The Language Of Sisters Part 5

We nodded back, pulling out our half-full pack from Nova's purse. "s.h.i.t," Nova said, shaking her bag around as she fingered through it. "No matches."

The woman held out a lighter and flicked its tiny wheel with a dirty thumb until a flame appeared.

"Thanks," I said as both Nova and I used the flame to light our smokes, coughing lightly as we inhaled.

"Pastor Pete tell you to smoke down here, too?" the woman asked with a voice that sounded as though she had swallowed a handful of pebbles.

"No," I said, slightly confused. "My mom brought my sister for him to heal."

The woman looked uncomfortable, gazing at the ground as she snuffed out her cigarette with the heel of her worn black shoe. "Ummm," she mumbled incoherently, then walked around the corner of the building and out of our sight.

"That was weird," Nova said, tapping the tiny bit of ash from the end of her cigarette. She held it out from her body and then tapped it again without putting it to her mouth. Neither of us liked the smoking thing very much.

I looked at the cigarette in my hand, ugly and unnatural between my fingers. I dropped it to the ground and squished it out. "We should probably get back." Nova took a final puff, coughed violently, then squished hers out, too. I sprayed us both with a plentiful dose of White Shoulders, and we headed down the alley to the church.

By the time we got to our seats, the service had already begun. Pastor Pete, a rotund, white-skinned, strawberry blond in a badly cut pea green suit, stood in front of a microphone, praying. "O dear heavenly G.o.d, our Father who looks down upon us with everlasting, ever-wonderful love. We pray to You, O G.o.d, that today, through Your strength, Your will, that we will be filled with Your spirit. Amen."

The crowd murmured a collective amen, my mother's voice among them. Jenny watched the pastor with a skeptical eye, her twisted hands silent in the lap of her daisy-printed, short-sleeved dress, drool leaking a thin stream onto her chest. My mother had taken the time that morning to style Jenny's chestnut hair in a long French braid and had even allowed me to brush a little sheer blue eye shadow on my sister's lids. Among all these supposedly holy people, she was the only one who resembled an angel.

Nova elbowed me as the pastor continued. I elbowed her back. "Before us today, dear friends," Pastor Pete said, "is Jane Riley. A young woman stricken with a terrible disease. The horror of not being able to speak. Found on First Avenue, that den of iniquity in our fair Seattle, she has not spoken a word since the day she was born. When I found her, she was selling her body silently for the nickels it cost her to eat. Come before us, dear Jane, and let the spirit of our heavenly Father come down upon you and make you whole!"

My mouth dropped open as the woman we had met in the alley shuffled onto the stage. I looked at Nova, who was shaking her blond head, disgusted. "What a crock," she whispered. "Tell your mom."

I moved my eyes to my mother, who was sitting enraptured, hands clasped together in perfect prayer as she looked longingly at the stage where the hoax was taking place. Jenny's eyes caught mine, and the only word that filled my head was please. She knew what was happening. She knew my mother's hope had gone too far, crossed into dangerous territory. I swallowed hard and tugged at my mother's sleeve.

"What?" she hissed through her teeth, not taking her eyes from the stage. "I'm trying to listen."

"I know, Mom. It's just ... Well, Nova and I talked to that lady outside. She talked to us, Mom. There was nothing wrong with her."

My mother turned her head slowly to look at me. Her green eyes blinked, unbelieving. "What were you doing outside? I thought you went to the bathroom."

"Uh, we needed some fresh air. It's so crowded in here." I paused. "She talked, Mom. This is a bunch of c.r.a.p. Can we go?"

"No, we cannot go. You must be mistaken, Nicole. You must have seen someone else." My mother looked at the stage again, where Jane Riley was awkwardly stuttering her supposed first words. "P-p-praise J-Jesus!" she said, holding her hands to the sky. She looked down and saw Nova and me in the front row, then winked.

"Did you see that, Mrs. Hunter?" Nova exclaimed as she sat forward and pointed excitedly. "She winked at us! G.o.d!" She threw herself disgustedly against the back of her chair, blond waves bouncing like springs.

"Please don't take the Lord's name in vain, Nova," my mother said absentmindedly. She stroked Jenny's bare arm, staring ahead, not blinking, not seeing for several minutes. Her chin quivered, and she gave her head a little shake, as though to clear it of unwanted thoughts. People shouted and cried around us, but it felt as though we were inside a bubble, separate from the entire room. When Mom finally swung her gaze to our surroundings, she carefully took in the garish and glittering decor, disdain shadowing the sharp angles of her face. She scowled at the writhing figures who clutched their Bibles and spoke in different tongues. Her veins pulsed like little blue rivers beneath the thin parchment of her skin, a new understanding flowing through her blood. Each breath she took was deliberate and deep, the pause after each long enough to make me worry she might not take another.

