At first I was real excited when I saw people because I figured one of them was Momma. Maybe she’d come back and it’d all be all right.
But it wasn’t Momma. Charles tried to run when he realized what was going on, but the police got him right down the street.
“We only want to help you,” one lady had said. She’d seemed nice to me, but Charles had screamed at her, “No, you don’t! You want to take us away from each other!”
I remember crying and saying, “Where’s my momma?”
Phillip, he’d got real quiet and done that rocking-in-the-corner thing again. Elizabeth, she’d put her arm around me andstroked my hair. She said, “Diana, you just remember that no matter what happens, I love you.”
She was so young. Charles too. All of us. So young. She just left us there like a bunch of stray kittens that nobody wanted. If your own momma doesn’t want you, who could? To this day, I don’t know what happened to my momma. Part of me hopes she’s been dead all this time; that’s the only explanation that lets me sleep at night. I’m sure I could look into it and find out. I could probably find out who my daddy is too.
But why should I? If Momma got killed in some awful way, it’s only going to make me feel bad. And if my daddy didn’t want me back then when I was cute and little, he sure as hell doesn’t want me now that I’m all grown-up.
After those ladies showed up, I didn’t get to see Charles and Elizabeth and Phillip anymore. Foster families, they were all right with taking on one kid, sometimes maybe even two. But nobody was going to take on four, especially with one like Phillip. They’d put him in a facility instead. It took me more than twenty years to find him, just up the road. It was my thirty-second birthday. Finding Phillip was the best gift I’ve ever gotten, even better than the sparkly shoes the Salvation Army brought over one year at Christmas.
I remember how excited I was, going to see him that first time. I knew he’d be grown-up, but I also expected him to be that same Phillip. I imagined that he’d smile and say he was glad to see me even if he wouldn’t look me straight in the eye or anything.
But then I got there, and, oh my Lord, it almost brought meto my knees to see my sweet brother just sitting in that chair and staring into space. I’d tried to talk to him, but he’d just looked at me kind of blank and turned back to the window. You didn’t have to be real smart to figure out what was going on.
“What in the hell do you have him on?” I asked the first woman in scrubs I saw.
“He has to be sedated, ma’am. He gets violent.”
“Gets violent?” I felt likeIwas about to get violent. “He’s the sweetest thing in the world as long as you don’t come at him too quick or try to hug him.”
“Ma’am,” she said like I was an idiot, “I’m not equipped to fend off an unpredictable grown man.”
I was mad as hell—but I did have to put myself in her shoes. I really didn’t know what Phillip was like, much as it pained me to admit it. But I was determined to prove her wrong. From then on, I’d drive there every week on my day off. I’d hold that docile hand, and I’d talk to Phillip. I mostly told him stories about when we were kids.
Sometimes I’d tell him about Harry’s latest stunt or some funny photos at work. He didn’t smile or respond, and maybe I’m crazy, but I swear something about him changed when I got there. He seemed almost happy.
Now that I was showing up regularly, things had gotten a lot better. When we were kids in the ’80s, no one knew a whole lot about autism, so they kind of wrote him off as never being able to do anything. But once I found him, I worked so hard to get him moved. It took three years and a lot ofpaperwork, but I did. And a really nice doctor at the new home started working with me. We got him on some good medicines to help him control himself, so maybe he wouldn’t get so angry, so maybe he didn’t have to rock so much or flap his hands. We even worked on words, and he was back to talking some. Sometimes it was scary, and sometimes it was hard, but Phillip was my family, and I had to step up. I had to be his voice.
And that morning, with my tooth waking up and my job lost and Harry gone and everything in the world feeling like it was falling apart, I needed to see my baby brother. I drove to Cape Nursing just like I did every week and parked my car in the parking lot. The first time, the nursing home smell and fluorescent lights and cracks in the floor had bothered me. But now I was used to it.
Karen was at the reception window just like every day, her brown hair in a knot on the top of her head that I never could quite replicate on my own, dressed in navy-blue scrubs like always.
“Well, hi there, Miss Diana.” Karen handed me a clipboard so I could sign in and said, “Mr. Phillip’s in the solarium.” She smiled at me conspiratorially. “He’s doing so good now, isn’t he?”
I nodded. My head was too full of everything that was going wrong to even pretend that it could be right again. Even so, that made me smile. I’d been seeing Phillip every week for eight years now, and let me tell you, those first three, when I couldn’t do anything for him, I was about to pull my hair out.But when I finally got him transferred here five years ago, it had made all the difference in the world. I saw progress at least every few months.
“He really is doing good, Karen.” It brought tears to my eyes. She came around from behind the counter and hugged me tight. “I love y’all so much for helping him,” I said, wiping my eyes. I shook my head. “You can’t imagine how bad it used to be.”
Karen said, “That’s what we’re here for.” She squeezed my arms, the fabric of my Sam’s Pub and Grub T-shirt wrapping tight around them. I actually kind of liked Sam. He was a decent guy. Smart. Hardworking. But there hadn’t been much of a spark there. Although maybe things would be different now. Maybe I’d look him up, at least to see if I could get my old waitressing job back.
As I walked down the hall to see my brother, I felt lighter somehow. Things were bad, but they weren’t the worst they had ever been.
Solariumwas a pretty grand word for a place that was nothing more than a small room with some fake ficus trees in the corner, a row of windows looking at the parking lot, and a skylight. But whatever. I saw Phillip right off in his wheelchair at one of the windows. He was wearing gray drawstring pants and a sweatshirt, and they weren’t much to look at but they were clean. Even though I wasn’t able to take care of my brother, I was grateful somebody was.
I knelt in front of Phillip’s wheelchair with my hands on hisknees. “Hey, buddy,” I said. “It’s me. It’s your sister, Diana.” And with no warning whatsoever, hot tears started rolling down my cheeks. Not just because I was alone again. Not just because I was broke again. But because I had always dreamed that I would save up and get Phillip out of here. I checked out books on autism at the library, read articles on the computers there about his medicines, techniques to help him control his anger, exercises to help with his dexterity and his emotional responses. I knew he was in there. I had always known it. I would get him out one day. I would give him the life he deserved.
But, damn, how was I going to take care of him now?
Me and Charles, we’d talked about getting him out a couple of years ago. But Elizabeth, she’d come down from Indiana and said, “How are y’all possibly going to take care of him? We can barely take care of ourselves.”
Except, well, Elizabeth could. She was real lucky. Her very first foster family was a nice, rich one. They had one kid they’d adopted when he was a baby, and they hadn’t planned on having any more, but Elizabeth, sweet and smart and pretty and helpful as she was, she’d won them over right off.
They put her through private school and college. She’d married a guy who’s a lawyer, thank God, because, good as Charles grew up and nice as his wife and kids are, the boys—well, you can’t escape genetics. They’re always getting a drinking ticket or smoking a little pot in the park. Nothing dangerous, but they seem to need a lawyer more often than not, so it’s a good thing we’ve got one in the family.
