On Second Thought(83)

No. It was Poe, but the resemblance was shocking.

My niece was beautiful. Her hair was dyed blue, shaved on one side,  jagged on the other. She wore torn leggings and a T-shirt with a skull  on it. As she got closer, I could see she was bedecked with black rubber  bracelets, more ear piercings than I could count, and had a tattoo on  her neck.

She looked far, far older than fifteen. But her skin was pure and sweet,  and her eyes were the same shade as blueberries, just like Lily's.

"Hi, honey," I said. "You got so big." My voice was husky. The last time  I'd seen her, five years ago, she asked me for piggyback rides, which I  happily gave. She'd had long black hair back then, and I taught her to  French braid it.

She gave me a dead-eyed stare, looking more like Lily than ever.

"Uh, can you just..." I held out my hand. "Take my crutch, okay."

She did, and I hoisted myself out, then hopped, grabbed on to her with  my good hand and steadied myself. Took the crutch back. "Thanks, Poe."

"What happened to you?"

I blinked. "Gran didn't tell you?" Wasn't it important enough for a mention? "I was hit by a van."

"Seriously?"

"Yep. I broke my collarbone, got a concussion and dislocated my kneecap. And bruised my kidneys."

"Gross."

"Yeah."

"Can you sue them or something?" she asked with a flicker of interest. "Like, if it was FedEx or the cops?"

"It was Beantown Bug Killers, and no. I was jaywalking."

The interest faded and the disgust returned.

We went inside, though she was faster than I was, obviously, and failed  to hold the door for me. "Come on, Boomer," I said, and he trotted in,  nearly knocking me over, unaware that he was no longer twelve pounds. I  followed awkwardly. Poe was already slumped on the couch, engrossed in  her phone. Mom was in the kitchen, her yellow parakeet on her shoulder.

The interior of the house was the same. I looked into the little den,  almost expecting to see my father there, clacking away on his computer,  or Lily, playing with her Barbies on the floor in the living room. The  woodstove sat on the hearth of the stone fireplace, a more efficient way  to heat the house. Same brown plaid couch, same old recliner, same  coffee table where Lily and I had colored and chattered.

Of course it was the same. My mom wasn't the type to throw things away, and she could fix anything.

I thought of my apartment-not Bobby's, but mine, the one I'd had before  the Big Bad Event. The pale green couch, the balcony, the pretty throw  pillows on the bed. All those lovely things, packed away in a storage  unit in Brookline.

"Get away from me, dog," Poe said. "Is that really going to live with us?"

"This is Boomer. He loves people." He whined, echoing my message, and  licked Poe's hand. She turned away without looking up from her phone.

I crutched it into the kitchen. Same creaky table where I'd done so much homework.         

     



 

Mom was pouring herself a cup of sludge. "Want a cup?" she asked. The bird was sitting on a shelf. Near food.

"Does that bird ever go in its cage?"

"Sometimes. At night. Mostly he flies around where he wants. Coffee?"

"Sure."

When I was in medical school, my mother came on one of her annual Visits  to Boston Because I Have to See My Daughter and informed me she'd  gotten a bird. Tweety, not the most original name. She taught it (him?  her?) tricks, such as eating a cracker held between her lips, or sitting  on her head while Mom drank coffee. Tweety could give kisses, which  made me shudder and envision my mother dying an agonizing death from  bird-borne encephalitis. When I called twice a month, I could often hear  Tweety in the background, sounding much like a knife scraping against a  plate.

But my mother loved the bird and sometimes laughed describing Tweety's intellect to me, so who was I to judge?

Mom set a mug down in front of me-Scupper Island Chamber of Commerce, as  boring and unimaginative of mug as could be. Again, I pictured my  pretty things-my green and blue coffee cups from my apartment, packed,  hopefully, in bubble wrap.

I sat down, my knee flashing with pain. "Mom, can I have an ice pack?"

"Bag a' peas okay?"

"Even better."

She got one and propped my foot up on an extra chair, then lay the frozen peas on my knee. "How's that?"

"Great. Thank you." I took a sip of the coffee (black; Mom didn't  believe in half-and-half or sugared beverages) and tried not to shudder.

