The Vigil Page 5

  My grandmother lay settled in her new bed with a myriad of medical equipment attached to some part of her body.

  The rules for ICU allowed only two family members to visit during specific hours, so I stood next to her bed and slipped her hand into mine. The coldness of her fingers sent shivers through me. “Hang in there, Mawmaw. Please.” I slid my hand free, draped the covers over every part of her, and then headed for the door.

  My mother and aunt exited the elevator onto the floor. “Is she settled?” My mother asked as though nothing had happened.

  “Yes, she’s sleeping. Y’all can go in to see her. Is there anything you need done at home?”

  “I left a pot of soup on the stove. The heat’s off, but it needs to be put into the fridge. Also, would you bring my medicine and a change of clothes? I want to spend the night here with her.” She explained where to find her bag of daily medications and what clothes she wanted.

  I didn’t try to talk my mom out of spending the night. “Sure. I’ll take care of it. Anything else?”

  “No,” she said.

  As I turned to leave, she called after me. “Cheryl, thank you for being here with me. It meant a lot, and I know you’re worried about her, too.”

  I paused. She sounded sincere, but I couldn’t help feeling that her words were merely to make up for her earlier comment. My feet became logs sunken into swamp mud. I couldn’t go forward nor turn back toward her. This was indicative of life with Mama—a revolving door of emotions that left me paralyzed. Why couldn’t I just let things go?

  Support her. A tiny voice echoed through my head. The invisible bindings that kept my legs from moving loosened, and I turned toward her. The few feet that separated us seemed like thousands. I wanted to be her rock, but each time I tried, my own selfish nature whispered: she’ll drain you, and who’ll be your rock?

  Crossing those few feet took a lifetime. When I reached her, I gazed into her misty violet-blue eyes then gently put my arms around her. “I am worried about her.” I whispered into her ear. “I’m also worried about you. I’ll be back in a bit.”

  She buried her head into my shoulder and sobbed—deep gut-wrenching sobs that replaced my hard feelings with the desire to make things right. I imagined this is what being a mother felt like. Only our roles were reversed.

  “It’s OK, Mama. It’s OK.” With each gentle pat on her back, her sobs began to subside. She lifted her head and our eyes connected.

  “I’m so glad you’re here. It’s nice having you back home.” When she tried to smile, her lips quivered and tears spilled from her swollen eyes.

  I offered a weak smile, which was all I could venture without becoming captive to the army of invading emotions. “It’s good to be back.” I kissed her forehead. “I’ll grab your stuff and check on Mr. Bojangles, and then I’ll be back.”

  I kissed my Aunt Melanie’s cheek.

  She squeezed my hand. “Honey, thank you for being here. I know your Mama needed you. Come back and sit with us.” She smiled. “We’ll be right here waiting.”

  I nodded and then headed toward the elevator while struggling to make sense of my emotions. My heart was swollen for my mama, and it felt nice in a bittersweet sort of way. As I walked toward my car, a voice sailed through the air from the far side of the parking lot.

  “Cheryl, wait.” Beau Battice jogged toward me.

  Huit

  Beau approached, his face flushed from the heat. “Cheryl, I just heard. How is she?”

  Unlike with my mother, I resisted the pressing urge to run into his arms and melt against the support of his strong chest.

  If only…

  I shook my head to erase the plaguing thoughts. “She’s holding her own. The doctor said she got medical care soon, so it’s not as bad as it could have been. We still don’t know the extent of the damage yet. Mama and Aunt Melanie are in the waiting room.”

  “Thank the Lord. I thought she…I thought it was worse.” His warm chocolate eyes met mine, naturally easing the tension. It was Beau’s gift. “I’ll go up and check on them.” He reached out and placed his hands on my arms. “If y’all need anything, anything at all, don’t hesitate to call me. Ya hear.” The tender squeeze conveyed his sincerity.

  “I will. I’m going home to get some of Mama’s things. Oh and Beau, thanks. Mama and Aunt Melanie will appreciate seeing you.”

