I maintain that, despite what the gossips of Hideaway will tell you, nothing happened on that boat ride. If there’s anything I’ve learned, it’s that bored old ladies can and will take the most innocent of actions and turn it into an all-out scandal. But at least in this matter – that is, what occurred on that boat ride – I feel as though my opinion outweighs theirs seeing as I was actually there. If you truly want to believe those old biddies that some shenanigans went on, then so be it, but if you’re going to only accept the truth from the lips of those actually present, you’re down to my word and Alex’s. And at the time, he didn’t really have much to say.
Grandma was hardly back in her own bed at home when she broached the subject, “Jemmalyn, darling, what’s that paper they have people sign when they’re about to die?”
The kids and Connie had already left the room, and Tim ducked out at the question, cruelly leaving me to stare at my grandmother’s face with confusion and suspicion, trying to determine just how lucid she was. The car ride home had seen her very chatty and alert, though tired, exhausted. She had been coherent then, but was she now?
“A will?” I suggested, tucking the covers in around her bony hips and pulling the TV guide up from the floor.
She shook her head, “No, no, not that. I’ve already got one of those. The paper that says that when your time comes, you don’t want those crazies dragging you back to this world.” My jaw hardened and I avoided her face, knowing precisely what she was talking about. “Well?”
“You mean a Do Not Resuscitate order?” I replied calmly, hoping my voice didn’t waver. Always before, I had thought of them as a suicide certificate. If you went into cardiac arrest or whatever and the doctor’s had the option to save you, what fool wouldn’t want to live? If they failed, you died, so be it, but if they succeeded, you got more time on earth.
“Yes, that one. Would you be a dear and get me one of those.”
I choked, coughed, then stood back to demand, “What?”
“Oh, darling, don’t look at me like that. You know exactly what I said. I just don’t see why, if the good Lord wants to take me home, all this fuss should be made to keep me here.”
“Grandma–“
”Don’t Grandma me. I’m suffering, Jemmalyn. I’m sick and old and tired. I’m ready and I don’t want those fools keeping me here to waste away more than I already have. I want to make my exit gracefully, not on life support in some sterile hospital room. Do you know how badly those rooms smell? I thought I’d gone to hell when I woke up this morning.”
“Grandma, I don’t think you know what you’re saying.”
“Of course I know what I’m saying!”
“That you want to throw in the towel?” I quipped.
“That I want to go home,” she retorted.
“Home for you is a hardship for us. You’re willing to give up any time at all with me and the kids?” I’m not sure where the accusation came from, but suddenly I was furious with her for even suggesting a suicide certificate – but even more, for asking me to get it for her! I felt entirely imposed upon. Worse! like she had handed the gun and asked me to shoot her, handed me the syringe and calmly asked for my hand in her euthanization. “That’s awfully selfish.”
Her eyelids lowered and she frowned, staring down at her hands, then looking back up at me to insist, “Jemmalyn, I’m not hardly here half the time. I’m just . . . so tired. I miss your grandfather and Michael. I got to meet my grandchildren and they’re beautiful. I got to see my daughter redeem herself just the tiniest bit and my granddaughter all grown up, beautiful and intelligent and successful. I’m just . . . I’m so tired, Jemmaloo. But . . . no, I’m sorry. I won’t ask it of you again,” she sighed.
“Thank you,” I responded, then fled the bedroom lest I break down right there. I didn’t trust myself to cry, afraid I wouldn’t be able to stop. I didn’t want to think of her with Grandpa and Michael because that would mean . . . that would mean another person in my life I would never ever see again. The thought made my throat burn.
Apparently, Grandma was more coherent than I had hoped when she asked, because she later asked Connie for the same favor. I know because Connie approached me in the kitchen, setting out sandwiches for the kids for lunch, and boldly asked if I knew where to get the forms.
Keeping an even face, I shook my head, “I don’t know, but I really don’t think Grandma’s in the right frame of mind to be signing anything at the moment.”
“Oh, she’s quite lucid,” Connie chirped, sweeping the crumbs off the counter with her hand and tossing them into the sink. She was slipping into the responsible adult role little by little. “I just had a very coherent conversation with her. I think last night jolted her back into sorts.”
“Then there’s no need to bother with the forms at the moment, is there? Here kids, drink your milk,” I instructed, setting glasses down beside them. I meant it as a cue to Connie that the conversation was over, but she apparently didn’t get it.
