Falling Back To Earth: A Novel

By J.A. Carter-Winward

Eve Spencer had always been grounded—her role as wife and mother, her role in the community, her role as Eve Spencer—all certain, firmly planted in her own mind.
​ ​Until the day she remembers who she really is.

And it is not Eve Spencer.

Memories, like glass shards, shred through her mind, dismantling her world as

• Language: English
• Publisher: Binary Press Publications, LLC
• Release date: Apr 4, 2017
• ISBN: 9781611710359

J.A. Carter-Winward

J.A. Carter-Winward is author of Grind, The Rub, TDTM, and Falling Back to Earth, and the award-winning "No" Poetry Trilogy. She's also the author of two short-story collections, Shorts: A Collection, The Bus Stops Here and Other Stories, and a successful, locally produced stage play, The Waiters, nominated "Best Local Event" in 2014. Her work appears in anthologies by Vita Brevis Press, Write Bloody Publishing, HSTQ, and several paper and online poetry publications. In 2014, Carter-Winward was voted "Best Local Artist" for her literary and visual art. J.A.'s upcoming releases in 2021 include: If It Stings... That Means It's Working (a poetry story), Work in Progress: Dialogues & Poems, and Killing Scott Lark: A Novel. Official website for Ms. Carter-Winward: www.jacarterwinward.com

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FALLING BACK TO EARTH

A Novel

JulieAnn Carter-Winward

Bianry Press 2014

©2014 JuileAnn Carter-Winward. All Rights Reserved

Published by Binary Press Publications, LLC

ISBN

ISBN

"And Something’s odd—within—

That person that I was—

And this One—do not feel the same—

Could it be Madness—this?"

EMILY DICKINSON

PROLOGUE

I remember the first time I lost my mind.

I remember that my sundress had been the color of soft lilacs that bloom in the earliest spring.

Blood, the color of apples, had smeared on my hem and my small limbs tingled painfully from cuts and scrapes. I could barely breathe from the terror that propelled me forward through the brush.

I did not look behind me because there was nothing for me to see. No memory, no familiarity, only the mysterious compulsion to move, to run.

I stumbled out of shrubs into a waiting patch of moonlight and my swollen eyes ached with the abrupt light.

Crisp air seared my lungs as I fought the urge to turn back, but darkness continued to chase me. I wanted to fall to the earth, my skin stinging, my limbs wild and exhausted, but nothing could make me stop running.

I saw light through a small copse of trees and relief mounted as I approached. But the closer I got to the light, the more my relief turned to dread.

It was a small cabin nestled in a grove, a light flickering savagely in the window. The door opened and a figure stood, silent and still. I had a strange portent that instead of an oasis, it loomed as an omen that I would never find my way home.

But still, I kept running.

1

I walk across the parking lot weaving through cars with a peculiar sensation of nepenthean calm after a big haul at the case lot sale. We are all bees in a hive, buzzing through the store, getting the last case of beans and soup before winter. We store up our food as if we will run out, as if we don’t live in a place with giant grocery stores and case lot sales.

I have a stymied moment of panic because suddenly I realize I don’t know where the hell I parked my car. I turn quickly around and walk back to the grocery store entrance. If I start over, I reason, it will come back to me.

As I walk back, I notice something moving in a wagon three cars away from me. A car seat is in the back with the windows partly open. A child—maybe 8 months old or younger—cries and flails her arms about. She knocks her pink blanket to and fro as if she waves a pretty pink flag to signal her distress.

I veer to the right to stand outside of the door and I look about wildly.

Who would leave their child in the car in this heat?

I wonder if the parents ran into the store to return a video, but even that would be unconscionable. I take out my cell phone and wait as I pace by the car. All the while my heart palpitates and I sweat for the baby inside. I try the door and no alarm goes off; I take one more sweeping glance across the lot and then dial 911. The child sees me through her tears, and cries more desperately.

I wait, and as I wait I continually check the storefront for a parent. I impotently lift the door handles of the car and talk as soothingly as I can, cooing with rising emotion toward the crying child. I even try the trunk just to be sure. The search for my car has been eclipsed by the constriction I feel as I watch the baby struggle in her seat. I hope with unchecked anger that the parents come out so I can tell them what I think of them, and oh, by the way, the police are coming.

Angry and antsy, I try to find a solution—try to think of anything other than the flailing child who stares out of the window with her crumpled forehead and tear-streaked cheeks. The cries inside vibrate along me and I find myself urging back my own tears. I hold my hand up against the glass and will the sight of it to comfort her.

I hear the sirens and soon they become deafening. I stand up taller, on my tip toes, praying for them to see me. It’s only 75 degrees outside, but inside the car with a blanket would be suffocating.

