Triangles (41 page)

“I don’t plan to get drunk. And I don’t think you have the right to tell me how to live my life, or how I want to meet my mother. I’m a grown-up, Mikayla.” Her eyes drill into mine.
Maybe you
are. But sometimes lately, I wonder.

To engage or not to engage—the age-old question. I choose the latter, offer a smile.

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“Sometimes I wonder too. Anyway,

being a grown-up isn’t all that much fun.

You might consider that before you

decide to become one at seventeen.” I leave her to consider, go to the bar, and since time is relatively short, order two Bloody Marys. Can’t get drunk off those. Two much vegetable content.

I down one, nibble the green olive, think about my daughter’s observations.

What, exactly, has she seen to make her question my maturity level? I’m sure she has heard Jace and me argue, but we try to keep the ugly words behind a closed door. Is she privy to details?

I finish the second drink, arrive back at the gate minutes before they call our flight. The nervous edge has been blurred, but my speech is sharp when I tell Mikki, “Anytime you want to talk, 811/881

I’m here for you, okay?” Which turns out to be funny, because we don’t say one word to each other all the way to Vegas. I use the silent hour to nap.

ON THE FAR END

We catch a cab to our hotel. I chose one on the strip because Mik has never been here before and I wanted to immerse her in the luscious sleaze factor. Plus, they’re cheap this time of year. Even during the day, the garishness is obvious.

I watch her eyes go wide at the flesh advertisements.
God, Mom. Disgusting.

“Vegas was built on disgusting, m’dear.

But it’s kind of fun too, don’t you think?” The cabbie turns into the Venetian, with its tall pillars and marble walks and canals carved from sand. So much beauty, not quite disguising the ugly underbelly of this city.

We check into our suite—they’re all suites at the Venetian—and neither of us quite believes the impossibility of the room.

God, Mom …
(her favorite phrase)
A sunken living room, and did you
see
the bathroom? Can we stay an extra day?

“Not this trip. But maybe we can come back sometime soon.” I want to add, 813/881

“But not with a baby.” Instead, I say,

“Go relax. I’ll let Sarah know we’re here.”
SARAH AND TIA

My mother and half sister arrive

within the hour. I answer their knock, trembling trepidation. First impression: Sarah Hill is definitely my mother. For while I might have inherited a feature or two from Paul Driscoll, overall I am she, from my body type to the arch of my eyebrows. Second impression: she is every bit as nervous as I am. Tia, on the other hand, wears a halo of suspicion around a face that bears a slight resemblance to my own. “Come in. Please.” My sister walks by wordlessly, but my mother

pauses. Gently places a hand against my cheek.
I was afraid this day might
never come. I’m happy we can know
each other.
Her touch is foreign, her skin calloused and low-desert dry.

I flinch, look for deception in her eyes.

Perhaps I inherited “liar” from her too.

But I see only curiosity, and a hint 815/881

of some indefinable need. “Come on. Your granddaughter can’t wait to meet you.

And we have some catching up to do.”
WE

TALK

LONG

INTO

THE

EVENING

Sharing as much information as we

can squeeze into our time together.

Sarah’s a preschool teacher who

hates network television;

has three Maltese poodles;

is dating a “hot electrician”;

writes poetry and short stories!

Tia is a social worker who

loves sports—televised and live;

goes to church every Sunday;

is married to a prison guard;

is working on a novel!

When I tell them I’m a writer too,

there is much discussion. And then

Mikayla asks a question that stops

all conversation.
Wasn’t it hard
to give a baby up for adoption?

Sarah is direct.
Not at first. No one
encouraged me to keep her, and I
just couldn’t see doing it on my own.

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Mikayla isn’t finished.
You said
not at first. What about later?

Later I regretted my decision.

She turns to me.
I’m sorry I wasn’t
stronger.
Her words are an echo.

Close. Distant. Hollow.

WORDS ARE AN ECHO

A random repetition.

Laughter. Rhetoric.

A clash of cymbals

in empty sky, tambourines

against cloud pillows.

Words are an echo,

and when the wind tires,

they will crash,

empty syllables,

on sharp-toothed cliffs below.

Words are a breeze, weightless

as a hint of jasmine

whispered to the night.

Formless. Purposeless.

Trivial, except for the shiver

they leave in their wake.

Words are a breeze, and when

August descends, brazen,

they will

surrender

to summer’s lust.

Words are a shadow, elusive,

a scatter of promises

miring truth in abstraction.

Illusion. Theory.

The vastness contained in four

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inches between two people

on one couch.

Words are a shadow,

a source of light,

shuttered.

Marissa

THE HOUSE IS SHUTTERED

And not just the windows.

Everyone here has shuttered

our fear and sad uncertainty

behind a curtain of smiles.

We smile at each other. At

Shelby, whose light withdraws

ever deeper into the husk

of her humanity. I can’t stop

her retreat. No one can. Death

hovers at the foot of her bed.

