“I must have been about eight. My father was in the hospital, and while he was there, my mother asked one of the nurses to give me a tour. I met this little girl, her name was Patty, who had cancer. We became pen pals. A year later she died.” Kate paused. Her eyes reddened. “That’s when I decided I wanted to be a doctor, to work with children like her.”
“You see, that’s your hope.”
“It kept me going,” she confessed.
“And now?”
Kate looked at her hands. Then, raising her eyes, she said, “Am I selfish for wanting to go to Stanford?”
“I don’t know. Are you?”
“I promised Mother that I would be a doctor. I even promised her that I would go to Stanford. She wanted me to go there.”
“You know” — he stopped to swallow — “I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but I have a good idea of how your father was with you. I’ve seen it many times before. Fathers like yours want a household where everyone is a saint, and a saint always sacrifices her interests for others. Saints are taught to think that wanting to go to the best college or wanting to have a high-paying job is a kind of ambition that God forbids. You’re not selfish because you want to go away to Stanford. When I was telling you that there were probably ways to keep your mother like she is, it was because I wanted to make sure that if you disconnect her feeding tube, you’ll be doing it without guilt, without the sense that you’re being selfish. If you do it, it’s because it’s in everyone’s best interests, including your mother’s.”
“You think letting my mother go is best for my mother? Why? You think she’s being kept from going to heaven?” She was not being cynical.
He puffed out his cheeks as if he were blowing a high note on a trumpet. “Your mother is already in heaven. Her soul is already there.”
“You should talk to my sister, Mary, someday,” she said, drinking the last of her Coke from the bottom of her glass.
“Why?” He finished his coffee. She hoped he would ask for more, but he simply wrapped his hands around the cup.
“She talks to Mother as if Mother can hear her. She’ll tell you that Mother’s soul is still with her, that God has kept her alive for a purpose.”
“I see.”
“That will make it harder, won’t it? I mean if I decided to . . . I would need to get Mary to agree.”
“I don’t know. Maybe not. You’re an adult and she’s not. You asked me how you would go about it. I suppose you would need to go before a judge with a doctor’s affidavits and so on. That shouldn’t be too hard. Texas law permits the stopping of life-support systems in cases like your mother’s. Maybe your sister could fight you if she didn’t agree with you. It would certainly be better if she agreed with you. Do you think you can convince her?”
“I’m not sure,” Kate said, her voice weighed down with a sudden realization. What would happen to Mary if she went through with it?
“There’s a lot to think about. You need to keep your sister’s welfare in mind. What is ultimately best for her?” There was a moment of silence as Andy waited for Kate to respond, but she didn’t. “What will you do?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know. I needed to talk about it, that’s all.”
“At 12:30 a.m.?” he joked.
She smiled back at him. “I’m sorry. It was a rough day and I needed someone to talk to. I broke up with my boyfriend tonight, Simon, then I got home and saw the letter that said we weren’t going to get any insurance. I couldn’t talk about this with Mary. She would worry. I know how she is. And I kept going over and over what you said to me in Father’s . . . in your office the other day. I couldn’t stop thinking about all you said. I’m sorry.” Kate stopped abruptly.
“I’m glad you called me. Does it look like I’m regretting this?”
She took a deep breath and looked at him directly, in a way that let him know she saw him as a man. She wanted to be equal to him in all respects when she spoke.
“You said we could be two people searching for the truth together. What did you mean by that?”
He squirmed in his seat. It was exactly what she wanted him to do. She waited for his answer while carefully observing the expression on his face. Had she been too forward? He bit his lip and tried to find a place to put his hands. She grinned.
“I meant that . . .” he stuttered, “I am willing . . . to do . . . whatever you feel comfortable . . . whatever your heart tells you is all right to do.”
“Are you attracted to me?”
He chuckled. “You noticed.”
