The first thing she did was check the room. It was one of those nervous things family did when they visited facilities like this--check the bed, the sheets, the window. Is the room properly ventilated? Are the outlets covered when not in use? Frayed wires, fire hazards?
Tracy Quartermaine-Spencer put the bag down on the table. It was too heavy to just hold, and her hands were too flighty to stay wrapped around brown paper for long. She walked to the mirror that hung over the vanity and checked her hair. Good enough, she thought as she brushed the strands into place. She'd let a little grey through, just enough for effect, and had found she liked the dramatic edge a bit of maturity gave her. Her lipstick was good, and the clothes were pressed and sharp, even after the drive out.
Good enough, she repeated.
Taking a deep breath, she pondered for a moment whether to sit or remain standing. The room seemed comfortable enough, although she'd never been in here alone before. She'd come with Luke those two times--first to tell Laura the truth before she slipped fully away, when she gave them her blessing and wish for happiness. Then to tell her that Leslie had passed. Luke hadn't thought he could bear it. She remembered his tears, how awkward she'd felt at his side as he broke the news to his Angel that her mother was gone, now, too.
It was surreal here. Somehow, jealousy and pettiness had no place in Shadybrook, and Tracy could not bring herself to feel them, either then or now. It was as if the entire facility existed outside her normal range of emotions and lent a protective aura of peace to her fragile nerves.
The door opened and an orderly rolled Laura Spencer in, her body limp, her face vacant and haloed by long blonde locks. Tracy held her breath, like she'd done before, like she'd probably always do when she saw Laura.
Some habits are too personal to forget.
"Mrs. Spencer," the orderly said, politely acknowledging her as he rolled Laura to a spot just next to her chair. It faced the window and the beautiful May day shining through the curtains. "Sorry about the delay. We were running behind schedule in physical therapy."
"I wasn't waiting long," Tracy murmured, stepping closer to them as the orderly lifted Laura gingerly and placed her into the chair. "How is she?"
"About the same," he said as he made sure she was settled in comfortably.
Tracy watched in fascination as he handled her, efficiently and quickly, but with such tenderness that it made her smile. Even in this state, Laura inspired protectors. "Is that good or bad?" she asked. Luke kept her vaguely advised of his first wife's progress; but for the most part, Tracy was the outsider in this little drama, allowed entrance only by the grace of her married name and Laura's generosity in the eleventh hour.
"It's about the same," the orderly repeated with a somber nod. He indicated the call button at the side of the bed. "If you need anything, just press the button."
Tracy fought the urge to question the purpose of a call button in the bedroom of a patient with no motor functions, but held back. Now was not the time to be pedantic. "Thank you," she said instead and waited as the orderly left them alone. She turned to Laura, her smile too large and a bit uncomfortable. "Hello, Laura," she said.
This was the awkward part, where she established her purpose, her right to be in this room. It was hard, since so much of the last five years of her life had been spent in utter terror of even the thought of this woman. There had been a time, not so long ago, when just the mention of Laura's name tied her stomach in knots, and the taste of it on her tongue was bitter and hard. "It's Tracy Quartermaine," she added. She wanted to squat, to bring herself down to eye level with her former rival. But knees were unforgiving, and sixty-plus years of life had taken their toll on hers. She pulled a chair up instead, sitting facing Laura, and took one of the younger woman's hands in her own. "I keep expecting a response," she said, patting the hand gently. "I'm not going to get it today, am I?"
Tracy scanned Laura's face. Even now, even in this place, there was a beauty there. Not the tender ingénue of thirty years ago, but still possessed of that grace, that angelic loveliness that inspired men to foolish acts of bravery in her name.
She'd hated women like Laura most of her life. She'd felt such jealousy, such scorn and bitter resentment at the supposed ease of their lives. Weak, and pampered, and insipid. These were words she'd used to describe women like Laura, to describe Laura herself.
