Read Online The Way Back to Happiness by Elizabeth Bass - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Elizabeth Bass
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other activity blurred—the nurses bustling past in scrubs, the people sitting in various postures of impatience or pain in the waiting room, the man attached to an IV shuffling down the hallway. Her vision zeroed in on Aunt Bev’s clench-jawed, mottled-red face . . . and also her outfit. Mostly the outfit. A white skirt and a belted oversized blue jean shirt with a big red ladybug appliqué on it. As the bug barreled closer, Alabama tried to speak . . . but nothing came out. Her mouth was sand. She braced herself for the blistering accusations she knew were coming. Bev had been against her and Gladdie’s plans from the beginning, and now look.
Her aunt steamed within a few feet of her without seeming to slow down. Did she intend to run her over, to crush her with anger?
Before impact, Alabama closed her eyes, and in the next second she was choking in a cloud of Youth Dew. Her aunt grabbed her by the shoulders, pulled her noodly body into hers, and squeezed. A moment passed before Alabama realized that this was a sympathy hug, not a punishment.
“You poor thing!” Bev sobbed. “I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry!”
In Bev’s boa constrictor embrace, it took effort to breathe, never mind figure out what Bev had to be sorry for. Alabama tried to back up a step, but the wall was right behind her. She was trapped. “The doctors are still trying to figure out what’s wrong,” she squeaked. “They’re running tests.”
Bev released her finally and dug through her big denim purse for a Kleenex. “You poor thing,” she repeated, honking into her tissue. “I feel so terrible. I should have been here for you. . . .”
Why? Alabama wondered. I’m not the one who’s sick.
Bev blew her nose again and stuffed the tissue into her skirt pocket as a doctor in a white lab coat approached them. He knew right away that Bev was the person to talk to.
“Mrs. Putterman is . . . ?”
“My mother,” Bev said.
“We’re taking your mother in for surgery now. She’s had a gallbladder attack. Rather severe—the sonogram shows stones and acute inflammation. After the surgery, we’ll keep her here for several days, but there will be a significant recovery period, even if all goes well.”
Bev’s face pinched in worry. “Oh dear. Well, perhaps I can take her home with me.”
The doctor was already edging away from them. “I’ll give you an update after the surgery.”
They trudged back to the waiting area and kept up a vigil there for hours, Bev drinking vending machine coffee and Alabama munching listlessly through a package of Bugles.
“Do people die from gallbladders?” Alabama asked.
Bev reacted as if she’d been poked in the back. “Die? Mama’s not going to die. She’s having surgery so she won’t die, or get sick again. She . . .” Her gaze met Alabama’s and all of a sudden she reached over and seized her. Bugles went flying and Bev clasped Alabama to her bosom so that Alabama found herself nose to nose with the ladybug. “Don’t worry,” she cooed tearfully. “Your Gladdie will be fine.”
Alabama wrestled herself free. “I was just asking.”
Bev sat back and watched her with an uncertain look.
“Really,” Alabama assured her. “ I’m okay.”
Bev, on the other hand, looked like she was going to fall apart.
After that, the wait seemed even longer. Alabama took care to get up, stretch, and sit back down two seats away from Bev. The next time her aunt became overemotional and wanted to hug, she’d have to hurdle over a man with an oozing head wound to get to her.
Before midnight, a different doctor in green scrubs came out to tell them that the surgery had been a success. They were allowed to see Gladdie in the recovery area, but she was groggy and a nurse shooed them away after a few minutes.
They drove back to The Villas. Even though Alabama had lived there for weeks, without Gladdie there she felt like an intruder.
“You poor baby!” Bev said as Alabama dug through her suitcase
Her aunt steamed within a few feet of her without seeming to slow down. Did she intend to run her over, to crush her with anger?
Before impact, Alabama closed her eyes, and in the next second she was choking in a cloud of Youth Dew. Her aunt grabbed her by the shoulders, pulled her noodly body into hers, and squeezed. A moment passed before Alabama realized that this was a sympathy hug, not a punishment.
“You poor thing!” Bev sobbed. “I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry!”
In Bev’s boa constrictor embrace, it took effort to breathe, never mind figure out what Bev had to be sorry for. Alabama tried to back up a step, but the wall was right behind her. She was trapped. “The doctors are still trying to figure out what’s wrong,” she squeaked. “They’re running tests.”
Bev released her finally and dug through her big denim purse for a Kleenex. “You poor thing,” she repeated, honking into her tissue. “I feel so terrible. I should have been here for you. . . .”
Why? Alabama wondered. I’m not the one who’s sick.
Bev blew her nose again and stuffed the tissue into her skirt pocket as a doctor in a white lab coat approached them. He knew right away that Bev was the person to talk to.
“Mrs. Putterman is . . . ?”
“My mother,” Bev said.
“We’re taking your mother in for surgery now. She’s had a gallbladder attack. Rather severe—the sonogram shows stones and acute inflammation. After the surgery, we’ll keep her here for several days, but there will be a significant recovery period, even if all goes well.”
Bev’s face pinched in worry. “Oh dear. Well, perhaps I can take her home with me.”
The doctor was already edging away from them. “I’ll give you an update after the surgery.”
They trudged back to the waiting area and kept up a vigil there for hours, Bev drinking vending machine coffee and Alabama munching listlessly through a package of Bugles.
“Do people die from gallbladders?” Alabama asked.
Bev reacted as if she’d been poked in the back. “Die? Mama’s not going to die. She’s having surgery so she won’t die, or get sick again. She . . .” Her gaze met Alabama’s and all of a sudden she reached over and seized her. Bugles went flying and Bev clasped Alabama to her bosom so that Alabama found herself nose to nose with the ladybug. “Don’t worry,” she cooed tearfully. “Your Gladdie will be fine.”
Alabama wrestled herself free. “I was just asking.”
Bev sat back and watched her with an uncertain look.
“Really,” Alabama assured her. “ I’m okay.”
Bev, on the other hand, looked like she was going to fall apart.
After that, the wait seemed even longer. Alabama took care to get up, stretch, and sit back down two seats away from Bev. The next time her aunt became overemotional and wanted to hug, she’d have to hurdle over a man with an oozing head wound to get to her.
Before midnight, a different doctor in green scrubs came out to tell them that the surgery had been a success. They were allowed to see Gladdie in the recovery area, but she was groggy and a nurse shooed them away after a few minutes.
They drove back to The Villas. Even though Alabama had lived there for weeks, without Gladdie there she felt like an intruder.
“You poor baby!” Bev said as Alabama dug through her suitcase
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