She studied his face. He looked older than Simon, but only in the way maturity makes a person look older. Simon. He seemed just then like someone she knew a long time ago. Andy had a slight wrinkle in his forehead, between the eyes, the same wrinkle her father had — the scar that came from reading. She may have felt comfortable with Simon, but with Andy she knew what it meant to be attracted. What she was feeling was not ignited just by his good looks, but by his words, intelligence, and something she couldn’t fully understand — something like the desire to have him surrender.
“What’s going on in that head of yours?” he asked.
She picked up her glass and looked at its empty bottom. “I’m trying to understand what’s happening here.” She thought as soon as she said this that it was a lie. She understood what was happening.
“There seem to be a lot of things happening here,” he said with a smile. “Where do we go now?”
She felt a rush of fear and started to stand up. Then she pushed the fear away. As far back as she could remember, what she wanted had been labeled wrong by the voice of her father or of God. For too long she had been afraid, tentative with the expectation that punishment would follow when she pursued what she wanted. She sat down again.
“I don’t want to be alone tonight,” she said.
“Do you want to go back to the church?” he asked.
“No.”
They stared at each other. There weren’t many options left.
“Do you have a couch at your place where I could spend the night?” She didn’t want to let him know she was afraid.
“Yes, if that’s what you would like.” He glanced around. “We need to be careful,” he said. “I don’t know how it would look if someone from the congregation saw us.”
A bubble of hurt rose within her. “Why? Are you embarrassed to be seen with me?” Hurt was not something she had ever felt with Simon. Maybe hurt is a part of love, she thought, and this is how I know I love him.
“No, of course not. I meant . . . that . . . I don’t think you coming to my place is wrong, but there may be people in the church who might not agree with me.”
“Even if we just talk?”
“It doesn’t look good.”
“You don’t have to worry about anyone finding out from me. If you want, you can just drop me at home.”
“No,” he said quickly. He reached over and placed his hand on top of hers. “I didn’t mean to imply that I think it’s wrong, or that I don’t trust you.”
He was right. Of course it looked bad. What was she thinking? She tried to think things through, to work it out until she saw the consequences of all that was happening, but she was tired of thinking and planning. She couldn’t remember a time when she had not been consumed by tomorrow. Tomorrow was a prison. Today she was free.
“Let’s go,” she said.
Mary left the church dazed. Part of her said that Kate was old enough to make her own decisions, and part of her thought she needed to stop her from making a huge mistake. It was a terrible idea for Kate to get involved with the minister of what used to be Papa’s church. Mary remembered what he had said in his sermon about Papa. There was something mean about Reverend Soto.
She was halfway home when she felt Papa’s keys in her pocket. If she put the keys back in Papa’s desk, Kate would know for sure that she knew where she had been. Mary hoped Kate would talk to her about whatever happened, but she didn’
t want her to feel that she had to explain herself. She decided to go back to the church and leave Papa’s keys where she found them.
When Mary finally got home, Kate still had not returned. She checked on Mama and then she went to the backyard, where Aunt Julia was watering the willow tree. “These kinds of trees need lots of water.” Aunt Julia spoke without looking at Mary. “They usually grow near creeks and rivers. They’re not desert trees.”
“Papa said that when we first moved into the house, there was an irrigation ditch that brought water to all these yards. Back then, people had fields where they grew corn and vegetables and stuff,” Mary said.
“You need to dig around the tree so the water stays.” She pulled on the hose and went over to the back fence to water the roses. “I guess you didn’t find Kate.”
“Sometimes she stays with this other waitress who works with her,” Mary said quickly. Now if she could just remember the name of one of the waitresses in case Aunt Julia asked. But Aunt Julia didn’t ask. She had this tiny smirk on her face as if she knew that Mary was lying.
Aunt Julia shook her head and sighed. “I don’t know what I’m going to do. I really should go back home pretty soon. I don’t think I can stay like you asked me.”
“Is it because of the insurance?”
