The Healing (25 page)

He began to contemplate the few times he'd seen the old Karen since the beginning of the previous weekend. In the dining room, when his mother was visiting, they had connected. Outside, when he had tried to be good company, they had connected. And now, even though Lori was in the hospital and he was suffering from a doozy of a respiratory virus, they had connected. It was brief, but it was pure bliss.

Despite his compounding misery, Mike forced himself to finish the toast. Once the tea cooled off a little and Karen put the lid back on the cup, he was even able to grab the handles and drink some by himself. He spilled a little down his chest, and there were a few more crumbs to clean up, but in the end he felt like he had accomplished something.

Karen wiped his mouth again, but this time she seemed more distracted. She blotted the spilled tea from his chest, right where the low V-neck opened at his breastbone, and then she hurried off to get the decongestant. He took the required dose, along with all his other prescribed medicines, and fell back on the pillows with a stifled groan, feeling like someone had beat his head in with a club.

While Karen cleaned up the tray, Mike lay back with his eyes closed. He would've liked to watch her and remain vigilant for another sign of her long-buried affection, but his eyes wouldn't let him. Instead he inwardly channeled himself back to a time when he and Karen had been married for about five years, and they both came down with the flu at the same time. They spent almost a whole week holed up in their little apartment together, plodding from the bed to the sofa and back to the bed. Living in sweats and bathrobes, they passed their time watching television, eating soup, and drinking tea. When they started feeling better, they played cards, Scrabble, and backgammon. And while they knew there had to be some physical misery involved because it had been the bona fide flu, they often spoke of it as one of the best weeks of their lives.

Somewhere between deep thought and the abandon of dreams, Mike was back in that apartment. When he felt Karen's hands on his face, he assumed it was happening in his mind. Her cool fingers glided down his hairline, passed in front of his ear, and coursed along the ridge of his jaw as though creating an outline for her memory. Then they gently brushed back locks of hair as they had done once before when she thought he was sleeping. Finally, they rested lightly on his forehead, feeling the heat of his fever.

His eyes fluttered open when he realized it was real.

But Karen wasn't flustered, as he would've expected. She gazed at him rather serenely, and there was the tiniest hint of a smile playing at her mouth, as if she knew just where he had taken refuge in his mind. “Do you want a cool cloth for your head?”

“No, I'm all right,” he replied thickly, and watched her walk away.

chapter thirty

Luka whined and moped around the room as Karen rummaged through her daughter's drawers, gathering a few things she needed at the hospital. She was tempted to shoo the dog away because she was emotionally drained, and seeing the poor creature so lost without Lori only drove the knife deeper. But if she shut the dog out of the room, Luka would only seek solace from Mike, who needed to rest.

Mike . . .

For some reason, dabbing the butter from his lips and the tea from his chest reminded her once again how much she missed their physical intimacy. And touching his face had seared her heart like a branding iron. In her attempt to be the person Mike needed her to be, she was coming dangerously close to that forbidden zone within herself. Every time it happened—every time she thought she could be the wife he once knew—it was like touching an exposed nerve.

They were both so worried about Lori, it would have been natural for them to lean on each other and allow their concern to bring them closer together. Karen wanted desperately to comfort Mike, especially now that his weakened state had left him at the mercy of some virulent germ, and she wanted to seek his comfort in return. But she couldn't bring herself to do it. Not yet.

Her eyes fell on a picture that Lori kept on her dresser—a picture of her with her father. Lori, who was only twelve in the picture, was wearing her softball uniform. Mike, who was the assistant coach of her team, was hugging her from behind. They were both wearing their team caps and smiling from ear to ear. Lori had her hair pulled back, and she had not yet started plucking her eyebrows, so they were an exact blueprint of her father's. Her face was so identical to Mike's in the picture that Karen realized that was why Lori had it on display among the assorted trinkets on her dresser.

Or it could've been because she was in her father's big, strong arms, where she always felt safe.

Karen picked up the small brass frame, her chores and errands forgotten for the moment. She remembered the day she had taken the snapshot of her husband and daughter. Mike had been extremely proud of Lori because she had pitched a winning game against the best team in the league. “You've got your father's good arm,” he used to tell her. (He had been the FDNY's best pitcher for years.) It was also a day of reckoning because he'd realized his little girl was growing up. She and her giddy twelve-year-old friends were still innocent and childish in many ways, but they were physically turning into young women before the world's eyes. Karen and Mike had taken a few of them to McDonald's after the game, and she recalled what he had said to her that night after Lori had gone to bed. He had seemed preoccupied as they settled down to watch television.

“Those girls are a little too young to be so boy-crazy. Did you hear them? That's all they talked about.”

Karen had repressed her own girlish urge to giggle. She didn't want Mike to feel ignorant. “And where have you been? They've been on that track for over a year.”

Mike was truly baffled. “But they're only twelve. They should still be playing with dolls.”

She had let out a little laugh. “Have you taken a good look at them lately? They might be in sixth grade, but they look like young ladies already. Including your own daughter. When was the last time you saw Lori playing with dolls?”

Mike had held his head and looked like he wanted to cover his ears. “But she's not even a teenager yet.”

“Lori has had her period for over a year,” Karen told him. “She's already outgrowing A-sized bras. Right now she's wearing big T-shirts to hide it, but in another year the whole world is going to know. So be ready, Mike. Boys are looking at her already.”