"Luke doesn't know I'm here," she said. "I'm not up to anything," she added. At this point in her life, it just saved time to mention that up front. "I brought you some things." She indicated the bag on the table. "Some two-hundred count sheets, and a new gown. I also brought some CDs. Luke mentioned you like jazz, and the doctors told him that music was good. Ned--" She hesitated, feeling foolish, wanting another half to this conversation that seemed more idiotic by the moment to her. "You remember my son, Ned? He picked out music for you. There's um, Thelonius Monk and Charlie Parker. He also threw in a Cleo Laine CD. He thought you'd really like it. I don't know anything about jazz, to be honest. I listen to classical and, well, I do have my share of rock and roll memories, but--"
She paused, closed her eyes against the futility she felt. Pressing her lips together, she breathed in slowly through her nose, fighting the urge just to walk out and call it a day. "Lulu got her grades yesterday," she continued. "She's doing well. Not Phi Beta Kappa, but she did get Dean's List this semester. I'm sure she'll tell you all about it this weekend when she comes to see you." Tracy reached out. A strand of Laura's hair had fallen across her chin, and she put it back in place with the tip of her forefinger. "You have so much to be proud of," she whispered. "All of your children are doing well."
"My son," she said. "Dillon graduates this fall. He's been accepted into the Columbia School of Arts for his Masters in Film and Theater. Yeah, he went back to where he belongs. He may not be a true Quartermaine, but he's all Dillon."
Laura stared, her eyes burning right through Tracy like sunlight through a magnifying glass. Time had worn at her features, slack and lifeless. Tracy searched them for any sign of animation, of the sweet woman who had loved so freely and generously in her life. Tracy fought the thought that this might have been Lila, a younger Lila trapped in a dark world her gentle nature couldn't tolerate any longer. She touched Laura's cheek, a gesture of such warmth and tenderness Tracy hardly recognized it as her own. "My other son, Ned, is a father again. Yeah, I'm a grandmother again." She smiled, winked at Laura as if chatting with an old friend. "Yippee."
There was a gust of wind outside. It rattled the window slightly, and Tracy gasped. She laughed at herself. "I'm a little jumpy today," she explained to Laura, who simply continued to ignore her. "I guess you're wondering why I'm here." She waited, and then rolled her eyes. "Of course you're not wondering why I'm here. I'm not even sure you're aware I am here, much less concerned with my reasons."
Tracy sighed, looking away, looking heavenward as if Lila herself could look down and guide her through this. How many bedsides had her mother visited, how often had she comforted the sick and the lonely? What trait did Lila have that Tracy lacked, to find this so uncomfortable? Her visits with Luke had consisted of silently standing by, letting Luke take the show, smiling at the appropriate places and being gracious.
It was enough that he included her.
She said a silent prayer to her mother, begging her to send her inspiration, some idea of how to help this woman. When no choirs of angels appeared, no star in the East to guide her path, she settled on the idea of straightening the shoulders of Laura's gown. The orderly had twisted it slightly when he transferred her out of the wheelchair, and now Tracy took the initiative of setting it right. It was this simple act that relaxed her enough to talk, honestly, to the woman she'd feared so much.
"Today's my anniversary with Luke," she said softly, not making eye contact, focusing on the task at hand. "Four years. Can you believe that? Nobody thought it would last a week, certainly not Luke and I." She swallowed hard, forcing herself to continue. "He's out of town, of course. I'm used to it now. It's a tradition," she laughed softly. "But he called me, which is a miracle, and sent flowers." She felt herself blushing, wondering if it was even appropriate for her to be here. "He and I…" Laura's silence bolstered her. "I want you to know, Laura, that I know he will always be in love with you. I came to peace with that a long time ago." She brushed the fabric of the gown gently as she spoke. Lifting her head with an almost defiant tilt, she added, "I'm okay with that. I never believed in forever, anyway. I'm not stupid."
She closed her eyes. The only sound from Laura was her soft breathing, shallow breaths that barely lifted her chest and shoulders. "He will always love you. You are the love of his life, his soul mate." Tracy tilted her head slightly, a smile gentle on her lips. "But I am his love, too. I'm not sure how it happened, but we fell in love. And it may not be a love for the ages, for the fairy tales, but it is love, Laura. I'm not ashamed of it, and I'm not afraid of it."
Tracy opened her eyes, looking out the window for a long moment before continuing. It was gorgeous outside, the kind of day that would have filled her with longing for the outdoors as a child. Clear blue sky, cool breeze, birds and flowers and the promise of freedom everywhere. She tried to imagine what it would be like in Laura's dark world, with no chance to appreciate the sunlight and fresh air, and found she couldn't do it. There was no context in her life where she could understand the tragedy of Laura's fate.
