Irises (29 page)

 

T
hat same morning, Kate couldn't sleep, so she left the house before Mary woke up. She wrote a note to let Mary know she had gone to school early. She had two hours before her first class, so she decided to walk the three miles to school.

Kate walked to the football field and sat on the top rung of the aluminum bleachers, leaning back against the railing. She took out the book that she needed to read for her English class —
Madame Bovary
by Gustave Flaubert. It was about a woman who, bored with married life, decides to be unfaithful to her husband. She read a few pages and then stopped. When she first started the novel, she had empathized with Madame Bovary: Her domestic life was oppressive. But today she felt annoyed with her. There was something selfish and self-indulgent about the character that she had never seen before. Kate flipped to the end of the book to see how it would end. That and what she had already read would be enough to answer any essay question that might come up in an exam.

She closed her eyes and massaged her temples. Even as she felt more certain about what they should do for her mother, another stream of memories, thoughts, and images had kept her up all night. There was Mary, her mother, the insurance, Aunt Julia. And there was Andy. A voice inside told her that what he said in the pulpit and his ambition were at odds, contradictory. But she couldn't exactly say how. He had spoken about truth, and he had been truthful in confessing his ambition to her. But accepting and confessing her own ambition would not set her free to pursue it. Her ambition had been good. It was just that there were goods more important than her ambition.
Jesus's love is sacrifice
,
he had also said.

Students began to arrive around seven. At seven thirty she walked to the parking lot. Classes started at eight, and though Bonnie usually arrived about five minutes before class started, Kate wanted to be there just in case she happened to arrive early. Simon also had an eight o'clock class. What would she say to him if she saw him? Did she have any regrets about the breakup? With Simon she hadn't felt what she thought was love. With Andy she had felt something, but it wasn't what she anticipated love to feel like. She anticipated love to be both wanting and safety, Andy and Simon rolled into one, but in Andy she had found only Andy.

“Bonnie!” she yelled as soon as she saw Bonnie step out of her car. Bonnie saw her but continued walking. Kate hurried to catch up to her. “Bonnie, what's the matter?”

“I have to finish my homework,” Bonnie said brusquely.

“Stop.” Kate grabbed her arm, but Bonnie shook her loose. “What's wrong?”

“What's wrong? You don't know what's wrong?”

“No.”

Bonnie put her backpack on the ground and turned to face her. She spoke with the anger of a bad actor. “You disappear God knows where and you don't even call. You don't care if people are worried about you. You break up with Simon and don't even tell me. Best friends don't do that, Kate.”

“I'm sorry, Bonnie. I couldn't call you, honestly. There's so much going on in my life right now, I wouldn't even know where to begin.”

“You know what? I don't care. What you did to Simon is so unfair I can't even believe it. And I'm not talking about where or who you spent the night with. You don't have that many
girl
fri
ends that you can spend the night with, Kate.”

“After Simon and I broke up, I found out that we weren't getting any insurance money. I called Stephanie, you know, she works with me, and I went to her house. I stayed over with her.” Kate spoke calmly, her eyes fixed on a silver gum wrapper balled up at her feet.

Bonnie laughed. “You actually expect me to believe that? Don't you think Simon already asked Stephanie? And guess what Stephanie said. God, I don't care what you do. You can literally do whatever. You're a mean person, Kate. You don't care about Simon and never did, obviously. And I was never your true friend because you never trusted me.”

“That's not true. I told you about Stanford. I didn't tell anyone else.”

“Well, big doo-dah! When have you ever told me how you
felt
?
When have you ever shared with me? You think you're so above us poor peons with your grades and fancy colleges and all. People like me and Simon are nobody to you. You needed a boyfriend and you needed a girl friend for I don't know what, so you wouldn't be called a geek, I don't know.”

“That's not true,” Kate objected weakly.

“Whatever. I don't have time for this. Shit! I have exactly fifteen minutes to finish a paper.” She picked up her backpack and strutted away.

Kate stood motionless until she saw Bonnie enter the school.
What was that all about?
Bonnie's reaction did not see
m proporti
onate to
— what? What had she done to Bonnie? Bonnie was mad because of the way she treated Simon. But that showed more loyalty to Simon than to her.

She forced herself to slip her backpack on her shoulder and then began to walk. It felt as if the backpack weighed a thousand pounds. Maybe what bothered Bonnie was not the way Kate had treated Simon, but the way she had treated Bonnie all along. She hadn't come to Bonnie this morning to share how she was feeling with her best friend. She had come to get a ride from Bonnie, to use her. Bonnie was right. When had she ever shared her feelings with her, or with anyone, for that matter? And how ashamed she felt that she had lied again about where she spent the night. She walked quickly out of the parking lot. She didn't want to run into Simon.

It took her two buses to get to the law offices of Ernesto Ortega. He was the only lawyer she knew. He had come to the Red Sombrero a year before to talk with Simon's father and had given her his card. “Call me if you ever need anything,” he told her. He seemed professional and he didn't flirt like all the other men who gave her cards, which she threw in the garbage as soon as they left. She had kept his card, and now she wondered what had made her think back then that someday she would need a lawyer.

She took the elevator to the third floor of his building and found his office at the end of the hall. There was a black plaque with his name in golden letters next to the door. When she opened the door, she saw an elegant-looking woman behind a large cherrywood table that served as a desk. The only items on the desk were the flat-screen monitor of a computer and a cream-colored telephone. Kate stepped in timidly and closed the door behind her. She felt out of place in the lush space with its burgundy carpet and leather chairs.