"Mom?" I urged, touching her thigh. "Are you okay?"

"Your father is going to love this." She looked at me, the obvious false brightness of her smile sending fear tap-dancing around in my stomach. Tears illuminated her eyes. She let loose a shuddering sigh and lifted her eyes up to the ceiling. "Dear G.o.d, what was I thinking?" she whispered.

Nova took my cold hand in her warm grasp but did not look at me. Jenny sat quietly next to our mother, as though respecting the weight of the moment. I watched as Mom finally turned to her, Jenny's eyes holding a liquid blue mixture of compa.s.sion and sorrow. Mama, I heard her say, then once again, louder in my heart, Mama!

Mom smiled and hugged Jenny close, then pulled back to touch the end of Jenny's nose with her own. "I'm okay, sweetie. Mama's okay." Before that moment, I had never heard my mother refer to herself as Mama; she was always Mom or Mother. I wondered then if she had heard Jenny's cry. If they might share a language all their own.

"I guess it's over, then," Mom finally said. "Let's go." We walked down the middle aisle, wheeling Jenny's chair around prostrate worshipers. My mother held her shoulders high and back, the defeat she felt reflected only in the slowness of her pace and the dim light of her sad eyes.

Mom stopped going to church after that day. She still prayed; she still read her Bible every night before she went to bed. But her church became a private thing, something she held within herself. No one was invited in. We never mentioned Pastor Pete or the smoking lady again. The constant appointments with new specialists for Jenny became things of the past. My mother no longer seemed to have a mission. She moved through each day with Jenny with careful, deliberate routine, her determination to find a cure silenced by a G.o.d who finally gave her an answer to her prayers.

G.o.d told my mother no.

Dr. Ellen Fisher practiced out of one of many nondescript stucco office buildings near Seattle Children's Hospital. I had a little trouble finding a parking spot nearby, but it was a gray and rainy northwest spring morning and I circled the block again and again until one opened up. I was determined to not push Jenny's wheelchair any farther than I had to.

When we finally got to the office, I saw that the reception area was a small rectangle consisting of six plastic chairs and a carpeted play area for children. Happy spider ivy burst out of several pots on the windowsill, and a dark-hued oil painting of a robust, heavy-with-child woman adorned the wall above the receptionist's desk. When I informed her of our arrival, she apologetically let us know the doctor had had a complicated delivery early that morning and was running about forty-five minutes late. I wheeled Jenny into the waiting area, where two obviously pregnant women sat thumbing through magazines. One of the women, her round belly taking up most of her lap, set her reading down and smiled at me.

"How far along?" she asked.

Without thinking, I answered her. "Twenty-two weeks."

The woman's eyes shot open. "Really? You aren't even showing!"

Realizing her mistake, I backpedaled. "Uh, no. It's not me." I couldn't believe I hadn't thought of this. Of having to explain. My cheeks flamed crimson.

She looked confused, then rested her gaze on Jenny's stomach. "Oo-oh," she said, drawing the sound out in understanding. She glanced at me, deliberately not looking at Jenny again. She picked up her magazine, suddenly deeply interested in whatever the ancient Newsweek had to say. The other woman stole short looks at Jenny, and both women shook their heads in small motions of what I'm sure they thought was invisible disapproval. I briefly considered asking her if I actually looked fat enough to appear pregnant but thought better of it. Instead, I sat erect, irreproachable with dignity. Of course, Jenny chose this moment to open her mouth and let loose a wet, gurgling burp. She giggled after the noise, pleased with herself. I busied myself wiping her mouth with the towel I had learned to keep with me at all times for just such a purpose.

The front door opened again, and in ran three small children, all bouncing with honey blond curls and energy. A woman's voice called out behind them, "Rebecca! James! Isaac! Stop right there. Do you hear me?" Her body soon followed her voice through the door. A fake but full-leafed ficus plant blocked most of my view; I could only see her from the back. She was about my height, five-three or so, with a plush and curvy figure swelling beneath her swishing Bohemian-style embroidered dress. Her hair was twisted into a messy blond bun on the top of her head, fastened with what looked like a couple of small crochet needles. When she turned to the side, I could see she wore a baby sling, bulging obviously with a little life.

The boys made an immediate beeline for the stack of colorful toys in the corner of the room, but the girl ran up to stand in front of Jenny, fingering the shiny metal wheel of her chair.

"Why does she have this?" the child asked me, her round face open and curious. Her eyes were like ripe blueberries. I figured her to be about four. I wasn't exactly sure how to answer her question. How much would a child understand? I settled on the simplest explanation I could imagine. "It helps her get around better. She has a hard time walking very fast."

