The Age of Grief - Jane Smiley [75]
“You can pour it yourself.”
“I can’t. It’s too heavy.”
“Don’t talk to me in that tone of voice. Can’t you say please?”
“Please!”
“Say it as if you mean it.”
She drew it out. “Pleeeeease.”
“I’ll be down in a minute.”
“It’s always in a minute. That’s what you and Mommy always say—in a minute. Then you forget.”
“You aren’t the only person in the house, Elizabeth.”
“You always say that, too.” She backed away, not sure how far she could take this discussion. She glanced at Stephanie on the bed. I said, “Stephanie has a very high fever.”
“Is it dangerous?”
I turned the word over in my mind, because it is a big word in the family vocabulary, a dangerous word, in fact, that always signals to Lizzie that she ought to panic. I was still rather annoyed about her recent demanding tone. I contemplated sobering her up, but I needed her as my ally, didn’t I? I said, “It’s not good, but it’s not dangerous.” She nodded. I said, “Do me a favor, and go ask Mommy how she feels.” She turned in the doorway and called, “Mommy! How do you feel?” Dana groaned. I surveyed Lizzie and wondered, Is this defiance on her part, ill-taught manners, stupidity? I said, “Go ask her. Be polite. I need you to help me.” Now she surveyed me. I was not kidding. She went into the master bedroom, and I stuck the thermometer back in Stephanie’s mouth, thinking that the Tylenol would have had time to take effect. 104.1. Lizzie returned. “She feels as if she’s been run over.”
“What’s Leah doing?”
“Watching TV.”
“Can you do everything I say for the next two days?”
“Do you mean like cleaning my room?”
“I mean like getting me stuff and watching Leah, and getting stuff for Mommy.”
She shrugged.
“I think you can. It’s important.”
“Okay.” She and I looked at each other. Her eyes are blue, too, but darker blue than Dana’s, more doubtful. Simultaneously I thought that this would be a good lesson in responsibility for her and that no lessons, however good, would preserve her from her own nature. I said, “Go into the bathroom and get a washcloth and wring it out in cold water. I’m going to talk to Mommy for a minute, and then we are going to try and cool Stephie off, okay?”
Dana lay on her side with her eyes closed. The lids were purple all the way to her eyebrows, as if she had eyeshadow on, but the skin of her face was opaquely pale. The blood was elsewhere, heart, brain. She was not sleeping, but I don’t think she was aware of me. Her lips formed words, Fuck this, I can’t take this, dammit. I leaned down and said, “Can I get you anything?”
Her eyes opened. She uttered, “Did you have these aches and pains?”
“Not really.”
“I’ve never felt anything like it. It must be what rheumatoid arthritis is like.”
“Anything else?”
“A little woozy. How’s Stephanie?”
“Temperature.”
“How much?”
“Lots.”
She looked at me for a long moment. “How much?”
“104.”
“Did you call Danny?”
“He’ll just say bring her in at 105. I gave her some Tylenol and I’m going to give her a lukewarm bath.”
“Oh.” Her voice was very low. She closed her eyes. After a moment, tears began to run through the lashes, over the bridge of her nose, onto the pillowcase.
“She’ll be all right.”
She nodded, without opening her eyes.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m sad for us.”
“We’ve had the flu before.”
“I’m sad for us, anyway.” She snorted and wiped her face on the quilt.
“We’ll be all right, too.” She opened her eyes and looked at me, sober, speculative, in retreat. Not if she can help it, I thought. I said, “I love you.”
“I know.” But though she continued to look at me, she didn’t reciprocate.
Finally I said, “Well. I’m going to work on Stephie.” She nodded.
Lizzie was doing a good job. Stephanie lay on her back, with her eyes closed and her chin slightly raised. Lizzie was smoothing the washcloth over her forehead and down her cheeks. She had a look of concentration on her face, the same look she gets when she is writing something.