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Authors: Jamie Langston Turner
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know what that’s like”?
But Rachel’s voice was low and calm. “How many days a week does Veronica have therapy?” she asked.
Teri answered in her quick, light way. “Mondays and Thursdays,” she said. She laughed, a nickering sound such as a young horse might make, and said that Veronica had begun tracking bright objects with her eyes the week before, at which time I understood that Veronica wasn’t like other children. I remembered how Steve had lifted her hand on the porch to make her wave.
Patrick, ever curious about any deviation from the norm, began at once to quiz Steve and Teri concerning Veronica’s disabilities, asking if she could walk, talk, sit up, feed herself, and so forth. The answer to each question was no. Was the condition genetic, Patrick wanted to know. Yes. Though Mindy had been spared, the disorder had played a role in Jody’s early death and had appeared full-blown in Veronica. She had seizures, sometimes a dozen a day, sometimes none. Doctors had advised them against having more children.
“We thought she was deaf for a long time,” Teri said, “but last week she turned her head when I dropped a pan on the kitchen floor.” She gave another whinnying laugh and added, “The doctor thinks she might eventually get back fifty percent of her hearing.” Patrick didn’t question how one could get back something she had never lost, that had simply been undetected.
Steve and Teri were glad to be relocating to Edison Street—“a real neighborhood,” as they put it. They had left a trailer park out off Highway 82, a place nicknamed Honeymoon Hole. “Our honeymoon stretched out to almost twenty years,” Steve said. He knew he had his work cut out for him, buying a fixer-upper like the one across the street, but it was the only way they could “swing the homeowner thing,” he said. They had big plans to “spruce it up,” but it would have to be “slow going because of time and money.” No doubt he wanted to make it clear to Patrick that the landscaping and new driveway wouldn’t be happening next week.
Before they left on Friday night, Teri thanked Rachel again for helping her out “in a pinch” earlier that day. What did she mean, Patrick wanted to know. “Oh, she didn’t tell you?” Teri said. “She kept Veronica for me today when I had to run over to see about something at Mindy’s school. That was nice enough, but then she turned around and asked us over for apple cobbler, too.”
Perhaps the false alarm had related to Mindy somehow, but no further details were offered, and Steve and Teri left shortly after. Patrick closed the door behind them and said, “That Steve sure is a talker. Nice guy.” I heard no reply from Rachel. I wondered if she knew how much Patrick talked before she married him. Or maybe he didn’t always talk so much. Maybe when they were first married she had been the talker. Maybe he had begun filling the void when she fell silent.
She came to my door and knocked a few minutes after they had left. “Aunt Sophie? I forgot to come get your dessert dish. Are you still up?” She must have wondered why I was sitting in my chair staring at the television with the sound muted. Or maybe she didn’t wonder. Maybe Rachel’s thinking is consumed with surviving each day. Perhaps there is no surplus to expend on wondering about an old woman watching television with no sound.
The rain is falling more heavily now. Several more cars have pulled into the parking lot of Wagner’s Mortuary. From the window where I sit, Edison Street looks like an old photograph, blurred by a photographer’s shaky hand and faded over time.
Chapter 6
Vowing More Than the Perfection of Ten
The feet of the fox sparrow are large, with elongated toes and claws, allowing it to dig longer and deeper. The male bird prefers solitude when he sings, retreating to a hidden perch in a dense thicket .
It is not the front door of the mortuary that fills me with awe and horror but the
But Rachel’s voice was low and calm. “How many days a week does Veronica have therapy?” she asked.
Teri answered in her quick, light way. “Mondays and Thursdays,” she said. She laughed, a nickering sound such as a young horse might make, and said that Veronica had begun tracking bright objects with her eyes the week before, at which time I understood that Veronica wasn’t like other children. I remembered how Steve had lifted her hand on the porch to make her wave.
Patrick, ever curious about any deviation from the norm, began at once to quiz Steve and Teri concerning Veronica’s disabilities, asking if she could walk, talk, sit up, feed herself, and so forth. The answer to each question was no. Was the condition genetic, Patrick wanted to know. Yes. Though Mindy had been spared, the disorder had played a role in Jody’s early death and had appeared full-blown in Veronica. She had seizures, sometimes a dozen a day, sometimes none. Doctors had advised them against having more children.
“We thought she was deaf for a long time,” Teri said, “but last week she turned her head when I dropped a pan on the kitchen floor.” She gave another whinnying laugh and added, “The doctor thinks she might eventually get back fifty percent of her hearing.” Patrick didn’t question how one could get back something she had never lost, that had simply been undetected.
Steve and Teri were glad to be relocating to Edison Street—“a real neighborhood,” as they put it. They had left a trailer park out off Highway 82, a place nicknamed Honeymoon Hole. “Our honeymoon stretched out to almost twenty years,” Steve said. He knew he had his work cut out for him, buying a fixer-upper like the one across the street, but it was the only way they could “swing the homeowner thing,” he said. They had big plans to “spruce it up,” but it would have to be “slow going because of time and money.” No doubt he wanted to make it clear to Patrick that the landscaping and new driveway wouldn’t be happening next week.
Before they left on Friday night, Teri thanked Rachel again for helping her out “in a pinch” earlier that day. What did she mean, Patrick wanted to know. “Oh, she didn’t tell you?” Teri said. “She kept Veronica for me today when I had to run over to see about something at Mindy’s school. That was nice enough, but then she turned around and asked us over for apple cobbler, too.”
Perhaps the false alarm had related to Mindy somehow, but no further details were offered, and Steve and Teri left shortly after. Patrick closed the door behind them and said, “That Steve sure is a talker. Nice guy.” I heard no reply from Rachel. I wondered if she knew how much Patrick talked before she married him. Or maybe he didn’t always talk so much. Maybe when they were first married she had been the talker. Maybe he had begun filling the void when she fell silent.
She came to my door and knocked a few minutes after they had left. “Aunt Sophie? I forgot to come get your dessert dish. Are you still up?” She must have wondered why I was sitting in my chair staring at the television with the sound muted. Or maybe she didn’t wonder. Maybe Rachel’s thinking is consumed with surviving each day. Perhaps there is no surplus to expend on wondering about an old woman watching television with no sound.
The rain is falling more heavily now. Several more cars have pulled into the parking lot of Wagner’s Mortuary. From the window where I sit, Edison Street looks like an old photograph, blurred by a photographer’s shaky hand and faded over time.
Chapter 6
Vowing More Than the Perfection of Ten
The feet of the fox sparrow are large, with elongated toes and claws, allowing it to dig longer and deeper. The male bird prefers solitude when he sings, retreating to a hidden perch in a dense thicket .
It is not the front door of the mortuary that fills me with awe and horror but the
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