She sat down across from me. "So what are your plans, Nora?"

"I thought I could stay here until I was a little bit better. And then...well, I don't know, really."

I want us to be close. I miss Lily. I want to love Poe. I was hit by a  car, and according to the Hallmark Channel, I'm supposed to come home.

I want to find out if Dad is still alive, and why he left us, and where he's been all these years.

"How long till you get better?"

She meant how long till I could move out. Tweety screeched, probably  wondering the same thing, and I eyed the bird warily. "I'll probably  need help for a week or two."

She nodded. "All right. And after that? You goin' back to Boston, I imagine?"

"I thought I'd stay here for the summer. I took a leave of absence."

"Now, why'd you do that? You're a doctor, Nora!"

"I'm well aware of that. But, Mom, come on. I was hit by a car. I almost died."

"That's not what Bobby said."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Should I have gotten more hurt for you? Being knocked  out cold and lying broken in the street wasn't quite dramatic enough?"

For a second, I thought about telling her about the Big Bad Event, but I  doubted that would impact her. I'd lived, after all. How bad could it  have been?

"Well, I'm just sayin' we don't have a lot of room here. What with Poe and all."

"I'll rent a place in a couple weeks, okay?" I took a slow breath,  remembering my resolutions, my new take on life. I was going to be  sunshiny again, goddamn it. "I've missed you, Mom. I want us to spend  time together."

I sensed she wanted to roll her eyes, but she didn't. "So we'll hold hands and sing ‘Kumbaya'?"

"Yes," I said. "It's my favorite song."

That got a tiny smile.

"I'm gonna take a shower," I said. "And a Vicodin."

"Don't get hooked on those," my mother said.

Wrong daughter to be lecturing about drug abuse. "Thanks for the advice."

I stood up, positioned my crutch and hobbled into the living room. "Poe, could you bring my suitcases upstairs?"

She inhaled a very long, slow breath, exhaled and raised her eyes to the ceiling. "Sure."

I went up the stairs one at a time, Boomer trying to help, running up  and down, nearly killing me. The bird flew right at my head, either  attacking me or trying to nest in my hair. "Jesus! Get away, Tweety!" He  zoomed past again, and Boomer lunged. "No, Boomer! Down." Imagine if my  dog ate my mother's favorite living creature on my first day home.

"No bird," I told him, and he looked deeply ashamed. Luckily, my mom  called for Tweety, and the creepy little thing whizzed past again,  diving at Boomer this time, who ducked, and went into the kitchen.

By the time I made it to the top, I was drenched in sweat and in a  bonfire of pain. God, my ribs were killing me! And my back. And my knee!  And my stupid collarbone. I was one giant ball of hurt.         

     



 

I went into my room. Poe had taken my old bed, based on the snarl of  sheets. The other bed, once Lily's, was covered in clothes, magazines,  makeup.

Poe came in with my suitcases and dropped them.

"You'll need to clear off that bed," I told Poe.

"Then where am I supposed to put my stuff?"

"The bureau? The closet? The trash? I don't know, honey, but I have to  sleep there. Let's try to get along, okay? I'll be here all summer."

"I have to share a room with my elderly aunt all summer? Do I have rub lotion on your feet and Bengay on your shoulder, too?"

"I was hoping you'd shave off my corns."

"Jesus!"

"Poe. I'm kidding. And I'm not elderly, okay? I'm thirty-five. I'll rent  a place as soon as I can get around on my own. If I sleep well and  don't kill myself tripping on your crap, I'll get out of here sooner.  See? Clearing off the bed works in both our interests."

"Whatever."

My eye twitched. "Would you please get me a glass of water?" I asked  sweetly. "I have to take some medication." I cleared a spot on the bed,  then used my crutch to snag my purse as Poe went into the bathroom. She  returned instantly with a slightly grubby glass filled with water which,  if experience is an indicator, would be tepid, since she didn't run the  water beforehand.

It was lukewarm, all right, but my knee was on fire, and my left arm  felt like lead. I swallowed a pill. Poe picked up the bottle. "Oh, the  good stuff," she said. "No generics for you doctors, I guess. Can I have  one?"