The Vigil Read online

  “I’m glad things were good for you with Annie. I always liked her. I’m not sure why we quit being friends. We were inseparable until tenth grade.” Although, a twitch of sadness and jealousy stabbed, I was happy for him. It had been my choice that we weren’t together, and I’d let my friendship with Annie wither. “Tell me more about Steven.”

  Beau’s smile stretched the width of his face and his eyes twinkled. His proud papa persona shone through as he told me about his son’s extraordinary talent for baseball. “I try to keep things as normal as possible for him and try to spend time with Annie, but between work, trying to attend Steven’s games, and the drive to Lafayette, I’m spread thin. I do feel blessed to have a few friends who help. While life hasn’t been quite as I expected, things could be far worse.”

  I nodded. “Yeah, I get caught up in my little pity parties and then realize things are not so bad. Hey, Beau if you need someone to sit with Annie, maybe I can help on my days off. Do you think she’d be upset if I sat with her?”

  Beau’s lips curled into a smile, and his eyes creased at the corners. “Cheryl, that’s the nicest offer I’ve had in a long time. At first, people came often, but as time went by, she kinda got forgotten. I believe she would love your company. She liked you, too, and never let our past bother her. That’s the kind lady Annie was.”

  I jotted down my schedule on the back of one of the junk mail envelopes I pulled from my pocket. “Here’s my schedule. When is a good time for me to drop by?”

  He glanced at the scribbles. “Saturdays are good. That’s when Steven has baseball games. I always feel torn on those days.”

  “It’s settled. I’ll visit her on Saturday afternoons.”

  He swallowed. “This means a lot to me, and I’m sure to Annie.”

  I became lost in his voice and enthusiasm. By eleven o’clock, I’d traveled back to a time when things were much simpler, although, I hadn’t believed that back then. The uneasiness I’d felt earlier vanished, and in its place, comfort emerged.

  A warm, safe feeling stirred—one I hadn’t experienced in a very long time. Thirteen years, actually. I gathered my purse. “Beau, thanks for the coffee and the conversation. Both warmed my heart. I hate to run, but I have to be at work at noon.”

  “I’m glad you came. This was long overdue with us. We can do it again sometime if you’d like.” He lifted the check the waitress placed on the table.

  I paused and examined my conscience. I had enjoyed our time and saw no reason we couldn’t continue this way. As friends. He had been clear about his intent to remain faithful to his wife, so I saw no reason not to meet him again. “Yes, I’d like that.”

  “Very well. Do you go in at noon every Wednesday?”

  I nodded.

  “Maybe sometime we can meet on Wednesday before school. I’d like you to meet Steven. It’ll be my treat.”

  I hadn’t expected him to want me to meet his son. “Sure, call me and I’ll be here. I would like to meet Steven. He sounds like a wonderful kid.”

  As we parted from the diner in opposite directions and I meandered to my car, a twinge of doubt pierced. Would Steven like me? And would I be OK with just being friends with Beau Battice?

  Six

  Carlton sat in the recliner next to his bed and chewed a bite of Salisbury steak. Although, his skin sported a sallow tone, his eyes shone brighter today. More alive. My heart leapt. It was good to see him eating and looking better, even though I knew his prognosis remained poor.

  He wiped the corner of his mouth and dropped the napkin into his tray. “‘Bout time you get here.”

  “‘Bout time you started eating.”

  He grinned and the corner of his left eye creased. I’d been right about him liking to banter. I lifted the tray from his lap and brought it into the kitchen. The aroma of pine and antiseptic filtered through the house.

  “Well?” he asked when I returned to the bedroom.

  “Well, what?”

  “Where you been?” He took a few deep breaths. “Got readin’ to do.”

  “Remember, I don’t start work until noon on Wednesdays. Your housekeeper is here with you after Darcy leaves.”

  “Uh. I guess.”

  “Don’t you let Darcy read the letters to you at night?”

  He furrowed his brow. “Nope.” He pointed his bony index finger at me and then at himself. “That’s all.”

