What She Left Behind (7 page)

She wiped her eyes and picked up a pen, trying to think of a way to convey the feeling of being thrown away like a piece of trash, of being locked up like a criminal. She remembered hearing stories of parents who kept their children from public view; deformed limbs, uncontrollable tempers, slow intelligence, and cleft lips being put into hiding, locked away behind a doorway on the highest floor of the family home, or secreted away in a dark attic. Is that what her father was doing? Was he so ashamed that his daughter loved someone who didn’t meet his approval that he wanted to hide her away? Or did he truly believe that a doctor could make her see the error of her ways, that she could be forced to marry a man she didn’t love? Or did he really think she was sick? She put the pen to paper and wrote in her journal.

 

 

A few minutes later, Nurse Yott came into her room. She smiled at Clara and looked her in the eye, unlike the rest of the doctors and nurses who always seemed to look through her. Clara thought about telling the nurse she was being sent away, but knew there was no point. There was nothing the young nurse could do. She watched Nurse Yott pull the steamer trunk from the closet and lay it sideways on the floor. Nurse Yott turned on her toes as she went around to open the lid, her white-stocking legs and pale hands moving slowly and purposefully, like a ballerina doing a choreographed dance. Clara guessed that they were close in age, Nurse Yott being two to three years older. She pictured Nurse Yott’s parents, smiling and proud at her graduation from nursing school. Tears filled her eyes and she looked at Nurse Yott’s fingers to see if she was married. There was an engagement ring on her left hand.

Suddenly, Clara felt weighed down, like she was trapped beneath a giant boulder. Her chest constricted, the agony of grief pulling her shoulders down. She was certain she heard her heart break. All at once, she knew she was going to be sick. She stood, hurried to the wastebasket, and fell to her knees. The toast she’d eaten earlier came up, stinging her throat, and then there was nothing but pain and acid. She spit into the basket over and over, then stood on trembling legs. Nurse Yott came over and put a hand on her shoulder, concern written on her face.

“Are you all right?” she said.

Clara wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “No,” she said. “I’m not all right.”

“Are you sick? Do you want me to get the doctor?”

Clara pulled her sweater around her middle and sat on the bed. “I’m not sick,” she said, her voice catching. “I’m pregnant.”

Nurse Yott gasped. Clara put her face in her hands and sat forward, her elbows on her knees. Her shoulders convulsed, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps.

Nurse Yott knelt beside her, one hand rubbing Clara’s back. “There, there,” she said. “Everything’s going to be all right.”

“No,” Clara said. “Everything is not going to be all right. The doctors here are supposed to help me, but how can they help me when they won’t listen?” She lay down on the bed and curled up on the blanket. Nurse Yott pulled the chair away from the desk and sat down, facing Clara.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Unless you can get me out of this place before they send me to Willard, then no. There’s nothing you can do.”

“Forgive me for asking,” Nurse Yott said. “But what about the baby’s father? Does he know? Are you together?”

Clara sat up, a crazy half-laugh, half-wail escaping her lips. “Yes,” she said, spittle flying from her mouth. She knew it wasn’t Nurse Yott’s fault, but she couldn’t control her anger. “We’re together. Didn’t you see him picking me up for a date the other night? He’s tall, dark, and handsome and was wearing his best suit. You couldn’t miss him!” Her voice was high and tight, and for a moment she wondered if she was losing her mind after all.

The young nurse folded her hands on her lap and looked down for a minute before speaking. When she looked up, her eyes were filled with tears.

“Listen,” she said in a soft voice. “I’ve only been working here for about six months. It’s not my ideal place of employment, but it’s the only job I could find. My fiancé and I want to get married as soon as possible, but he’s been out of work and . . .” She paused and chewed on her lower lip, as if wondering if she should go on. “I could tell the first time I saw you that you weren’t crazy. I don’t know how, but I just knew. Please don’t tell anyone, but I listened to some of your sessions with Dr. Thorn to find out if my hunch was right. I heard you say your father sent you here because you wouldn’t marry the person he wanted you to marry. I know how that is. My father doesn’t approve of my fiancé. That’s why I need this job. I’m trying to save enough money to get married and out of the house as soon as I can. Your father sent you here because you’re in love with someone else, right? Bruno Moretti?”

Clara sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. “How do you know his name?” she said. “I never told Dr. Thorn his name!”

Nurse Yott’s breathing grew shallow, her chest rising and falling faster and faster. “You have to promise me you won’t breathe a word of this to anyone,” she whispered. “I’ll lose my job if anyone finds out.”

