A Map of the World - Jane Hamilton [123]
We spent that Saturday at the pond. I sat in the shade with a hat pulled over my eyes while the girls paddled around in their life jackets. We had not gone down the lane since Lizzy’s death. It was hot, always hot, and everywhere we sat or stood felt like a blistering sidewalk. “Can’t we at least swim?” Emma had pleaded. Swimming or not swimming wasn’t going to bring Lizzy back, I said to myself. The girls had stood on the bank looking out to the water, remembering, I think, that the pond was dangerous. Gradually they let the small waves lure them to the edge. It wasn’t long before they forgot Lizzy had been taken there.
I didn’t recall until the next day that there would be no one to leave the girls with for my Sunday visit to the jail. I had promised Alice I would never bring them along with me. I thought for less than a second of calling Miss Bowman. I stood by the phone in the kitchen for quite some time, putting my hand down on the phone, taking it off again. It seemed reasonable to call Theresa until I was touching the receiver. Just pick it up, I said to myself. No, I responded. I can’t. I paced back and forth across the kitchen. I had promised Alice I would never bring the children to visit. But first, I argued, there was no one who would take the girls. I would tell Alice that Theresa was regrettably busy, or away. I would tell her that they had stayed with Miss Bowman in June and then she would understand my difficulties. Second, it was true that after well over a month on my own I knew our situation better even than Alice. Emma and Claire needed to see her, to know that she was still herself. She always asked so urgently about them. She had a hunger for them, strong enough, it seemed, to propel her through the Plexiglas. She needed to see them too. I didn’t come near to admitting to myself that the girls would serve a purpose, that they would deflect attention. They would shield me from Alice’s keen eyes. That Sunday morning I convinced myself that what she wanted all along was to see Emma and Claire through the filthy window. It would perk her up to hear their voices through the static of the phone line.
Over one of the many bowls of cold cereal we ate in Alice’s absence I said, “Let’s take a drive this afternoon. Let’s take baths and put on clean clothes and go cheer Mom up.”
Emma was about to take a bite but she lowered her spoon, set it back into her bowl. “You mean we can visit her?”
“We can visit her,” I answered.
“You mean we’re allowed?”
“It’s not a nice place, Emma,” I said. “I think you already know that. You remember we won’t be able to be in the same room with her. There’s glass in between. But I think it would make Mom h-happy, to see you.”
We bathed. They dug in their closets and found clean sundresses. Although Alice would not be in a position to inspect their ears, I gouged the wax out all the same. Theresa had given them haircuts recently so they did not look like street children. Claire wriggled with excitement. Emma bounced on the bed. I tried to clip their nails but they couldn’t keep still. When I let them go they ran out the door. They went skipping in the dry grass, running back and forth, shouting in a singsong chant, “We’re going to see Mama, we’re going to see Mama.” For the second time that morning I knelt to retch.
At the jail the girls clung to me as we passed through the metal detector. They were terrified by the doors buzzing and the crush of the visitors in the narrow corridor. We sat on the stool at the second station, waiting for Alice to emerge. I had never had to wait much before, but that afternoon there was a delay. We sat, waiting, thinking she was going to come through on her side any minute. No one was let out. The girls were fighting over how they were sitting on my lap. Claire insisted that Emma had more of my body than she did. I spread my legs and put one child on each, so that the territories were clearly fair. Once that was straightened out they began to argue over who was going to talk first. Emma lay out an elaborate