Chapter 3
THE DRIVE TO Springfield was peaceful and beautiful, and by the time she took the turnoff, three hours after she’d left New York, she felt happy and relaxed. Coming here was like going on vacation. It was another world, far from the stresses of New York. And when she came to visit her, she focused on Salima and nothing else.
She saw the familiar landmarks on the road to Caldwell School, where Salima had spent the last eleven years, and she noticed a new house that had been built, and a church that had been restored. But essentially, nothing ever changed here. Most of the houses had been built a century before. And Blaise turned into the driveway with a sigh, anxious to see Salima. The students lived in cottages of three or four, with a monitor living with them, since they were younger than Salima. The seniors were in two-person cottages. And Salima had the only single small house on the grounds. Blaise had encouraged her to stay on after she graduated. She went to a community college nearby and was driven there every day. Salima came home for vacations, but Blaise felt it was a better life for her here, and Salima agreed. She didn’t want to live in New York anymore. She wanted to stay in the quiet rural community that had been home to her for eleven years. Blaise was hoping she’d stay through college. She was a sophomore now, and the community college she attended was small. It wasn’t challenging enough for her, but it was easy for her to manage. She had considered going to Dartmouth, but didn’t want to live in the dorms. And going to a community college, she could stay at Caldwell. She liked having her own cottage here, and she was getting straight A’s at school, which looked good if she ever transferred. She had gotten great grades and was a diligent student at every age.
Blaise drove straight to Salima’s house, at the back of the property with beautiful trees all around it, that were all turning scarlet. In summer, everything was a lush green. And Blaise had made a contribution that had allowed them to build an Olympic-size swimming pool years before. Salima was an outstanding swimmer, and had been on the swimming team all through high school, although she couldn’t compete anymore now that she was in college. But she was greatly loved at the school where she had been for so long. The younger students looked up to her, and the teachers were very kind to her. Abby, the monitor who lived with her, had been assigned to Salima for five years, now they were best friends. Abby was thirty-six years old, but living in the protected environment of the womblike school, she still acted and looked like a young girl. She wore pigtails most of the time, and she adored Salima.
Blaise stopped her car in the little parking area nearby, and walked down the well-tended path to the cottage. She could hear Salima’s voice when she reached the door. She was singing, and the door was open, as Blaise quietly walked in, and saw Salima with her back to her in the living room. She and Abby were laughing at something while Salima tried to sing and finally collapsed, laughing, on the couch. She still hadn’t heard anyone come in, and Blaise took three steps across the old beams of the floor in the front hall, and the moment she did, Salima’s head turned.
“Mom?” She knew her step anywhere, and always recognized it the moment Blaise walked in. “Mom!” she said then, sure of it, and dashed across the living room to the hall, as Blaise smiled widely at her and held out her arms, knowing Salima would be in them in seconds.
“I missed you too much. I had to come up today,” Blaise said, as Salima threw herself into her mother’s arms and nearly knocked her down, and then spun her around. Abby watched them with a warm smile, and Blaise waved at her with a free hand. Salima looked as beautiful as ever, with features identical to her mother’s, down to the cleft chin. The only difference was her dark brown hair, which she wore long. She turned her face toward her mother’s, and felt her face. She felt the tears Blaise always shed when she first saw her. “You’re crying! Have I gotten uglier since last time?” Salima teased.
“Totally. It makes me cry just looking at you,” Blaise said with a smile.
“Then I’m glad I don’t have to see it,” Salima said, joking with her, as they walked into the living room together, with Blaise’s arm around her waist as Salima leaned close to her, and then flopped down on the couch. She knew exactly where things were. Everything in the cottage was familiar to her, and she had no trouble getting around. She was blind.
She had been diagnosed with type 1 diabetes when she was three years old, which had been the heartbreak of Blaise’s life. Her perfect baby had a severe case of juvenile diabetes, which could only be treated with insulin. And at first Salima had cried at every shot, and prick of her finger to check her insulin levels. They had eventually gotten her a pump, but she still had to be closely monitored. The pump kept her insulin levels at safe ranges for her, delivering the insulin over twenty-four hours through a catheter under the skin. And they clipped the pump itself to the waistband of her skirt or jeans. It had always worked well for her.
