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It took a while to get moving again. I’d spent another two days under the covers, telling Dr. Stevens I was okay, just tired. She brought more tea and biscuits, the latter a bit heartier than previously, and I dutifully ate. And waited for the fallout.
Feeling somewhat stable, I eventually left the room.
Gretchen caught me in the hallway. “Are you okay? You’re pale again.”
“I’m fine, thanks. Just a bad week.” A shitty-ass start to the New Year, actually.
With a nod, she said, “I can relate. Say, have you tried meditation? It’s been helping me so much. You might like it.”
I seriously could not be in my head that intensely for five minutes and definitely not for two or three hours. “I’m gonna pass on that. It’s not really my thing.”
She gave me her pearl-white smile that quivered at the corners. As though she was trying really hard to project a positive, healthy image but struggled around the edges. I wondered who she attempted to be so strong for—no one ever came to visit Gretchen. She didn’t wear a ring, didn’t speak of family or friends. A significant other.
Maybe that was why we’d bonded so quickly. The same could be said for me with the exception of visitation, since my dad stopped by regularly and Kyle was always here.
Gretchen went into the solarium for her daily meditation. I followed her. Chelsea let me come a step or two closer to see her current masterpiece, the Chrysler Building. A photo of it—clearly an Internet printout someone had given her—lay on the table beside her neatly arranged Erector pieces.
She didn’t seem to mind the audience, so I thought it was more of a personal space issue, as Kyle had noted. He, however, was able to swoop in and chat animatedly to her, though it was always a one-sided conversation. The only people she spoke with, in very low tones so no one else could hear, were Dr. Stevens and the two rotating certified autism specialists who stayed close to her.
Kyle was at the retreat daily. Not just for me. His aunt offered him a maintenance and landscaping job, since he no longer had work at the Lux.
On a Saturday afternoon near the end of January, he lugged in a large box and placed it at Chelsea’s feet while she sat ceremoniously in her usual chair at the table. The logo on the side made me smile. Legos.
She had a small set, but from the size of Kyle’s delivery I’d say she could build a Chrysler Building taller than she was.
Maybe it was the parent-to-be side of me that found her so fascinating. I watched her carefully, so that I didn’t disturb or confuse her. Stealing glances, really, while I read articles on naming babies, caring for babies, keeping babies healthy and happy. The OB-GYN Dr. Stevens had hooked me up with not only was renowned in her field but also had two kids now in college. She was an excellent resource for my gazillion questions on how not to fuck up my own kid’s life.
Interestingly, no one inquired as to whom the father was, and I was relieved by that. I would tell my child all about Dane, but I couldn’t speak of him to anyone else. Not even Kyle.
With regard to him, I suspected my fellow retreat dwellers and the staff wondered if Kyle might be the father, given how close he stuck to me and how well we got along. I didn’t bother setting any records straight. But I did smile more when he was around, could breathe a bit easier.
And, as Chelsea clapped enthusiastically while Kyle dumped heaps of Legos on her table, I got the distinct impression he’d be a huge help when my baby was born. My father would be as well. He actually liked that I was in a round-the-clock care facility. I think he worried I’d gone a bit mental. He had good cause for the concern.
Despite my being a bit messed up all the way around, I did tell Dr. Stevens I’d vacate immediately if someone else applied for the room. She seemed to see, from my eyes, all the shit I dealt with internally, privately. The war I waged between wanting to slip into some sort of mind-numbing coma and desperately trying to be a sound, stable person for the sake of my child.
Thus, she repeatedly
told me she felt this was the place for me currently and that I was not unnecessarily taking up space. That was usually right about the time my sickness acted up and I made a beeline for a bathroom. She’d bring me a wet washcloth and give me a knowing—and somewhat see, I’m right—look.
While Chelsea started to touch and inspect each and every one of the Lego pieces—a task that might take her a good week to complete, but which likely occupied her mind—Kyle joined me on the sofa.
“You’re really good with her,” I said, my admiration for him increasing by leaps and bounds since that night of the Lux tragedy, when Kyle had demonstrated he would hero-up for any cause.
“She’s incredible,” he said of Chelsea. “And so adorable.”
“I feel bad for her mother. I met her when she came for a visit. Single mom working two jobs. And they’ve been through several specialists on their own who couldn’t help Chelsea, but she’s connected well with Tabitha and Lisa. And Dr. Stevens. You.”
“She doesn’t seem to mind you much anymore, either.”
“This is the closest she lets me get to her, but that’s okay. I just like to watch her work. She’s so meticulous.” My OCD nature responded to Chelsea’s impeccable style.
“Yeah. I think she’ll be here indefinitely, but she seems to enjoy it. This place is good spiritually as much as it is physically.”
“I agree.” Though I wasn’t convinced I’d ever be whole again. Not without Dane.
Kyle was quiet a few moments, prompting me to say, “I wouldn’t take you for the Zen type.”
“I’m not. Except…” He shrugged, clearly feigning nonchalance. I knew, because his jaw clenched ever so briefly. Then he told me, “I had my own stint here. That’s one of the main reasons I suggested you check in, aside from Macy being my aunt and knowing you can trust her.”