“I promise,” Clara said, feeling dizzy. “Just tell me how you know his name! Was he here? Did he come looking for me?”

Nurse Yott glanced at the door, then sat forward. “I saw the letters,” she whispered. “The letters you wrote to Bruno.”

Clara shook her head, confused. “What are you talking about? How could you have seen them? After I wrote them I put them in the mailbox down by the front desk!”

Nurse Yott pressed her lips together and stood. She paced the room, then gripped the back of the chair and looked at Clara, her knuckles turning white. “The letters were never mailed,” she whispered. “Nurse McCarn made me go through the outgoing mail to take them out. She said it was doctor’s orders. I suspect it was really your father’s orders.”

All of a sudden, Clara couldn’t breathe. Her neck and face felt on fire, a burning lump in her throat cutting off her words. No wonder Bruno never answered her letters! Her father had made sure he’d never received them! She stood and shoved the chair toward the desk, her knees quaking. She sat, pulled the stationery from the drawer, grabbed a pen and started writing, her fingers shaking as she tried to form coherent words.

“You have to mail this letter for me,” she said, talking and writing as fast as possible. “Bruno doesn’t know where I am, or where I’m going. Promise me you’ll mail this to him.” She finished the short letter, folded it and shoved it into an envelope, then looked at Nurse Yott, waiting for her to agree.

Nurse Yott wrung her hands, her thin shoulders hunched, her eyes watery. “I don’t know,” she said. “What if I get caught?”

“Hide the letter,” Clara said. “In your brassiere or your underwear. I don’t care where. Somewhere no one will look. When you get home, mail it from there.” She sealed the envelope, scribbled Bruno’s address on the front, and held it out to the nurse.

Nurse Yott looked at the letter, chewing on the corner of her lip. Suddenly, there were voices in the hall. Clara stood and shoved the letter into the nurse’s hands. The nurse unbuttoned the top button of her uniform and pushed the envelope inside her brassiere. Just then, the door to the room opened and Nurse McCarn entered with a tray of food. She stopped in her tracks and looked at the open trunk on the floor.

“What’s going on here?” she said. “Why haven’t you finished helping Clara pack?”

Nurse Yott turned and smiled. “Clara was upset and I was trying to help by telling her how nice the doctors and nurses are at Willard. I think she feels better now. Right, Clara?”

The nurses looked at Clara, waiting. Clara nodded. “Yes,” she said. “Thank you.” She went to the dresser and starting removing her clothes, carrying them in neat piles over to the steamer trunk. Her legs felt like water, ready to dissolve into a puddle on the floor. She knelt and laid her blouses in the trunk, trying to keep her hands steady.

Nurse McCarn let out a loud sigh. “Nurse Yott,” she said. “Your job was to help the patient pack her things. You’re not a doctor, remember? Please stick to your job description or I’ll be forced to write you up for noncompliance.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Nurse Yott said, taking the tray of food. She set the food on the desk and turned to face Nurse McCarn. “I’ll see that the patient finishes packing and eats a little bit before she leaves.”

Nurse McCarn watched Clara kneeling at her suitcase, her lips pursed, her eyes narrow. Clara looked up, giving her a weak smile. Finally, Nurse McCarn turned to leave.

“Don’t be long,” she said. “Mr. Glen and Nurse May are finishing their meals, then Mr. Glen will be going out to start the car. You’ve got less than half an hour to get ready.”

“Very good,” Nurse Yott said. “I’ll make sure Clara is down at the front entrance shortly.”

As soon as Nurse McCarn left the room, Nurse Yott hurried to the door. “I’ll be right back,” she said.

“Where are you going?” Clara said, her skin prickling with fear. What if she was going to give the letter to Dr. Thorn? What if the whole thing was a setup?

“Just hurry up and finish packing,” Nurse Yott said. “When you’re done, put on your coat and boots, but don’t shut the trunk. We’ll close it when I get back.” And then she left Clara alone.

After the last of her garments were in the steamer trunk, Clara pulled on her boots and shoved her arms into her coat. She went to the window and craned her neck to look toward the front entrance. The snow had stopped and she could see Mr. Glen in the driveway, smoking next to the running DeSoto. The smoke from his cigarette and the exhaust from the car billowed about his dark silhouette, reminding her of a scene in a movie. But this was no movie. And Mr. Glen was no hero coming to save the day.

Clara jumped when Nurse Yott burst into the room, an extra blanket held to her chest.

