A Girl's Guide to Guns and Monsters - Martin Harry Greenberg [86]
Three days later, the Carson girls lounged on a front lawn in desperate need of mowing, enjoying the tickle of grasses. Paige sprawled on her belly, emitting occasional excited squeals, while Kaylee combed through the greenery seeking four-leafed clovers.
At length, Kaylee sat up, catching the eye of her mother. “Mommy, why is Paige so . . . different?”
Melinda opened her mouth to field the question in her usual manner, but Kaylee forestalled her.
“I mean, I know God makes people special in all sorts of ways. But why is Paige so . . . so . . . totally different.”
Melinda considered. The parenting books said to answer even the most uncomfortable questions honestly and directly, at a level the child could understand. Clearly, Kaylee had reached a new phase of curiosity and need. Melinda’s mind floated back to that painful day, more than ten years earlier; and, though she would address Kaylee more simply, memory could not help filling the gaps.
Melinda lay in a hospital bed, exhausted but infused with the excitement of becoming a mother, of having miraculously brought a new and precious life into the world. Her mind crammed with images of the perfect little girl she and Mike had created, of forever hugs and kisses, of laughter and tears, of a life eternally changed for the better. She could imagine them each clutching a toddler hand between them, nature-walking with a tiny blonde aghast at the beauty and wonder of the universe. She saw walls painted pink, daisy chains, a refrigerator covered in crayoned pictures of rainbows. Sticky bouquets of dandelions, violets, and black-eyed Susans in grand vases on the dinner table.
But Mike’s expression was uncharacteristically grim. “Melinda, there’s something wrong with the baby.”
The future was too strong, too real in Melinda’s mind for that to be true.
“I tried to hold her, but she slipped right through my fingers. She’s limp, like she doesn’t have any muscles or bones.”
Melinda laughed. “She’s just born. All new fathers worry about dropping the baby.”
Mike took Melinda’s hand, squeezing reassuringly. “There’s more, sweetheart. A lot more.” He caught her gaze with his stunning blue-green eyes, willing her to listen. “She has a hole from her nose to her lip. Her eyes . . .” He shrugged, unable to find the words. “Not right. She has more than ten fingers and less than ten toes. Melinda, there’s something wrong with our baby.”
“Fingers and toes?” Melinda found it difficult to focus. The image of her ideal child refused to leave her mind. “So she has some flaws. We’ll deal with them.”
Mike nodded. “Of course, we will.” But he did not sound as confident as Melinda. “As we can. But I think we need to realize that our child . . .”
“Paige.” Melinda interrupted. Mike had chosen the name, his favorite, and she had come to love it too as the tiny life had formed inside her.
“That Paige may have many more problems. Inside, where we can’t see them.”
“We’ll fix those, too,” Melinda murmured, drifting into sleep.
The diagnosis, confirmed two weeks later, was devastating. Trisomy 13, the doctor called it. Paige had an extra chromosome in every cell in her body that caused her to have these abnormal features. Most died within days of birth, and ninety percent never reached their first birthdays. Mike and Melinda had prepared for the worst, even as they took the best care they could of their severely mentally and physically disabled daughter. They vowed not to have another child until they had fully mourned the death of the first.
But, as the years went by, and Paige clung to life, Mike needed more. Four years later, Kaylee came, all full of the normalcy and life that Paige could never have. To Melinda, it often seemed cruel to revel in Kaylee’s achievements when Paige’s were so few, so miniscule; yet Mike doted on his younger daughter, enjoying every moment that Melinda could not. Soon, Melinda found herself alone in caring for the daughter who so desperately needed her,