  “OK.” My heart stirred knowing he trusted me with his precious letters. I performed my letter-reading routine—filling my cup and his before I retrieved the letters. The afternoon sunshine filtered in through the gauzy sheers. Its warmth, along with the steady hum of the concentrator and the air-conditioning, set the atmosphere for our reading session.

  Dear Carlton,

  I know it’s been a few days since I’ve written, and I do apologize, but my sister broke her leg after a motorcycle accident. She took off to Lafayette with Terry Thibodeaux and they wrecked on the way. It could have been a lot worse. Terry had a few broken ribs. I’ve had to pick up all my sister’s work and do mom’s job while she’s been in the hospital with her. Anyway they’re home now and I still have to pick up extra, but I slipped away to write this note to you. We’re getting ready for the holidays. I was so looking forward to spending our first Christmas together. Guess that wasn’t meant to be. I hope you are doing well. Your last letter made me so happy. I was glad to hear that you haven’t seen too much activity yet and that you are dry. Please keep your spirits up. I want to see your smiling face soon. I already see it nightly in my dreams.

  All my love and praying always,

  Your Lady S

  Carlton’s lids fluttered. “Tell my Lady...” His voice quivered making him pause longer than normal. Had he fallen asleep? “I’m dry.”

  I slid my hand over his and gave him a tender squeeze. “I’ll tell her.”

  A heavy silence clung in the air broken only by the concentrator’s steady drone. His words hung like the morning fog. I tipped the recliner back so he could sleep comfortably.

  Who was this mysterious Lady S? The content of the last two letters drifted in and out of my thoughts. Lady S had an aunt from Arkansas. Maybe my grandmother would know who Lady S could be. She would have been about the same age so maybe she’d remember someone in the community with a broken leg.

  For several minutes, I watched the rise and fall of Carlton’s chest as he slipped into a deep sleep. I ventured to the kitchen and washed the few bowls and cups lying in the sink and piled a few crackers and blocks of cheese on a plate as a small snack when he awoke. Just as I sealed the plate with cellophane wrapping, the distinct belts of an accordion from “Jolie Blonde,” a familiar Cajun song, played in response to a call on my cellphone. Mother. What could she want?

  “Hello,” I answered.

  “Cheryl.” The way she placed more emphasis on the first part of my name made me flinch. Something was wrong. “It’s your grandmother. She’s had a stroke. They’ve just rushed her to St. Martin’s General. I’m headed there now.”

  “Oh, no. Is she all right?” Not Mawmaw.

  “They haven’t told me much.”

  “I’m so sorry. I’ll call the night nurse and see if she can come earlier, and I’ll meet you there as soon as I can.”

  “OK. Please...” Her words were blurred with emotion. “...as soon as you can.”

  I swallowed and pushed away the grip of guilt and sadness. My poor Mawmaw. I needed to be there. For Mawmaw and for my mother. “Hang in there. Have you called Aunt Mel?”

  “Not yet. You were the first person I thought of.”

  Another stab of guilt. “I’ll call her and Anthony. Please be careful and try not to be afraid.”

  “OK.” The word escaped as nothing more than a whisper proving she struggled to keep her emotions in check. I hoped she would be OK for the thirty-minute drive to St. Martin’s.

  “Mom...” before I could say anymore she hung up.

  I quickly made the calls I’d
promised to make. Darcy agreed to be here in thirty minutes. I tidied up Carlton’s kitchen and bedroom, checked his medications, and prepared the evening dosages for Darcy. As I stood at the foot of the bed, his eyes flew open, and he took in a deep breath.

  Fear gripped me. “Carlton?”

  His stare remained transfixed on me, but he seemed to be somewhere else. Was he dreaming? I came around to the front of his chair and with a gentle hand touched his arm. “Carlton, it’s me Cheryl.”

  He turned toward me. His violet eyes sharp and clear. “My Lady, my Lady S needs to know I’m dry. Tell her I’m dry.”

  “Carlton, honey, wake up. It’s OK. She knows. I’m sure she knows.”

  His grip tightened around my wrist. A memory and a flicker of panic blazed through me. Reflexively, I tugged against the pressure and freed my hand.