“Well Jemma, I certainly don’t see why we should deny her these forms, though. I mean, she’s thinking clearly and she’s decided for herself that this is something she truly wants.”
“Right, grant the dying woman her wish. I just don’t see what it matters. When God wants her, as she so gently puts it, He’ll take her, with or without a DNR,” I retorted, giving her a look. “Do you want a sandwich?”
She laughed and nodded, “I would love one.” She accepted the Olive Branch, then continued the war nonetheless, “But I just think I”ll swing by the hospital later today and see if they have them. I mean, you’re completely right, so I don’t think it matters letting her sign some paper if she thinks it’ll help.”
“Are you kidding me?” I slapped a glob of jelly on the bread and gave her a glare. “It matters a lot.”
“What does? Letting her sign the papers?”
“Signing the papers means standing beside her and watching her die while the doctors do nothing,” I hissed, “even when they are perfectly capable of saving her. It means letting an infection or a cold or a heart murmur kill her when she could have days, weeks, months left!”
I smeared the peanut butter on and slapped the two pieces together, not looking at her as she spoke, “Well, you’re right, I know it will be hard for us, but I really feel like we should be considering her in all this, and if she–“
”Hard? It’ll be hard for us? Who have you ever watched die, Connie?”
She suddenly fell silent, staring at the floor. For a moment she glanced up, her eyes wide and sorrowful and pitying, as if it finally dawned on her dense head just why the whole issue of death bothered me so much.
“That’s what I thought.”
“Jemma, your grandmother is an entirely different circumstance from Micha–“
”That’s enough,” I interrupted her, slamming the knife on the counter and glaring at her. She hadn’t just poked a nerve, she had dug in with her catlike nails and wrenched it from my skin. “Just eat your sandwich and stop talking about things you don’t understand. You weren’t there, you don’t know, so don’t talk about it. Ever.”
Lest she say anything further, I turned and joined Aiden and Lily at the table, both of whom were chatting happily, completely unaware of the intense discussion behind them. Or so I thought. After only a couple minutes, during which I felt myself relaxing, my heart rate calming down a bit, Aiden turned to me and asked innocently,
“Mommy, what’s a TMR?”
Fortunately, my four years as a mother had taught me nothing if not how to appear unphased at unwelcome questions, and so I pushed the hair off his forehead and assured him, “It’s nothing you need to worry about, sweetie. Just some hospital paperwork.”
“Why does Grandma want it?”
“Grandma isn’t really sure what she wants right now.”
“Well I think you should give it to her,” Lily suggested. “Because she’s old and old people always get what they want.”
“Unfortunately, we don’t,” I sighed.
“You’re not old!”
“I’m not? How old am I?” I inquired, glad that the subject changed so quickly and easily.
Aiden bit his lip and looked at the ceiling for divine inspiration, then insisted, “I think you’re sixteen! That’s only kinda old! You still have five years before you’re old.”
“Oh yeah? Twenty-one is when you become old?”
“Yes-huh!”
“Well then I hate to break it to you, baby, but I turned old on my last birthday.”
Lily and Aiden shared shocked looks, but Lily quickly put her hand on mine and promised, “That’s okay, Mommy, we still love you.”
It seemed Tim couldn’t stay away from the house for long, and that afternoon he was back, a casserole in one hand and a pie in the other.
“I was at Mama Loula’s,” he explained with a laugh, “and she sent these over.”
“She was just here earlier today!”
He shrugged, “Apparently, she went home and made you some food. Said something about you wasting away if all you eat are peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.”
“Definitely not a concern,” I pointed out, patting my stomach that never had quite returned to its flatness after the babies were born.
Lily gasped from across the living room, “Mommy are you pregnant?!?”
I snorted while Tim gave her a wild look, confused why she had even drawn that conclusion from thin air.
“When mommies have babies, they get fat,” she explained to him tenderly, walking closer to pat my tummy. “Hellooooo baby.”
“Lily,” I insisted, batting her hand away and rolling my eyes. “I’m not pregnant.”
“Oh. Well next time you get pregnant, I want a sister.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“What is she, four, and she knows what pregnancy is? I don’t think I knew what pregnancy was until I was like fifteen,” Tim laughed, following me and the kids out to the backyard. It was a beautifully pleasant day, warm but not hot, bright but not blinding, breezy but not windy.
