Just Like Other Daughters (4 page)

He spots Chloe and starts to jump up and down and clap. All one hundred and ninety pounds of him. “Ko-ey!” he cries.

Chloe runs up the ramp, pushing past me, her canvas bag from the public library swinging on her chubby arm.

It’s not hard to guess who this is.

Chloe throws herself into his arms and he hugs her, lifting her tiny sneakered feet off the ground.

It’s on my tongue to remind her that we don’t hug strangers, but
obviously
this isn’t a stranger.

“N . . . Knock, n . . . knock,” the young man says.

Chloe looks at me. “You’re supposed to say ‘who’s there?’ ” She looks at him. “Who’s there?” she hollers.

“B . . . banana.”

Again she turns to me. “You say ‘banana, who?’ ” She looks up at him. “Banana, who?”

Thomas bursts out laughing and then Chloe laughs.

No punch line? I smile. “Are you Thomas?” I ask. “I’m Chloe’s mom.”

“K . . . koey’s mom,” he repeats. He speaks fairly clearly, despite his stutter, in a hoarse voice. He’s a nice-looking young man, but his eyes are too close together and his mouth hangs open. There’s a little drool in one corner of his mouth.

When Chloe was growing up, I was very diligent about teaching her how to keep her mouth closed. I knew my daughter would always look different from the other girls her age, but I felt there were certain ways she could fit in better socially. I taught her no burping or farting in public . . . and no drooling.

Thomas still has his big hands around my Chloe, though he’s at least put her down. She’s resting her cheek on his plaid flannel shirt. The look on her face startles me. She looks so . . . so . . . enamored.

“Alicia.” Minnie appears in the doorway and smiles. “Good to see you.” She looks at my daughter in this man’s arms. “Chloe, we’ve been waiting for you. We’re starting art class in the sunroom.” Minnie looks back at me.

She’s as tall as I am, a slender woman whose age I couldn’t guess, but she has to be every bit of seventy. She wears her gray hair long, pulled back in a ponytail. Most days, she’s in a chambray shirt and jeans. She reminds me of Jane Goodall, who came to speak at the college the previous year about her Roots & Shoots Foundation.

“Would you like to come in?” Minnie asks me. “See what we’re up to today?”

I hold up my hand. “Thanks, but I can’t. I have office hours shortly.” I give a little laugh. I’d been so eager to see Thomas and now that he’s standing in front of me, I just want to get in my car and go.

Minnie must see the discomfort on my face because she gives Thomas a tap on the arm. “Enough with the hugs, you two. Chloe, hang up your coat and put your bag in your cubby. Then show Thomas where to find the smocks we use when we paint.”

I like the way Minnie talks to my daughter. She keeps her requests short and to the point, but she speaks to her as if she’s an adult and not a child. It’s obvious she respects Chloe. And cares for her. Chloe isn’t always treated with respect. Or even common courtesy. Especially not in public. She looks so . . .
damaged
that many people make certain assumptions. Either they talk loudly to her, as if she’s deaf, or they totally ignore her. Minnie never ignores Chloe.

Thomas and Chloe go into the house. Chloe doesn’t even say good-bye to me.

Minnie smiles at me again. Her hand is on the door. She’s telling me, without saying, “In or Out.”

I take a step back. “Thomas is new?”

“He’s been coming a few weeks. His mother wanted him to ease into our program. First just Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, but this week, we’re increasing his hours. He and Chloe hit it off right away yesterday. As you can see,” she adds, glancing over her shoulder then back at me.

“I can see.” I look up at her from where I stand on the sidewalk. I feel like I need to say something else, but I don’t know what. I suddenly have this overwhelming feeling that I need to protect my daughter. From what? Watercolor painting? This man/boy? This urge to run inside, grab Chloe’s hand, and take her home is irrational. It’s silly. I force a smile. “Well, have a good day. See you this afternoon.”

“You have a good day, too,” Minnie calls cheerfully.

She closes the door, and I walk slowly back to the car. I unlock it and get in. I’m upset and I don’t know why. Chloe wants so badly to have friends. To have a life. Why am I not happier for her?

I mean, I
am
happy for her, but . . . somehow my feelings are hurt. And something else, a feeling I can’t quite define. Again, as if life is changing and I don’t see it, I don’t hear it, I don’t smell it. But I feel it in my bones. In my gut. In my heart.

