These Things Hidden. Heather Gudenkauf
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Jane.” Gus smiles. “My favorite nurse.”
“Hey,” Charm says in mock indignation. “I thought I was your favorite nurse.”
“You’re my favorite soon-to-be nurse,” Gus explains. “Jane is my favorite licensed nurse.”
“Oh, well. That’s okay, then,” Charm says, walking right behind Gus in case he falls, like a mother shadowing her wobbly toddler. “Just as long as we’re clear on the topic.” She makes sure Gus is situated safely in his bed, places a fresh glass of water on the side table and double-checks that his oxygen tank is working.
“Charm,” Gus says as he pulls the quilt up beneath his chin. “I talked to someone else today, too.” She can tell by the seriousness of his voice that the conversation was important. “I called the people at hospice …”
“Gus,” she interrupts. “Don’t …” Tears prickle behind her eyes. She’s not ready to have this conversation yet.
“I called hospice,” he says firmly. “When it’s time, I want to be here, in our home. Not at the hospital. Do you understand?”
“It’s too early—” Charm begins, but Gus stops her.
“Charm, kiddo. If you’re going to be a nurse, you’re going to have to learn how to listen to the patient.”
“But you’re not my patient.” She’s trying not to cry and begins to lower the shades to block out the early-afternoon sun.
“When the time comes, you call hospice. I left the number by the phone.”
“Okay,” she agrees, more to please Gus than anything. She’s not ready for Gus to die. He’s the only real family that she has, that she has ever had. She needs him. Exhaustion and pain pull at his face. “Can I get you anything before I have to go to school?” Charm asks, at once hating to leave and feeling relief.
“No, I just want to close my eyes for a while. I’m okay. You go on,” he tells her.
She stands there in the darkened room, next to Gus’s bed for a moment, watching the rise and fall of his chest, listening to the mechanical breaths of the oxygen machine.
What am I going to do without him? Where am I going to go?
Claire
Claire and Jonathan don’t tell Joshua everything about his Gotcha Day. They don’t tell him how Claire watched as Jonathan placed his elbows on the table and rested his head on his hands. How much he hesitated when Dana called about the abandoned infant. How Claire had to tell herself, Be patient, wait him out. How finally, when he lifted his head, there were faint red circles dotting his forehead where his fingers had pressed into the skin. How Claire had wanted to go to him, to kiss each red spot gently, tenderly. “Just until they find another foster home for him, Claire,” Jonathan said with no conviction. “Do you understand? Nothing long-term. No way. I can’t do it.” He shook his head as if still bewildered. “I can’t do Ella all over again. I can’t get attached to a child once more, just to have him taken away in the end. That’s the whole point of foster care, to get the kids back to their parents.”
“Me, either,” Claire had whispered. “I can’t do Ella over again, either.” But somehow Claire knew this mother wouldn’t be coming back, wouldn’t take this little boy away from them. God couldn’t be so cruel, not after all that has happened.
A year earlier, a dead infant was found in a frozen cornfield on the other side of the state. After that, the Iowa state legislature had quickly passed a Safe Haven law, allowing mothers to drop off their newborns under two weeks old at hospitals, police or fire stations without fear of prosecution for abandonment. The doctors figured that this baby was about a month old, and for one brief moment, Claire worried that the police would find the mother who had abandoned him. She quickly brushed away her fears. This little boy, the little boy they would take home, would be the first baby left at a Safe Haven site. He would be theirs.
When Dana set Joshua in Claire’s arms, it was as if she was healed. As if all the miscarriages, the surgery, had never happened. The pain, the loss, became a faint memory. This was what they had waited for all these years. This beautiful, perfect little boy.
On the way home from the hospital they stopped to pick up a few necessities. Diapers, bottles, formula. As an afterthought, Claire grabbed a book filled with baby names. Finally, finally, she would be able to name a child. The book listed each name alphabetically, followed by the name’s origin and meaning. This child’s name, Claire decided, needed to have a special meaning. Since she didn’t give him the gift of birth, she would give him his name and it would mean something.
Claire liked the name Cade, but it meant round or lumpy. Jonathan liked that the name Saul meant prayed for. That was a possibility; they had been praying for this for years. The name Holmes meant safe haven, but Jonathan thought it sounded kind of stuffy and had images of kids calling him Sherlock. Claire flipped through a few more pages and her eyes fell on the name Joshua. Saved by God. “Joshua,” she said out loud, weighing the word on her tongue, feeling it on her lips. Claire smiled at Jonathan and turned in her seat to look back at the baby who would become her son. “Joshua,” she repeated, a little louder and at that moment, in sleep, he breathed a gentle, whispery sigh. Content. Safe. Saved.
Charm
Ever since she started her nursing practicum hours at St. Isadore’s, not a day goes by that Charm doesn’t think about the baby. Even though she knows he is well cared for and loved, she can’t walk by the yellow Safe Haven signs in the hospital without remembering both the sadness and the relief she felt after giving him up, although he wasn’t just hers to give away. In all honesty, she feels mostly relief. If she hadn’t taken him to the fire station, she probably would never have been able to manage to finish high school, let alone go to college. And Charm is convinced that her mother would have somehow found a way to ruin that baby’s life.
Charm rushes down a street lined with the venerable brick buildings that make up St. Anne’s campus. The small, private college sits in the middle of Linden Falls and is surrounded by historical homes and cobblestone streets that are beginning to crumble. Out of breath, she joins a group of students walking to their Leadership and Contemporary Issues in Nursing class. Sophie, a tall, gangly girl who wants to work in pediatric oncology, is in the midst of insisting that she has a psychic link with her mother.
“Seriously,” Sophie says as they enter the classroom, “I can just be thinking of my mother and she’ll call me a minute later.”
“No way.” Charm snorts. “I don’t believe you.” Charm looks at her classmates for support but they are all smiling knowingly, nodding their heads and saying things like, “It’s true, I’ve got that with my sister.”
“Try it,” Charm tells her, crossing her arms and leaning back in her chair.
“Okay.” Sophie shrugs her shoulders and digs into her purse, pulls out her cell phone and sets it on the desk in front of her.
“Now what?” Charm asks.
“Nothing, we just wait. She’ll call in the next minute or so,” she explains.
Charm shakes her head in disbelief but in a matter of minutes Sophie’s phone begins to vibrate, doing a little dance across the table. Sophie picks up the phone and shows everyone the display screen. Mom.
“Hey, Mom,” Sophie says into the phone. “I was just thinking of you.” She smiles in triumph at Charm.
Charm is impressed but saddened, too. She can recall no one with whom she has such a profound connection. Certainly not her mother. Reanne always needs to be the center of attention. Charm was never enough for her, her brother wasn’t enough, Gus wasn’t enough. Reanne Tullia was always on the search for something better, more exciting. Charm has no idea where her brother is and her father could be dead for all she knew.