“Can I help you?” the woman behind the desk asked, looking up slowly from the screen. She sounded annoyed by the interruption.

Kate moved closer to the desk. She wished she'd left the backpack someplace. It made her look like a schoolgirl. “I came to see Mr. Ortega,” she said.

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No.” There was nothing apologetic in Kate's voice. She stood firm and unwavering.

“Your name, please.”

“Kate Romero.”

The woman began to type on a keyboard hidden beneath the desktop. “The purpose of your visit?” She didn't take her eyes from the computer.

“It's personal,” Kate responded. She was almost grateful for the woman's rudeness. It was stirring up her gumption.

“Just a second,” the woman said. She rose from her chair and disappeared through the door behind her desk.

“Have a seat,” she ordered when she came out. “Mr. Ortega will try to squeeze you in after a conference call.”

Kate sank into the soft leather of the sofa. Six magazines were carefully fanned across the coffee table in front of her, and she was tempted to take one, but she decided instead to
gather her thoughts and think about what she was going to say.
She rested for a few moments in the conviction that she was not there to take any action or make any decision. She would get the information she needed and then act when it was best for Mary.

She expected the wait to be hours, but ten minutes after she sat down, the door opened and Mr. Ortega emerged. He wore a blue long-sleeved shirt with a white collar and gold cuff links the size of quarters. Kate immediately thought that she could not afford someone like him.

He squinted at her, trying to remember who she was. Then his face lit up. “The Red Sombrero.”

Kate stood up, nodded, and shook his outstretched hand. “Come in, come in,” he said. He was as friendly and welcoming as the receptionist had been rude and inhospitable. She was tempted to stick her tongue out at her as they passed h
er desk
.

Kate sat down in a red leather chair in front of a spotless glass desk. Mr. Ortega sat down in a matching chair, except his had a high back. He reclined in it now, smiling at her, and folded his hands across his chest. “What brings you here?” His voice was inviting.

She started from the beginning: the accident, her mother's condition, Mary, her father's death, Aunt Julia, the money the church was giving them, the need to move out of their house, the lack of insurance. She even told him about Stanford. The only part she left out was Andy, the push that set her moving toward where she was.

After she finished speaking, she waited for him to ask again why she was there —
So what do you want from me?
or something to that effect. She tried to swallow, but there was no saliva. She was all dried up. He walked over to a credenza, filled a glass with water from a silver pitcher, and handed it to her. She drank. He leaned on the edge of the desk.

“So tell me, how can I help you?”

It's what's best for Mary
,
so she can see the light, so her own light will shine.
Those were the words she had been repeating to herself. “I wanted to find out what steps would need to be taken in order to end my mother's life support.”

There was no expression on his face. He walked around the desk and sat on his chair. “You've given this a lot of thought.”

“Yes, but right now I'm only looking for information.”

“You've talked about this with someone else, someone you trust?”

“The minister at my church,” she said. Was that a lie? She trusted him, didn't she?

“And doctors have determined that her condition is permanent.”

“It's been over two years. Even before my father brought her home, the doctors told him that taking her off life support was considered ethical. I remember how angry he got at them. I think that's why he wanted her home. He was convinced they would let her die in the hospital or a nursing home, sin
ce th
ey already thought it was okay for her to die.”

“You disagree with your father.”

She wasn't sure that was a question. “There were MRIs and CAT scans done on her brain. There's no evidence of consciousness. The only parts of her brain that work are the parts that control the involuntary impulses. I've read tons of studies on the persistent vegetative state. After one year, it is extremely rare for a person to regain consciousness. After two years, I guess you can say it's almost impossible.”

She could feel him studying her. Then he said, “What you are considering will be very emotional, very stressful. I want to make sure you've thought this through. I'm not judging you here, I just want to make sure you're ready. It's important that you can articulate the reasons behind your decision, if that's the way you decide to go. So why do you think this is the right thing to do?”

“My sister
—”

“Let's start with you.”

She deliberated for a few moments. It was so difficult to explain, especially to a stranger. She hoped she would be understood. “My father was a minister, as I mentioned, and we grew up studying the Bible. One of my favorite passages is where Jesus says that He has come to bring life to us and bring it abundantly. I think Mama would agree with Jesus's message. She was so full of life. She got up in the morning happy, ready for what the day would bring. She'd turn on the radio in the kitchen first thing as she went about making breakfast. There would always be this happy Mexican music playing. She'd keep the music on until Papa came in and then she turned it off. But as soon as he got up from the table, she'd turn the radio on again, and all day long, she would sing as she made the beds and did all the chores around the house. If she wasn't singing, she'd be humming.”

She looked at him to see if he was getting impatient with her explanation, but he was not.

“I know that if Mama could speak, she would ask us to not let her live the way she's living. She wouldn't think it was a life worth living. I think Mama would like me to go to Stanford. I know she would. And my sister, Mary, has this wonderful gift for painting. For her to live life abundantly means to paint. But she can't paint like she's able to
— she can't express her gift fully while Mama is in the state she's in. Mary needs to be able to pursue her dream. She can't do it and take care of Mama at the same time.” Kate stopped suddenly. She felt a peace she hadn't felt in a long time.