"Sure."
ELEVEN
Mae watched Andy follow Natalie down the long, narrow driveway out to the road, where they turned north and disappeared from view. How long has she been back? Mae wondered.
Her mind reeled with memories. All this talk, all this conjuring of the past made her dizzy, made her tired. Does the past ever go away?
Apparently not.
What a misnomer the word past is, she thought. Because it never really is past. It’s always there, hiding in the shadows, hiding behind a carefully produced smile, hiding in an old photograph.
What does Natalie want with him? What is she telling him? Why didn’t I stop him?
Mae laughed out loud. Right, she thought. What could I have done? Say, ‘No, Andy - please don’t go?’ He would have thought I was crazy. Besides, he’s a big boy.
But he’s Edna’s son, a voice in the back of her mind whispered.
Yes, he is, she thought. Edna’s son.
Mae’s thoughts turned again to Evelyn. Turned again to her father, her mother. Jesus, she thought. The exhaustion swept over her. She walked back to the living room, sat down at the piano once again and stared at the keys, remembering the spots of blood that had once been there. Her mother’s blood.
Mother.
She remembered the first time she went to visit her. The drive down to the state hospital. Edna didn’t come along. She had locked herself in her room, refusing to go. But Evelyn sat next to her father in the 56 Chevrolet, while Mae sat in back. The ride took less than an hour. They pulled up to the state hospital and parked in the shade of maple trees. The building’s facade looked big and fathomless, like the face of an old man.
“Do we have to go in there?” Evelyn asked.
“Of course,” Father said. “You want to see your mother, don’t you?”
Evelyn nodded, unsure of herself. She pointed. “She’s in there?”
Mae leaned back against the car, kept a hand on it to steady herself, to stay connected in some small way to home.
“Come on,” Father said, taking Evelyn’s hand. Mae followed a short distance behind, looking from side and side and up into the canopies of the maple trees. Behind them was a large corn field, the stalks bright green, the ears of corn ready for picking. The sky was hazy with humidity, but it felt good to get out into the open air, after having been stuck in the car. There was only one lone cloud that Mae could see, a thin feathery strand of white.
When Father opened the hospital door, the strong smell of ammonia hit them, with a hint of lemon. Not fresh lemon, but lemon that smelled dangerous and suffocating. They walked to the receiving desk over brutal white tile.
“We’re here to visit my mom,” Evelyn told the nurse behind the desk.
“And who would that be?” she asked without looking up from her clipboard. She was dressed in stiff, sterile whites, and Mae wondered for a moment if her hat was stapled to her head.
“Camille Stone,” Father said.
The nurse flipped back a few pages. There were circles drawn in pencil on the edges of the paper. “Room 345,” she said. “Visiting hours end shortly.”
“We won’t be long.”
They walked down the hall and up two flights of stairs. The echo of their shoes as they walked up the steps was disquieting.
When Father knocked on door 345 there was no answer. He pushed the door open quietly and peered in. Mae looked past her father and saw some old thing laying in bed. She thought briefly that the nurse had given them the wrong room number, but Charles walked over to the pale, thin creature strapped to the bed with restraints of wide, white canvas, and put his hand on her forehead. Camille opened her eyes.
“Mae,” Camille said, not looking at her husband. She smiled and struggled for a moment to reach out to her daughter before realizing she was confined. “Touch my hand,” she said. Mae walked over cautiously and gently took hold of her mother’s thumb. Camille squinted. “It’s so good to see you,” she
ELEVEN
Mae watched Andy follow Natalie down the long, narrow driveway out to the road, where they turned north and disappeared from view. How long has she been back? Mae wondered.
Her mind reeled with memories. All this talk, all this conjuring of the past made her dizzy, made her tired. Does the past ever go away?
Apparently not.
What a misnomer the word past is, she thought. Because it never really is past. It’s always there, hiding in the shadows, hiding behind a carefully produced smile, hiding in an old photograph.
What does Natalie want with him? What is she telling him? Why didn’t I stop him?
Mae laughed out loud. Right, she thought. What could I have done? Say, ‘No, Andy - please don’t go?’ He would have thought I was crazy. Besides, he’s a big boy.
But he’s Edna’s son, a voice in the back of her mind whispered.
Yes, he is, she thought. Edna’s son.
Mae’s thoughts turned again to Evelyn. Turned again to her father, her mother. Jesus, she thought. The exhaustion swept over her. She walked back to the living room, sat down at the piano once again and stared at the keys, remembering the spots of blood that had once been there. Her mother’s blood.
Mother.
She remembered the first time she went to visit her. The drive down to the state hospital. Edna didn’t come along. She had locked herself in her room, refusing to go. But Evelyn sat next to her father in the 56 Chevrolet, while Mae sat in back. The ride took less than an hour. They pulled up to the state hospital and parked in the shade of maple trees. The building’s facade looked big and fathomless, like the face of an old man.
“Do we have to go in there?” Evelyn asked.
“Of course,” Father said. “You want to see your mother, don’t you?”
Evelyn nodded, unsure of herself. She pointed. “She’s in there?”
Mae leaned back against the car, kept a hand on it to steady herself, to stay connected in some small way to home.
“Come on,” Father said, taking Evelyn’s hand. Mae followed a short distance behind, looking from side and side and up into the canopies of the maple trees. Behind them was a large corn field, the stalks bright green, the ears of corn ready for picking. The sky was hazy with humidity, but it felt good to get out into the open air, after having been stuck in the car. There was only one lone cloud that Mae could see, a thin feathery strand of white.
When Father opened the hospital door, the strong smell of ammonia hit them, with a hint of lemon. Not fresh lemon, but lemon that smelled dangerous and suffocating. They walked to the receiving desk over brutal white tile.
“We’re here to visit my mom,” Evelyn told the nurse behind the desk.
“And who would that be?” she asked without looking up from her clipboard. She was dressed in stiff, sterile whites, and Mae wondered for a moment if her hat was stapled to her head.
“Camille Stone,” Father said.
The nurse flipped back a few pages. There were circles drawn in pencil on the edges of the paper. “Room 345,” she said. “Visiting hours end shortly.”
“We won’t be long.”
They walked down the hall and up two flights of stairs. The echo of their shoes as they walked up the steps was disquieting.
When Father knocked on door 345 there was no answer. He pushed the door open quietly and peered in. Mae looked past her father and saw some old thing laying in bed. She thought briefly that the nurse had given them the wrong room number, but Charles walked over to the pale, thin creature strapped to the bed with restraints of wide, white canvas, and put his hand on her forehead. Camille opened her eyes.
“Mae,” Camille said, not looking at her husband. She smiled and struggled for a moment to reach out to her daughter before realizing she was confined. “Touch my hand,” she said. Mae walked over cautiously and gently took hold of her mother’s thumb. Camille squinted. “It’s so good to see you,” she
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