“Here,” Nurse Yott said, hurrying toward the steamer trunk. “I told Nurse McCarn you might need a warm blanket for the drive.” She knelt and unfolded the blanket. Clara’s letters to Bruno spilled out over the contents of the trunk. “I thought you would want these.”

Clara gasped and picked up one of the envelopes. Nurse Yott snatched it away and shoved it, along with the rest of the letters, beneath the clothes in Clara’s trunk. “There’s no time for that,” she said, breathing hard. She pulled the trunk closed, latched it, and pulled it upright. “Maybe someone at Willard will mail them for you.”

Clara threw her arms around Nurse Yott. “Thank you so much,” she said, choking back tears. Nurse Yott pulled away and led Clara to the door, but not before Clara saw tears welling up in her eyes.

CHAPTER 5

I
ZZY

The Saturday after Izzy’s first week of school was hot and humid, the balmy breeze moving only the highest branches of the trees. Nearer the ground, the air was breathless. Izzy walked along a shaded sidewalk on her way to work, running her fingers through the birch leaves above her head. It was early, and a layer of dew still clung to the foliage, leaving the leaves wet and cool. Peg and Harry had left earlier than usual because Peg could hardly wait to start opening the Willard suitcases. Izzy had asked to walk the two miles to the museum warehouse instead of riding with them in the car. Now she was glad she did, grateful for the few minutes to herself. Between school, homework, and meals with her foster parents, the week had flown by. And it had been a rough one.

During those first few days, while Izzy was learning her way around the school, she was late for nearly every class. On the few occasions she asked for help finding her classrooms, a couple of the students gave her the wrong directions. It seemed like they did it on purpose and she couldn’t understand why. She hadn’t done anything to them. She tried to ignore the way they were treating her, wondering if it was the way they treated all the new kids, or if she should take it personally. Either way, it stung.

On her first day of gym, after she finally figured out that the gymnasium was in a separate building connected to the cafeteria through a long corridor, there was a sign on the girls’ locker room door saying it was closed temporarily due to a plumbing problem. When she heard distant shouting and the squeak of sneakers on a wooden floor echoing from elsewhere in the building, her stomach dropped. She was already late. She sighed, turned the corner, and nearly ran over a friend of Shannon’s, who was kneeling to tie her sneaker outside the boys’ locker room.

“Watch it!” the girl said, catching herself with one hand.

“I’m sorry,” Izzy said. “I didn’t see you.” She reached out to help the girl up, but the girl ignored her and finished tying her sneaker.
What was her name again?
Izzy thought
. Crystal? Nicole? Tina?

The girl stood. “What’s the rush?” she said. She brushed off her knees and shorts, then ran her fingers through her highlighted bangs. Like Shannon’s and a dozen other girls’ at the school, her hairstyle was sleek and layered, curling under around the edges—the Rachel haircut from the TV show
Friends
. Her white gym shorts were skintight, and the letter C glittered on the front of her short, oversized T-shirt.
Crystal, that was her name.

“I was going to change for gym, but . . .” Izzy said.

“We have to use the boys’ locker room until they get the plumbing fixed in ours,” Crystal said. “You’d better hurry up. Miss Southard makes us do laps for every minute we’re late.”

“But what about . . .” Izzy said.

Crystal waved a dismissive hand in the air. “Don’t worry,” she said. “The plumbing breaks all the time, at least once a month. The boys don’t have gym until after lunch.”

Izzy stayed rooted to the floor, trying to figure out what to do. “How much trouble will I get in if I wear flip-flops and jeans to gym?” she said.

Crystal laughed and rolled her eyes. “Trust me,” she said. “That’s worse than being late.” She grabbed Izzy’s arm and pulled her toward the locker room door. “Come on. It’s girls only. I’ll show you.”

Izzy let Crystal lead her toward the boys’ locker room, then stopped outside the entrance, unsure. Crystal pushed open the door and stood against it, holding it open and smiling. Izzy didn’t move.

“Oh my God!” Crystal said. “Don’t be such a chicken! I’ll go with you!”

Izzy took a deep breath. If Crystal was willing to go in, maybe it was okay. She followed her into a ceiling-less entrance hall that led to a second door. The stench of sweat and old urine stung Izzy’s nostrils, and the sound of lockers banging, showers running, and people talking echoed in the cement space. But the voices were male. Izzy stopped in her tracks. Before she could turn and run, Crystal grabbed her wrist and yanked open the second door. Shannon and Nicole waited on the other side. The three girls grabbed Izzy and dragged her into the boys’ locker room, pulling on her clothes and hair, their manicured nails digging into her arms. The steamy room was full of naked and half-dressed boys. When they saw the girls, they laughed and catcalled, throwing their wet towels in the air and dancing on top of the benches. Izzy kept her head down and tried to get away, but it was no use. In her struggle, she lost one of her flip-flops and dropped her bag of gym clothes.