Two police cars and a paramedic fire engine pull into the lot. I wave my arms in the air in the hopes that they spot me faster. I want them to move more quickly, move five minutes ago. I can’t breathe.

A younger officer, name tag glinting in the light, jogs over to me and looks in the window. He glances around as if I hadn’t already been doing that for 15 minutes.

Didn’t think to do that, Officer Dooley.

He pulls the radio attached to his shoulder close to his mouth and speaks into it.

Okay, 10-23 Officer Dooley at the scene. We have an 810 in a red wagon, California plate number 7, Lima, Mary, Bravo, 3-7-9; paramedics standing by.

Officer Dooley motions me to stand back, as if I’m impeding the rescue.

May I see your ID, ma’am?

Sure. I reach into my purse and produce my permanently unsnapped wallet. As I hand it to him I glance down at my driver’s license and notice that my eyes are partially closed in the picture. I can’t see myself in them.

He walks over to the other car where an older officer sits in the driver’s seat and scans his computer. Officer Dooley hands him my license and I feel guilty; I’m certain I have no outstanding anythings for which he could arrest me. They both glance at me and I smile.

Trust me, I’m not a felon. I called you, remember?

I continue to smile but alarm glimmers through me as they both shoot unfriendly glances my way. They squint in the light and I swallow thickly.

This isn’t about me. This is about the goddamned baby! What is wrong with these guys? Do I have a forgotten traffic ticket?

Dooley speaks into his radio and eyes me some more. Finally, he walks over to me, his stride and gait authoritative and angry.

Ma’am, this vehicle is registered to you.

I blink at him for several moments. The impact of his words thrusts a giant fist into my gut.

I could have saved her a long time ago.

My mind races and my breath gasps out of me in bursts.

His eyes are softer, Do you have your keys, ma’am?

I reach into my purse and mutely hand them to him, confusion and frustration mounting. He points the remote to toward the car and it opens with a resounding beep and click. He releases the baby’s car seat from the back but keeps her in it. Paramedics approach with a small stretcher.

The baby begins to scream again as Officer Dooley shushes her and smiles; every so often, he glances up at me. I stand in the heat, my mind reaching for reasons, any reason, that someone would abandon a child like this.

Who would do this? My God.

I begin picturing scenarios: single, unwed mother desperate to be rid of her hungry child. Perhaps the child had been abducted and—

The other officer approaches and speaks low and rapidly to Officer Dooley, who walks toward me with uncertainty gracing his face.

Ma’am, do you know that baby?

"Of course not! Jesus Christ!"

Stay calm, I just needed to ask. He turns away and I watch as the cart holding my cases of food wanders away from me, the cart’s front wheel spinning out of control. I don’t care where it goes; the food doesn’t matter anymore.

The other officer says loudly, I’ve called the husband and he’s on his way.

Officer Dooley scowls. You look confused, Ma’am. Are you feeling all right?

Exasperation, as if no one hears me. My hands quake uncontrollably as I hold them up.

"I’m fine! What about the baby? How did she get in my car?"

I tremble visibly as if cold; teeth chattering and hands frosty white, clenched. He blinks rapidly and seems uncomfortable as he places his large hand on the back of his neck.

Everything turns sluggish, and I can’t see his face because of the sun’s glare on a car window. I hold up my hands to ward off the blows of the acerbic rays.

Ma’am...the baby is your daughter.

≈

I just don’t understand. Help me understand this, Eve.

We’re in the ER waiting room. They’re afraid that my daughter, Sarah, is dehydrated. I can’t think about that. Why don’t they understand? I feel better now. I remember everything. All I need to do is hold her and she’ll be all right. She’d be safe; safe with Mommy again.

Eve? Are you listening to me? I had to call Daniel—

Daniel? Why? Daniel is an attorney and Ben’s brother-in-law.

Because we don’t know what we’re up against here, you know? I mean legally—

"So you called a patent attorney?"

That isn’t the point! Evie, what happened back there?

I wrap my arms around myself. I don’t want to think about what happened back there. Bile rises in my throat each time I picture Sarah’s face staring through the window at me. The right side of my head throbs.

Eve? Are you going to answer me or space out like— he breathes out harshly. My husband, Ben, is impatient and frustrated; I can see it on his face, hear it. His eyes darken.

I realize that I don’t remember everything.

Ben, I begin, something’s happened—

Save it! He shakes his head rapidly as if to stoke his mounting anger. "I had to call every senior partner at the firm, at home, to tell them we’ve had a family crisis and tonight’s dinner is cancelled. At home, Evie."

Don’t call me that.