“Well, your mom wasn’t the talk of the town because she showed up pregnant at sixteen,” I pointed out. “It’s quite a big scandal in a small town, and I just went from one small town to another. I may possibly have been the first unwed mother in the history of Wisconsin.”
He laughed and shook his head, “No way. Country kids get pregnant so much more than city kids.”
“Not true. City kids just have access to . . . things,” I joked.
He laughed, then gave me a sideways glance and asked, “Tell me honestly, did you ever . . . you know, did you ever consider it? I mean – I wouldn’t blame you!”
“What a question!” I teased, but it was certainly not the first time I had been asked by those far less deserving of an answer than my dear friend Timothy. With a shake of my head, I insisted, “Never. Maybe in another circumstance I would have, but after everything that had just happened, I couldn’t bear to lose anything else.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. I mean, that’s what I told Alex I probably thought you thought.”
“Oh, you and Alex talked about–“
”You? Psh, all the time,” Tim made a face as if I was stupid for even attempting surprise. “You were the center of all of our worlds.”
I gave him a doubtful look, “Me?”
“Come on, what else held all of us together.”
“This–“
”Don’t say this town. There were more kids in this town. No, at the end of the day, we were all there for you.”
I snorted at the idea, but in some weird sense appreciated it. The idea of me as this bright and shiny goddess in the center of our circle was certainly appealing, even if I didn’t believe it. Alex, Tim, and Michael had been best friends, Cat was my friend, Zane was my boyfriend, Kelly was my best friend, and I had saved Cody from drowning once . . . of course Michael was my brother and Alex was my whatever. Tim, then, was the only one that was not there because of me. Or . . . I shook even the shadow of the thought away before I could entertain it seriously. Hogswash, as Grandma had said before she went crazy and started asking for DNRs.
“But so what, Alex thinks I should have aborted them?” I motioned to my children. Lily was spinning in circles, her playdress fanning out around her and her little feet stomped the lush grass and dandelions. Aiden was running in circles around her with a football, screaming like a banshee over her sweet song. Talk of abortion didn’t bother me at all because it was such an impossibility. I had told the truth; I’d never even considered it. Not only had I been raised that it was a wicked deed, but as I had told Tim, I had already lost too much. And not one single time had I regretted my decision, not in the middle of shoving two watermelons out of my crotch, not pacing the hallways of a tiny house in the dead of night with two screaming infants, not chasing after messy toddlers or answering their obtrusive questions. Or, to be fair, possibly I had wished I was without children in the middle of a drunken stupor, but my thoughts and actions were hardly legitimate when under the influence; I was also known for taking off my clothes and thinking I was French while drunk.
Tim shook his head, “No. Well . . .” His hesitation made me sit up straighter.
“What exactly does Alex have to say about my decision to keep my children?”
“He just . . . he’s only thinking of you, Jemma. You know he’s always loved you.” I cringed. “He just . . . he thinks that maybe they’re a reminder of Zane, and maybe not a good reminder – I mean, not a reminder of Zane when he was still good.”
“So, what, getting rid of my children would make me forget that my boyfriends was fucking one of my best friends? Let’s not even get into what else he was involved with.”
He took a deep breath and rubbed his hands along his knees, clearly regretting opening this can of worms.
“I don’t mean that specifically. Although let’s keep in mind that you–“
”That I what?” I interrupted pointedly, twisting to look him straight in the face. “What, Timothy?”
“Well, I mean, you were still dating Zane when you and Alex–“
”Woah, woah, what does that have to do with anything? And how did you even–“
Tim rolled his eyes, “Please, Jem, we all knew. I’m not condemning you for it. I’m just saying you can’t blame Zane for–“
”Are you really– did I truly just hear– are you defending Zane?”
Tim sighed and scratched the back of his head, “I knew you were going to take this the wrong way. I don’t even know how we got here.” He gave me a pleading look, “I’m not defending Zane, Jemma. We all know he has plenty to answer for–“
”I’d say he’s going to do more than answer for it,” I retorted. “But you’re right, I don’t know how we got here. Because me and Zane or me and Alex are none of your concern.”