The girls pulled Izzy through the changing area and pushed her toward the shower room. Then they shoved her forward, into the showers, and turned and ran. Izzy’s bare foot slipped on the wet floor and she nearly fell. A damp hand grabbed her wrist to keep her upright. She looked up to see Ethan standing there, his dripping hair plastered against his forehead, his bare chest covered in lather. She stared at his face, like a deer caught in headlights, then turned and stumbled out of the shower.

Cheeks burning, she made her way back through the locker room, picking up her flip-flop and gym clothes, trying to keep her eyes on the floor. The boys hooted and hollered, asking if she saw anything she liked. When a soggy jock strap hit her in the middle of the chest, she stopped and glared at them.

“I’ve seen bigger penises on the toddlers I babysit,” she said, trying to sound tough. The guys laughed and waved her away.

When she came out of the locker room, one leg of her jeans soaked, her shirt torn at the sleeve, Shannon and her friends were waiting in the hall. Izzy bunched her hands into fists and stormed away, wanting to punch them in the face, knowing they weren’t worth the trouble.

“Don’t be mad,” Shannon called after her. “It was just a joke. We do it to all the new girls!”

Cursing under her breath and berating herself for trusting Crystal, Izzy kept going until she reached the principal’s office. The principal said he would have the health teacher prepare a lecture on bullying for the next assembly, and if Izzy ever felt threatened she could go to the school nurse. But when he asked for the names of the perpetrators, Izzy refused to give them to him. If the principal questioned Shannon and her friends, there would be hell to pay. Izzy wanted him to be aware of what was going on in his school, but she wasn’t ready to be labeled a snitch so he could do his job. Later that night, it was all she could do not to sneak into Harry and Peg’s bathroom and look for a razor blade.

As if the boys’ room incident wasn’t bad enough, yesterday she caught Shannon and Crystal gluing ketchup-smeared Kotex to the outside of her locker. When the girls saw Izzy coming, they ran in the other direction, where Ethan waited for them at the end of the hall, his forehead furrowed, his mouth in a hard, thin line. When he saw Izzy, a look of shame flashed across his face. But when Shannon and Crystal reached him, he turned and fled, an empty bottle of ketchup in one hand. Apparently, he was just as bad as the rest of them. Granted, he had barely said two words to her, but something about his smile and the way he’d stopped her from falling in the shower made her think he wasn’t that kind of guy. For reasons she couldn’t put her finger on, it made her irritated and sad to discover she was wrong.

Thinking about it now, her heart raced and she could feel angry pressure building beneath her jaw. She had to do something to put an end to Shannon’s bullying, but what? And how? It was obvious that Shannon ruled the school. No one had the nerve to stand up to her. Izzy saw other girls fall behind Shannon’s group in the halls, walking a safe distance away, even if they were late for class. Some of the girls turned and walked the other way if the halls were crowded and there was no way to avoid Shannon’s path. The guys who weren’t laughing and cheering when Shannon and her girlfriends pulled a prank on someone would avert their eyes, or look embarrassed instead of standing up for the victims. Izzy couldn’t imagine one person having that kind of power over everyone else. It made her sick.

Going to her foster parents wasn’t an option. One too many times, she’d seen the results of getting parents involved with bullying problems. The parents, furious that someone was picking on their child, would run to the teachers and school board, spouting threats to anyone who would listen. The teachers and school board, afraid of a lawsuit for singling out one child for bullying, would do nothing. Then, without fail, the bullied child would pay the price for getting the grown-ups involved. Bullies find a way to target their victims, no matter what. If she told her foster parents and they went to the principal, the bullying would only get worse. She’d have to figure out what to do about Shannon on her own. Besides, she’d been relying on herself since she was ten. She wasn’t about to start relying on anyone else now.

Izzy slowed on the sidewalk. Thinking about Shannon made something hard and vile push against her ribs, like a beast clawing at its cage. She hated the knot in her stomach, the hard, tight ache in her jaw. The world reeled in front of her and she stopped walking, reminding herself to breathe. She had to get rid of her anger and frustration before she lost control, like her mother had. She took a deep breath, looking around to make sure no one had seen her stop in the middle of the sidewalk for no reason, certain she looked like a crazy person.

