, so my father and I could prepare the house for when she was discharged tomorrow. The house was likely more prepared than we were.

  Laura, hired to help my mother at home, was supposed to meet us there in a few minutes. My grandmother and I convinced my father that Laura did not need a baptism by fire by starting the day Mom came home.

  The past four days had aged my father by ten years. He wouldn’t stay away from the hospital for more than a few hours. He’d go straight to his office, then back to the hospital again. The padded bench he slept on in her room would have been comfortable had he been the size of a ten-year-old child. Even my mother’s nurses fussed at him, threatening to send him home under doctor’s orders. The few times my father let me relieve him were early mornings or after supper, times my mother was barely awake. I wondered if that was part of his plan.

  Had I intended to return to Houston after her surgery, seeing my father consumed with stress would have been enough to convince me to stay. I hadn’t expected him to react with such intense worry and concern, and I shared that with him while we finished setting up the house so my mother could negotiate the way with her walker.