  Carlton’s brows furrowed and his lips pressed together. Tears dimmed the brightness of his eyes. “I’m so...so...sorry. So sorry. I didn’t mean to...my Lady, please...please.” His sobs and his struggle for breaths created a guttural noise that lifted the hair on my arms. I quickly removed the nasal cannula and replaced it with an oxygen facemask.

  I bent low and whispered in his ear. “Carlton, she’s OK. Calm down and take deep breaths.” I softened my voice. “Breathe in through your nose. Take a deep breath, slow and deep. It’s OK. She’s OK.”

  After a few agonizing minutes, his chest rose and fell in a sustained rhythm. Throughout the whole ordeal his eyes had been opened, but I didn’t think he was awake. As he relaxed, the parchment-paper lids closed over his eyes, pressing moisture out onto his cheeks.

  ****

  I rushed into the emergency room of St. Martin Hospital scanning each chair in the waiting room, searching for my mother. Anthony was offshore so he couldn’t be here, and Aunt Melanie was out of town.

  I spied Mother sitting in the back corner, her lively eyes dimmed to an ashen lilac. Streaks of mascara stained the outer corners of her face, and her ruddy cheeks puffed beneath the rims of her eyes. She stood as I approached.

  “They’re not telling me much.” Fresh tears spilled onto her swollen cheeks.

  I placed my hands on her elbows and met her eyes. “Mom, they’re taking good care of her, I’m sure. Can I get you anything? Something to drink?”

  She shook her head and rested it on my shoulder. I paused. What was I to do? I lifted the anvils that were now my arms and placed them around her. “She’ll be OK.”

  “Mrs. Broussard.” We both turned toward the sound. A nurse stood at the double doors of the emergency room entrance.

  Sept

  My mother pulled away and darted toward the nurse, I followed close behind.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Your mama is stable,” the nurse replied.

  “Can we see her?” I asked.

  “Immediate family only.”

  “This is my daughter. Show us where she is.” My mom locked her arm through mine.

  We followed the nurse through double doors and passed drawn curtains with swooshing and beeping noises following us down the hall. She stopped next to a single glass door and pointed to the bed. “She’s in there with Dr. Sanders.” She patted my mom’s shoulder and walked away.

  Mawmaw lay on the bed with hoses and cords coming from what seemed every portal of her body. The thin veil of her eyelids covered her eyes. The doctor stood at her bedside and reviewed the monitors.

  While Mom usually roared into every situation with horns blaring and little regard for others, this time she acted differently. Her eyes met mine, and I nodded. With slow deliberate steps, we entered the room. Our arms still linked together.

  The doctor looked up as we approached. “Hello.” He extended a long-fingered hand. “I’m Dr. Sanders.”

  I grasped his hand when it became evident my mother hadn’t noticed his offer. “I’m Cheryl Broussard, her granddaughter, and this is her daughter, Vivian Broussard.”

  He proceeded to explain that my grandmother suffered a mild stroke. She was being monitored closely. He also stated she had difficulty with her speech and some slight weakness on the right side of her body. “Fortunately, she received medical attention very soon. She’s resting comfortably right now. We’ll continue to monitor her for another few hours and then move her upstairs. Do you have any questions for me?”

  No words escaped my mother’s mouth. She simply stared at my grandmother.

  Again I stepped in. “Prognosis?”

  “It’s too soon to really say for sure, but all indications are good for some degree of recovery. Can’t say to what extent.”

  My mother’s chest heaved as she sighed. “Thank God.”

  “Any more questions for me?”

  “Not right now, I’m sure as time progresses we’ll have several.” I shook the doctor’s hand once more.

  As he left, he nodded toward Mama.

  I nudged her toward the bed. “Mama. Come talk to Mawmaw.”

  She shuffled forward. “You never call me Mama anymore.”

  She was right. I hadn’t in a long time. Why now? I couldn’t say.

  When we reached the bed, she rested her hand on my grandmother’s swollen hand. “Mama,” she whispered.

  Seeing my feisty ball-of-fire grandmother lying helpless splintered my heart. What would happen to my mother if something happened to my grandmother? Mama relied so much on Mawmaw who was the strong force in our family—a true matriarch.

  I slid my arm around my mother’s waist. “Mawmaw, it’s Cheryl. Mama and I are here.”

