In the Night Room

murder mysteries and horror stories! Now, I’m not saying that any of this went smoothly, because it certainly did not. Lily could spend days doing nothing but pouting or screaming or breaking things—she even screamed in her sleep. There were days Guy came home from work and looked at the mess and listened to the uproar, and I could see on his face he was wondering if I could really take it much longer. But talk about saints, Guy never said he’d had enough, that we could maybe hand this wild animal back to the city. Never.

Dickens was our big breakthrough, Charles Dickens, may God care for him forever through all eternity. When we got started on Dickens, Lily didn’t want to stop! I started on A Christmas Carol, and she loved it so much she made me read it three times. The next one was, I think, The Old Curiosity Shop. But the miracle, what I call the miracle, happened near the beginning of A Tale of Two Cities. She crawled into my lap! This was a girl who couldn’t bear to be touched when she first came into our lives, not unless she was wrapped in a blanket first, and then there was a fifty-fifty chance she would crap in the blanket. Never said a word, just squiggled in between me and the book and plunked herself down on my lap. God bless you, Mr. Dickens, that’s all I can say. See? It still makes me cry. Because, you know, everything good flowed from that one thing she did, that willingness to be close, that consent.

From that, she learned to read. I’d say I taught Lily to read, but really she taught herself. With Dickens! Sidney Carton and Charles Darnay, they taught Lily how to read. We’d already taught her the alphabet, and she had memorized those ten children’s books we’d read over and over, so it was just a matter of making the connection between the letters and the words. I almost have to say that little girl memorized A Tale of Two Cities, because that was her method, all right. I said the words, and she looked at them, and then she said the words, and that’s how she learned to read.

And did she read! Like a wolf! Those books, down they went! Social Services had been keeping in touch, of course—we had a weekly visit from Adele Spelvin, Willy’s social worker—and one day Adele Spelvin says to us that in her opinion Lily was ready to start going to school, which was a big moment for us, and a big decision, because it really felt like losing her, you know? You send a child to school, you give her to all these other people.

She still had emotional problems, too. That should go without saying, but I’ll say it anyhow. You have to think hard about sending a kid to school if you can’t be certain she won’t lose it and decide to wipe her feces all over the walls of the girls’ room or slam some boy’s head onto the playground because he upset her in some way. Actually, she was pretty well over the bodily fluids phase, and she really was learning to manage her anger, but she still felt everything everywhere, and she was still wounded and she walked around in a blur of pain. . . . But she was coping!

So I said, Okay, we’ll send her to Grace and Favor, which is the grade school right here in Sundown, but you people better know that there will be days when this child will simply not be able to come to your school. There will be days when she will show up but won’t be able to come out of the cloakroom, and you will have to bring her home. She may cry a lot, for no reason you can see. Well, let me tell you, I said, this little girl has plenty to cry about, and if you’d gone through what she went through, you’d be living in a rubber room and wearing a straitjacket.

Everybody listened because I made them listen, Mr. Underhill, and off to school my girl went—oh, so terrified that day, and the next, and the next. After a long while she got used to the idea of walking down to Grace and Favor all on her lonesome. And by reports, because I insisted on reports, she got on well—after a while, I mean—with the other children, although to her they were just children, you see, not people she could make friends with and be comfortable around. I’m not sure she ever understood what a friend was supposed to be, and how to act toward one. None of her classmates ever came back here with her. The whole situation was a tremendous success, I can say that. We never expected her to bring friends home. Lily only got into a couple of fights, and she didn’t do any permanent damage to her opponents, which means that even when she lost it, she could manage a little bit of self-control.

Those were the summers we took her abroad with us, to Kenya, where Guy took that picture after wheedling Lily for about an hour and telling her she could hide behind me, and the Black Forest and the Rhine, and Amsterdam. She didn’t have a birth certificate, but in this state there’s a document they can make up, called an extraordinary birth certificate, for times like that. The information on it isn’t necessarily accurate, because who knew the exact date of Lily’s birth? No one, not even her horrible father, I bet. And the hour? And her weight? Please. But there is information on her document, and that document is part of the record. So it’s fiction, and it’s true at the same time. Getting the document took a little doing, but it came through, and we could start going on our travels again. Lily spent every possible minute with her nose in a book, but every now and then we got her to look up from her page and see a cathedral, or a castle, or a good painting.

