Part 25 (1/2)
For some reason, I think of Iva Lou, and I laugh.
”What is so funny?”
”Iva Lou would give everything she had twice to know where I am right now.”
”You don't want to call her, do you?” Jack Mac jokes.
”Where's the phone?” We laugh. I hope that, whatever happens, we will always laugh like this.
I am standing by his bed; he is near the windows. He comes to me and lifts me up and places me gently on his bed. He covers me in small, tender kisses-can I remember each and every one of these forever? I breathe deeply, feeling the rise and fall of my breath matching his.
When I was little and playing in the yard, I found a tiny blue egg in the gra.s.s. I looked up in the tree; there, out of my reach, was a nest in the branches. I ran for my mother. She carefully placed the egg in my hands and lifted me high off the ground and up into the tree, so that I was eye level with the nest. There were two more tiny blue eggs in the nest. Very gently, I placed the fallen egg at home with the others. This is how I feel in my lover's bed tonight. I feel that I am safe and I am home.
CHAPTER ELEVEN.
I always thought that if I ever unleashed The Woman in me and gave in to my pa.s.sionate nature, everybody in Big Stone Gap would know it and come running. So I am not totally surprised when I get up the next morning and no sooner do I fix the coffee than Spec is banging on the door. Iva Lou probably called my house and couldn't find me, so she called Spec, who lives in Cracker's Neck, and he's come up here looking for me. Jack is still asleep. I'm dressed, so I answer the door.
”Hey, Spec.”
”What are you doing here?”
”Making coffee. What are you doing here?”
”I'm here to fetch Jack Mac. They took his mother to the hospital down in Pennington. He needs to get to her right away. It's real bad, Ave. We need to hurry.”
”Stay here.”
I go into Jack's room, where he is sleeping soundly, like a little boy. I kiss him tenderly to wake him, and he pulls me close.
”Jack, Spec's here. Your Aunt Cecelia took your mama to the hospital. We need to go right away.” He jumps out of the bed. I help him dress, handing him a T-s.h.i.+rt, boxers, socks one at a time, a pair of pants. We jump into the ambulance with Spec.
Spec doesn't turn on the siren; it's Sat.u.r.day morning, about seven, and most folks are on a weekend schedule. He goes about ninety, though. I sit in the back; Jack is up front with Spec. I lean forward on the seat to keep my right hand on Jack's shoulder to let him know that I am here for him. Every once in a while he reaches up and squeezes my hand. Spec looks at me in the rearview; he raises one eyebrow and lets me know he understands.
Jack doesn't say a word the entire ride. I know he has dreaded this ride all of his life. The idea of his mother in pain or sick is too much for him to bear, but he doesn't collapse. I completely fell apart when it was my mama. Jack MacChesney is not the fall-apart type.
Spec pulls into the emergency exit at the hospital in Pennington Gap. He knows it well, so he takes us through a long corridor, a back entrance to Intensive Care. Jack goes through the door first, before Spec. He sees his mother in the corner of the unit, Cecelia at her side. He breaks into a run to reach her. When Mrs. Mac sees Jack, she smiles and raises her head slightly off of the pillow.
”Took you long enough,” she says.
”I came as fast as I could, Mama.” Jack is close to her face, holding both of her hands.
”I done took a fall,” she says as she closes her eyes.
”She pa.s.sed out,” Aunt Cecelia says, crying. ”I couldn't get her up. It was just the two of us there, and I had to call the hospital. I got so scared.” Jack is holding his mother tightly. I can't bear the sight of Cecelia's tears, so I put my arms around her gently. She looks at me, and though she doesn't know who I am, she accepts my embrace.
”She's the girl I done told you about,” Mrs. Mac says to Cecelia.
”They're gonna fix you right up, Mrs. Mac,” I promise.
”Do you think so?” she says with a twinkle.
I can tell that Jack wants to be alone with her, so Cecelia and I give them their privacy. Cecelia is a beauty, too, probably older than Mrs. Mac. She is taller and heavier.
”We was having such a grand time. We talked and laughed and ate. She was feeling funny last night, but we didn't think nothing of it; I thought she was just tired. But she had a bad night, she told me, like indigestion, and then this morning I went in to wake her and she was on the floor, just blacked out.”
”You did everything you could. I'm sure they can help her.” I try to rea.s.sure Cecelia, but Mrs. Mac doesn't look too good. Jack Mac calls for me, and a nurse takes over with Cecelia.
”Mama wants to tell you something,” Jack tells me, his voice breaking. I have never heard this tone in his voice before. My heart is breaking for him. He is so sad. He knows. He knows she is going, and he is powerless to do anything about it. I know that feeling, and it is devastating.
I lean over the side of the bed.
Mrs. Mac takes a good breath. ”Did you ever wonder why your mama did my mending when I was a good seamstress myself?” I shake my head; I never thought about it. ”My son wanted an excuse to go to your house.” She smiles. ”Take care of him. Because he took good care of me.”
I try to say I will, but I can't speak; I just nod and promise. I kiss her good-bye. I straighten up next to her bed; for a moment I am dizzy. This cannot be happening.
Jack leans over her bed and takes his mother in his arms. She looks like a beautiful porcelain doll, her skin a silky white, like her hair. Jack holds his mother and cries. I hear him say, ”Don't go, Mama. Don't go.” The nurse crosses over to help, but my expression tells her that Mrs. MacChesney has died. She died in her son's arms. And that is what she wanted.
The pa.s.sing of Nan Bluebell Gilliam MacChesney took everyone in the Gap by surprise. Except Jack. He knew she would never have endured a long illness; she wanted to go quickly. And she did. My mama knew I wasn't ready to let her go, so she stayed until her pa.s.sing would be a blessing, her suffering over. The terrible things that happen to us in this life never make any sense when we're in the middle of them, floundering, no end in sight. There is no rope to hang on to, it seems. Mothers can soothe children during those times, through their rea.s.surance. No one worries about you like your mother, and when she is gone, the world seems unsafe, things that happen unwieldy. You cannot turn to her anymore, and it changes your life forever. There is no one on earth who knew you from the day you were born; who knew why you cried, or when you'd had enough food; who knew exactly what to say when you were hurting; and who encouraged you to grow a good heart. When that layer goes, whatever is left of your childhood goes with her. Memories are very different and cannot soothe you the same way her touch did. If any sense can be made of my mother's death, it would be that I was of some help to Jack when he lost his mother. I hope I have been.
Jack was so strong through the wake and the funeral. He cried a bit at the service. But I was so proud of him; he took a moment with every person who came, to let each one know how much they had meant to his mother. I fell more deeply in love with him as I watched.
I load up the Jeep to return all the covered cake pans (again!). Then I'm taking Theodore out to lunch to thank him for being such a help through Mrs. Mac's funeral.
Bessie's Diner is standing room only, as usual. I hear Theodore call my name; over the crowd I see him wave to me from a booth way in the back. I work through the crowd to get to him.
”Did you buy old Bessie a diamond ring to get this table?” I kiss Theodore on the cheek.
”Almost.”
We haven't had a chance to talk much over the past week, and there is so much to tell him.
”How's it going with Jack Mac?” he asks.
”Well, he's sad. But he isn't depressed. He keeps saying he is thankful she didn't suffer a long time. He got to say good-bye to her. He's gonna be all right.”
”No, I mean how's it going with you and Jack?”
”I . . . love him.” I've never said that out loud.
Theodore smiles. ”You do?”
”I do.”
”Why?” Theodore asks kindly.
”I don't know if I can say it.”