The Art of Falling (14 page)

Someone was going through our dresser drawers.

The woman pawing through our possessions had brown hair flecked with gray. I couldn’t tell if she was working alone or not.

I held the key ring in my right fist and let the keys protrude between my knuckles, a trick I’d learned to protect myself at night on city streets. It can deliver a nasty gouge, as Lars learned the hard way when I’d forgotten my dance bag one night and he kindly but unfortunately ran up behind me to return it.

I put my other hand in my pocket and made my move. “Leave now. I’m calling 911.”

The woman turned with a start. “May I help you?” she said. She looked more surprised than guilty.

“What are you doing in my apartment?” I kept her in my peripheral vision as I assessed the rest of the room.

“You must be Penelope.” She could have learned that from the tag under our buzzer. “I’m Dara Reed. Angela’s mother. I’m picking up a few things to take to her.”

Once I got a good look at her brown eyes and freckles, I shut the door and relaxed the grip on my key. “I’m sure Angela took what she needed. She has a whole packing system for routine admissions.”

“Routine? I can just hear her saying that.” She folded a couple of nightgowns into a duffle bag, her spine straight, her movements determined and rhythmic. “To Angela, hospital stays are all routine. This one began with a little more drama, though. She could hardly breathe when she woke up this morning, and had to call an ambulance.”

She said this with the same intonation she would have used to say,
Yes, Angela decided to have a pumpernickel bagel this morning instead of her regular blueberry
. I, on the other hand, had trouble staving off panic.

“But she’s okay, isn’t she? I called the hospital and a nurse said she was in the bathroom.”

“She has an infection, which is always critical for someone with CF.” She smiled. “But she can still get up to pee.”

“She’s critical?” I was losing it. I couldn’t possibly go see her. Mucus was releasing its squeeze on my head and threatening to avalanche down my face. I rushed to the bathroom for the box of tissues. When I returned, I used an antiseptic wipe on everything I touched. “How can you stay so calm about this? She’s been sick for days—why didn’t you come sooner?”

“Angela may have CF, but she also has an independent nature. I have to honor both my daughter and her illness. I keep tabs on her. But this is her ninety-third hospitalization, and I have to keep working. As you can imagine, the finances of her situation are challenging. She knows I’ll come if she really needs me.”

“What if I need to contact you?”

“I live in Bethesda, Maryland.” She pointed to a luggage tag on Angela’s Tree of Life. “My address and phone number are hanging right there. When I’m not home, I have my calls forwarded.”

I took down the tag and considered the distant address. “What do you do that’s more important than sharing your daughter’s life?”

Angela’s mother turned to me, a pair of balled socks in each hand. She looked at them, clueless as to whether her daughter would want the black or the neon green. “I would have thought she’d told you. I was a pediatrician until her sister died. You do know about her sister?”

I touched the baby shoe on the Tree of Life and sent the nearby feathers into gentle motion.

“After we lost Amy, I quit my practice and went into CF research. I’m trying to find a cure.”

“Wow.” No wonder Angela didn’t talk about it—she probably wanted her mother to stay away as much as she wanted her to come. I felt a bit more kindly toward Dara then, but still found her cool delivery unnerving. “Leave the black socks here. Angela calls them her formalwear. In the hospital she only wears the bright colors.” Dara put the green socks in the bag and added the orange, aqua, and yellow.

“It must have been difficult for you, raising Angela by yourself.”

She disappeared into the bathroom. “Yes, well. My husband was never much use.” She stuck her hand back out. “Is this Angela’s toothbrush?”

“No, the purple. Angela doesn’t talk about her father.”

She wrapped the toothbrush in a paper towel and added it to the bag. “Once he took off, life got easier.”

“I’d assumed he died.”

Dara paused a moment. “No, he’s healthy as can be. A mutual friend told me he traded us in for a ready-made family with more perfect children.”

Tears sprang to my eyes. I couldn’t imagine anyone more perfect than Angela.

“Getting all teary is going to cause a roadblock in that head of yours.” She patted a cushy floor pillow. “Sit and rest. I’ll get you some water.”

“Go see Angela. I’d go myself if I weren’t sick.” I went into the kitchen to get my own water. “In my world, going to the hospital isn’t so casual. It signals an emergency.”