A guilty look came over Aunt Julia’s face. “Who planted those petunias?” she asked.
“I did,” Mary said.
“They’re nice. You’re a nice girl.”
“We can figure something out about the money.”
“I can be more help to you in San Jose than I can here. I have my job and I can send you a little money now and then. I can’t give you any of my savings because it’s not all that much, and I need it for when I can’t work anymore.”
“Can’t you get a job here? There are beauty salons all over. I can help you find one.”
“Look at me.” Aunt Julia stretched out her wrinkled arm. It trembled like a leaf in a breeze. “Who’s going to want to let me cut her hair with these hands? Over there I cut the hair of old ladies who’ve been coming to me for years and who wear their hair all puffed up and sprayed so no one can see my mistakes. You mind turning off the hose?” Mary went to the faucet, and when she came back, Aunt Julia was sitting on one of the wooden chairs. She always sat with her back very straight, like a queen on her throne. Mary sat down in the chair next to her.
Aunt Julia went on, “The one thing that always gave me comfort about you girls was that you were so responsible. Don’t get me wrong. I thought your father was way too strict with you. He took away your opportunity to just be kids, ordinary kids. But I’ll say this for him; he sure got you ready for when he wasn’t around. Maybe that’s what he was doing all along. I’ve been thinking about it ever since I read that insurance letter this morning and while you were away looking for Kate. What if he knew he had this heart that wasn’t working all that good and he set out to prepare you for when he was gone? He knew you were going to be alone.”
“But we’re not alone. We’ve got you.”
Aunt Julia ignored what Mary said. “I know Kate and I butt heads. She doesn’t like me, I can tell.” Mary started to interrupt her to tell her that, deep down, Kate was grateful for all she was doing, but she didn’t let Mary speak. “We’re both proud and stubborn. Not a good combination.” She slapped the side of her neck. “Are there mosquitoes during daytime?”
“They’re supposed to go away when the sun is up.” They both looked up at the same time. The sun was hidden by gray clouds.
“It never rains in El Paso except when I’m here,” Aunt Julia said. She was looking straight ahead, as if she were talking to someone only she could see. “I always felt it would be okay to go home and leave you girls alone because Kate was capable of taking care of you, of herself and you.”
“And Mama,” Mary added.
“Yes, Catalina also. But now I have my doubts about Kate.”
“I’m sure she’s okay. She didn’t do anything for you to doubt her. She’s still the same Kate. That letter just really upset her. She . . . we were all counting on that money.” Mary tried to sound convincing, when the truth was that she probably had more doubts about Kate than Aunt Julia did. “She broke up with Simon.”
She blurted this out, thinking it might make Kate’s disappearance more excusable, but she could see by the expression on Aunt Julia’s face that it only made matters worse.
“What is that girl thinking? Has she gone crazy? That boy was the one good thing the two of you had going. He’s the only way I can see you two survive. I hate to say it to you, but your sister’s just downright selfish. Just like her father.”
Mary wanted to remind her that just a few seconds before, she had thought Kate “capable,” but maybe you could be capable and selfish at the same time. She remembered all the moments when she thought Kate was selfish: when she told Mary she had to give up her hour of studio after school, or when Mary found out she was going away to college. Now that feeling came to her again, but more confusingly: Was Kate selfish, or was it Mary who was being selfish, wanting Kate to give up what she cherished most? And Aunt Julia? Was she the one who was selfish, wanting Kate to marry Simon so that they’d be off of her hands? This selfishness thing was very hard to figure out.
“Maybe it was just a lover’s quarrel with Simon. It happens,” Mary said, as if she were the world’s expert on love.
“It’s too much to ask!” Aunt Julia said loudly, almost shrieking. A sparrow that was hopping on the grass flew away. “You girls can’t ask me to do this. You can’t ask me to give up my whole life. That’s just too much to ask of somebody. I feel sorry for you and you’re my sister’s daughters, but I have to live my life.” She looked straight at Mary.