“They are not.”

“Yes, they are.”

There were so many similar discussions about Lori's coming of age because there was so much Mike didn't understand. That whole side of Lori was alien to him. In many ways, it still was. She would always be his little girl. To think that an entire planet of eager young males was viewing her any other way made him more than a little nervous.

Karen put the picture back on the dresser when the film of tears blurred her vision. Since that day on the softball field, with the sun shining on them and the joy of life so evident in their smiles, the two people in the photo had been through hell. Without the camera to preserve those smiles, it would have been a far reach into Karen's memory for her to conjure up such an image. Two years later, Lori had started to raid the liquor cabinet in an attempt to anesthetize her overwhelming sadness, and Mike was walking with a cane.

Standing in her daughter's bedroom, Karen couldn't help but feel that fate had put her little family on some terrifying roller coaster, and they were chugging their way slowly to the pinnacle somewhere in the stratosphere. Lori was back in the psychiatric hospital, and Mike was in such fragile health that a common cold was a danger to him. Karen couldn't afford to dwell on it, but pretty soon they were going to run out of track and fall to earth.

As if confirming her fears, Luka curled up on Lori's bed and looked at Karen with eyes that appeared frighteningly human in their dejection. In response, Karen went over and lavished some of her own pent-up affection on the sulking dog. She petted the big black head and hugged the sturdy neck. “I know, girl,” she crooned softly as Luka's tail thumped on the mattress. “I miss her, too.”

Regaining her composure, Karen resumed her task. She put extra underwear, nightgowns, and clothes in an overnight bag, along with a few personal items that Lori had asked her to bring to the hospital, and then she washed her face before going back downstairs.

She couldn't let anyone know how scared she really was.

Karen felt uneasy as she pulled into the driveway. She realized this wasn't how she was supposed to feel upon arriving home from visiting Lori at the hospital, but she couldn't help it. Her life was a volley between two crises, and no matter where she went, she didn't know what she was walking into. At Stony Brook, she had been worried that Lori would fall apart when she saw her. At home, the situation was just as unpredictable. What condition would Mike be in? Would Karen get anxious about being alone with him once Raymond left?

She was glad to see Mike sitting up in his chair. He was still pale, and there was telltale redness around the nose and eyes, but he was washed and groomed and dressed. Before she could even ask him how he felt, and before Raymond could give her a quick rundown, Mike asked her about Lori.

“How is she?” he asked. “What did the doctors say?”

Karen realigned herself. It seemed like every thought and motion had to first be prioritized before she did anything. “She's on track,” she replied, turning to Raymond so he could fill her in before he had to leave.

Mike cut in before Raymond could speak. “What does that mean, ‘she's on track'?” he asked.

Karen concealed her irritation. She was only one person. “Lori is responding well to treatment, and she likes the therapist. The doctor is pleased with her progress.”

“Is she eating?” Mike asked. “Is she comfortable?”

“Mike . . .” Karen said. Raymond waited patiently.

“If I feel better tomorrow,” Mike said, “I'll ride over with you and we'll go see her together.”

“If you ride all the way over to Stony Brook with me, you're going to see your own doctor,” Karen replied. “Do you still have a fever?”

Mike said, “No.”

Raymond said, “Ninety-nine.”

“Did you eat?” she asked.

Mike said, “Yes.”

Raymond said, “Just a little grilled cheese.”

Karen glanced at Mike. He was frowning at his health aide like an insulted adolescent. “Did the nurse come this morning?” Karen asked.

Mike didn't answer.

Raymond said, “Yes, Mrs. Donnelly.”

“Thanks, Raymond,” Karen said. “We'll see you in the morning.”

Raymond left, and Karen immediately called the nurse. She wasn't going to get the truth out of Mike anyway. “Do you think I should bring him to the doctor?” she asked the nurse.

“I don't think so,” the nurse replied. “The doctor won't prescribe an antibiotic without the presence of a bacterial infection, and taking Mike to the office would expose him to other illnesses. It would probably do more harm than good. If his fever spikes, or if the cough deepens, then we'll order X-rays and blood tests.”

“Okay,” Karen conceded, knowing Mike had convinced the nurse he was fine. He had a fairly high tolerance for pain and misery, and Karen suspected he was laying it on thick for both Raymond and the nurse.

She was right. Before Raymond's beat-up old Buick was out of the driveway, Mike told her he wanted to lie down. With the Hoyer lift, it was a lot easier to get him safely into bed, so Karen didn't debate him on it. She simply propped him comfortably on a heap of pillows, turned on the television, put the tissues within his reach, and left him alone. He was asleep in less than five minutes.

Karen took advantage of the quiet time and made a few phone calls. Her body was still wracked with tension, but she couldn't leave Mike alone to go for a walk. Instead, she went outside and wandered into the abandoned garden. In the few days since she had been out there with Mike, the tomato plants had grown a few inches, and the squash plants had almost doubled in size. She bent over and pulled a few more weeds from around the tender plants, trying to rekindle the hope they had instilled when she had first discovered them. They were thriving despite the chaos around them because they had everything they needed. They had the sun, the soil, and the rain.

Karen smiled to herself.
Tough little plants,
she thought proudly.

Her accidental garden was teaching her things already. Grace would probably love to see it.

Uplifted, Karen went inside and took Grace's phone number from the pocket of her khaki skirt.