Cracks in the Sidewalk(68)

Sunday morning Elizabeth’s eyes fluttered open when the first whisper of daylight shimmered across the bottom edge of the window shade. Just before waking she had floated in the gauzy space that surrounds a dream. In this one she’d seen Kimberly as a bride with an older, silver-haired Jeffrey beside her and her brothers close by. A young man stood at the altar with an aura of goodness about him. Elizabeth couldn’t see herself, but she could sense her presence.

Had it been any other day, Elizabeth would have gladly lingered in the sweetness of that imaginary world, but this day was wonderful beyond a dream. She would see her children again.

“Mother,” she called softly, “I’d like to get up.”

Claire had trained her ears to hear even the slightest whisper, so she woke without hesitation. “Okay.”

Since the paralysis had worsened Elizabeth could no longer pull herself up without someone’s help. She’d tried on three separate occasions to reach for the metal walker next to her bed, and she’d fallen all three times. Now she had to call for help, or stay in bed forever. As she fought the physical cruelties of her illness, she thought of how it also robbed a person of their dignity and independence.

Elizabeth slid her arms into the new sweater she’d saved for this occasion. Once dressed, she sat at the vanity and smoothed a thin film of cream over the puffy contours of her face. A dusting of powder and a few strokes of a rose-colored blush to brighten her cheeks with an artificial look of health came next. Using only her right hand, she applied lipstick and then eased it back into its cap. The simplest of movements were arduous for Elizabeth.

Once finished she took hold of her walker, inched her way into the living room, and lowered herself onto the sofa to wait. It was barely seven-thirty.

She sat there, watching the grandfather clock slowly tick off the minutes, each one seemingly hanging in the air longer than its allotted sixty seconds. Eventually it was eight o’clock and then, after an excruciatingly long stretch, eight-thirty.

“Come, let’s have breakfast,” Claire said.

But Elizabeth wasn’t the least bit hungry.

“Skipping breakfast isn’t healthy,” Claire warned and turned toward the kitchen.

The clock ticked off another minute, then another and another. Before too many minutes had passed Claire came into the room carrying a tray with two mugs of coffee and a dish piled high with David’s favorite raisin cookies.

“You remembered,” Elizabeth said with her half smile.

“Well, of course,” Claire answered with an air of pretended indignation. “Do you think you’re the only one who’s missed those children?” She laughed and sat down. “Here, try one,” she said, handing Elizabeth a cookie. “I want to make certain they’re good enough for my grandchildren.”

As they talked the clock ticked minute after long minute until it struck nine. “They should be here any minute,” Elizabeth said.

But it wasn’t any minute—and not any of the next sixty minutes. The clock chimed ten loud gongs, then moved on. Elizabeth and her mother waited, neither of them mentioning the unthinkable.

“Could be he’s stuck in traffic,” Claire said.

“Or maybe an accident on the highway,” Elizabeth added.

“David can be hard to get moving in the morning.”

“And Kimmie takes forever to eat.”

Finally at seventeen minutes after the hour the doorbell dinged.

When Claire opened the door, David and Kimberly burst into the room with an explosion of energy. “Mommy, Mommy!” they shouted in unison. After climbing on Elizabeth and hugging her with such force she nearly toppled from the sofa, they showered Claire with the same level of affection. In all the excitement Elizabeth didn’t think to ask about Christian until after Jeffrey left.

Jeffrey had followed them in, but after a quick glance at Elizabeth he’d turned around and stepped outside. It was late October, and winter had already shown itself with icy cold rain and winds that tore the leaves from trees. He tugged his collar up around his neck, then sat down on the step and lit a cigarette.

Seeing Liz had taken him by surprise. She sat on the sofa and laughed like this was some kind of party. She looked almost healthy. He took a long drag of the cigarette.

It’s unfair, he sulked. She’s sitting there like the Queen of Sheba while I’m struggling to make ends meet. He tossed the cigarette on the sidewalk, stomped it out, then lit another one.

~

For the first half-hour of their visit, both kids bubbled with questions. Was Mommy all better? When was she coming home? Did she have surprises for them? Could they have more cookies? Eventually, Elizabeth would have to tell them the truth about what was happening, but not today.

“Mommy’s still sick,” she said, “but the doctor is trying to make me better.”

“Daddy could give you medicine,” Kimberly volunteered. “When I was coughing, Daddy gave me medicine and I got better.”

Turning the thrust of conversation from herself, Elizabeth prompted, “Did you also have a sore throat?”

“Yes,” Kimberly nodded, “but it’s all better. See?” She stretched open her mouth.

“Daddy says you’ll never get better,” David said.

“Nobody but God knows that for certain,” Elizabeth answered. “Do you remember what I taught you about God?”