  He smiled, nodded, then guided me to my car and opened the door for me. After I settled into the driver’s seat, he leaned in. “I’m serious. If you need anything, please call me.”

  I nodded. Emotions attacked like a tornado—spiraling feelings that threatened to consume. I breathed deep and stared straight ahead. The huge oak I’d seen earlier from the cafeteria window began to blur. Not able to trust my voice, I simply nodded again.

  ****

  Mr. Bojangles danced at my feet when I entered my house. The typical long, slender shotgun style home had each room flowing into the next and had been tastefully remodeled. The butter yellow paint in the kitchen and Mr. Bojangles yapping his delight usually lifted my spirits, but today, neither brightened my mood.

  “Hello, sweetie.” I opened the back door. He hesitated, walked back toward my foot, and then licked my ankle before darting through the opened door.

  My smile spread despite my melancholy mood.

  After changing clothes and spending a few moments playing with my pooch, I headed to my mother’s house to gather her things and confront my conflicting thoughts.

  I entered Mama’s house, and the enticing aroma of vegetable soup surrounded me. My stomach growled. I hadn’t eaten all day, except the cup of coffee in the cafeteria and the cups this morning with Beau at Sammy’s. A cake plate filled with miniature pecan pies sat on the counter. No doubt Aunt Mel’s handiwork. I’d recognize her baking anywhere. She placed a chocolate kiss on top of each one, as though the sugar and cane syrup weren’t sweet enough.

  I searched the cupboards for a soup bowl and the medications Mama said would be in the kitchen. The bowls were stacked where they’d always been—next to the coffee cups and glasses. Some things never changed. I guess that offered a certain degree of comfort, although, most times it didn’t.

  I dished several ladles of the soup into the bowl and popped it into the microwave. While the soup heated, I searched the other cupboards for the small red bag of medications Mama had described. The bag I found was red but not small. When had my mother started taking so many drugs?

  I lifted the bag by the handle causing the unzipped flap to open. Multicolored bottles clanked against the tile, rolled around the kitchen, and then under the table. I dropped to my knees to corral the runaway medicine. As I gathered each, I noticed several were typically prescribed to patients with high blood pressure and a couple I recognized as drugs given for personality disorders. Crawling on all fours under the table, I gathered the last of the elusive bottles. As I slid from under the table, my cellphone rang.

  It took me a few minutes to get to my phone and when I did, the caller ID showed my nurse supervisor’s name on the screen. I slid the bar to answer her call. “Hello, Jane.”

  “Cheryl, how’s your grandmother?”

  I relayed the details. “We’re waiting to see. I’m sorry I haven’t called. It’s been a crazy day.”

  “No, I understand. Darcy let me know what happened. Are you planning to be at work tomorrow?”

  Work. I hadn’t even thought about work. I was so focused on everything going on in my life, I’d completely forgotten about poor Carlton. “Jane, I’m headed back to the hospital in a few minutes. Can I call you when I get there? I need to talk to Mama. I should be able to come in, but I’ll know more later.”

  “Cheryl, if you need to be with your family, I can get someone to cover for you.”

  “Thanks Jane. I appreciate that. Would it be possible to get someone to cover for tomorrow so I can be with my mother until Anthony comes in?”

  “Yes, I think so.”

  “Thank
s. I’ll call you later. Oh, Jane, hold on.” I read the name from a prescription bottle. “Who is Dr. Byron Dickerson?”

  “He’s the psychiatrist on staff at St. Martin’s.”

  “Thanks, Jane.”

  After I hung up, I scanned each of the labels of Mama’s medications. Based on the type and dosage, she must have serious problems. Maybe this would explain so much about the past.

  My growling stomach reminded me of the bowl of soup in the microwave. After a few bites of the hot soup, I began to relax. Mama had not lost her talent for cooking. The subtle spice with big chunks of vegetables took me back to my childhood days. Cajun aromas greeted us at the door when we’d return from school. A snack waited for Anthony and me to hold us up until suppertime. Too bad Elray had been part of that picture. Had Mama been taking these drugs then?

