Taji's Syndrome (4 page)

“Why should taking care of your brother’s motherless twins be a judgment on you? You offered your care, Sister Barenssen, it wasn’t foisted on you. You gave your charity from the goodness of your heart. Didn’t you?” This last question was deliberately phrased as an afterthought, a gentle prompting to Kirsten to explain.

“I . . .” She was weeping in earnest now. “She was a frivolous woman. She painted her face and she wore the sort of clothes that . . .”

“I know she was not part of our faith, but that doesn’t mean that she was wholly without virtue,” said Preacher Colney with great care. “God has admonished us to hate the sin and love the sinner.”

“I know.” She sobbed deeply. “I was punished for my error. I was made to watch my brother’s children become the tools of the Devil because I could not learn to accept his wife. I know that now, and I repent my sins, I do. I have no words to tell you how great my remorse is.” She locked her hands together and clapped them between her knees. “I ought to have known. I ought to have thought about it, but it didn’t seem that important when I first came to care for them. I didn’t notice the signs that the Devil was working to destroy me and them.”

“How . . . what signs?” Will Colney knew he was out of his depth with Kirsten Barenssen. He was not experienced enough to deal with this woman, but his calling demanded that he try. He took his handkerchief from his pocket and offered it to her.

She ignored him. “I saw at the first that Hilda was filled with vanity, and I did all that I knew to show her how wrong she was. I prayed for her and with her, and I spoke often with my brother, begging him to use a firmer hand with her.”

“And the other boy?” asked Colney, thinking of the eight-year-old Robert.

“There is no Devil in him. He is only the poor victim of his mother’s folly and my lack of vigilance.” She was rigid and trembling. “Oh, God, God, how could I have failed so?”

“God will forgive you, whatever you have done,” Preacher Colney assured her. “And His forgiveness will cast out the Devil to save those two boys.” It was the inspiration of the moment and he hoped it would be successful, at least for a short time.

“I wanted my brother to find a better wife, to set aside that lighthearted harlot he married. May God pardon me for my sins, I wanted her gone. I know that divorce is as bad a sin as murder, for it countermands a sacrament, but in my heart I wanted my brother to put her away, to leave her to her sinful ways and take a wife who would honor him and his children. I prayed for that. Jesus, Jesus! I prayed for a sinful thing. And for that she was killed, and it is on my head, and the Devil has come for me through her boys.” She collapsed forward, her forehead on her knees, and she cried wildly.

Perplexed and worried, Will Colney reached out and patted her shoulder. “God will forgive you, Sister Barenssen,” he said, noticing that she felt hot through her shapeless woolen dress.

Under his hand she shuddered as she wept.

—Laurie Grey—

On the stage of the junior high school auditorium, Laurie Grey went through her last rehearsal of her solo before the recital. Her ballet teacher stood in the wings, gesturing with her hands as Laurie went through the most difficult part: tour jete, capriole front, tour jete, capriole back, tour jete, pas de chat and ending with eight coupe turns in a circle.

“And bow,” said Miss Cuante as Laurie came to the end.

Obediently Laurie bowed, her mulberry-colored leotard showing sweat stains under the arms and down the back as she came toward Miss Cuante. “How was it? I thought I took the last turns a little too wide.”

“You did very well. If you do as well in the recital tomorrow I will be delighted,” said Miss Cuante as she reached for a towel. “You and Melanie will be the hits of the show.”

“Melanie’s so good,” sighed Laurie as she accepted the towel and pulled it around her shoulders. “I wish I could do those leaps she does.”

“You may, in time. Remember, she is two years older and seven inches taller than you are—it gives her an advantage.” She looked at the wall clock over the rear backstage door. “Your father will be waiting.”

Laurie nodded. “He’s taking me to his new restaurant tonight,” she said, proud of the news.

“Ah, yes, his new restaurant. How many does he have, now?” She had picked up her tape recorder and was putting it into her worn canvas tote that was already filled with dance togs, tapes, notebooks and a heavy sweater. “Don’t get cold,” she added, reaching out to steady herself as she stood up.

“You all right, Miss Cuante?” asked Laurie, surprised at how pale her teacher had suddenly become.