  Her lids fluttered slightly, and she half-opened her eyes. A moan filled the room when she tried to speak and then, as though she decided the effort was too great, she closed her eyes and drifted back to sleep.

  The nurse came back into the room to add medication to her IV. “Mrs. Broussard, would you like to sit with her for a while?”

  My mother nodded, and I guided her to a chair in the corner. “Mama, do you need anything?”

  She shook her head.

  I was at a loss for what to do next. So I sat next to Mama and slipped my hand into hers. We sat in silence except for the sounds that sustained my grandmother while she slept. I hoped she would return to her old self. And sometime in the hour we sat there, my simple hope turned into a prayer for both my Mawmaw and my Mama.

  When the medical staff team came to move Mawmaw into an upstairs room, Mama and I ventured to the cafeteria for a cup of coffee. I flipped on my phone and scanned through the many messages I’d received.

  “Did you get in touch with Melanie and Anthony?” Mama asked.

  “I did. Anthony’s shift change is today, so he’ll be flying in tomorrow morning and will be here as soon as he gets in. Aunt Melanie was in Lake Charles; she’ll be here soon. She texted me about twenty minutes ago saying she would be here in about half an hour. She said to tell you to hang on.”

  Mama nodded and sipped from the steaming cup. “Cheryl, your grandmother is a rock. I’ve never seen her ill or hurting. I wish I had been more like her.” She stared out the window at an enormous live oak in the adjacent lot. Its large branches grazed the ground several yards away from its base.

  I wanted to ask why she hadn’t been more like Mawmaw, the woman who’d raised her. But Mama had been pampered, and I never understood why. Aunt Melanie’s character traits and personality were more like Mawmaw’s. Her fiercely independent nature contrasted sharply to Mama’s constant dependence on someone. We sat in silence as the sun beamed through the branches of the large tree and into the window of the cafeteria.

  My phone buzzed. “Aunt Melanie is here.” I texted, telling her where to find us.

  Mama sighed, and I wasn’t sure if it was a sigh of relief or frustration. With her, it was hard to tell.

  Moments later, from across the cafeteria, a kaleidoscope of colors captured my attention. Aunt Melanie darted toward us in a dress of vibrant colors. “How is she?” Her cheeks, reddened from her sprint, mat
ched the shade of red in her dress. Her disheveled auburn curls stuck out in odd angles around her temples. Panting, she came around the table and sat next to me across from Mama.

  My mother’s intense laser-like gaze bored into my aunt. “Where were you?” She spat the words. Unbridled venom laced her voice.

  I shot a glance at Mama. Had she spoken to Aunt Melanie or me? Her eyes were on my aunt. Shock rendered me speechless as I gulped in surprise. Where had that come from? My mother had never spoken to my aunt that way. She usually saved those outbursts for me.

  Aunt Melanie slid her hand across the table and with a gentle touch, took Mama’s hand. “Viv, I was in Lake Charles.” While she was slightly out of breath, her soft voice carried no hint of irritation.

  My mother placed her other hand over Aunt Melanie’s. “Oh, Mel. I’m so glad you’re here. I was so scared. Here alone with Mama. I didn’t know what to do.”

  The skin on my scalp prickled at her words. Did she not realize I had been here the whole time?

  “Viv, Cheryl has been right here. It’s OK.”

  When my mom turned toward me, her eyes widened as though seeing me for the first time, or was it that she realized what she’d said? I wasn’t sure and it didn’t matter. Anger and hurt heated my face, but I was determined not to say anything to her. I would not engage.

  “Oh, Cheryl. I didn’t mean anything. I just meant that...that I was alone when I got the call, her only child here when this happened.”

  I couldn’t understand the difference and why it was so important to my mother. But it did fit into her “poor me” persona and how she always got people to bow to her wishes. To feel sorry for her.

  Rising from the chair, I addressed both my aunt and mother. “I’m going upstairs to see if they’ve got Mawmaw settled in.”

  Before either one could respond, I headed for the door. Why did I continue to allow her careless words to inflict so much pain? To slice open healed-over wounds and pour chunks of rock salt into them?