"I know if you came out of that state tomorrow," she said plainly. "Luke would be torn in two. He will always be your hero, but he loves me too, more than he ever thought he could. I also know," she added, fiddling with her fingernails absently. "That in the end, I'd be the one holding the divorce papers."
She leaned forward, searching Laura's eyes for some indication that she understood, that her words had any effect at all on her. "There's sweetness to impermanence, Laura, a sweetness you may never understand. I could lose him tomorrow, so I cherish today. You know, there was a time when I hated you so much I couldn't bear the sound of your name." She nodded, laughing softly. "It's true. Sad, but true. The reality is--" She sighed, her breath catching in her throat as it hit her. "I would have killed for what you and Luke had. To be you, to have someone love me so fiercely, so recklessly." She shook her head in self-deprecation. "I never developed the ingénue gene, apparently. Everybody figured I could take care of myself. But, oh, how I begrudged you the joy of being rescued."
"I owe you a thank you," she continued. "For years, I thought I'd killed that part of me, the part that so desperately wanted to be loved. I'd been hurt so many times before, been cheated on and lied to and wrung out to dry. I committed emotional suicide, Laura. I destroyed my heart, because I couldn't bear to go through the pain again. Even Luke, who got to me in a way I didn't think possible, couldn't convince me I'd learned to love again. But when you came back, when you pulled him into that wedding, into that fairy tale, you showed me the truth." She bit her lower lip, patting Laura's hand. "Nothing can inspire the sort of pain I felt but love. I knew I was in love because it hurt so much. My heart wasn't dead. It was very much alive, and screaming in agony…because he was with you. Every look, every touch, reminded me that I could love, and that the man I loved was in love with someone else. Again. I let it all happen, the lies, the wedding, the humiliation, endured the pain and fear and doubts, because love makes you stupid and malleable."
"When you slipped away, Luke turned to me. I understood what it was. I knew that I was just comfort to him. Surprisingly enough, I didn't have that much of a problem with it. I needed comfort, too. I needed to help him, to bring him through it, just as much as he needed me to help him. And on the other side, there was a peace, a connection that hadn't existed before." She squeezed gently on Laura's hand. "You are the love of his life, Laura. Without you, with the idea of you, the loss of you, the reclaiming of you, the man I love would have never existed. You took a broken young man and helped him become a hero. I never understood that before. I only saw the outside, and I let my own cynicism blind me to the simplicity of it all."
"Without Laura, Luke would have been a very different person. And without Luke, Tracy would have just…" She sighed, closing her eyes, not wanting to think of where she'd be without the last four years, without the healing love of a man so sharp and invigorating that he didn't allow her to wallow, didn't allow her to think too much. She thought of her own bitterness, of the relationships she'd destroyed and struggled to reclaim. Laura had helped her, without ever saying a word, without even being there.
Laura made Luke, and Luke--irony of ironies--had saved Tracy Quartermaine.
"I love him, Laura. I know that may not be what you want to hear, but it's the truth. I love him like no man I've ever known. I'm happier than I've ever been in my life, because of this crazy, unconventional, lunacy of a marriage he's roped me into." She lifted her head, her voice shaking with emotion. "Someday you're going to come out of this. I know that as sure as I know my own name. And I will fight you tooth and nail for him, and probably lose. I can't fight the universe. But right now, he's mine, and I'm going to savor it. I don't hate you, Laura. I don't fear you, either, or how this will probably end for me. Why fear the inevitable? But I thank you, and I respect you. I think I even understand you a little more now."
"Well, I can't stay long." She stood, wiping the tears away, and headed for the table. There was a portable stereo on the nightstand. She took the Cleo Laine CD out of the bag, opened it, and put the disk into the player. A rich, sultry voice greeted her, carried on a lush orchestration of Stardust. She steadied herself, putting one hand on Laura's shoulder before she left. "Enjoy the music, Laura," she said, moving to cup her hand around Laura's jaw as she would a small child. "I'll have one of the staff come and put the new sheets on for you. I've got a plane to catch." She leaned over and kissed the younger woman's forehead. "Thank you," she whispered, and turned to leave.
She had a plane to catch, a non-stop to Panama City where she would meet her husband to celebrate their anniversary together.
The End