A Change of Heart (42 page)

"Yeah, he went out there for college and basically never came back.
 
Anyway you can always invite him and see if he comes," said Julie.
 

"How much do you think to use this place?" asked Sally.

"I'll find out for sure, but I think maybe two hundred, maybe three."

"Wow," said Sally, "I had no idea.
 
Maybe we should just have the tent at home.
 
The back yard at home is just as pretty, even if there is no dock to take pictures on."

"Is it worth looking at the Garden Club or are they about the same?"
 
asked Annabeth.

Julie shook her head.
 
"You've lived in this town all your life.
 
How did you manage not to get involved in the right clubs?"

Annabeth shook her head.
 
"Just not interested, I guess."

"Well," said Julie in a condescending voice, "As you can imagine, the garden at the Garden Club is nicer.
 
Of course in February, there's not much of anything to see, plant-wise anyway.
 
But it's a nice house, like this, more lawn, basically similar."

"Oh, Gosh!" exclaimed Sally, "I've gotta get back to work."
 
She hugged her mother and aunt and raced off.
 
"We'll decide later," she said waving.

"I'm going to need something nice to wear to the wedding," commented Julie.
 
"Now this is what I was thinking.
 
A heavy silk, something not too complicated to sew."

"To sew?" asked Annabeth.

"Sure.
 
There's nothing good enough to buy in this town.
 
You might as well sew me something, don't you think?"

Annabeth felt like groaning, then kept silent.
 
She didn't have time to sew a dress for Julie.
 
She didn't even know what she herself would wear to the wedding.
 
But how could she say no, after Julie'd been so helpful today and was counting on her?

"I was thinking a tailored dress, a soft skirt, not too straight, maybe some fancy trim at the throat.
 
Have you seen any patterns like that?"

Annabeth remained silent for a moment, then thought back to her conversation with Doug about always saying yes to everything that was asked of her.
 
She took a deep breath to strengthen her resolve then reached out and put an arm around Julie's shoulder.
 
"You're my sister and I love you so much," she began.
 
"I've always enjoyed sewing clothes for you, you know that."

Julie nodded happily, "Yes, you're the best."

"But I can't make you a dress for the wedding."

"What?"
 
Julie's voice rose three octaves.

"I just don't have time.
 
I'm working around the clock on my art--painting knick knacks to sell--it's the only way I have to make money now, you know.
 
Plus I'm cleaning out the house.
 
I'll probably be moving soon and I haven't even had time to look at places yet.
 
I just can't take on any more work now."
 
Annabeth looked imploringly at Julie, "Please understand."

Julie sighed, but Annabeth remained firm, praying that there would be no need for an argument.
 
"Okay then, guess I'll have to take a shopping trip."

That was so easy!
 
Annabeth thought of Julie hours later as she climbed the steps to the attic.
 
She should have been firmer earlier.
 
She could stop being a patsy.
 
She laughed then.
 
Yes!
 
Be an Annabeth.

In the very bottom of the armoire drawer was a long, narrow box, which Annabeth opened and immediately began to weep.
 
Lifting the object from the box, she examined it.
 
It was a baby's mobile, storybook characters suspended in air, a music box at the base that could be wound up and played while the baby fell asleep.
 
Biting her lip, Annabeth paused, then steeled herself and started the music.
 
Her mind filled in the familiar lyrics, lullaby and good night….

"You're a big boy aren't you, two months old, so big and so smart."
 
Cooing like that, Richard loves it, loves to hear me coo, "Big boy, yes my big boy."
 
Holding the baby to me, the smell of him, the feel of him, soft in my arms, baby soft and warm, molding to me, so tender, oh the feel of him, this baby of mine.
 
Kissing his forehead, him smiling, silly baby grin, my baby, oh my baby.
 
Mother I am, to be this thing, this mother, caring for this baby.
 
Oh to hold him to me.
 
All I think of is to hold him, the feel of him, the love in me like a tidal wave for this person, my baby.

"You're going to spoil him," Mother Welner teasing me and then laughing, hugging me.
 

Smiling at her, "Oh I hope so."

R.J. scowling, "I need some attention too."

"Of course you do."
 
Touching R.J. on the cheek, but I don't put the baby down.

"We could go away for a weekend, leave the baby with Ma," R.J. insisting.

No, I can't, not yet, no.
 
So small.
 
My baby.
 
"Soon we will, I promise."

Winter, so cold in that garage apartment.
 
Big boy now, seven months old.
 
Bundle you up.
 
Make it warmer in here, yes better.
 
Wriggling on my lap, so big so strong.

"Too warm in here," Mother Welner insisting, lowering the thermostat.
 
"Babies don't need to be smothered."

But I want to smother him, want to surround him with love, with myself the way he was when he was inside me.
 
Holding him, always holding him, oh the feel of this baby.

Mother Welner kissing him.
 
"He's too warm.
 
Doesn't need all those clothes."

"He's not too warm, he's growing.
 
Thermo-nuclear energy, really."

"What?"
 
Mother Welner bewildered.

At the table in the house, R.J. insisting, "Come on, it's just a weekend.
 
Ma will watch him.
 
You said we could months ago."
 
Always too cold in this house.
 

I don't want to go.
 
I want to say no or to take him with us.
 

"I insist," R.J. always winning.

Kissing Richard, so small, such a big boy.
 