Her eyes had been affected by the time she was six, which they had been told was unusually early. She was too young to lose her sight, the doctors had assured Harry and Blaise. When she was seven, she could still see partially, when her retinas detached, and by eight she was fully blind. They had tried to keep her at home, but Harry lived in Los Angeles, and Blaise traveled all the time. She didn’t trust the caretakers they had with her, she was never sure they were monitoring her properly. And Blaise had had to face the decision of giving up her career to take care of Salima full time, or place her in a school for the blind where they were better equipped to supervise her, monitor her medically, and keep her safe. Her diabetes had to be carefully managed. There was a full medical staff at her school. And they had decided to try it for six months. Salima had loved it from the moment she got there and felt at home with other children like her. She didn’t feel different anymore, she had friends to play with all the time, and Blaise could relax, knowing that she was impeccably cared for.
Blaise had continued working, and at the end of six months, it was clear that Caldwell was better for Salima, so much so that eleven years later, she had made the decision to stay on after graduation. She couldn’t imagine living anywhere else anymore. Sometimes Blaise felt guilty knowing what a secluded life she led, and wondering if she needed more, but Salima was so happy here that Blaise didn’t have the heart to bring her back to live in New York, with all the risks it presented for her. And Abby wouldn’t have come with her. She had a mother who had been in poor health for years, and she wanted to stay nearby. So Salima had stayed on, and Abby went to the community college with her every day. Blaise had given her a car, and Salima was free to come and go. She had resident status now, and was no longer subject to all the rules that applied to the younger children there. And most of the teachers were her friends, but Abby was more like an older sister to her, or a mother. Thinking that always hurt Blaise a little, but Abby was so much better for her, and did everything Salima needed, at all times. Blaise knew only too well that she couldn’t have done it, even if she didn’t work. The responsibility of handling Salima’s illness on her own had always made her anxious and frightened her.
“So what have you two been up to?” Blaise asked, as she sprawled on the couch next to her daughter. The two young women were like Siamese twins, always together, inseparable at all times.
“I was trying to teach Abby to sing scales.” Salima laughed at her. Abby was plain looking but had a sweet face and was wearing jeans and a white fisherman sweater Blaise had brought her back from Ireland. And Salima was wearing the designer jeans and a pink sweater her mother had recently sent her. They both looked like kids, far younger than either of them were. Salima looked about fifteen, and Abby scarcely older. “She’s hopeless,” Salima added about her caretaker’s singing skills. “She can’t carry a tune to save her life. She can’t even sing scales. I played some of the music for her that we’ve been studying at school, Renaissance music, and she hates it.” Salima had sung in the school choir all through high school. And in a local church choir on Sunday.
“That music is so depressing,” Abby said with a wry smile, looking apologetic.
“I think so too,” Blaise admitted. “Can’t you study something more cheerful? Christmas carols maybe? Then we could all sing along, or at least I could. I don’t know where your musical gift came from, but it sure isn’t from me,” Blaise said with a grin.
“I’m going to take Gregorian chants next semester,” she said, enjoying torturing both of them. She had been gifted with an exquisite voice. And she leaped at every chance to sing. She had the best voice in the entire school, and the purest. She could hit the high notes every time.
“I’m moving out if you start chanting,” Abby threatened, trying to sound menacing, but convinced no one.
“No, you won’t. I’m the only one who knows how to braid your hair. You’ll look a mess if you move out,” Salima warned, and they all laughed. Salima managed extremely well, especially on familiar turf. And she knew every inch of Caldwell and the grounds like the back of her hand. She was even able to get from one building to another sometimes without Abby, although Abby usually went with her. Salima particularly hated using a white cane and wouldn’t use one. She just relied on Abby. And she had refused to have a seeing-eye dog ever since she’d gone blind. She hated dogs and didn’t want one. Abby met all her needs to perfection. And in the cottage, Salima almost appeared sighted, she knew the placement of everything so well.
“Do you want to go out for brunch?” Blaise offered, but Salima usually didn’t. She was happiest on the familiar school grounds, except for her classes at college, where she had no choice. It was why she had decided not to go to Dartmouth, despite her excellent grades. She thought it would be too hard to get around, and Abby couldn’t go with her. And Salima couldn’t manage without her. She was totally dependent on her, which was both good and bad. Blaise was well aware that if Abby ever left for any reason, Salima would be lost without her.
