Life and Other Inconveniences(85)

“So for him to wander off . . .”

“Very uncharacteristic. Something must have caught his attention. Maybe he forgot something—his shoes or a lure or a book, and went back for it.”

“Did you ever wonder if . . . well, if . . .” No. That was way too harsh.

“If my husband hurt him?”

I nodded.

“Of course I did. I had to. The police asked immediately, and when a few days had passed and we still hadn’t found a trace of him, I asked him myself.”

“What did he say?”

“He was ruined, Riley. Sheppard’s loss ruined him. But I had to ask.” She took a long breath. “He didn’t hurt Sheppard. Nothing ever indicated that, and I knew it in my bones.”

“I guess he was force-adopted,” I said.

“That’s my hope.” She sat there, her hands playing with the sash of her robe. “Once upon a time, I made a bargain with God. I could bear the loss of Sheppard and Garrison if only I could know what happened. If only I could see my son, or bury him, I could get through life and take care of Clark, and I wouldn’t kill myself or become a drunk. But here I am, at the end of my life, and God has not held up his end.”

I was quiet for a minute. “I think you’re pretty amazing, Gigi,” I said. “And I’m sorry it’s been so hard.”

“I wasn’t a very good mother to my other son,” she said. “Clark. Your grandfather. Maybe that’s why God didn’t help me. I tried, but . . . I was dead, too, you see.”

“I’m sure you did your best,” I whispered, because I was crying a little bit.

“It wasn’t very good,” she admitted. “I just threw money at him. Sent him away to school the minute I could, and kept throwing money at him to keep him happy. I should’ve made sure his wife was under a doctor’s care. I knew she was struggling. I just didn’t know how much.”

“Well. Neither did her own parents. And you’re not God, Gigi. Even if you think you are some days.”

She snorted a little. “Shall we change the subject? Tell me about young Aarav. I saw the two of you got on quite well.”

And so, for another half hour, I talked to her about boys, how I’d never been kissed, wasn’t sure I wanted to be, how some girls said I was a lesbian but I didn’t think so, even though I would be okay with that if I was. I told her about school and my former friends, about Mom and how hard she worked and how much I loved her, and all the things we did together, and how Pop was the best.

“You should come visit us in Illinois,” I said. “I have a trundle bed. I’ll sleep on the pullout, and you can have my bed. It’s really comfy.”

She reached out and put her hand on my knee. “Thank you,” she said, and I hugged her then, resting my head on her bony shoulder.

Because everyone needs a hug. Even—especially—a mean old lady who didn’t know how to be with people.





CHAPTER 26


    Emma


By week five of my stay in Connecticut, things were settling into a rhythm. Genevieve had granted me the use of one of her cars, an aging but once-sporty Mercedes. I needed it, since I’d started at Rose Hill and had been seeing two families who were dealing with all the emotional issues that went along with needing this facility.

I’d found out a few other things, too.

Rose Hill was endowed so that, like the famous St. Jude’s children’s hospital, no family would ever be turned away because of the inability to pay.

“But of course, you knew that already,” said Tom, the executive director, with a wink. “We are quite grateful to”—he made quote marks with his fingers—“anonymous.”

I gave a small smile back. No, I hadn’t known, and I was more than a little dazzled. That was quite an act of generosity on Genevieve’s part. And anonymously at that! It was . . . selfless. Go figure. Gigi usually liked the London name spread far and wide, engraved in marble if at all possible.

Being at Rose Hill three afternoons a week meant I got to spend more time with Hope. Her seizures, which had been well controlled for a long time, seemed to be coming back, and her neurology team was adjusting her meds.

I had always known that Hope’s life expectancy was up in the air. Her disorder was complex; Hope had tumors, hundreds of them, all benign, on her brain, heart, kidneys, liver, eyes. She’d had two brain surgeries so far and might well need another. Being her guardian wasn’t going to be easy, but I was so, so glad I’d forced the issue. Genevieve could’ve picked her attorney or, God forbid, even my father.

Most children at Rose Hill didn’t have tuberous sclerosis, which was a rare genetic disorder. There were about eighteen kids here with a variety of conditions—traumatic brain injury, microcephaly, severe autism, neurodegenerative disorders. I’d been reading as much literature as I could get my hands on, talking to Calista, getting referrals to doctors at the children’s hospitals here in Connecticut so I’d be better informed.

My first session at Rose Hill was with the family of a beautiful four-year-old boy with so many medical complications that he needed 24-7 medical care and supervision. They’d done their absolute best, but the medical bills were killing them, and he needed more care than they could give. The parents broke down, sobbing at the thought of not living with their son, and suddenly, though maybe it broke some therapy rules, I was on my knees in front of them, hugging them, and found I was teary-eyed, too. “There’s no easy way to do this,” I said. “No easy way.”