You know, you’re the one always champing at the bit for me to make senior partn—call you what?

Don’t call me that.

He stares at me perplexed for a long time. I expect more anger, but he smiles sardonically. He continues more gently. Okay. I should have told you about the party before this morning. You’re right, I get it. I apologize. We can’t be a number one team if we don’t work together. Right?

He has his game face on, but the pep talk falls flat. He obviously doesn’t hear me so I turn my whole body to him and stare into his eyes, begging with my own for him to understand.

Ben...I’m not Eve. This isn’t my life, you aren’t my husband, this isn’t...real.

Eve, stop it. Not a great time for a mid-life crisis.

I grab his arm and my icy fingers enclose his jacket, trembling. Ben, I need to tell you something.

I feel the air rustle around us and we both glance up expecting to see a white coated doctor or nurse. Instead, we get loafers and khakis.

Eve Spencer?

I stare into the woman’s eyes and I can’t speak. No words; they stall in my throat like cement in a tube.

I’m her husband. Can I help you?

Elaine Lewis, Child Protective Services.

They shake hands and then she reaches for mine. My hand feels rimy. It threatens to snap at the wrist like a frosted twig.

I’m wondering if I can have a word with you both?

I nod mutely and she sits across from us on the other sanitized aqua-blue chair.

She visually assesses me, none too subtly, and I follow her eyes down to my clothes, my purse. Everything I wear seems strange, apart from me.

I was contacted by someone from the Concord Police Department about your daughter, Mrs. Spencer.

I shake my head; Ben’s hand reaches quickly for mine and he squeezes painfully. When I look at him, his face is flushed. The frigid air of the hospital seems to have settled in my lungs. I don’t want to talk to her. I especially don’t want to talk to her in front of Ben.

He’s the enemy.

Mrs. Spencer, I’m going to ask you some questions—

Excuse me, Ms. Lewis, but should we have an attorney present?

The caseworker’s eyes flick angrily toward Ben and she smiles unkindly. Isn’t it nice that you have that option, Mr. Spencer. Most of my clients don’t.

What’s your point, exactly? We have every right to call for legal representation. Eve, don’t say another word. I’ll call Daniel.

I jostle out of my stupor and confusion, my heartbeat escalating with my panicky voice. Ben, I can just talk to her—

No, you can’t! We’ll call Daniel!

Fine! While we’re at it we can have him copyright something.

He’s family, Eve—

And don’t call me Eve.

Excuse me, Elaine speaks up, teeth practically clenched. "I have real children who are in real jeopardy. I don’t deal in drama queens, so what’s really going on here?"

Ben puts an arm protectively around me and it feels like a vise compressing my chest.

I’m not sure who you think you are, but I’m reporting you—

I’m not a drama queen....am I? I search my memory, but nothing is clear other than my name. My real name.

Ha, great! The CPS worker tosses her file on the chair next to her and stands to gather her briefcase. I don’t need to be mocked by you or any—

Eve was not mocking you!

"Stop calling me Eve!" My voice reverberates in the hollow space and both of their heads snap toward me.

This isn’t a game, Eve— Ben whispers harshly.

You’re the one making it a game, Mr. Spencer, with your threats of legal—

Something is wrong! I shout. Something is...is wrong! I’m not Eve, don’t you understand?

Look, Evie, stress is just making you forget—

"No! I’m not forgetting. I’m remembering. I’m remembering everything. My name is Lilli Eden, not Eve."

The caseworker’s eyebrows furrow and she sits back down, pulling a pad of paper from her briefcase. Her eyes never leave me.

Say that again.

Not another word, Eve.

My name is Lilli, I whisper through trembling lips.

2

I see through my face in the reflection in the small window. The glass on the door reflects my tears. Ben stands distant from me, uncertain and guarded.

A nurse I don’t know has her hand on my baby’s back, stethoscope feeling for her heart beat. I want it to be my hand, my voice cooing to her.

Can I help you? A medical technician appears at my elbow with her caddy of medieval torture devices.

That’s my daughter. I whisper it, uncertain I have the right to say it with conviction.

Okay...I don’t have you down as an authorized—

But I’m her mother.

I don’t have anyone authorized to see her but her father.

My eyes flick to her with fire. Ben speaks up loudly. I’m her father.

The technician glances at me. I watch her nostrils flare and it’s then I realize that she knows me. She knows of me. I’m the mother who forgot her baby.

I just need to know that she’s okay.

Shh, Eve, let me handle this. Look, we have a right to see her.

The medical technician glances around. I guess if you both go in....

Ben moves away from me slightly and it’s then I see it; we are not a united front, we are not a team. He doesn’t want to be sullied by what I’d done.