“So you’re not staying?” Her voice quivered.
“I’m staying until Saturday and then I’m leaving.” There was anger in her words, but it wasn’t directed at Mary. Mary realized Aunt Julia needed strength to get the words out. Then her face softened and she said, “I’m not leaving you alone. I’ll come for a few weeks every year to give you girls a break, and I’ll send you what little money I can. What else can I do?”
“You’ve been really helpful,” Mary said, but she probably didn’t sound too sincere. Aunt Julia was Mama’s sister. Aren’t sisters supposed to do everything for each other? If Kate were in the same situation as Mama, if Kate were in a vegetative state, her husband dead and two kids on their own without any money, she would do all within her power to help them. Aunt Julia was rubbing her thighs as if all that speaking had cramped her legs.
Then, slowly, another idea began to take life inside of Mary. “Aunt Julia,” she said tentatively, “what if I went to live with you?”
Aunt Julia’s head snapped around. “What?”
“Mama and I. What if we went to live with you?” Mary said. She didn’t want to tell her about Stanford, so she said carefully, “Kate’s sure to get a scholarship that pays for everything. She’s got the highest SAT scores any student at Riverside has ever gotten. She can live in the college dorms. Then it’s just Mama and me. We could move her to San Jose in an ambulance. I would take care of her, Aunt Julia. You wouldn’t even know she was there. We can find a nurse with the money the church gave us and Papa’s retirement, and I could take high school courses by mail or online. I could keep our computer, and Kate could get a new one. I wouldn’t mind staying at home with Mama. All I like to do is paint anyway.” She was out of breath by the time she finished speaking.
Aunt Julia shook her head and smiled. That was good, Mary thought. At least she didn’t say no immediately. “What about your friends?”
“I really have only one good friend, Renata. I’d keep in touch with her. She could come visit if it’s okay with you. We can put Mama in the guest bedroom and we can put a cot in there for me, like we used to do when Kate and I visited you.”
“No,” Aunt Julia said firmly, with no guilt or regret in her voice.
&n
bsp; “No?” Just like that? She wasn’t even willing to consider it? Mary knew by the way Aunt Julia said it that any other argument was hopeless. It wasn’t a matter of money or of rooms or cots. Mary didn’t know what it was.
“I’m sorry,” Aunt Julia said, getting up slowly, like her legs were not strong enough to support her. She tottered for a few seconds and then sat down again. “I can’t take care of you girls. I’m ill.”
“What?”
Aunt Julia brought her arm to her eyes and wiped away the wetness. “I can’t take care of you girls. I can’t be with Catalina. I’m ill. I’ve been diagnosed with breast cancer.” She began to sob.
“Aunt Julia, I didn’t know.” A wave of sadness came over Mary.
“I don’t want anyone to know. I’m only telling you so you don’t think I’m the witch you think I am.”
“But you should have told us.”
“Maybe I should have from the start. I have a hard time facing up to it. And you girls already have so much on your shoulders.”
Mary pulled her chair closer and put her arm around her. “Aunt Julia, now more than ever, we should all be together. You can’t be by yourself in San Jose. We’re family. We can take care of each other.”
Aunt Julia was dabbing her eyes with a tissue. “Maybe you’re right. I’ve never been much for family. But I tried my best.”
“Promise me you’ll think about us staying together.”
“I have to go home and start with the chemo.”
“Just promise me that you’ll think about it, all of us being together.” Mary felt like telling her about Stanford. Stanford was close to San Jose. Kate could go to Stanford, and Mama and Mary could live with Aunt Julia, and they could all take care of one another.
“I think I’m going to make me a cup of tea. You want some?”
Mary looked at her watch. It was almost eleven. Talita would arrive in a few minutes to see Mama. “No, thank you,” Mary said. “I think I’ll go to school. Maybe I can find Kate there.”
“Okay,” Aunt Julia said.