“Hospitalization may be routine, but I don’t take it lightly. Each time, I know that this might be it, the time she doesn’t leave. But I can’t always be there to hold her hand.”

I studied her face. She was a master at compartmentalizing emotion—if she felt anguish over her daughter’s predicament, it was nowhere near the surface. I determined to scratch at this tough shell until I found the woman who could be Angela’s mother. “What if you’re not here for her at the end?”

“That’s a possibility I’ve had to accept. Unlike you, I cannot allow myself the luxury of emotional outburst. How will it help her if I fall apart? At some point, those of us who love her have to take a step back, as hard as that is, and let her life unfold.”

Unbelievable
. She lifted the sunset quilt from the bottom drawer and stuffed it into the bag.

“Now. Before I go, shall I heat you up some chicken soup?”

I shook my head no. I already felt bad enough that while Kandelbaum served me a buckwheat pancake with fresh strawberries, poor Angela was dialing 911 to croak for help.

Right then, I made a silent promise to Angela that when the end came, she would not be alone.

• • •

A few weeks later, Joey waved me into his office. “How’s Angela?”

“Much better. She’s coming home tomorrow.”

He handed me a folder. “I was going through her chart. I’m sure you understand that this is confidential, but look at the top here and see if you notice anything interesting.”

Angela Reed, our address and phone, her height—“Oh my god. She only weighs ninety-two pounds?”

“Not that. Look here.” He pointed to her birth date—September 30.

“This Saturday.”

“She’ll be twenty-nine. Thought you might want to know.”

Once I’d arranged a few details, the Fitness Evolution caught fire with the topic of Angela’s surprise party. Joey and I made calls all day, to Mrs. Pope, Angela’s mother, the staff at the Bibliophile and the CF Center. Those who couldn’t come promised to send cards. My call to Kandelbaum elicited so much enthusiasm that I finally begged him to spill.

“Spill what?”

“You know. You’ve spent a lot of time at the hospital with Angela…have you told her you love her yet?”

Silence. A sigh. Then at last, a small no.

“What are you waiting for? Love shouldn’t sound so pained. It’s supposed to make you jump up and down. Act irrationally.”

“I appreciate your concern, but—”

“Come on. She’ll soon be out of the hospital and could damn well use some cheering up. Celebrate your love while you have the chance.”

“I appreciate your concern. But I’m not the kind of man to act irrationally. For this to be meaningful, I have to stay true to who I am.”

“You’re right, of course.” She deserved no less. But with Angela turning twenty-nine and him pushing fifty, the luxury of time was not on their side. “So let’s plan a party.”

Kandelbaum offered to cater with soup, cold cuts, and his healthy breads. He asked a bartender friend to whip up several gallons of fruit smoothies. I asked one of the members with a balloon business to decorate the aerobics room. The very next day cards started arriving, and by Wednesday, I had to ask the bartender for a liquor box to hold them all.

My job: to get her to the gym at noon Saturday.

The Monday prior, when she was due to arrive home, I went out to Walnut to meet the cab. It turned out her bag wasn’t the only thing I’d be helping with. Tubing in her nose connected her to an oxygen tank on wheels, which I helped her lift from the car.

“Ick. How long will you have to use this?”

“I’m not thrilled to be hooked to this thing either, but it sure helps me sleep better at night.”

“But I thought we could—”

“Sorry, no mountain climbing this week.”

“I was hoping to talk you into a pampering. You know, a manicure, maybe a nice relaxing whirlpool at the gym…”

She gave me a weak smile. “Maybe next week.”

Next week, of course, wouldn’t do at all. “Let’s see how it goes. You may be ready sooner than you think.”

“By the time I make it to the top of our stairs, I’ll be ready for a nap,” she said, bumping her oxygen cart along the cobblestone path.

Instead of a nap, though, Angela sat at the desk under my bunk and sketched some camels. She decided to add them to one of the distant dunes, but could only handle painting one before needing a break.

• • •

Our track lighting “sun” had not yet risen when I woke up on Saturday. It was still dark out, yet light emanated from somewhere beneath me. I peered over the edge of my bed. Angela sat on a pillow before the floating votives, oxygen off, staring into their flames.

“Hey, no oxygen. Are you feeling better?”

