The five days she was away seemed more like weeks, because every day was long to me. I woke up much earlier and, dreading going to bed, stayed up much later. Ironically, I did some of my best schoolwork and was ahead of everyone in all of my classes. I didn’t tell Richard any more about Mama. In fact, I was so into my work and shutting everyone else out that he began to drift away. Whatever spark of interest he once had in me was snuffed out. I couldn’t blame him. As mean as it might sound, the truth was, I didn’t care.
That was especially true about Chastity. Despite her persistence, I said little to her. My indifference dropped the final curtain on our rocky friendship. We would look through each other in hallways and classrooms. It became that way with more and more of the friends I once had. Although I was there, doing my work, going through the motions, I began to feel as if I was really disappearing, slowly, perhaps, but fading away like some very, very old photograph in a carton in some basement. I moved in my own silent capsule, shut off from almost everything and everyone. The phone rarely rang, and when it did, it was usually one of Mama’s friends or one of the wives from Papa’s firm who were still vaguely interested in us. I promised to pass on their best wishes and told them little or nothing about Mama’s condition. I couldn’t find the words for that, and they seemed to understand. They were what I called “get guilt off my back” calls. But I couldn’t blame them.
Roxy did call me from St. Thomas on the second night. I told her I had called Uncle Alain and that he had told me he was working on coming to America soon. None of my French aunts had called yet.
“They’re getting everything from Alain, I’m sure.”
“Aunt Lucy called, too.”
“Oh? How did you handle her? They won’t give up on you, you know. It’s a matter of military pride or something.”
“I told her I would think it over. That shut her up for a while.”
Roxy laughed. I was going to ask her if she was having a good time, but I didn’t want to know. She told me when she thought she would come around again, and we ended the conversation with her saying, “You’re stronger than I was at your age.”
How could I be? I wondered. She was just a little older than me when she had stepped out alone in the world, when she had the courage to take so many risks. Did her anger alone give her the power to do that? How did she survive? It seemed so long ago when Chastity and I were so fascinated with Roxy and wanted to know everything about her. That interest had waned for me, but it was returning, maybe because of Mama’s questions. Perhaps I would start asking more personal questions, I thought.
Two days later, I was surprised when I arrived at the hospital and Mama said she would be coming home the next day. She had been walking a little and was sitting up. I saw she had done her hair and put on some of the makeup she had asked me to bring.
“But don’t you have to stay to have some treatments?” I asked her.
“No, no,” she said. “I’ve got to build myself up now. That’s all. Don’t worry. You go to school. Everything has been arranged.”
“Of course I won’t go to school. I’ll have to help you settle in, Mama.”
“No, I’ll have a nurse with me until you come home. She’s going to pick me up here. A limousine will take me home. I told you, it’s all taken care of. You’d just be sitting around most of the morning, waiting. It’s a waste of time. Go to school.”
“Aunt Lucy arranged it?” I asked. That was probably her way of inserting herself and pressuring me, I thought.
“Aunt Lucy? No. Your sister made all the arrangements,” she revealed.
“My sister? Roxy? When?”
“Yesterday.” She smiled. “She’s called me every day this week.”
“She has? She never said . . . well, I haven’t heard from her for a few days.”
That meant that Mama had told Roxy what was happening before she had told me. Suddenly, a surge of pure green envy flowed into my veins. Why would Mama confide in Roxy more than she would confide in me? Roxy was the one who broke her and Papa’s hearts, not me. Roxy was the one who had run off and not shown her face again until I forced her to.
And this wasn’t the biblical prodigal child’s return. Roxy had not found herself. She hadn’t changed one iota. She was still Fleur du Coeur, wasn’t she? She was still what Papa had shouted that day, a high-priced prostitute.
“What is it, Emmie?” Mama asked. It didn’t surprise me that, as sick as she was, she could still see into my heart and mind.
“Nothing,” I said. I tried to smile. “I’m just worried, that’s all, and want to be there to help you.”
“You will be. I’m not having a nurse around the clock, no matter what anyone says. Most of the time, it will just be the two of us. Like always,” she added.
I couldn’t stop the tears now, but I didn’t make a sound. I was like one of those dolls that can cry. Mama reached for me, and we hugged. I held her as tightly and as long as I could before I left. I was really feeling de
pressed now and thought the long walk, even in the cold weather, would do me good. It was dark by the time I arrived at the house.
For a while, I just sat in the living room, sulking. Then I opened my purse and plucked out Roxy’s blue card. I hoped I would be interrupting her and made the call. After four rings, I was about to hang up when I finally heard her say, “Roxy.”
“It’s me.”
“Oh. Anything wrong?”
“Why didn’t you tell me you had made arrangements for Mama to come home?”