The Things We Cannot Say(7)

I’d stare out toward the hill that had borne witness to so many quiet moments with Tomasz, and I’d clutch that ring tightly against my chest while I prayed to Mother Mary to keep Tomasz safe until he came home to me.



CHAPTER 3

Alice


As we step into the geriatric ward, Eddie spots Babcia, and he immediately breaks out of my grasp and runs into her room.

“Eddie,” he calls as he runs. “Eddie darling, do you want something to eat?”

Echolalia is the bane of my existence sometimes. Babcia is constantly offering Edison—and everyone else—food, and so now, when he sees Babcia, he mimics her. It’s harmless when we’re alone. When we’re in public and he piles on that faux Polish accent, it sounds a lot like he’s mocking her. The nurse reviewing Babcia’s IV setup frowns at him, and I want to explain to her what’s going on, but I’m too stricken by the sight of Babcia herself. She’s propped up and her eyes are open. This should feel like an improvement on the semiconscious state she was in last night, except that she’s clearly still very weak—she’s sunk heavily into the pillows.

“Hello, Edison.” I hear my mother sigh as I catch up to Eddie and join him in the room. Eddie looks at Mom, then mutters under his breath, “Stop doing that, Eddie.”

Mom remains silent but her disapproval is palpable, as it always is when Eddie’s echolalia reminds us all that the phrase he most associates with her is a scolding. Now she turns her gaze to me, and she says, “Alice, you are incredibly late.”

I feel justified in ignoring my mother’s greeting given it is equal parts social nicety and criticism, which is the exact ratio that comprises almost every communication she undertakes. Julita Slaski-Davis is a lot of things; a lifelong marathon runner, a venerated district court judge, a militant civil libertarian, an avid environmentalist; a seventy-six-year old who has no intention of retiring from her work anytime soon. People are forever telling me she’s an inspiration, and I can see their point, because she’s an impressive woman. The one thing she’s not is a cuddly, maternal grandma—which is exactly why Eddie and I have a much easier relationship with Babcia.

I take the space next to Eddie at my grandmother’s bedside and wrap my hand around hers. The weathered skin of her fingers is cold, so I clasp my other hand around it and try to warm her up a little.

“Babcia,” I murmur. “How are you feeling?”

Babcia makes a sound that’s closer to a grunt than a word and distress registers in her eyes as she searches my gaze. Mom sighs impatiently.

“If you’d been here earlier, you’d already know that she may be awake now, but I don’t think she can hear. These nurses don’t know anything. I’m waiting for the doctor to tell me what the Hell is going on.”

The nurse beside Mom raises her eyebrows, but she doesn’t look at Mom or even at me. If she did look at me, I’d offer her an apologetic wince, but the nurse is clearly determined to get her job done and get out of the room as quickly as she can. She presses one last button on the IV regulator, then touches my grandmother’s arm to get her attention. Babcia turns to face her.

“Okay, Hanna,” she nurse says gently. “I’ll leave you with your family now. Just buzz if you need me, okay?”

Eddie pushes me out of the way as soon as the nurse goes, and fumbles to take Babcia’s hand. When I let him have it, he immediately settles. I glance back to Babcia, and I see the smile she turns on for him. I always thought my relationship with my grandmother was unique. She all but raised me through different phases of my childhood; my mother’s career has always come first. But as special as it is, our relationship isn’t a patch on the bond she has with Eddie. In a world that doesn’t understand my son, he’s always had Babcia, who doesn’t care if she understands him or not—she simply adores him the way he is.

I survey her carefully now, assessing her, as if I can scan her with my gaze and realize the extent of the damage within her mind.

“Can you hear me, Babcia?” I say, and she turns toward me, but frowns fiercely as she concentrates. Her only response is the swell of tears that rise to her eyes. I glance at Mom, who is standing stiffly, her jaw set hard.

“I think she can hear,” I say to Mom, who hesitates, then offers, “Well, then...maybe she doesn’t recognize us?”

“Eddie,” Eddie says. “Eddie darling, do you want something to eat?”

Babcia turns to him and she smiles a tired but brilliant smile that immediately earns a matching smile from my son. He releases Babcia’s hand, throws his iPad up onto the bed beside her legs and starts trying to climb the railings.

“Eddie,” Mom says impatiently. “Don’t do that. Babcia is not well. Alice, you need to stop him. This is not a playground.”

But Babcia tries to pull herself into a sitting position and opens her arms wide toward Eddie, and even Mom falls silent at that. I pull the bedrail down, and help shift the various cords out of the way as my very solid son climbs all the way onto the bed beside his very fragile great-grandmother. Babcia shifts over, slowly and carefully, purposefully making room for him right beside her. He nestles into her side and closes his eyes, and as she sinks back into the pillow, she rests her cheek against Eddie’s blond hair. Then Babcia closes her eyes too, and she breathes him in as if he’s a newborn baby.