Waiting. Inviting. And I know

it is only her overriding love

for us that keeps her here.

If I were brave, I’d tell her

to let go. Instead, I read her

stories. And Christian sings

her songs. And Mom repeats

nursery rhymes. Volleys

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of words so she knows

she is not alone as her heart

hiccups toward its last beat.

FRIENDS KEEP STOPPING BY

I wanted them to know so

they would have the chance

to tell Shelby they love her too.

So she might understand, in some

small way, her impact on this world.

Claire came with her baby.

Once, the sight of that bubbly,

perfect child might have sent

waves of envy washing over

me. Instead, she was a bolt

of life against the dark backdrop

of descending night. Appreciated.

Doug Schneider brought Joey,

who doesn’t understand that

Shelby will never again take

swim therapy with him. He told

her all about his new doctor

and his new school and I swear

his words broke through

her semi-conscious shell and

she smiled. At least a little smile.

Christian didn’t so much as blink

when Drew dropped in, stuffed

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Barney in hand. He cradled the gift in the crook of Shelby’s arm, shooed me from the room, tuned in to the real Barney, and told me to take a bath.

I settled for a quick shower.

Perhaps the biggest surprise,

visitorwise, was Andrea’s ex,

Steve. His fiancée, Cassandra,

was on his arm, and though

to look at her is to think “pole

dancer,” she marched right into

Shelby’s room and didn’t flinch

at the sight of her. In fact,

she told her all about her day,

shopping for an engagement ring,

which she proudly showed her.

Steve, on the other hand, stayed

well back from the bed, as if

worried death might be contagious.

But he did come, and before

he left, he told Shelby,
Be strong.

I hear it’s pretty great where

you’re going. Catch you on

the other side. There were tears
in his eyes. And in mine too.

Andrea wasn’t here when Steve

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showed up, a lucky coincidence.

She has spent more time here

than necessary, not that I don’t

appreciate it. Within our mostly

silent waiting, we have somehow

grown closer, words unnecessary

to the synergetic exchange of love.

AS FOR MY SON

I want him to go to school.

Hang out with his friends.

Spend time with Alex, who

has been my ally in that.

I half expected Christian

to argue, but he seems to

understand the need for Shane

to escape fate’s steady approach.

Death is not a dinner table

topic. Shane has only talked

about it with me once.
Are they
sure? What if they’re wrong?

When I told him every sign

pointed to the proximity of

her demise, his resilient veneer

shattered, and he was a small

child again.
No! It’s not fair!

Why did God let her live

at all, if he was only going

to give her this little time?

“I can’t speak for God,” I said.

“But I have thought long and

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hard about this. Shelby has given

us a glimpse of human perfection,

because inside that flawed

body is a spirit untouched

by greed or artifice or hatred.

Shelby is the essence of love.

And so maybe the reason for

her short time here is to show

us how we might love better.”

I didn’t realize then that Christian had been at the door listening.

Later he found me out on the deck,

watching the city light, window by

window, burst by colorful burst.

He circled his arm around my

shoulder, and I didn’t push it

away.
I heard what you told Shane.

It resonated because I have asked
myself the same question before
and never found that answer.

Thank you for giving it to me.

I spent the last hour watching

Shelby sleep, thinking about

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the too-few hours I gave her, and
what she managed to give back

to me. If I’d have thought …

Had I known … Oh, God, Marissa,
I am so sorry about everything …

Every motherfucking thing. His chest
heaved then, and I turned into him

and the next thing I knew, we

were kissing. Tenderly at first

and then with passion born of

the need to feel something not sad.

Something representative of living.

Some little semblance of love left

breathing in the ruins. And in that kiss, I found exactly that. What I

thought was a corpse, lifting

a fog against the mirror placed

above its lips. I don’t know if

it has a future, but for now I need to nurture any remaining thread

of life, however frail. As angels call Shelby ever closer home, I sleep

only when will fails me, and only

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by her side. Too soon, I’ll return

to my bed, and when I do, I’ll invite my husband back beneath the quilts.

At least, long enough for answers.

IT IS JUST PAST DAWN

When she opens her eyes

to see the sunrise, framed

by frothy pink curtains,

opened to let the new day in.

Fittingly, it is purple—violet

and crimson, against the creep

of storm clouds. She has slept

more than not, so her barely

audible
Pri-ee surprises me—

a small surprise of great magnitude.

“Yes, Shelster. Very pretty.”

Christian is right here next

to me, so when Shelby says,

See, and tries to lift her hand,
he looks where her eyes

are pointed. Shakes his head,

as if to rid it of cobwebs. Tenses

suddenly. Hisses,
Can you see her?

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I glance around the room.

There is no one but the three

of us. “See who, Christian?”

He shakes his head again. Blinks.

Nothing. No one. I thought …