Jill Churchill - Silence of the Hams

“Like Sarah—" Shelley prompted.

Grace nodded. "Of course, Sarah's trauma was so much worse than mine."

“I don't mean to pry," Shelley said, "but Ihave no idea what you mean by that."

“You don't know? Really?" Grace asked. "I'd have thought the old school grapevine reached everybody.”

Shelley shook her head.

“You haven't heard about the baby?"

“I heard they lost a child, but I didn't know if it was a miscarriage or what and I wasn't sure it was true.”

The waitress brought their salads and Grace picked at hers. "They had a child with severe brain damage. Extremely severe. Unable to survive without a hideous array of machines. Constant convulsions. It was unbelievably awful. Sarah had been trying to get pregnant for years, desperately wanted the child, had a devastating delivery that made it impossible for her to have more children. In spite of that, and because she believed the child was suffering horribly, Sarah wanted the life support removed. The hospital agreed. Unofficially, of course. But they couldn't allow it without a court order. Sarah never left the baby's side. The hospital had to put a guard on her to make certain they couldn't be accused of having benignly ignored the possibility that she might turn off the machines. So she never even had any private moments with the baby."

“How awful for her," Jane said, knowing ordinary words couldn't begin to express what it must have been like for the grieving mother.

The waitress arrived with their pizza and the subject was dropped while they divided it up and sampled it. Finally, after eating only one slice, Grace continued. "They had to go to court to get an order to disconnect the machines. But the judge refused to agree. The baby lived another month."

“I'm sorry," Shelley said, handing Grace a packet of tissues from her purse. "I had no business asking about this and upsetting you more.”

Grace mopped her eyes and blew her nose. "No, it's okay. I haven't talked about it in years and I need to every once in a while. It sort of builds up inside and needs to be let out. I had to quit my job to go stay with Sarah for that last month. When the baby finally died, I thought it might be the beginning of Sarah's healing, but she went completely to pieces. She was almost catatonic. When she finally came around, she was a completely different person. Shy, withdrawn, nervous, afraid of everything. It was like losing her, too. She wasn't Sarah anymore."

“What a loss for you, too," Jane said. "Is she your only sibling?”

Grace nodded. "And as strange as it seemed to others that the bubbly cheerleader and the bespectacled nerd sister got along, we were always very close until then. Anyhow, she was released from the hospital and she and Conrad took off roaming around. I guess you've heard they cooked for logging camps.”

Shelley nodded. "Your grandmother told my mother that."

“All over the west — Oregon and Washington mainly. Like a pair of hippies, except they were kind of late to qualify. I don't think they ever stayed anywhere more than a couple months. As if they were afraid of making friends or forming bonds with anyone."

“—and having them broken, like with the baby?" Jane asked.

“I guess so. Not that Sarah would say so. Sarah wouldn't say anything personal. We became cordial acquaintances. She always let me know how to reach them if I needed to. Our parents had died before this all happened, but our grandmother was still living and Sarah was concerned about her. It was the one thing we still shared, our love of Gramma."

“My mother thought the world of your grandmother," Shelley said, taking back the tissues and dabbing at her own eyes.

“She was a lovely person. I moved in with her and took care of her for the last year, and she was never once pathetic or self-pitying. Better than I can claim."

“But she left the house to both you and Sarah?" Jane asked.

“Oh, yes. I insisted. She wanted to leave it to me, but once I made her understand that I wanted her to leave it to both of us, she went along with that. She and I both thought that if we could just get Sarah back home, she'd be helped by some kind of hometown magic."

“It still might be true," Jane said. "This is a setback, but the doctor could be right that it was mostly the strain of opening the deli that got her down."

“Maybe," Grace said. But she didn't sound much as if she meant it.

“Had she changed any?" Shelley asked. "Since they've been back here, I mean? I'd think the very fact that she and Conrad were willing to stay here and set up the deli instead of selling the house was a good sign.”

Grace considered this. "I think it was mainly Conrad's idea. And she feels that after all he's been through with her, she owes it to him to do what he wants for a while. Of course, that's the silliest sort of speculation. She's never said a word to me about what she wants or thinks or feels."

“Never?"

“Oh, she talks. She tells great stories about their life in the lumber camps. She has a gift for saying a few things about a person and you feel you know all about them. And they came across a lot of real characters. To tell the truth, I found myself really envying the complete freedom of their life. Always a new place, new people, new sights. Jane? You're frowning. You wouldn't agree?"

“Sorry, but no. And you might not either if you'd grown up that way. I never went to the same school for two years in my life. You and Shelley may not have been in constant touch all these years, but you have something in common that I'm green with jealousy about — a common past."

“Oh, Jane," Shelley said, "don't be maudlin. You know I've given you half my past.”

Jane laughed. "Only the dirty, wrinkled parts."

“The dirty parts are the best," Shelley said. "Grace, didn't Sarah show any enthusiasm about opening the deli? Was she actually antagonistic about doing it?"

“Oh, no. She's not antagonistic about anything. You give her a job to do and she does it. And does it well, promptly and cheerfully. But in a strange way, that's what makes her so frustrating. You keep waiting for the spark of genuine enthusiasm — about anything — and it never comes. It's as if she's a really competent actress, but not a brilliant one who can make her character come alive."

“Have you tried to get her to a shrink?" Shelley asked bluntly.

Grace didn't take offense. "Of course. But she just looks at me like I'm the one who needs help and says she's perfectly all right and why would I think otherwise. In fact, that's the only dispute — if you could even call it that — I've had with Conrad. I suggested to him that she might benefit from some professional help and he cut me down like a cornstalk. No. That sounds nasty. He was quite pleasant and polite about it, but made it clear it wasn't even to be considered. And I can see his point, in a way."

“Which is?" Jane asked.

“That he's taken good care of her all this time, and just because she doesn't want to spill her guts every time someone asks her a question, that doesn't mean there's anything wrong with her. He says he loved the girl she was and as they've both grown up, he's come to love the dignified, restrained woman she's become. In fact, he made me feel pretty silly about it."

“How's that?"

“Oh, as if I were trying to recapture lost youth or whatever. He asked me why anybody would want to stay what they were at eighteen. And he's right. But I miss the sister I once had just the same."

“Grace, I've got a frantic schedule today and tomorrow," Jane said. "But if there's anything, however trivial, I can do after that, I will."

“Me, too," Shelley said, grabbing the check as Grace reached for it.

“Thanks. I'll let you know. But for nowyou've done wonders for me, letting me babble this way. And thanks for a" — she paused and looked down at the remains of the pizza with an ironic grin—"for a 'decent' lunch."