  I gathered her things, placed the pecan pies in a portable storage container, and headed back to the hospital. Was this condition something she’d battled all her life or just since Elray died?

  When I got back to the hospital Aunt Melanie and Mama sat in the waiting room, deep in conversation. I handed Mama her things and placed the sweet treats on the table between her and Aunt Mel. I remained silent.

  Our eyes met.

  She smiled and then took the bag. “Thank you, Cheryl. I think I’ll go down the hall and freshen up.”

  I nodded. After she left, I sat next to Aunt Melanie.

  She reached for my hand. “You saw the meds, didn’t you?”

  Was I the only one who didn’t know about my mother’s illness? “Yes. How long?”

  “All her life. But things spiraled into the deep end when your dad died.”

  The erratic behavior, her neediness, all the hushed whispers after explosive episodes, made sense now for the first time. “That’s why she was so pampered.”

  “It took a while for an accurate schizophrenic diagnosis.” Aunt Melanie laced her fingers through mine. “If it’s any consolation, Mawmaw and I felt that you and Anthony should know. Your mom insisted you not know.” She shrugged her shoulders. “So we respected her wishes.”

  “Why did she have me pick up her meds? She could have asked you.”

  “I think she wanted you to know but couldn’t tell you. You’d recognize the prescriptions.”

  I turned sideways in my seat. “Was she that sure I’d look at the labels?”

  Melanie shrugged. “I can’t speak for your mother or explain her way of thinking.”

  I backed off. I’m sure over the years my aunt had been put in this same position and had learned the hard way to stay neutral.

  There were some things I couldn’t let go. “What’s the big deal? I could have understood this more than her unwillingness to get out of a bad situation.”

  “I can’t answer for your mom, but I do know she did the best she could. Her determination to keep you and Anthony together as a family drove her to make some hard decisions. She wouldn’t move back in with Mama. I offered to come back from France, but she wouldn’t hear of it. So she married Elray.”

  “But with her men...her medical issues, couldn’t Mawmaw have intervened?”

  “Cheryl, as dependent as your mother is, she can be fiercely independent about certain things. She guarded her family and her decision-making like an alligator guarding her eggs. She made her own decision and dared anyone to question her. Another thing, I suspect after this morning’s episode, that she’s stopped taking those meds. Having you pick them up is an indication that she’s going back on them. It’s been a vicious and dangerous cycle.”

  “That is dangerous. Those are not the type of drugs you just stop taking. Have they been able to find a dosage that works for her?”

  “It’s been hit and miss. But when she starts to feel better, she stops taking them. Or something else makes her stop. I’m not sure. As close as we are, it’s one area that she doesn’t talk much about.” Aunt Mel placed her hand on my arm. “Try to understand.”

  I battled with understanding. It was hard to forget the past and its pain. I stared at the tapestry of dull grays, greens, and blues of the institutional carpeting in the waiting room. Its design seemed to mimic my life at this point—random with no clear pattern.

  My mother’s loud whisper broke the silence. “She’s awake, Cheryl. Do you want to come in to see her?”

  My mother, a beautiful woman despite the smudged mascara, stood with shoulders erect, gleaming blonde hair with arresting violet eyes. The epitome of self-confidence, even in this unlikely place. For a brief moment, I doubted the meds I picked up today belonged to her.

  ****

  The next few days, our family took turns keeping watch over Mawmaw. Her steady progress gave us hope she would return to her normal self soon. The stroke had not been as severe as her doctor first thought, which brought a collective sense of gratefulness to the whole family. Especially Mama.

  I visited the hospital in the evenings after my shift ended with Carlton. Unlike my Mawmaw, his condition worsened, and his medications did not offer the same level of relief as in the beginning. His increased dosages cast him into long hours of fitful sleep. I performed the nursing tasks required and then sat and watched him sleep. The letters from Lady S sat on the nightstand like a patient lover, waiting to be embraced.

  After a week of watching him sleep, I wondered if this was the beginning of the end for Carlton. Would he ever be lucid again, and would I ever get to know the real Carlton? Know the identity of Lady S? Had I read the last of her letters to Carlton?

