The Moments Between

by Natalie Banks

  He had been right when he said that Sophia looked younger than her age. I would’ve never guessed her to be in her seventies. Her honey blonde hair was long and her figure petite. She was wearing white cropped pants with a vibrant blue top and gold sandals with painted toes to match her shirt. She looked at me and smiled, her eyes sparkling. I could see why Mr. Thompson was so crazy about her.

  “I’m Claire,” I said, holding out my hand to her. She shook it gingerly.

  Lauren’s voiced echoed out across the playground. She called to her grandfather for help. Her shoelaces had come untied.

  As he went to her aide, Sophia and I got caught up in a burst of conversation.

  I was surprised when she told me she was widow.

  “My husband died of pancreatic cancer. Two years ago, now. It happened so fast, that I barely had time to prepare. Hit me hard,” she said as she looked back at Mr. Thompson tying Lauren’s shoes.

  She looked back at me. “I spent the first year after he was gone in the house not wanting to go anywhere. Not even the grocery store. Got all my groceries delivered. As time went on, I realized that I was wasting away. My husband would’ve not wanted me to live this way. So, I signed up for a wood burning class. I wanted to do something that was mine and mine alone. Something that didn’t relate to my husband. And that’s where I met Harry.”

  Harry? Mr. Thompson’s first name. I never knew. Apparently, acrylic painting wasn’t the only class he was taking at the Arts Center.

  I looked over at the playground. Mr. Thompson was headed back this way, and Oliver was now playing with Lauren. They were racing up the rock wall and down the slide. Grayson was on the swings with the same group of boys from earlier. His head tipped back to the sky, a smile on his face, as he swung through the air. He was growing up so fast. Too fast.

  I looked back at Sophia, who was still talking.

  “At first, we were just friendly in class. Nothing more. But I always thought he was funny and so handsome. When we both signed up for part two of the wood burning class, I decided to ask him out. I thought, what the hell? Why not? I knew I had to get on with living or get on with dying, so I chose the former. We had coffee on our first date and have barely been separated since.” Her eyes sparkled with the glow of a teenager. It warmed my heart that she was able to find love again after such a loss.

  And Mr. Thompson, too.

  The beauty of second chances.

  He came up and put his arms around her, kissing the top of her head as she giggled.

  “And the rest is history,” she said, looking up at him.

  After dinner, Ben took the boys outside to toss the football around, and I disappeared upstairs. I sat against our bedroom wall with my knees pulled to my chest, rocking back and forth, crying. With the realization that the dream was in fact coming true, all the walls I had barely held up were coming down around me.

  Seeing Mr. Thompson and Sophia together had warmed my heart, but mostly it made me feel worse. I didn’t want that for my life. I didn’t want to have hope for a new love. Or for a new life. I wanted Ben.

  And I didn’t know how I was going to survive without him.

  Heartache and distress filtered through me again and again.

  And I was tired.

  I was tired of being scared all the time. Tired of feeling so helpless.

  Weariness and fear were tearing me apart, bit by bit.

  I listened as voices and laughter floated in through the open window.

  Numbly, I got up and walked over to the window, gazing out over the yard just as Oliver caught a football for the very first time.

  Oliver’s face lit up like sunshine as Ben and Grayson ran over and gave him a high-five.

  And I had almost missed it…

  All at once, it came into focus, what Mr. Thompson had told me about the last days with his wife.

  The realization washed over me like a tidal wave.

  Ben was alive and well in the backyard. He wasn’t gone, he was here now and I was missing out on life with him and the boys. All I had was the present moment. Today, right now, was mine. I had been so consumed with death, that I had completely forgotten about life.

  I ran downstairs as fast as I could and out the back door to where my guys were waiting.

  When I stepped outside, Oliver and Grayson spotted me and instantly cheered.

  Ben looked up at me and smiled.

  I smiled back as he tossed me the football.

  Chapter 17

  May 28th

  Unfortunately, my newfound appreciation for life only existed when Ben was home.

  And my days had taken on a new ritual. Each morning after dropping the boys off at school, I would come home, drink my coffee, and just sit.

  Sometimes on the porch. Sometimes in the kitchen.

  Staring at nothing. Depleted of emotion.

  The house quickly fell into chaos. Laundry and dishes backed up. Sweeping undone.

  With June 3rd so close now, housework seemed unimportant.

  I was simply existing. Floating through my days in a mental coma.

  But when Ben came home, I would come to life again.

  Momentarily.