The girl, whom I a.s.sumed was Rebecca, widened her eyes. "Oh." She paused. "I have a bicycle with wheels like these. I can ride it very fast." She glanced sidelong over to her brothers. "Faster than Isaac."

"Liar!" the older boy cried out when he heard this.

"Don't call your sister a liar, young man," the blond woman ordered as she stepped up to the front desk. I still hadn't seen her face, but her voice was warm, tinged with fatigue. It sounded oddly familiar.

"No sitter today?" Annoyance shadowed the receptionist's tone.

The blond woman ignored the stab. "G.o.d, I wish. Ryan left for Alaska yesterday and my mother's at a jewelry show in Vegas."

At the mention of her husband and mother, I suddenly realized why I recognized the woman's voice. I stood up quickly, almost tripping over Jenny's outstretched footrests. "Nova?"

The woman whipped her head around to face me. She was heavier than I remembered, but there was no mistaking those sandy blond waves, that glowing smile. "It's Nicole," I offered. We'd kept in contact after I moved to San Francisco, writing and calling each other on a pretty regular basis, but when she got married and had her first two children we had gradually drifted apart. As a full-time graduate student, I remembered feeling detached from the life Nova was living: marriage, children, being a stay-at-home mom. I simply couldn't relate. But now, as I stepped over to her and she pulled me into a deep hug, somehow managing to keep her sling-covered belly free from impact, her embrace felt like an old, familiar blanket wrapped around me.

"Nicole!" she exclaimed as she pulled back to look at me, strong hands still gripping my shoulders. "I don't believe it. What's it been? Four years?"

"Three, I think. The last time we talked you were pregnant for the third time."

She dropped her hands to her sides, remembering. "That's right. You moved and never let me know your new address or phone number."

I ducked my head sheepishly. "I'm sorry."

The nurse called the two other women in the waiting room back for their appointments and Nova waited until they were gone before continuing. "So, what are you doing here?"

I gestured toward Jenny. "It's a long story."

Nova moved over to kneel in front of my sister, carefully adjusting the sling against her substantial chest. She grabbed Jenny's hand. "Jenny! It's so good to see you." It was heartening to see that time had not changed her comfort level with Jenny.

My sister's eyes brightened at the sight of Nova's smiling face; she kicked a foot in excitement and let out a small, happy yelp. Rebecca, who had been standing quietly next to Nova during our conversation, clung to her mother's arm, unsure. "Mama, what's wrong with that lady? Why is her face all wet?"

"Because she's drooling a little, honey." Nova used the sleeve of her dress to wipe Jenny's chin. "See? All better."

I smiled at this, feeling a hint of the same easy connection we had always shared. The two boys, suddenly interested in their mother, stepped over to stand next to Jenny, who smiled broadly at them both, her round cheeks pushing her eyes into thin slits. She patted her hands together and cooed loudly, a lilting, happy sound.

"Why is she clapping like that?" the taller boy asked Nova.

"I think it's because she hears music no one else can," Nova answered, smiling at me. She squatted down to her children's level and spoke to them. "Jenny's brain has a hard time telling her body what to do. It makes her look a little different and do things differently than we do. That's why she drools a little and makes different sounds than us." I was impressed with this succinct but accurate explanation.

Satisfied with this response, the boys went back to the table in the corner, and Rebecca joined them. I tentatively touched the now-wiggling bulge in Nova's sling.

"Four kids? Wow."

Nova grinned. "Yeah, well, what can I say? I'm a breeder."

I laughed. "Nice!" She definitely seemed to be the friend I remembered.

She laughed, too, cradling her child as she adjusted the sling and a hidden slit in her dress to allow the baby discreet access to her breast. My gaze lingered on them for a moment, oddly touched by this tender, yet unfamiliar vision. "Layla is definitely the last," she said. "Four under five years old is about all I can handle, I think. If Bill Gates thinks running Microsoft is a challenge ... " She paused, looked at Jenny's stomach, which, I supposed, if you knew what you were looking for, was beginning to announce her condition. "What happened?"

I sighed, rubbed Jenny's arm. "Like I said, it's a long story. But basically"-I lowered my voice so the children wouldn't hear-"she was raped by a nurse's aide at Wellman. We think she's about twenty-two weeks along."

Nova's pink mouth dropped open in horror, but she kept her tone low also. "My G.o.d. Is she going to have it?"

I nodded. "My mother's decision."

"And do you agree with her?" Nova asked.

"I don't know. At first I was sure it was a mistake. Now, not so much." Tears stung my throat, I was so happy to finally have someone to talk to about all this. Happy that someone was Nova, who already knew me so well. There are people in this world you can be apart from for years, and yet when you come back together, it's almost as though no time has pa.s.sed at all. You find yourself falling right back into the same rhythm of friendship you shared before. I hoped with everything in me that Nova was one of those people. "This is our first appointment with Dr. Fisher," I told her, "so hopefully I'll get a better idea of what to expect."