The medical tech raps on the door efficiently. The nurse in the room looks up and reluctantly nods, beckoning us in. I enter the warm room and Sarah’s voice gurgles in a soft cadence. The steps I take as I approach her seem eternal. My own heart thuds as if under a cold steel scope.

How is she? I glance briefly at the nurse who smiles tightly.

She’s just fine. Aren’t you? You’re just fine. The nurse pats Sarah’s tummy. My breath catches and moisture settles on my lip.

I don’t know how to touch her.

The nurse touches her so easily. How do I touch my daughter? I take a step back, unsure. Sarah sees me and arches her back, crying. Her arms reach for me.

Eve? Ben is close to my ear. I bristle at the name, but now isn’t the time.

Did you want to hold her? Medical technician sounds suspicious. She has to speak loudly over the baby’s cries.

Yes. I reach my hand toward her body underneath the cotton blanket. The feeling is comforting, familiar, and all at once unsettling.

Go ahead, Eve. Ben’s voice is sing-song , as if we’re playacting for a crowd and the part I play is the capable mother. I step in closer and reach under Sarah’s arms tentatively. She reaches her arms up to me and my eyes burn. The nurse moves toward me, arms out as if to steady me. Cautious. She playacts like she’s helping. It feels like she’s hovering. I snap my head toward her.

I’ve got it.

But I don’t. I don’t have it. All I have is my quaking hands wedged under my child. I don’t lift her. Her calm gurgling becomes harsh and grates on me and my uncertainty.

The medical personnel flank me like a guard detail and one of them, with a sidelong glance, says something icy under her breath.

The door swings open wide and we turn at the sudden intrusion. A very young, stern-looking woman in pink scrubs steps in. She stands with a clipboard like a sentry—both hands on either side, guarding the contents. Her gaze is unfriendly.

What’s going on? Is this...are you the father?

I’m invisible.

Yes, Ben stands straighter, I’m Ben—

You need to check in at the desk to see minors. It’s a security measure. You should have received a bracelet when she arrived. Eyes flick to me.

I exhale tremulously and move back, relieved. Sarah’s whimpering tears at me.

Fine, okay. C’mon, let’s get this straightened out, Eve. We’ll come back when they give the okay to release her. The doctor said it should be any time.

I bend toward Sarah and lay my cheek gently down on her stomach as she grabs at my hair. She tries to roll so she can get closer to me; her distressed gurgling begs me to hold her. I smell her familiar smell and only my face feels safe touching her. I don’t know how to be here, even if they tell me I’m allowed. I don’t know how to wrap my arms around her.

But she’s safe, safe in the arms of a cotton throw.

Ben moves out of the room and ahead of me quickly, apart from me. I want to tell him to stop calling me that name. But the distance grows between us as he strides to the nurse’s desk alone.

≈

My name is Lilli Eden and I drive a cherry-red Volvo.

I hold to this mantra as Ben speaks to me in a barrage of words. I hold onto it because as of this morning, I remember. I remember that I am Lilli, not Eve. Acknowledging that I’m Lilli should ground me. It should be a soft blanket huddled around me; a cup of warm milk at midnight after night terrors. But it isn’t. It changes everything.

My insides ripple as if made of gelatin. Maybe Ben’s right. Maybe I’m in some bizarre midlife crisis. Maybe I’m going to go blonde. Maybe I’ll find religion. Maybe I’ll golf. I sort of hope for something as mundane as golf. But I know better.

Eve! Are you even listening to me? I said I’ll take Sarah home as soon as the paperwork’s ready. We’ll meet you there.

I heard you.

Look, Eve, when we get home, we’re going to sit down and talk about this bullsh—

My name is Lilli. That’s who I am. I know it.

His astonished expression is unfamiliar, as if I’d never stunned him before.

"Just do me one favor, one favor. Explain Lilli to me. Can you do that?"

I gaze into his eyes and shake my head. No.

You’re telling me you just changed your name, like that, and have no reason for it?

"Lilli is me, it’s my name. Eve is...is wrong. And I don’t feel like Eve. Not anymore...that’s all I know." I speak with conviction, but my logical mind fights with that conviction just as Ben voices it.

It makes no sense!

I’m going to make it make sense, I just need time to think—

Think? About what?

Ben looks up to see voices raised at the nurse’s station.

A tall woman in flats, black pants and a white Oxford is pointing her finger at a young nurse’s aide. The aide glances at us and the other woman’s eyes follow. She walks purposely toward us and I want to step back instinctively.

"Hold on, folks, just a moment of your time. JC Errington, Contra Costa Times."

Holy shit, Ben says under his breath, "who called you?