“Just . . . tired, I guess. A dizzy spell.” She laughed nervously and made a quick, dismissing gesture, something out of
Giselle
or perhaps
Firebird,
both of which she had danced more than twenty years ago.

Laurie said nothing but she watched her teacher with her enormous blue eyes wide, making her delicate face more fey than it already was. She found her own tote and took a lightweight jacket out of it. “Dad’s going to be at the corner, I guess.”

“I’ll go with you,” said Miss Cuante with extra briskness to show that her unsteadiness was well and truly over. “I don’t think you should wait by yourself, if you have to wait.”

“Thanks,” said Laurie, who more than once had attracted unwanted attention; since she had started to grow breasts the problem had got worse.

Miss Cuante took time to put the single-bulb nightlight at center stage, then switched off all the others before joining Laurie at the rear door. As she fumbled in her tote for the keys, she said, “I want you here for warm-up at eleven, can you do that?”

“I’m supposed to go to the hospital with Mom first. It’s my sister. She’s . . . ”

“Not any better, your mother mentioned,” said Miss Cuante as gently as she could. Student and teacher walked together down the deserted hallway toward the glass doors.

“They don’t know what’s wrong with her. She just gets sicker and weaker and weaker and sicker.” Laurie’s elfin face was suddenly sad. “I hate to see her like this. It’s terrible. She’s always been nice to me, even when I was real little.”

Miss Cuante pressed the crash bar to open the door for them. Outside, the sky was overcast and there was enough wind off the Pacific to make the cardigan and jacket they wore necessary. The teacher shaded her eyes. “Is that your father’s BMW?”

“Yeah, the grey one,” said Laurie. “All our cars are grey. You know.” She shrugged elegantly. “The license plates are just as bad. Dad wants everyone to know what he does. He says that it’s advertising, but it’s also ego.”

“Your father has a lot to be proud of, Laurie. You can’t blame him for showing off.” Miss Cuante thought of her own twelve-year-old Accord parked on the other side of the auditorium and could not entirely conceal her sigh. “It’s a fine car.”

“I guess.” Laurie was slightly embarrassed and was doing her thirteen-year-old best to hide it. “Well, thanks. I’ll see you in the morning. I’ll do the stretching exercises tonight, the way you told me to, and I’ll make sure I’m on time.” She started away, lifting her hand to wave.

“Tell your sister I hope she feels better,” said Miss Cuante, wishing the same thing for herself. As she walked toward the small lot where her car waited, she did her best to be sensible, recalling that she was approaching menopause and it was time to get a proper checkup. Her divorce two years ago had left some strange scars that still gave her emotional jolts at unexpected times—this dizziness was probably more of the same but there was no reason not to take precautions. As she unlocked her car door, she resolved to make an appointment for a checkup as soon as the recital was behind her.

Jonathon Grey beamed at Laurie as she got into the car and said, “Well, how’d it go, sugar?” In the last three years he had started to put on weight and although far from fat, he was becoming portly.

“Pretty well,” Laurie allowed. “I think I’m ready. I miss having the mirrors like we do in the studio—on stage I can’t see if I do anything wrong.” She adjusted her tote between her feet. “How’s Marilee?”

“We’ll find out when we get to the hospital.” He cleared his throat, a nervous habit which all his family recognized as a signal that he was not comfortable with what he had to say. “They’re asking us all to come in for tests, the whole family.”

“What?” Laurie was shocked. “Why?”

“Michaelson won’t say right out, but I gather he’s worried that this might be some kind of toxic waste reaction. He’s been checking with other hospitals—you know that search service they have out of Atlanta?—to see if there are other cases like Marilee’s out there.” He waved to the front of
Jonathon’s Table
which was still his favorite of his six restaurants, though his new one,
Moonraker,
was apt to displace it if it lived up to its promise.

“You mean they still don’t know what the matter is?” Laurie demanded, shocked. “How can they not know what’s wrong after all this time?”

“They can’t because . . . ” He faltered. “Maybe it’s something new. You know, like all the problems they’ve had in treating AIDS.”

“That’s a special case,” said Laurie. “Everyone knows that.”

“Not everyone,” said her father. “Otherwise it wouldn’t still be around, even with the vaccine.” He signaled for a left turn. “Your mother’s waiting for us in Chula Vista.”