But right then, when she was fourteen, two terrible things happened. My husband died, very suddenly, no warning at all. Pop, and there he was, dead in a heap on the ground. I thought I was going to go crazy with grief, but I couldn’t, for Lily’s sake. She took Guy’s death in her own way, and she took it hard. By dying, he betrayed her trust, which she’d only just learned to give. He’d abandoned her, and she turned wild again. There were days when I had to wrap her in her blanket all over again and hold her until she could feel some peace. And not long after, here came the second terrible thing: her father was arrested, and his terrible crimes were printed all over the newspapers. She couldn’t go to school anymore. I didn’t even try. Some of the children in her class came over here and shouted things at her from the front lawn. Every day! They painted things on our front door.

Without Guy, I couldn’t handle it. On top of everything else, I had to go back to work, because we had no money coming in anymore. Getting a job was no picnic, but I finally landed a spot at the Dresden, more a cocktail lounge than a restaurant, but they serve food, too. Lily and I cried ourselves to sleep, because we could see it coming. She couldn’t stay here anymore, that was it. We both knew it. I was a wreck, she had to stay in all day, those children were calling her “monster baby” and all kinds of things, they were driving us both crazy. . . . And I was losing my grip! So I did the worst thing in the world, the worst thing possible, which I had no choice but to do. I put Lily back in the shelter.

And they tortured her there. I thought they’d protect her, but they can only do so much when the kids are in those dormitories and they turn off the lights. They tortured her. I can’t bear to think of what happened to my dear girl when she was fourteen and fifteen years old. And do you know the most unbearable part of all that? Lily pretended nothing was wrong. She told me not to come, I thought because she was mad at me, which she was, but believe me, what she was actually doing was protecting me from the knowledge of what her life was like. In those days, Lily went wild—she smoked, and she drank, and she took drugs, because in her old age Georgia Lathem began to slip, and she couldn’t see what was going on under her own nose.

By working at the Dresden, and learning to live on my own, I gradually began to put things together, and I realized that more than anything else in the world I wanted to get Lily back. I thought I had to get her back with me, if I was going to call myself a human being. So I astonished Miss Georgia Lathem by telling her I wanted to be Lily’s foster mother again, and what’s more, that I wanted to adopt her. Because that’s what we should have done the first time.

Young woman, you appear to live on candy bars.

Anyhow, my darling girl came back, and we lived together in this house, and I adopted her, and we had tons of work to do, academically, personally, psychologically, but we got through it. I managed to scrape together enough money to get tutors for her, but she was so smart that she didn’t need them for long. Academic work came so naturally to her, and she turned out to be a whiz in science. The mental problems were a lot more difficult. At one time, both of us were seeing therapists. I see you nodding your heads, so you know how much a person can get out of therapy. Guy never understood, and I wouldn’t have if I hadn’t been forced to do it, but I doubt that Lily would have gone as far as she has without it.

I think Lily is remarkable. She’s the best person I know, and in some ways, she’s really and truly the worst. I love her. She became so beautiful, I think Helen of Troy was based on her.

College? Oh yes, she got a wonderful scholarship to Northwestern. They paid for everything, textbooks, tuition, housing. Her grade point average was something like 3.98, because she got a B in something once, I forget what. Statistics, maybe. And when she got into Columbia medical school, a bunch of Northwestern alums, people who knew nothing about her background or her life story, pitched in and paid her tuition and all her other expenses. She got her M.D. in 1992, and specialized in pediatrics, and now she’s back in Millhaven, working as a pediatrician. That’s what she does. She takes care of other people’s children. She’s a great doctor, a brilliant doctor, and her patients adore her. So do their parents. You could have looked her up in the phone book, didn’t you realize that? Of