“Jemma, I didn’t mean it like–“
”No, Tim, I’m sure you didn’t. But we’re friends. We’re better friends now than we’ve ever been, so let’s get something cleared up right away. You are never to talk about what went on between me and Zane. You are never to talk about what did or did not go on between me and Alex.”
“You can’t tell me what not to talk about, Jemma.”
“Sure I can.”
“What are you, six? No, you can’t.”
I glared and huffed, “Well I can tell you that there are certain things I’m not comfortable discussing with you or anyone else.”
“Well let’s keep adding to the list, then. How about we add Michael dying, Cody dying, Kelly getting paralyzed, Zane and Cat running off together, you getting raped–“
”I did not get–“
”Hm, what else are you incapable of discussing, even with me, knowing I only care about you? Let’s see . . . Connie, death in general, oooh, alcohol. No mention of alcohol or alcoholism, sex, drugs, rock’n’roll, Alex--.“
I rose sharply and crossed my arms, “That’s enough.” He fell silent and stared at the floor, realizing just how far he had gone. I wasn’t sure what exactly had tipped him over the edge, but clearly he had spewed some massive word vomit. I hoped he felt bad, because I surely felt like shit. He’d just wrung me through the washer and plastered me up on the window for all to judge. Gentler but still firmly, I suggested, “I think it’s time for you to go home.”
His mouth opened like he was on the verge of saying something, but I’d had enough. I turned away from him, hardening my jaw to try and hold the tears back. He dragged his feet, but left, and only then did I lean into the house and call for Connie. Immediately she was there, eager to help, happy to be called, confused why I was once again on the verge of tears.
“Can you babysit for a while? I need to take a walk.” Her first instinct was clearly to ask what was wrong, but then my request hit her and even in the face of my obvious distress, she couldn’t help but smile. I was trusting the safety of my children to her.
“I . . . of course. How long will you be gone?”
I shrugged, “I don’t know. A few hours. Kids, behave for Connie! I’m going to run some errands!” They didn’t care in the least and continued their strange little game.
“Okay, just . . . be careful, Jemma. Try to be back before dark!” If I had been twelve, the warning would have made sense. Or, granted, sixteen.
Tim had made himself scarce quite quickly. I grabbed my shoes from the entryway and stepped onto an empty street.
I wasn’t even sure where to go. Even as a teenager, I never had too much time to myself. I was always with someone, which seemed to support Tim’s suggestion that I had been the sun of our little solar system. But if that was the truth, I had been a shitty sun. I had failed. As the mother bird, I had let our nest get ripped to shreds by some foreign predator – by drugs and alcohol and hormones and jealousy. I had seen too many of my baby birds die.
As a child, I probably would have headed for the woods, but I was already feeling dirty and claustrophobic. I wanted open air; I wanted to feel insignificant; I wanted to be swallowed up in the vastness of sky meeting sea. So I strolled to the harbor, occasionally throwing back my head and letting the breeze poke my hair into my eyes. I welcomed the stinging; I could blame my tears on the wind. God, what I wouldn’t have given for a drink! But the whole point of sobriety was to be sober and not self-medicate with alcohol.
The sun was lowering on the horizon, and so most of the boats were coming in for the night. Fishermen were shouting to each other, tossing around heavy nets and crates and barrels. They didn’t pay any attention to me and my watery red eyes, and why should they have? They had their stable, logical lives. They had their own families to go home to at the end of the day, maybe broken, but surviving. They were probably all simple old men who had accepted their pasts for what they were. They didn’t have so many skeletons in the closet that phalanges were poking out from the crack beneath the door.
I reached the end of the pier and turned to go back. Walking wasn’t helping and I didn’t know where else to go. All it was doing was giving me time to turn horrible memories over in my head that I had been able to mostly avoid for five years. In looking up, though, I saw him watching me, the ropes in his hands as he prepared to tie a little speedboat to the dock. Alex gave me a suspicious look which softened when I didn’t give him any expression back. I had no look for him. I wasn’t angry at him or hurt by him or anything of the sort at that precise moment. I was just . . . tired.
“Want to go for a ride?” he asked. motioning to the boat. I gave the thing a hard look, then silently nodded and stepped on.
The old hags of Hideaway can say whatever they want about that boat ride. I, however, can assure you that nothing happened. We didn’t talk. We didn’t look at each other. We didn’t even sit beside each other. He drove and I sat as near the bow as I could, pretending like the wind was what made the tears stream into my hair.
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