“Abby promised to make her special waffles,” Salima said, looking like a child again.
“It would be fun to eat at Peterson’s,” Blaise suggested. She always thought it would do her good to get out, but Salima seemed to have no need or desire to venture into the world. She was happy in her cottage.
“I’d rather eat here,” Salima said bluntly. She lived in a cocoon that Blaise had provided for her, and Abby was happy in it with her. She was a local girl who had never ventured far from home. She had gone to New York for the first time with Salima, and looked terrified the whole time she was there when they came home for school vacations. It was Salima who had reassured her. Abby was used to it now, but it had taken several years. And while Salima was at home, they rarely left the apartment. They watched movies on Blaise’s big movie screen, which Salima could listen to and follow, with tapes recorded by a “movie describer” to describe the action for the vision impaired. Salima loved movies. They ordered meals from restaurants to be delivered to the apartment. Blaise always had a tough time getting them out, even here. But Abby took exquisite care of her. She monitored her blood counts and checked her pump scrupulously, and did everything for Salima. And Salima looked immaculate, beautifully groomed, and perfectly put together. The only thing Abby couldn’t do was braids, and sing, and Salima teased her mercilessly about both.
Abby went out to the kitchen a few minutes later, set the table, and served them freshly made waffles.
“I forgive you for not being able to sing,” Salima announced with a mouthful of waffles and diabetic maple syrup. “Your waffles are fantastic!” Abby loved to spoil her in countless small ways. It made Blaise’s heart ache. Abby was the mother that she knew she could never be. She didn’t have the time or the patience. Abby did. Blaise lived in a much bigger world, which she had shielded Salima from religiously. Salima was not a secret, but Blaise never talked about her diabetes or her blindness. And she had kept her away from the press all her life. Blaise was intensely private and protective of Salima.
Her going blind, and being diagnosed with diabetes before that, had broken Blaise’s heart, and Harry’s. He had never been able to adjust to it. And rather than accepting that he had a blind daughter and dealing with it, he ran away from it and hardly ever saw her. It was too painful for him. He sent her birthday cards, and had Blaise buy her Christmas and birthday gifts. He didn’t know what she wanted, even as a young child, and her blindness confused him, so he didn’t bother getting her anything, and asked Blaise to do it, which she did, and always credited him with fabulous gifts, beautiful dolls when she was younger, which she enjoyed even if she couldn’t see them. She was like any other child. She loved music as she got older, leather jackets, a fur parka when she turned eighteen that Salima had worn ever since. But her father hardly ever coming to see her had been a disappointment to her all her life. He never called her either. She rarely spoke about it and had made her peace with it, but sometimes when his name came up, Blaise could see how much it had hurt her. Blaise tried to explain it to Harry, to no avail. He just said he couldn’t. He found parenting any child hard enough, but doing so for a blind one was too much for him. It was easier for him to ignore her.
“What do you want to do after lunch?” Blaise asked her, as Abby put the dishes in the dishwasher Blaise had bought them.
“How about a movie? I just got two new ones.” She particularly loved musicals. She had “watched” Annie and Mamma Mia! and Mary Poppins and The Sound of Music hundreds of times and sung along.
“Why don’t we get some air?” Blaise suggested. “You can watch a movie anytime. It’s a beautiful day outside.” It was the one problem Blaise always had with her. It was hard to get her out of her comfort zone, even to go for a walk on the grounds. She didn’t like to go out unless she had to, and Abby didn’t push her. She hated making Salima unhappy, and Salima liked to stay home in the cozy cottage. The only time she left it now was to go to school.
“Tell me about your trip,” Salima said, trying to distract her from insisting on a walk, but genuinely interested too. Blaise told her about both interviews, and how fascinating both subjects had been. She told her all about Dubai, or what she’d seen of it, and the diamond bangle from Cartier. She had Salima feel it on her wrist.
“It feels expensive,” Salima said with a grin. “He must have liked you a lot.”
“No, he was just generous. Saudis are. And how would you know it’s expensive?” Blaise was intrigued.
“It’s heavy, and I can feel the diamonds all around it. It wasn’t cheap.”
“No, it wasn’t,” Blaise agreed with a smile.