Then she saw the drugstore across the road. She dug her nails into her palms, fighting the urge to run over and buy a box of razor blades. She put one foot in front of the other and continued walking, unfurling her fists and counting to ten. She pushed negative thoughts from her mind, determined not to let anyone send her backward, toward that dark, lonely place where her only release was more pain.

Finally, Izzy reached the warehouse. She found Peg waiting, wide-eyed and talking a hundred miles a minute. With her curly brown hair pinned in a wild mess on top of her head, Peg was wearing sandals, a long floral skirt, and one of Harry’s sleeveless tees. On the other end of the warehouse, Harry gestured and smiled, talking to a group of men and women.

Peg showed Izzy the 427 Willard suitcases and trunks, lined up on tables and waiting to be opened, their contents finally revealed. Nearly breathless with excitement, she handed Izzy a thick, leather-bound notebook.

“I need you to write down the suitcase owners’ names,” Peg said. “Then I’ll open the suitcases and tell you what’s inside. We have to record everything, right down to the smallest detail.”

“Okay,” Izzy said. “Sounds easy enough.”

“We’ll do half, and Harry and his crew will do half.” Just then, Harry came toward them with two other people. A tall, wiry man with thinning blond hair and silver-rimmed glasses, Harry was, as usual, impeccably dressed in a pinstriped shirt and black dress slacks. Beside him, a massive, gray-bearded man lumbered down the aisle, making Harry look like a child. Izzy gaped at the height and width of the giant walking toward her, his wide, red face, his tree trunk–sized legs. She’d never seen such a large human being. The camera in his hand looked like a doll’s toy. Then, for the first time, she noticed the person walking next to the giant. He was carrying bags and a tripod, his hair the color of a raven. Izzy felt blood rise in her cheeks.

It was Ethan.

“This is our friend Peter and his son, Ethan,” Harry said to Izzy. “They’re here to take pictures.”

“And this is my assistant, Isabelle,” Peg said. “We call her Izzy.”

Peter smiled and grabbed Izzy’s hand, her slender fingers disappearing inside his enormous mitt. Ethan shook Peg’s hand, then smiled and said hi to Izzy. She nodded in his direction, then glanced down at her shabby sneakers and too-loose jeans. Peg had told her to wear work clothes, any old garments she wouldn’t care about ruining. Now she groaned inside, wishing she’d worn a plain-colored shirt instead of the New Kids on the Block long-sleeved tee with “I love Jordan” written across the chest. She’d had the shirt since tenth grade and usually wore it to bed. Not only were her clothes ugly and outdated, but she’d decided not to shower before work. Her dirty hair was in a ponytail, greasy strands hanging in her makeup-less eyes. She could hear the taunts in school now.

Peter and Ethan walked beside Peg and Izzy toward one end of the warehouse while Harry returned to the other. Thankfully, Peter’s goliath frame was like a barrier between Izzy and Ethan. She could almost pretend Ethan wasn’t there. She used those few moments to take slow, deep breaths, willing her reddening neck and face to return to its normal, welt-free color.

When they reached the first piece of luggage—a deteriorating leather suitcase with a brown handle and metal clasp—Ethan set up a tripod and pulled a handheld light out of a duffel bag. Peg and Izzy stood back while Peter snapped a few pictures. Izzy silently berated herself, unable to keep her eyes from wandering toward Ethan’s muscular frame. He was wearing black dress shoes and tight jeans, his wide biceps stretching the rolled-up sleeves of his white button-up shirt. An image flashed in her mind: his tanned, muscular body, naked and dripping in the boys’ shower room.
Why does he have to be here?
she thought.
And why does he have to be so damn good looking?
Then she pictured him holding a ketchup bottle, running away with his girlfriend, like a preschooler caught putting a cat in a toilet. No matter how beautiful he was on the outside, he was ugly on the inside. All the muscles and chiseled chins in the world couldn’t change that.

Finally, Peg went over to the suitcase and read the luggage tag out loud, spelling the first and last name so Izzy could write it down—
Madeline Small
. Then Peg took a deep breath, pulled on a pair of plastic gloves and, with slow, careful hands, undid the clasp and pulled the suitcase open. Peter moved closer to take pictures before the contents were disturbed, leaving Izzy and Ethan standing side by side. Out of the corner of her eye, Izzy saw Ethan looking at her. She kept her eyes straight ahead.