Free Full Circle by Susan Rogers Cooper Page B

me. I’d never worried about that before – about Willis leaving. But I guess I wasn’t all that sure about his strength. Oh, I knew he could bench press 300 pounds on a good day, but intestinal fortitude? That I wasn’t sure of. Dealing with the deaths of family members is one thing, but dealing with the deaths of friends is quite another. For one thing, you can reject that. Would Willis? Would Willis reject Bessie? I didn’t know, and I didn’t want to push it to a conclusion. So I kept quiet.
    The next morning I called Megan’s school and told them she’d be in later, and took her to the hospital to see Bessie. On the ride over, I told her, ‘Honey, Bessie’s not talking right now. She’s sick and she can’t talk. Do you understand?’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘Why what, honey?’
    She sighed. ‘Why can’t she talk?’
    ‘Because she’s sick,’ I said.
    ‘She got a sore throat?’
    How does one explain psychological repression to a four-year-old? Answer: One doesn’t. ‘Yes, Megan, she has a sore throat.’
    As we were driving along, I noticed Megan looking out the window and up at the sky.
    ‘Honey,’ I asked, ‘what are you doing?’
    ‘Where are they?’ she asked.
    ‘Who?’
    ‘Aldon and them. Are they in the clouds? Do the airplanes run into them up there in Heaven? How come they don’t fall down? Can you walk on clouds? Do they have bottoms?’
    Megan has a tendency to run on and on, so I ignored her and kept driving. Finally from the back seat I hear, ‘Mommy!’
    I turned to look at her. ‘What, honey?’
    ‘How come the airplanes don’t hit Heaven?’
    ‘Because Heaven’s higher than airplanes go,’ I answered.
    ‘Then what about spaceships, huh?’
    Well, she had me there. ‘Spaceships go right by Heaven and don’t even know it’s there.’
    ‘Why?’ she asked.
    Where was the Right Reverend Rush when I actually needed him? ‘Just because,’ I finally answered. Megan’s only four. She bought it.
    When we finally got in to see Bessie, the private duty nurse we’d hired was sitting in a chair reading the Ladies Home Journal and Bessie was watching TV.
    ‘Hi, Bessie,’ I greeted. ‘Look who came to see you!’
    Seeing Megan, Bessie didn’t smile, but she did lift her hand in a small wave. Megan ran over to her bed.
    ‘You sick?’ Megan asked.
    Bessie nodded.
    ‘You gonna get better?’
    Bessie shrugged her shoulders.
    ‘You’re gonna come live with me!’ Megan announced.
    Bessie just looked at her.
    Megan’s pouty look came to her face. ‘You wanna, dontcha?’
    Bessie shrugged her shoulders.
    Megan turned to me, a not so nice look on her face. ‘Mommy!’
    ‘Sit, Megan,’ I said, indicating a chair. ‘And don’t talk so much. Bessie’s not feeling well.’ I took Bessie’s hand in mine. ‘Honey, we love you very much and we’re going to be very happy to have you come stay with us.’
    Bessie’s hand lay limply in mine. How much did she know? How much should I tell her, and when? And how did I keep Megan from blurting it all out? By leaving quickly, that’s how. And talking at some point to a shrink.
    We said quick goodbyes and headed home. Later that night, as I lay in bed trying to sleep, Willis sat up with contracts spread over his lap, reading glasses on, and his bedside lamp lit. I was at that point somewhere between sleep and wakefulness – that twilight state. I saw the hospital corridor. It was dark, with only light from the nurses’ station spilling on the children’s wing carpet, all ABCs and 123s. I saw Bessie’s private duty nurse going down the hall – on her back. Someone was dragging her by the hair . . .
    I sat up in bed gasping. Willis pushed his reading glasses down on his nose. ‘What?’ he asked.
    ‘She’s not safe there!’ I said, jumping out of bed and pulling on sweats.
    ‘What are you talking about?’
    ‘She’s a witness! If Roy didn’t do this, and I know he didn’t, then somebody else did and Bessie is a witness!’ I