  I finished lunch and settled in next to his bed to work on the knitting project I’d started yesterday—a winter hat with a matching scarf. It seemed like a simple project and one I could actually complete. Although, in Bijou Bayou with its mild winters, I’d probably never wear it.

  “Where you been?” Carlton’s raspy voice echoed through the quiet bedroom.

  I lowered my yarn and needles into the basket on the floor and leaned toward him. His gaze locked onto mine. Did he know how happy I was to see those eyes again?

  “Right here next to you,” I answered. “How ya feeling?”

  “Like I been hit by a wrecking ball. Twice.”

  I placed my hand on his arm. “I’m sorry. Can I get you anything?”

  “Water.”

  I lifted the head of his bed. He followed my movements with a tender smile and kind eyes. I reached for the full glass and guided the straw toward him. Surprisingly, he didn’t try to take the glass from me as he’d done in the past but let me place the straw between his dry lips. After he’d taken all he wanted, I wiped his lips with a moistened towel and applied lip balm.

  He nodded when I’d finished and then pointed to the stack of letters on the nightstand. “I miss my Lady.”

  I’d missed her, too. “Would you like me to read to you?”

  “Please.”

  I smiled when he said the word. “Be careful being so polite. I might mistake you for a nice guy.”

  He smiled and then his lips bent downward and a crease formed between his brows. He pursed his lips and shook his head. “Won’t happen. I’m not…a nice…” He leaned his head back onto the pillow and closed his eyes.

  Troubled by his response, I searched for what to say. After a few moments, he looked at the stack of letters and pointed.

  I unfolded the next letter and began to read.

  Dear Carlton,

  I loved getting your letter the other day. It was so nice to hear about the other men in your regiment. Things are getting busier here at home as we get closer to Christmas. I really wish we had married before you left. At least if I couldn’t be with you, I could celebrate Christmas as Mrs. Carlton Perlouix. Papa got really mad the other day at your Papa. Seems one of your family’s horses broke the fence to our pasture, and several of Papa’s precious cows got free. He had to chase them down the road about a mile before he could corral them. I wonder if they’ll ever give up arguing over such mundane things. Maybe when we announce our
engagement, we’ll shake up their long-suffering, silly feud. I can’t wait. Of course, they’ll probably argue about me being too young to get married. I don’t think seventeen is too young. Do you? I’ve been thinking. If you come home by next May, we could have a June wedding. I’ll be almost eighteen by then. Do you think that may be a possibility? I hope so. I would love to be a June bride. When we go to town, I sneak down to the Woolworths and look through the patterns of wedding dresses. I’m looking forward to walking down the aisle and seeing you waiting there for me. I know you will be so handsome. Well, my love. I hear Mama calling. Stay warm and dry. Remember, I am praying for your safe return and waiting for you.

  All my love,

  Your Lady S

  Carlton rested on his pillow, his thin lids covered his eyes and a tender smile graced his face. Not wanting to disturb his memories, I returned the letter to the envelope making as little noise as possible. The Carlton of these letters must have been a good guy. What had changed if his assessment of himself faired true?

  I walked to the kitchen with a heavy heart. Would I ever feel for someone the way Lady S had for Carlton? Regardless of what had happened between them, they had loved one another. At thirty years old, I had yet to find that kind of love. Or had I? Could Beau and I have been that couple if I’d let things follow their natural course? If I had not run away?

  I gazed out the window above the sink at the open field next to Carlton’s house. The howling wind of a brewing thunderstorm blew the tall grass toward the east and rattled through the wind chimes left over from a happier time. Had Carlton put the chimes up? Or were they forgotten by the people who lived here before he did? The melody increased in intensity as the wind ravaged the chimes from different directions. The harsh notes and anguished tune grated against my nerves, reflecting the myriad of emotions eating away at my peace.

  Was this just a case of self-pity?

  ****

  Mawmaw improved daily. Conversations with Mama consisted of updates. She and Aunt Melanie made sure Mawmaw got the best care possible. They prepared Mama’s house for her homecoming. There hadn’t been any disagreements in quite some time.