“Oh?” She said it carefully, wary in how she spoke of her mother since her parents’ reconciliation eight months ago. Everyone had held their breaths waiting to find out if Catherine and Jonathon would be able to make a go of it after all the threats her first husband had made. With Gary back in jail and the family no longer under siege, Laurie hoped that the worst was over and that they were all a family once more.

“Don’t worry, sugar, everything’s fine. We’ve straightened it out. You don’t have to—” He interrupted himself to honk at a flashy pickup that cut in front of his car, swearing as the pickup driver responded with a wave of his raised middle finger. “Didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay, Daddy,” she said, reverting to her old pattern with him.

“It’s been a rough couple years, I know it has. When Catherine’s first husband got out of jail—” He stopped, not finding a way to go on without distressing Laurie and himself.

“I know,” said Laurie. “Everyone was scared.” She did not like to admit that she was as frightened as anyone. “And now Marilee’s sick.”

“They’re working on making her well. And we’ll do everything we can to help Michaelson, won’t we?” He nodded toward the road ahead. “Your mother already promised to stay with Marilee at the hospital if that would make things better. Jared and Shelley and you and I can manage on our own if Catherine spends a few days at the hospital.” He cleared his throat. “According to Michaelson, there might be a pattern in this disease’. If more cases come in, then they’ll have a better idea what they’re up against.”

“I see,” said Laurie in a soft voice.

“And you know how important it is to stop something like this early.” He said it, repeating what Ben Michaelson had told him. “I wish I knew what was wrong.”

“So do I, Dad,” Laurie sighed, adding as she stared, unseeing, out the windows, “Do you know what kind of tests we’ll have? Did they tell you?”

“No, not yet. Probably blood stuff. You know what that’s like.” When he had asked the same thing of the doctors, the answers had been vague and ill-defined, as if the physicians themselves did not know what they were looking for.

“How long will it take; did they say?”

“No. Not too long, though.” He was determined to be confident, and he said the last with emphasis. “Whatever’s wrong with Marilee is serious enough that they’re taking precautions, that’s all.”

“Oh.” She reached down and fiddled with the handles of her tote. “Is Marilee still in isolation?”

“Yes. Just in case she has something catching. That’s one of the reasons for them to test us.” He reached over and put his hand on her hair. “Don’t borrow trouble, hon. There’s no reason to assume they’re being anything but careful.”

“What if we have something catching? Will we all have to be isolated?” She was thinking of her dancing and her plans for the next year. If she had to be isolated because of something her half-sister had, she would lose precious, irreplaceable time. Guilt grabbed her by the scruff of the neck, shaming her for putting her ambitions ahead of Marilee’s health, but the thought lingered and would not be denied.

“What’s wrong, sugar?” asked her father when Laurie had been frowning in silence for the better part of a mile.

“Nothing, really. Worries.”

“We all have ’em,” Jonathon said quietly. “It’s part of living.”

“Yeah.” She stared ahead, trying to find a way to make her own conflicting emotions more palatable. She never thought of herself as heartless, but perhaps she was, if she could be more apprehensive about a few lost months than that Marilee might have a fatal disease. She did her best to make her mind a blank and to concentrate on nothing but the people on the sidewalk. After a short while, she said, “There’s Mom.”

Jonathon signaled and pulled toward the curb. “You’ve got sharp eyes, Laurie,” he said as he braked to a stop.

“Hi,” said Catherine, opening the back door and pressing Laurie on the shoulder. “Don’t mind me riding back here. I want to stretch out and it’s easier in the back. You stay where you are, Laurie.” As she pulled the door shut, she said, “I can’t tell you how much trouble Dave is giving me about this second agency. He’s convinced that we need three more people for the office, minimum, and there’s no way we can afford them.”

“Why all those people?” asked Jonathon, leaning back to exchange a twisted kiss with his wife.

“Because Dave can’t stand the thought of having a small second office, that’s why. He doesn’t want to admit that all we need is three people and the computer and everything’s fixed.” She kicked off her shoes and lifted her legs onto the seat. “I don’t know how to convince him.”

“Far Venture Travel isn’t exactly the biggest agency in the world,” said Jonathon. “You don’t need a huge staff, do you?”