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“Okay.”
“You need to eat more, sweetheart. Wear some makeup.”
Zoë laughed gently, and sniffed. “I remember when you would have taken a washcloth to me for wearing makeup, and now you’re telling me to wear it. Do I look that bad?”
“Heavens, no. But you’re old enough. You should get your hair cut in one of those new styles.”
Zoë stroked a baby-fine tuft of her mother’s newly grown hair. “Like you, huh?”
“Well, my punk look wasn’t exactly intentional.” She smiled. “And it looks a little pretentious on an old lady like me.”
“But you’re not old,” Zoé said, her voice wavering.
“I’m thirsty,” her mother said, still deft at diverting disaster. “Pour me a glass of water, please.”
As Zoé reached for the pitcher, a nurse poked her head around the door. She nodded at Mr. Sutcliff, who then stepped forward. “That’s enough for now,” he said, holding Zoë’s shoulders firmly, kissing the top of her head.
“Harry, no!” his wife
protested, struggling to sit up in bed.
“You know what the doctor said,” he answered, unyielding.
I’m being squeezed out again, Zoë thought bitterly, but she leaned and kissed the cheek offered to her.
“They totally ignore what I want around here,” her mother said, as if apologizing.
Outside the room her father tried to give Zoë cab fare, and some extra for dinner. She wanted to ignore it, but he closed her hand firmly around the bills with his large dry grip.
“What did the doctor say?” she asked point-blank.
His gaze shifted this way and that, as if he was afraid to look at her. “He says your visits tire your mother out. He doesn’t want you visiting so much or for so long.”
“Dad!” It came out as a howl.
“I’m sorry. The nurses have been alerted. Zay haf zer orders,” he joked feebly.
“Don’t you have any say?” she asked.
He finally looked her in the eyes. “Zoë, I think seeing you does your mother good, but he’s the doctor. Let’s try it his way for a while. I want what’s best for her.”
“So you’re on his side—”
He cut off her protest with a gentle finger to her lips. “Get some pizza. Invite Lorraine over to keep you company,” he said. “I’ll stay for a bit longer.” He stroked her cheek and left her in the hall.
What if I screamed and cried and made a fuss? she thought. What if I had a tantrum and begged them not to send me away? But she couldn’t do that to them. She bit her lip and turned away.
Outside, she found one of the cabs that always lingered there. She rode home, worrying about how much to tip, so she wouldn’t have to think about her mother, or another empty evening.
She paid the cabdriver in front of her house, but when she got to the front door, she couldn’t bring herself to fumble the key into the lock. She shoved it back into her jacket pocket. I can’t face that silence right now, she thought. It’s suffocating.
She went to the park and watched the children play until they were called away to dinner. It was company of sorts, yet undemanding. A few stragglers came back to defy the dusk curfew on the playground, but as the shadows became deeper, and the lights came on, even they were called back to warm beds in houses full of parents, brothers, sisters, and blaring TV sets.
I wish I had a brother or sister, she thought. Someone to take charge. I don’t want to have to be responsible. I hate doing laundry. I hate having to remind Dad the phone bill’s due. Mom always looked after us. The old anger rose. She thumped her knee gently with her fist as if to subdue it. She thought she’d gotten over that. It’s not her fault, Zoë told herself. It’s stupid to think that. She’s not going away on purpose. But Dad’s going to be a vegetable. Who’s going to look after me?
A cold breeze swept through the park, and clouds blew across the early moon. Zoë pulled her denim jacket closer around her. It was time to get the heavier coats out from the storage closet upstairs. She shivered suddenly, as if ice trickled down her spine.
“It’s a beautiful night,” came a soft voice beside her.