“Was he handsome?” She loved hearing about her mother’s trips, and listening to her interviews. She was Blaise’s biggest fan. And her mother was hers. Salima was a remarkable girl, and had been since she was a child. She was sad that Harry hardly knew her, and that she herself didn’t have more time to spend with her. The years had flown by.
“He was very handsome, and extremely smart,” Blaise said about the Saudi prince.
“Was he hot for you, Mom?” Salima teased her, mostly because of the bracelet. But she knew her mother was beautiful. Everyone said so.
“No. I’m about ten or twelve years older than he is, so that rules me out. And he already has three wives. That’s three too many for me.”
Salima knew all about her mother’s romance with Andrew, and how it had turned out and why. She had met him and liked him, and he had made an effort with her, but she didn’t like how it had ended, or how dishonest he had been with her mother. Salima had been fourteen at the time, and her mother’s voice had sounded so sad afterward, for months, maybe a year. It made Salima’s heart ache to hear her. Salima herself had had a couple of romances at the school, but all the boys there were too young for her now, and she hadn’t met anyone at college. She was always with Abby, and they came and went for her classes and never stuck around. And Salima was shy. With sighted people, she was self-conscious about being blind. And the only sighted people she knew were teachers, not kids. It was the downside of living at a school for the blind. She had no idea how to behave around people who could see. All her peers were blind, and had been for the past eleven years, since she was eight years old. But Blaise was still convinced that she was better off here. But as the years went by, Salima was less and less familiar with the outside world. New York would have been a jungle for her now, and far more dangerous than Blaise was willing to deal with. At Caldwell, Blaise knew she was safe. And Salima never asked to come home. She only did so when she had no other choice, when school was closed for vacations.
It took some doing, but Blaise finally convinced her to go for a walk. She described the trees to her, turning orange and scarlet, and Salima tucked her hand into her mother’s arm as they walked, while Abby walked right behind them and said nothing. She was there if they needed her, but she didn’t want to intrude. She was always very discreet, and Blaise liked her nearby. She was never alone with her daughter, and preferred it that way. She didn’t feel competent to meet Salima’s needs if something unexpected happened, and she knew Abby could. All Blaise could do, as far as she was concerned, was tell her stories of her work and travels and make her laugh. They always had fun together, which was something, but Salima needed so much more than that.
Abby made them hot tea when they got back to the cottage, and Blaise sat with them until late afternoon, when it started to get dark. And at six o’clock, with a tone of regret, she said she should leave. She had a long drive back to the city.
“Would you like a sandwich before you go?” Abby offered with her gentle smile.
“No, I’m fine. I should get on the road.” She hated to leave. She always did. “I’ll come back soon,” she said, as she hugged Salima, who clung to her mother for a minute, savoring the feel and smell of her. She always loved the scent of her perfume, and her shampoo. Sometimes she could smell her in a room. Salima’s senses other than her sight were acute, especially hearing and smell. “I’ll call you this week,” Blaise promised, vowing to herself that she would. She loved being with her, and hated how life got away from them, and interfered. Salima was the greatest gift of her life, no matter how infrequently she saw her.
“Thanks for coming up, Mom,” Salima said with a smile, as she walked her mother to the door. “It was fun. It always is when you’re here.” She thought her mother was exciting.
“I can’t wait till you come home for Thanksgiving,” Blaise said, and meant it. “I’ll get tickets to a Broadway musical. That would be fun,” and she knew Salima would love it. They tried to see a musical whenever Salima came to town.
“The opera would be nice too … or a concert. Beethoven, if there is one.” She looked excited at the prospect. The one way to spark her interest and get her out was always music.
“I’ll see what’s playing that weekend,” Blaise promised.
“Drive safely,” Salima admonished her as Blaise hugged her for a last time.
“I will.”
Salima waved and then closed the door, and as Blaise left, she could hear Salima put music on, and the two girls laughing again. They had a good time together, and as she walked to her car, Blaise felt strangely left out, and she realized how lucky Abby was. She had so much time with Salima, and Salima loved her so much. At times, Blaise wished that she had made different choices, but she knew that the choices she had made were right for both of them. Blaise needed her work, as part of who she was, and Salima was happy at the school. It was just the way things were. And as she got on the road and headed south, she wiped a stray tear from her cheek.