“I wanted to light the candles. I didn’t want to blow up.” Her voice sounded flat, lifeless.

“Are you okay?”

I crawled down from my bed, pulled up a pillow, and sat beside her. Melted wax spread from a pool at the center of one of the votives and reinforced the candle’s edge when it hit the cooler water. I patted her leg and had to fight the urge to recoil. So little meat padded her bones. She held a pencil, and on the table before her lay a sketch of a figure. Its lips were parted, brows lifted, hands bent at odd angles, feet turned inward. A tragic doll whose soul struggled to emerge.
Petrushka
.

“I’m shutting down, Penny.”

“You just got out of bed on the wrong side this morning.” I knew what she’d say as soon as the words left my mouth.

“Our beds only have one side.”

It was no fun playing straight man to a straight man. “Hey. What’s going on?”

“All week I’ve been too tired to do much during the day, but I can’t sleep at night because I still have so much to do. I can’t work, can’t play. Then I get this.”

She pushed a bill toward me—it was for uncovered medical services totaling more than thirteen thousand dollars. If I’d had that kind of money sitting around, I’d have given it to her in a heartbeat, but my budget was already strained. What could I do to relieve her burden? I pulled the edge of the bill through the flame and it caught.

“What the hell?” Angela grabbed her drawing and scooted away as I dropped the flaming bill to the glass surface.

“They’ll send you another one. For now—no bill. You’ve got to put it out of your mind. Depression isn’t going to help.”

“And this from someone who allows herself a steady diet of depression just because it’s calorie-free.”

The silence between us swelled. I finally said, softly, “Maybe you need to take it easy. Rest a while.”

“I’ve been fighting for twenty-nine years. Do you have any idea how hard it’s been to make it this far?”

I understood more than she realized. But if Angela’s cheer couldn’t be restored, I saw little hope for any of us. “Where’s the Angela who would say that was an accomplishment? ‘Let’s celebrate’? ‘Call Marty’?”

She didn’t crack a smile. “I’m sorry—anything beyond whining takes so much effort.”

I held her while she sobbed and coughed, but she didn’t have the stamina to sustain tears for long. When she had calmed, I said, “Hey, a perfect body isn’t everything, right?”

This time, she smiled. “Who’s this talking?”

I laughed, and dabbed at her eyes with the sleeve of my nightgown.

“It’s my birthday and my friends—I mean my CF friends, the ones who would really understand—are all gone.”

I slipped my arm around her. “It hurts to lose a life you’ve loved. It amazes me the way you square off against your loss, both eyes open. No one will blame you if you blink every now and again.” I kissed her temple.

“You’ve changed, you know. The Penelope Sparrow I met at University Hospital wouldn’t have said that.” When she turned to me, I saw some peace had returned to her smile. I gave her one last squeeze.

“I believe Kandelbaum would say love does that to a person. Or the god within. Or maybe it’s the same thing. I don’t know, he’s still tutoring me. But you, young lady, are going to get that pampering I promised.” I had to get her to the gym. With any luck, Kandelbaum would have the courage to say the words that could fully rekindle her spirit. “I have to get to work now, but I’m going to have a cab waiting for you at noon.”

“A cab? The gym is one and a half blocks away. Anyway, I can’t afford a cab.” She pointed to the ash. “Remember?”

“I’ll pay for the cab. You’ll have a nice long soak in the whirlpool, then lunch, then—”

“You’re sweet to offer. But I don’t know if I can muster the energy. The most well-rounded meal I’ve had in the past week is a can of Ensure.”

“Maybe just the whirlpool? How much energy does that take?”

I gave her a hug. She felt delicate, as if her bones had hollowed out like the shafts of the feathers she collected. If I could light the fire of Kandelbaum and Angela’s love so she could experience the pop and snap of pure joy in her life, I could believe God really did have a hand in setting me on Kandelbaum’s car.

• • •

A quarter to noon. Joey and Suzie set up tables for food and drink. Karen and Haley helped the balloon lady tie a floating rainbow of orbs onto the exercise equipment, which I thought was pretty big of them considering they were angry with me for creating an unprecedented following for the dawn class, now some sixty strong. Kandelbaum was such a mass of nervous energy he finished setting up well ahead of the bartender and followed me around. He bumped into me twice before I posted him at the front door as a lookout.