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Sageplace

Telling Stories

continued: page 2

For two weeks now she's smoked and drank, each night ending up howling in agony by dawn. She's barely said ten words since the time she arrived at the cottage, and yet her voice is hoarse from screaming into the damp, flowered cushion that smells like rotted boards.

Not so long ago her life had been filled with Cara's laughter, and Mark's seductive smile. Her days were spent caring for her child in an elegant, pastel painted Victorian in Charleston. She and Mark had been enchanted by its grand front porch, the round windows in the study, the fireplace in the master bedroom, and the winding mahogany staircase. It had been love at first site and they'd claimed it immediately. She'd added sunflowers to the garden the first spring and they'd peeked in at her threw the kitchen window. She'd sit in the sunlight with Cara, who'd sing little girl songs and play with Barbies' while Virginia sipped coffee and made plans. There were always errands to run, friends to visit, and shopping to do.

While Cara napped in the afternoon, Virginia would begin the ritual of preparing dinner. She'd gather thyme and parsley, slice onions and lemon for the fresh Cod Boulangere, and then pause to check on Cara. Her little bottom would be facing straight up in the air, her mouth moving as though she were still nursing, and her tiny face half buried in the fur of her constant companion, Freddie.

Mark would come home for dinner, cheerful and equipped with slightly embellished anecdotes of the day's events. He'd faithfully deliver them each evening over white wine, and she'd laugh delightedly - always pretending to believe each and every story.

After dinner, while Cara played hide-and-seek with Mark, she'd load the dinner dishes in the dishwasher, and chat with her best friend, Lindsay, on the phone.

They'd been best friends since Junior High, gotten pregnant at around the same time, shared many of the same interests, and socialized with the same group of people. They spent three mornings during the week in the park with the children, claiming Fridays as their own. Fridays were wonderful - filled with shared confidences, delicious lunches, shopping, and spontaneous adventures.

Late each night, she'd lie snuggled against the warm and sleek back of her sleeping husband - feeling safe and protected. Listening to the muffled ticking of the grandfather clock, she'd gently drift off into dreams that were as sweet as her life seemed.

On the weekends, the family would usually retreat to the islands off the Charleston coast, where they'd build sand castles, forts, dance in the waves, and rest contentedly on the beach. Friends frequently joined them and they'd stay up late into the night, laughing until Virginia's side ached and her vision blurred.

She had no particular interests other than spending time with her friends and family, creating picturesque meals, and working in her garden. She didn't like to read the serious books Mark delved into each night, she preferred her life simple and light.

She'd been the youngest of two children, indulged and pampered by her upper class parents. Her father was a surgeon, and her mother an artist. They'd both been devoted to their careers and married late, having children well after entering middle age. She wasn't particularly close to her brother Steven, having been sent to separate boarding schools, they'd only been brought together for a few weeks each summer and on major Holidays. Steven had been a lover of sports and of golfing, while she'd been a collector of butterflies and rare and expensive dolls. Her mother saw to it that the children received every advantage, private tutors, progressive summer camps, and elaborate birthday parties where only the children of the finest families were invited.

When asked about her childhood, she generally described it as wonderful and exciting. It never occurred to her that she'd missed anything of significance, although she did envy Lindsey, who's mother tucked her in to bed each night, and was always kissing her on the cheek. She loved going to Lindsey's house, in spite of being overwhelmed by the noise and the clutter. The family was loud and boisterous, filled with laughter, animals, and littered with Lindsey's brother's and sister's toys. She especially liked Lindsey's Dad, who was so unlike her own proper and dignified father. He told jokes, and chased the children around the house, threatening to eat them for dinner. He always greeted her with a hug and a "hey beautiful."

She'd met Mark during her first semester as a junior in college. He was in his last year of Law school. He'd been handsome, and self-confident; sure of himself in a way that most young men she'd dated never seemed to be. He was her first significant relationship and they were engaged by the end of the summer.

Their parents very much approved of the match and jointly participated in planning the wedding. It had been a glorious occasion. Set for two weeks after Mark's graduation, there had been Champaign flowing out of a fountain, a carriage drawn by four magnificent horses which delivered the bride and groom to their reception, and so many flowers that their scent carried into the elegant hotel lobby which hosted the reception. She'd been a princess that day in her dazzling gown, accompanied by the most handsome groom in the world. They'd purchased the house in Charleston upon returning from their honeymoon. Their parents had jointly contributed the rather large down payment required.

She finished her last year at school, and then promptly got pregnant. Her life seemed perfect, although she never thought to describe it that way. It was simply what she'd been raised to expect. She never once questioned her good fortune. In fact, she seldom stopped to question anything.

It was on the third day of their vacation in the mountains, under an indigo sky, that she was abruptly wakened from a nap by the blood chilling sound of her daughter's screaming. She moved heavily on shaky, half-asleep limbs towards the sound of Cara's terrified cries. She found Mark leaning over Cara, attempting to calm her and hold her still at the same time. "A snake bit her," Mark mumbled, his face white, eyes wide with fear. "No," she croaked, wide awake now, sinking to the ground and reaching for Cara. "Keep her arm still!" Mark rasped.

And then she saw them. Two puncture wounds on her little girl's hot, swelling arm. "Mommy, Owe, Mommy, Mommy!" Cara screamed over and over while struggling in her father's arms.

"Oh my God, we’re at least 15 minutes from the car!" she choked out, fighting back hysteria. Mark glanced at her, "Calm down Jinni, you'll scare her more. I’m gonna lift her up, and I want you to keep hold of her arm, keep it as still as possible. Do you understand?" he asked, attempting to give the illusion that he had things under control. She nodded, half blinded by tears. They moved quickly down the path, Mark trying not to jostle Cara, while Virginia held fast to her arm. "It’s O.K. my big girl, it’s O.K. my sweetie pie," she crooned over and over to her now silent child.

Once in the car, she held Cara tightly while Mark sped towards the hospital. Cara was sweating profusely and had lost consciousness. Virginia hummed lullabies, resting her chin against her daughter's drenched head. "Please God, Please God, Please," she pleaded silently. "Jinni, it’s gonna be all right baby,"" she heard Mark say from far, far away. "Nobody dies from snake bites anymore." 'He's right,' she told herself, still frightened, but reasonably certain that things would be all right in the end.

They weren't. Cara was dead by dusk. She’d suffered from a severe allergic reaction to the snake’s venom. Surrounded by family and friends, Virginia began her long descent into darkness. While they touched her, tried to feed her, love her, and comfort her - she took one step after the other - down, down, down, until she was so far below surface, she couldn't see or hear them any longer.

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