I think about Thomas’s arms around Chloe. There wasn’t really anything inappropriate about his embrace, other than that he hasn’t known her twenty-four hours yet, but . . .

I push the thought aside. It’s beyond the realm of possibility.

I start the engine, but I don’t pull away from the curb. I rest my hands on the steering wheel. What kind of mother am I that I’m not thrilled my daughter has a new friend?

My cell rings and I pick it up from the console. The caller ID says DAVID. “Hello?”

“Alicia . . . hi, it’s um, David.”

I smile. “David, hi.”

“Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“No,” I say, checking the time on the dash. “I just dropped my daughter off and I’m on my way to work. I have office hours, then two classes, back to back. Women Writers and a Byron Seminar.” I’m tickled he called. Is it because I really like him or is it just that it feels good to have someone interested in me?

“I was wondering . . . the 1939
Wuthering Heights
is playing Friday night at the old cinema downtown. Would you . . . like to go? I mean . . . if you can find someone to stay with your daughter. Unless . . . you think she’d like to come?”

I laugh and turn up the heat in the car. There’s snow in the forecast. “Chloe’s strictly a Disney girl. But I’d love to, if my girlfriend can keep Chloe. Jin’s always bugging me to go out and do something, so as long as she doesn’t have plans, I’m sure it’ll be fine.” I feel like I’m rambling. “So that’s a yes. Probably.”

“Great,” David says, sounding a little less awkward.

Did he think I was going to say no? I smile at the thought that I could make anyone nervous like this. “So how about if I call you tomorrow?” I turn down the blower on the heater. “And let you know.”

“Seven o’clock. That’s what time the show is,” David says. “We could go out for something to eat before . . . or after. Whatever you’d like.”

I’m still smiling when I disconnect.

 

I’m glad when Mom leaves. I’m glad she doesn’t come in Miss Minnie’s. Miss Minnie’s is my college. I went to high school. Then you go to college. But Minnie’s isn’t Mom’s college. She goes to her own college.

I always liked my college, but now I like it better. I like it better because Thomas is here.

I look at Thomas and he smiles at me. His smile is so big that I can see his teeth.

I sit next to Thomas at the big table and wait for Miss Minnie to give me a paintbrush. Usually Ann sits next to me, but today I tell her no. Today I tell her not to sit in Thomas’s chair. This is Thomas’s chair next to me now. Not hers.

Ann was nice and didn’t cry when I told her to sit in a different chair. I’m glad she didn’t cry. Sometimes I want to cry when I can’t sit in my blue chair.

Ann was my best friend but now she isn’t. Now Thomas is my best friend.

Miss Minnie gives me a paintbrush. She gives Thomas one, too. And Ann and JJ and Melody. She doesn’t give Abraham a brush because he sits in a wheelchair and his hands don’t work good. Sometimes I let him use my hands, but not today. Today I want to paint a picture for Thomas. Usually I give my pictures to Mom, but this one will be for Thomas.

I always paint clouds. Blue. Mom says clouds are white but I like them blue. I stick my brush in the blue paint.

“You like blue clouds, Thomas?” I ask.

He looks at me and his mouth smiles and his eyes smile at me.

I want to paint blue clouds every day so Thomas will smile at me every day.

 

I walk into the house that evening, Chloe in tow, and see water dripping down through the ceiling onto the hardwood floor of the foyer. “Jeez,” I groan.

I’m already in a bad mood. I had a student stay after class to argue over a grade. It happens all the time, but this little chit practically threatened me with responsibility for her impending suicide if I didn’t give her a B+ on her C paper about nature and society in Byron’s “Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage.”

Then I picked up Chloe and she talked nonstop about Thomas all the way home. He wants her to go bowling with his church group. It was all she could talk about. Bowling on
Wednesday
. With Chloe, anything that’s going to take place in the future is on Wednesday. She can recite the days of the week, in order, and she can pick out a numbered day on a calendar, but she doesn’t really understand the calendar.

Then, at the grocery store, Chloe tried to carry a glass container of orange juice and dropped and broke it. Then she cried and made a scene. It’s amazing how far a quart of orange juice can go.