Oh, my baby.
 
Never want to let go.
 
Of course he'll grow up and wriggle free but for now, I can hold him, breathe in his smell.
 
He does feel a little warm.

R.J. and me, all alone, how strange, no baby sounds, no need to hurry, can talk.
 
R.J. talking about business, wanting more, so full of ambition and dreams.
 
"We won't be in that garage apartment forever, you know."
 
Nodding, agreeing with him, thinking of Richard back with his grandmother, missing my baby.
 
"I'm going to start my own business, make money, working for someone else, you're a jerk.
 
Big dreams, baby, that's the answer."
 
Nodding, looking into his eyes, blazing with light, breathing fast, R.J. so excited, then kissing me, pressing me down, kissing me.

Going back to the house.
 
Richard!
 
A weekend is so long.
 
A new tooth I bet or rolling over differently.
 
I missed it.
 
Mother Welner at the door as we walk in, her face haggard, looks so tired.
 
Before I can touch her arm, ask was Richard a lot of trouble, she says, "Baby's been deathly sick all weekend."

Gasping, my heart pounding, going back to where he is, lifting him.
 
Deathly sick….

"I called the doctor and gave him some baby aspirins.
 
Probably a bad cold."
 
Mother Welner looking frantic.

"I always give him Tylenol."
 
Holding Richard, burning up, he's burning up.
 
Kissing him, so hot, oh my baby.
 
"You should have called us."

"Same thing, isn't it?"

Taking Richard to the hospital.
 
Deathly sick.
 
Waiting, cradling him, burning up, and in a hospital bed, vomiting, so strange, the look in his eyes, doesn't recognize me, deathly sick.
 
Pacing, cradling, trying to help him sleep, cool down, deathly sick.

Big, strong babies don't die of a virus any more.
 
No never.
 
They get better.
 
They come home.
 
They grow up and then when you tell the story of how once they were deathly sick as infants, they laugh at you and say "Sssh, Ma, you told me that a million times."

"Reyes Syndrome," the doctor explaining, maybe aspirin after a virus making it worse, I can't think, head pounding, throbbing, can't see straight.
 

Walking into the corridor.
 
Mother Welner, her eyes on mine.
 
My baby, all I can think of, Tylenol not aspirin.
 
She knows what I'm thinking.
 
It's her fault.
 
Her face, tortured, guilty.
 
It is her fault.
 
She knows it, trying to touch me, but I'm thinking you're not my mother, and I pull away, walk away, outside that hospital, some air, my baby inside, dead, gone, no more Richard, dead.
 

Sitting for months in that apartment, R.J. at work, Mother Welner making me tea, bringing cookies, sitting with me.
 
I can't look at her.
 
Go away, I think, go away.
 
You're not my mother. You're a murderer.
 
You murdered my baby.
 
I want to scream at her, but no, I say nothing, let her be, see the look on her face, the guilt, she knows she's a murderer, should be locked up, the throbbing in my head for years, 'till after Laurel was born and was safe, far away from Mother Welner.

Tears streaming from her eyes, Annabeth sank down to the floor, buried her head in her hands and wept until she had no more tears left.
 
A thought, a treacherous thought, found its way into her consciousness.
 
Mother Welner loved Richard too.
 
She didn't do it on purpose.
 
It probably wasn't even her fault; he might have died anyway.
 
But there was guilt on her face.
 
She thought it was her fault.
 
No wonder she hated Annabeth.
 
It had to be her fault because…because…because…if it wasn't Mother Welner's fault, it must have been…no she couldn't…she couldn't…yes…if it wasn't Mother Welner's fault it must have been hers.

"Oh," said Annabeth aloud, "Oh,"
 
pressing her hand to her throat, struggling to right her breath.
 
"Sometimes people get sick and die, like my mother did.
 
Nobody's fault, just happens."
 
She thought about the years of migraines, the hatred she felt for her mother-in-law, and the hatred that was returned to her for decades.
 
She didn't know, Mother Welner didn't know.
 
How could she know he would get so sick, that Mother Welner wouldn't know what to do?
 
Nobody could know and she didn't know either.
 
She didn't murder Richard.
 
He died, he just died.
 
Yes, but if Annabeth been there…if she hadn't left him.
  
She shook her head, trying to clear her mind.
 
Reaching into the armoire, Annabeth removed the baby blanket, so carefully wrapped in tissue paper and stored in a sturdy department store box and then walked down the stairs and out the front door.

She drove first to a florist, bought a bouquet of pink roses intertwined with baby's breath, and then another bouquet, just the same, only red.
 
It was a short drive to the cemetery, one of two in town.
 
The sorrow as intense as it was all those years ago, Annabeth walked toward the grave.
 
There was a small headstone, simple lettering, a dove carved into it above his name and the dates of his so very short life.
 
Annabeth stood silently shivering without a coat in the chilly December air, remembering her child, the smiles, the tears, the way his life ended.
 
Laying the flowers down on the ground she touched the stone lightly, and in her mind she saw the life he might have led, the triumphs, the laughter, the love they might have shared. He was gone, he died, and by some stroke of fate, she was not there to prevent it.
 
If only she could have done something to save him.
 
If only….
 
She stood for a long moment, feeling all her sorrow, not knowing how to stop it, then she walked toward her mother's grave, and set down the other bouquet.