Motherhood Isn't for Sissies, Chapter 3

By Simahoyo

They settled into a sort of rhythm, Constance would stay with Maura, and Benny would go home and shower, change and check the mail and phone messages, then they would trade places. In between, Jane would step in. Both parents knew to let them have some privacy, so they spent that time together. It was the fifth day of Maura's induced coma. Jane was with Maura, and Constance and Benny were eating in the hospital cafeteria. They had gotten to the point where they could smile and joke again, but always with the background of fear and worry.

"Jane would make Maura a hell of wife–or husband–whatever they say these days." Benny paused to butter a roll.

"I know. She tries to hide it, but she's very thoughtful and kind. I like her. Not sure how she feels about me though."

Benny put down his fork with a thump. "Connie–stop it. All that guilt your sister dumped on you, you need to stop owning it. That's her baggage. You tried your best with her. She went her own way. Look how Maura turned out. She's a great kid. When Jane gets to know you, she'll love you too."

"Constance Isles?" A young man who looked like an engineering student was standing next to her. She raised an eyebrow, wondering what this was about.

"Yes."

He handed her a document, adding, "You have been served." Then he walked away before her brain caught up with what he had said. She opened the document, reading, "Notice of Breech of Contract." She scanned the document, and noted the signature. Humphrey Williams. The bastard.

Without a word, afraid of what she might say, Constance handed the document to her husband.

She watched him read, frowning, then he got a look on his face that matched one in a favorite painting–Jimmie Fife's "The Earth is Our Mother", then he crushed the offending papers exactly like one of the characters in the painting. "This is crap! Our lawyers will bury him. Damn–I don't want to mess with this now. Do you?"

"Absolutely not. Couldn't we just give it to them to take care of? I don't want to leave Maura."

Her voice was shaking. God, she couldn't hide anything from Benny.

He looked up at her. "Yes, we could for now, but you have got to stop letting people take advantage of you. You are the strongest woman I know, but there are certain types of people you just fold for. I never quite trusted that guy, but the art stuff was your business. I butted out. Now, I'm all in. We said we'd do this together, you know, our lives. So, when he sues you, he sues me. We have good lawyers, Connie. I'll shoot this to them today, and be right back with you and Maura tomorrow. At least you'll always get my messages from now on."

Constance knew he was right. She also knew why. She'd had to pretend she was all grown up and responsible–faked it, in fact. Actually, she was still faking it half the time. She felt awful about putting her trust in Humphrey. "Benny. I'm sorry. I messed up again." She looked at her hands. "This fame shit is over. I'll teach again. I don't need the rest of it. What I need is my family."

"We need you. Don't worry about the rest. Go on up to Maura. I'll go home and circle the lawyers."

They kissed and Benny took off. Constance wanted to give Jane a few more minutes with Maura, so she located the hospital chapel, lit a candle, and knelt in front of the statue of the Virgin. Crossing herself, she took solace in one of the few prayers she remembered, "Our Father". It had been a very long time. She meditated on the situation with Maura and with Humphrey.

Okay, so maybe she was getting hit over the head with what was actually important in her life. And what had turned out to be important was her family. That was not just Benny and Maura. It hurt to come to the conclusion that her family included Sophie–who hated her.

Constance sat back on the pew, opened her purse and tore a page out of her little notebook. She found a pen, and started to write the letter she had needed to write for more than forty years.

She used French, knowing her sister had been pretending to be a Francophone since she had left home. She wrote everything she had been keeping back. She laid her heart out for her sister to see. How much it had hurt to lose their parents. How badly she had wanted to be a better mother to Sophie, and most of all how sorry she was that they no longer spoke. She needed another sheet of paper, finished her note, and found an envelope, addressed it, and added enough stamps to get it to Quebec City.

Constance found a mailbox outside the hospital, and pushed it in. She couldn't back out now. She went back into the hospital with a burden lifted. When she opened the door into Maura's room, Jane was seated next to her, telling a story about Frost and his pride in his computer skills crashing along with a program he had thought he had recovered. She was a great storyteller, so Constance listened quietly, noticing the love in Jane's voice. This young woman would be family soon, she thought. She watched the tenderness with which Jane touched Maura's face. Then she looked up at Constance.

"Hi. Thanks for the extra time with Maur'. It's the best part of my day."

"Mine too. Thank you for loving her."

Jane looked embarrassed. "It's easy. You know what I mean."

"Yes, I do. By the way, my agent that I told you about–he's suing me. My husband is gathering our lawyers together."

"I hope the F..." She looked at Maura guiltily , "uh, the jerk gets what's coming to him. I can't say much for his timing."

"I'm learning about what's important–and what isn't. I'm where I need to, and want to be. Oh, and Jane, You and I both have a habit of swearing. I think Maura has her work cut out for her later."

Jane laughed, got up to leave, and on her way out, reached out to touch Constance on her shoulder. She understood the meaning behind the gesture, "Thank you, Jane."

"Anytime."

Constance kissed Maura's forehead and sat next to her. When she had been home last, she had looked through her treasures for Maura's bird studies. It was the only way her artist resistant daughter could be conned into using her drawing skills–a scientific study of birds. All were drawn from life, in color, and where she had seen them. For a nine-year old, it was amazing. Some, to a proud mother, almost rivaled Audubon's. She had been as careful with sparrows and crows as with purple martins or loons. Notes along the side noted the birds location, anatomical characteristics, and so forth. One noted, "That baby bird eats a lot!". Another, "I see yarn from my old sweater in their nest." The drawings and comments kept her entertained for hours.

The next morning, Doctor Sluckey arrived to look at, "How his patient was progressing."

He checked all the machines, wrote notes, checked her eyes by pulling the lids open and staring inside with a penlight, wrote more notes and was walking out the door.

"Doctor Sluckey!" Constance used her most commanding voice–her student who kept making the same mistake over and over voice. "Tell me how my daughter is."

He turned, glaring at her, and answered in a clipped, snotty tone. "She's doing well enough that I'll wake her day after tomorrow. I do know what I'm doing. Now I have other patients to see."

Constance was happy to see him go.

End Chapter 3