People with Influence
I knew Jackie was thinking how much more horrible this was because I was a homeless child without anyone to care for me, and therefore I had to appreciate what Mrs. March was willing to give me and do for me. Another child who had a family would probably tell her to go to hell with her daughter.
“Well,” she said after a few moments to gather her thoughts, “you just take whatever she gives you. You deserve it and more. Maybe her husband is afraid some alert attorney will come see you and get you to sue the Marches. A lot of money could be held in trust for you to have when you’re eighteen. I bet that would bring your father back.”
“Would it?”
“I imagine so. Of course, he might be returning just to get his hands on the money. How long has he been away?”
“Three years,” I said.
“Three years? Has he called you often?”
“Never.”
“Not even written or sent you things?”
“We don’t even know where he really is.”
“Well, don’t you worry about it. Your first job is to get better.”
“Maybe he’ll come back when he hears what happened.”
“He might not find out about it. I always read the newspaper from beginning to end, and I didn’t see anything about this accident. I’m not surprised that the Marches were able to keep it out of the news, though,” she added. “They are what you call ‘people with influence.’”
She didn’t have to convince me of that. Look at what Mrs. March had gotten done for me in so short a time.
After I finished eating, I began to look through the magazines and books. Most of it was what I would read when I could get my hands on it. I hadn’t seen any of the movies she bought for me, and I had never had a DVD machine you could hold in your lap. Jackie checked my blood pressure and temperature and then sat and read some of my magazines, too.
We spent the next two days like this. Mrs. March didn’t return during those days, but I knew she called often to speak with Jackie. The nurse who came when Jackie left was older and less talkative, at least with me. She spent most of the night talking with other nurses. I guessed Jackie was right. I really didn’t need the second nurse, because I slept through most of the night. I did look forward to seeing Jackie first thing in the morning.
Either because she really enjoyed talking about her family and her life or because she was just trying to keep me from thinking about things, Jackie told me all about her brothers and sisters, her parents, how she became a nurse, and her one disappointing love affair. She rattled on about her taste in music and things she loved to eat. It seemed there wasn’t anything she didn’t like. I enjoyed listening to her talk about her family. I imagined myself a part of it.
What was a family, anyway? Could just a mother and a daughter be considered a family, or did you have to have a father, too, not to mention at least one brother or sister? A house or an apartment didn’t seem like much without a family living in it. When Jackie described her house, especially when all of her brothers and sisters had lived in it, I felt as though the house was alive, a warm place that embraced them and kept them happy and safe. How far that was from the cold apartment we had lived in and that small hotel room. How could I call either one a home?
Soon, though, instead of enjoying hearing Jackie describe her family and home life, I became sadder. Look at all I had been missing and would miss forever now. What sort of a woman could I become? I’d be like someone without any past. How could I ever do what Jackie was doing, describe my parents, where I lived? I’d be like so many of those homeless people I saw at the beach, pan-handling or trying to sell something to survive. Their faces were caverns of despair, their eyes empty, a smile as hard to find as a decent meal or a place to stay the night. The sound of other people laughing was painful to them and to me. If one day we weren’t there, no one would care; no one would look for us. Sometimes I wished the tide would come farther in and wash us all away. I was sure many people who saw us and shook their heads wished the same thing.
As I looked around my nice hospital room, I wondered where I would go from there. One day, the doctors would tell me I was recuperated enough to be discharged, but discharged to where? An orphanage? Some foster home? When I thought about that, I almost wished Daddy would come rushing back to get me, even if it was just to get himself some money. At least I’d be with someone who was supposed to care about me.
Late on the third morning, Mrs. March appeared and told Jackie she had arranged for me to be brought down to the morgue.
Jackie’s face lost color, and she turned sharply toward me. “Are you sure?”
“I know it’s very, very unpleasant,” Mrs. March said, “but she wants to say good-bye. Am I right, Sasha? We don’t have to do this if you’ve changed your mind, and Jackie’s right to be concerned for you. It’s ugly.”
“I don’t care. I want to see her,” I said. Mama could never be ugly to me, I thought.
“Then you will.”
She stepped out and returned with an aide and a wheelchair. I was helped into it, and the four of us went to the elevator. No one spoke all the way down to the morgue. My heart was pounding, and my eyes were filling with tears so quickly I had trouble seeing as we went down the corridor and through a pair of doors. A man in a white lab coat was waiting for us just inside and had me wheeled sharply to the right to avoid seeing anything else.
We entered a cold room. I saw no bodies, just what looked like a giant file cabinet.
“You stay with her, Jackie,” Mrs. March said. “We’ll hang back here.”
I looked at her and the aide. He didn’t seem unhappy about that, and she looked as if she was trembling. It got me trembling. Jackie wheeled me deeper in and up to a cabinet. The man in the lab coat looked at me, and then he pulled on the handle and slid Mama out. She was under a sheet. He lifted it, and something inside me shattered like a windowpane.
It didn’t look anything like Mama, and for a moment, I hoped it wasn’t her. Maybe she was still alive somewhere in the hospital. Maybe there had been a terrible mix-up. I looked at Jackie, and she shook her head. It was no good to pretend, to lie to myself. I knew it was Mama.