look past Nurse Stronk at the photographs on the wall. I find the black-and-white photograph where all of my children are smiling. They are not smiling with joy; they are smiling because Patrick, who was holding the camera, ordered them to. Again I think of the Ballen children, linked together but laughing, tied to the trunk of a massive tree. I think of my grandchildren, each of them wandering around aimless and unhappy. I try to picture one joyful smile on one face that I love, and come up with nothing. I think that maybe my mother is right, and that I am stupid to keep trying. I am stupid to think this new baby will right all past wrongs. The gate door in my chest swings wide open.
“Catharine!” Nurse Stronk bellows.
I will answer her questions so she will be quiet. Only halfway through my responses do I realize I am not speaking out loud. But still, I don’t stop until I’m finished.
Can you hear me, Catharine? Yes.
Do you know where you are? The Christian Home for the Elderly .
How many fingers am I holding up? Two.
Do you know what day of the week it is? Wednesday.
Are you hurt? Yes.
KELLY
My heart has been heavy since I found out that my oldest daughter has ruined her life and embarrassed herself. Since hearing the news, everything has been shuffled up and dark. My life feels like a teenager’s bedroom—everything a mess, in its wrong place and noisy.
My own bedroom is pristine. It has been months since Louis and I slept side by side. A situation I’d thought could only get better has gotten worse. I no longer have the energy necessary to run our marriage for the two of us. I’m having enough trouble finding a reason to get out of bed in the morning. I suppose I’m depressed.
Being around me makes Louis feel guilty, I know. I rarely see him, but strawberry frozen yogurt is in the freezer at all times. My favorite brand of pretzels is in the cabinet above the bar. The gas tank in my BMW is perpetually full. I never have to take out the recycling or bring in the mail. It is always done, everything is done, before I have the chance. I’m not sure when it happens. When I am out or asleep, I suppose. I give my husband plenty of opportunity to play phantom provider. I sleep the sleep of the drugged. Long and deep. Sleeping pills are my new best friend. And when I’m not asleep I am either at the office or in my room at the motel.
At the motel I try to pass time reading magazines. Occasionally I switch on the television, only to switch it off a moment later. I reorder the money in my wallet. I make sure the high-school photographs of Lila and Gracie are straight in their plastic covers. I file my credit cards in the order of which ones I use the most. I make sure my mobile phone is switched off. I check my To Do list in my Filofax. There are fewer items checked off these days. I have been too distracted to run the errands that need to be run. I have too many responsibilities.
Mostly what I do in the motel room is hide. I hide from phone calls from my mother and sisters. From the phone calls I am not getting from my daughters. I hide from what is left of my marriage. I know that it is only luck that Gracie or Lila or my mother hasn’t realized the truth of our situation. Louis and I probably won’t be able to keep it a secret much longer. Something will have to give. The elephant in the room is getting too fat to walk around, much less to pretend it isn’t there. And I hide from the reality that I often find myself thinking about Vince Carrelli. I have gone back to him for two more haircuts since the first.
Initially I didn’t like my new hairstyle, thought it was too short, but when a few days passed of simply showering and running my hands through my hair and not needing to use a blow dryer, I loved it. My new style is truthful and simple and right out there. What you see is what you get. And I have come to appreciate the fact that no one commented on the change. The haircut, and my time with Vince in the barbershop, is