How to Bake a Perfect Life - Barbara O'Neal [121]
“Oscar. Tried. To. Kill. Himself.”
I press my palm into my belly. “Oh, baby. Oh, no.”
Jonah comes up behind me, touches my shoulders. It startles me and I turn around, shaking my head in alarm. “Wait,” I mouth. To Sofia, I say, “When did this happen? What did he do? I mean, isn’t he in intensive care?”
“He got a bunch of pills from somebody. Nobody is talking, but it’s part of some soldier pact or something, that if one of them gets badly injured and says some magic phrase, the others will take care of them.”
I think of Oscar, his beautiful eyes and kind heart, taking this terrible action, and I understand, really understand, how desperately badly he must be injured. “How is he now?”
“He’s all right. They pumped his stomach and he’s asleep now.” She is choking on her tears. “I thought I was doing the right thing, I thought he’d be okay if he knew I loved him, but it’s like this is making it worse, and I’m so exhausted and strung out and he’s still not talking to me—” She breaks down and cries hard.
I just sit on the line with her, murmuring quiet, soothing things. “Go ahead and cry it out, sweetheart. I’m right here.”
Jonah takes my hand and gestures, pulling me to the porch. He pushes me into a chair and brings me a glass of wine, offers cheese, which he sets down on the table beside me. The light is still perfect, slanting into the grass on almost solid bars of gold lines, but nothing is beautiful when my daughter is sobbing so inconsolably. When her sobs slow a little, I say, “Did Gram get there?”
“She’s on the way from the airport.”
“That’s something. Do me a favor, baby.”
“What?”
“Lean on her. Let her take care of things—she’s good at getting results, so let her. Stop trying to hold up the whole world and go to sleep for a few days.”
“What if he tries again, Mom?”
What I want to say is that she can’t stop him if he really wants to kill himself. Instead, I say gently, “You have to keep yourself strong for the baby, Sofia. Exhausting yourself will hurt all of you. Oscar needs you to be strong. Have you eaten?”
“Yes. One of the nurses brought me a Reuben a little while ago.” She laughs slightly. “My appetite doesn’t seem to be suffering in the slightest.”
That single, rueful laugh reassures me. “Good. What I want you to do is let Gram take over when she gets there, and you go to sleep, deal?”
“I’ll try. Are you going to tell Katie?”
A rock thuds onto my heart. “I don’t know.” I think of her pretty haircut, her shining eyes, her normal teenage sulking.
“She is thriving, happy, growing so strong. I hate to undermine that.”
“She’s had enough trauma in her life, don’t you think? If he”—she chokes on the word—“dies, that’s one thing. But let her just be happy right now.”
“You’re right.”
“Okay, I’m going to bed. I’ll call you again tomorrow and let you know how things are going.”
“I love you, Sofia. And you are handling all of this so well.”
“Thanks, Mom. Love you.”
I hang up the phone and the sun slips suddenly behind the peak, plunging the porch and yard into dusk. The colors of the flowers are subdued, as if someone turned all the internal lights to dim.
I think of Oscar laughing and toasting Sofia at their wedding, both of them so lovely and healthy and young. I think of his smooth neck, so deeply tan, and his golden forearms, and the way he looked at my daughter, with such a fierce love and protectiveness that I knew I could trust him.
Grief bows my head. My lungs feel squashed and I can’t quite get a breath. Jonah’s soft footsteps come across the porch. “Are you all right?”
I shake my head, trying desperately not to break down, but I think of Katie, of Sofia and the baby she’s carrying, and of Oscar himself, so deeply in despair that he would leave them all.
I reach for Jonah’s hand and press his knuckles into my forehead. Tears flow hard down my face—silently, at least, though I can feel my shoulders shaking. He kneels and strokes my back. Nearby, sparrows are singing in mad conversation, and it is this sound that brings me back to myself. Jonah hands me a handkerchief and I blot my