Nova held my hand and squeezed it. "She's a great doctor. Very much the patient's advocate. She's delivered all my kids except Isaac."

I looked over to the kids, their blond heads bent collectively over a stack of blocks. "Now, Isaac was your first, right?"

Nova took her hand away from mine and pointed each child out. "Right. He's five. Then there's Rebecca, who just turned four last week, and James, who's two. Layla here is six weeks." She leaned down to smell her baby's head.

I whistled, a low, amazed sound.

"Yeah, they're a handful. But, man, I love them." Her face glowed with a joy so obviously private I felt a momentary pang of embarra.s.sment for having witnessed it.

"Well, I have a child, too," I said. "Moochie."

Nova looked confused.

"He's of the furry variety. No diapers, just kibble."

She laughed again in understanding. "And where is he?"

"Back in San Francisco. My boyfriend is taking care of him." San Francisco suddenly seemed so far away, a place where I had lived long, long ago.

"Is it serious?"

I shrugged. "We live together, if that's what you mean."

"For how long?" she prodded.

"A year or so."

"Sounds serious. Have you washed his underwear for him?"

"What?" I giggled, and Jenny laughed, too, watching our conversation with obvious pleasure.

"The underwear test. I told Ryan I knew I'd marry him the day I saw his dirty underwear on the floor and willingly picked it up to throw in the wash. Sure enough, two months later, he proposed."

"Well, Shane would rather die than let me touch his laundry. He's afraid I'll destroy it, turn his whites pink or something."

"Ah," Nova said, nodding. "Trust issues."

The nurse appeared from the back again, calling out Jenny's name. "Well," I said, standing and turning my sister's chair toward the door. "That's us."

Nova hurriedly jotted something on a sc.r.a.p of paper. "Here's my number. What's yours?" I told her, and she wrote it down, too. Then she continued talking. "Call me, okay? Ryan works the fishing boats in Alaska, and he's gone for at least a month. I'd love to see you again. Catch up on things."

I took the paper and smiled. "Me, too." I waved to her as I wheeled Jenny back to the doctor I hoped would convince me everything was going to be okay.

Dr. Fisher was a tall woman, elegant in a manner that suggested it wasn't something she had to work at very hard. She appeared to be in her late thirties or early forties and had a bit of the exotic about her: her eyes were large and brown, burning with intelligence you couldn't ignore. Her lips were full and slightly pink; her straight, shoulder-length black hair was the perfect frame for the smooth, olive-toned skin of her oblong face. She wore a simple black top and slacks under her white doctor's coat and no jewelry save a stethoscope slung casually around her neck. Jenny looked her over with skeptical eyes, turning her chin away from the doctor and toward me. I imagined that over the years of endless doctors' visits, white coats had become like red flags to my sister, warning her of impending disaster.

"It's okay, Jen. Dr. Fisher is going to help you get through all this." Please, I thought, please help her. Help us both.

Dr. Fisher glanced at me. "How much does she understand?"

"About what?" I replied, confused.

She gestured in a big circle. "Everything. The world. What you say to her. The disabled patients I've worked with before have all been able to communicate on some level. Should I be talking to her or you?"

I was a bit taken aback by what sounded like impatience in her words. "To her, please."

She redirected her attention toward my sister, her tone softening a bit. "All right, then. Now, Jenny, I'm going to have a look at your belly. I'm going to touch it a little, to see how that baby is doing in there." She held up a small black device for Jenny's viewing. "We're going to use this to listen to the baby's heartbeat." She pulled up Jenny's shirt and prodded her stomach with straight fingers.

"Aren't you going to do an exam?" I asked, uncomfortably motioning in the general direction of Jenny's legs.

"Not today." Dr. Fisher squirted a blob of a clear, jellylike substance on Jenny's stomach. The lubricant must have been cold, because Jenny jumped and shuddered a bit when it hit her skin. Then Dr. Fisher pressed the Doppler device against Jenny's abdomen, moving it around as she spoke again. "Her records state she's never had a pelvic, and I don't want to scare her. In fact, in a case like this, I'd rather she be unconscious. But we can talk about that later." She inched the Doppler over a little, and suddenly a loud, echoing rhythm filled the air. "There," she said, satisfied, tapping the fingers of her free hand against her thumb, counting.

I was stunned by the intensity of the noise. "Is that the heartbeat?" Overwhelmed by the rush of emotion that filled my blood, I found myself having to hold back what felt like a river of tears. My mother was right; Jenny had a life inside her.