As I pull off my scarf and hang it on the coatrack, I look up at the spreading stain. I just painted the ceiling in the fall. After another leak in the pipes.

“Mom, it’s dripping. Mom,” Chloe says, standing in the puddle of water in the center of the foyer. She looks up and a big drop of water hits her in the forehead. She bats at her face but doesn’t move. “Mom.”

I grab her arm and pull her back. “Get out of the water, Chloe.”

“It’s wet,” she says heavily. “Wet.” She smiles. “Rain in the house.”

“It’s a leak. It doesn’t rain in the house.” I sigh and add my coat to the coatrack. “Can you put the groceries away?” I point to the cloth bags we set down inside the door. “I’ll call the plumber.” I start for the staircase to double-check that the leak is coming from a broken pipe rather than a bathtub overflow, which Chloe has done before. But I don’t hear any water running, so I’m not hopeful.

“Tacos,” Chloe says.

“Yup. We’re making tacos. I’ll show you how to brown the meat. You can make the tacos.” I head up the stairs. “Take off your coat. Take the groceries into the kitchen and start putting them away.”

A minute later I’m headed back down the steps. No bathtub overflow. I can’t see any water, which means it’s probably the bathroom pipes in the wall or floor again. Chloe is standing in the foyer, coat still on, groceries still on the floor. And she’s
still
looking up at the water dripping from the ceiling.

“For heaven’s sake, Chloe.” I drop two towels in the puddle of water. “I thought you wanted tacos.” I rest my hands on my hips, knowing impatience gets me nowhere with my daughter. “If you want tacos for dinner, you have to get out of your coat. Take the groceries in the kitchen. Put them away.” I point at her, at the groceries on the floor of the foyer, and then in the direction of the kitchen.

She shuffles backward and begins to struggle out of her coat. “I want to go.”

“Go where?” I ask. I grab one of the bags of groceries but make myself leave the other for Chloe. “I’m going to call the plumber.”

“Bowling. I want to go bowling.”

“You don’t even like bowling.” I head for the kitchen.

“I like bowling with Thomas,” she says firmly.

“We’ll see, Chloe. I’d have to get the details from Thomas’s mother.” Chloe’s not good on details or following up. I don’t see this whole bowling adventure with Thomas ever happening because Chloe won’t be able to get the necessary information and I’m just not that interested.

I flip the light on in the kitchen and set the grocery bag on the counter. A can of black beans rolls out, off the counter, hits the hardwood floor, and rolls under the table. I leave it, going to the phone. If Chloe really wants to go bowling, I wonder if I should look into it. I wonder if I’m letting my feelings against organized religion keep Chloe from doing things she’d like to do. The bowling trips are, apparently, sponsored by Thomas’s church. There are several churches in town that sponsor activities for mentally handicapped adults. Is my anger with organized religion getting in the way of my daughter’s happiness?

Truth be told, I’m not so much angry with
religion
as I am with
God
. I just never got over Him making Chloe the way she is. I never quite bought the whole “she’s a special gift from God” thing that people tried to tell me when she was born. Would any mother, given the choice, choose a handicapped child over a healthy, normal-brain-functioning child? I know. Totally politically incorrect. But it’s not about me. It’s not that I care how hard this is for me. It’s about Chloe and the way she has to struggle to understand the simplest task. How frustrated she becomes with her own limits.

Jin says it’s a karmic thing. That Chloe’s soul has been sent to earth in her body, with her limited mind, to teach her lessons she’ll be able to use in her next life. That idea actually appeals to me. Am I a closet Buddhist and I just don’t know it? I wonder if there’s a sangha that would take Chloe bowling.

I was born a Quaker. As a child, I grew up in a Quaker congregation. I drifted away from my Quaker roots in college and never found my way back. Never wanted to, though lately, I’ve found myself thinking about those days. About the peaceful silence of Meeting and how it made me feel.

I pick up the cordless phone and scroll through the saved numbers. My plumber’s on speed dial. I hear Chloe knock over the coatrack. It happens sometimes. “You okay?” I call. I can’t find the number.

I hear Chloe upright the coatrack. “Okay,” she calls. She’s grumpy. Probably hungry. Tired. I know how she feels. I finally find the plumber’s number and hit the CALL button.