  Relishing in my time with him. As the days quickly faded away.

  This morning, I stood in the kitchen, gazing out the window as leaves rustled on trees, and the sunshine played peek-a-boo with the clouds. Suddenly, a cardinal landed on a nearby branch, its red coloring contrasting to the green. Startling me to alertness.

  My coffee had grown cold while I stood there.

  Time disappeared when I was lost in moments like this.

  The world consisting of only me and nothingness.

  Just like my mother.

  I remembered one particular morning, when I was in middle school. She hadn’t been out of bed in three days. I came down the stairs for school and she was up, coffee in hand, sitting at the kitchen table.

  Looking but not seeing.

  “Hi, Mom,” I offered.

  She didn’t answer, so I went about making my breakfast.

  I sat at the table with her and ate my cereal. The silence deafening.

  Looking at her.

  Watching for signs of life.

  Eyes glazed over, sipping, breathing.

  After I finished eating, I put my bowl in the sink and just as I left the kitchen, she called out, “Have a good day, Claire.”

  I turned, rushed back in, and kissed her cheek.

  Her face unchanging.

  Had she spoken? Did I imagine it?

  I couldn’t understand her back then.

  My mother, lost in a world of despair.

  But now, I did.

  The loss of hope. The disappointment.

  I set my coffee cup down.

  I should call her.

  I picked up the phone and dialed her number.

  The phone rang six times before she answered. And when she did, she sounded out of breath.

  “Mom? Are you okay?” I asked nervously.

  “I’m fine,” she laughed.

  “Is something going on?” I pressed, not convinced.

  “Nothing! Why would you ask me that?” she retorted.

  “You sounded winded, that’s all,” I offered, not wanting to push her too much.

  “Good lord Claire, I’m fine. Don’t you have enough going on there than to be concerning yourself with whether I sound winded or not?” Her tone, hostile.

  She had been softer in her later years, so this sharpness stunned me.

  Maybe she was mad that I haven’t been calling her much lately?

  I could hear something in the background but couldn’t make it out. She covered the mouthpiece and mumbled something I couldn’t understand. Soon after, she came back on the phone. “Claire, I’
m kinda busy right now. How about we chat later?”

  She never has anyone over at her house!

  “Mom, who’s there with you?” The sound of my voice came out high-pitched with mounting concern.

  “Young lady, stop asking me so many questions! I am a fifty-eight-year-old woman, and I think I can take care of myself! Have a good day, dear.”

  Without a goodbye, she hung up.

  I stood there, my thoughts swirling. Offended… and worried.

  The phone was still to my ear when it began ringing. Assuming it was Mom calling back, I answered immediately.

  It was Mandi.

  I groaned silently, wishing I had checked the caller ID before answering.

  I was in no mood for Mandi. I had enough on my plate to deal with.

  “Hey there!” she exclaimed enthusiastically. I pulled the phone back from my ear.

  She was in a great mood and apparently had amnesia about our last interaction.

  “So, have you talked to Mom lately? She’s acting kinda weird, if you ask me,” she spouted.

  “I just got off the phone with her, actually, and I couldn’t agree more. She was talking to someone in the background. Does she have a boyfriend?”

  Mandi laughed loudly. “Hell, I highly doubt it. That woman is as frigid as the arctic.”

  I knew she was right. Mom had not shown interest toward any men since Dad left her. It was as if she held every single man on the planet responsible for what he did. And Dad was forever guilty; there was no forgiveness to be had.

  “You talked to Dad?” Mandi asked, as if she could read my mind.

  “No, I usually am so busy when he calls, I don’t have time to talk,” I lied.

  “Yeah, right!” Mandi scoffed. “God! Why can’t you just let the past go, Claire?”

  I was instantly irritated by her self-righteous tone.

  “Mom says that you’ve been acting weird lately. What’s going on with you?” I asked, quick to change the subject.

  “Oh Lordy, I’m fine. She’s just a worrier, that’s all.” She laughed. “So, I’m going to be in the Arts District around lunchtime. Feel like some company?”

  I could hear the pleading in her voice, and instantly a tug-of-war began in my mind.

  Every cell inside of me wanted to say no, but the expectancy in her voice broke down my will, and the word yes spilled out of my mouth.

  I immediately wondered why I did things like this to myself.

  Seeing Mandi was the last thing that I wanted to do right now.

  After we hung up, I took one look around and began to panic. The unkemptness of the house, glaringly obvious. And I didn’t want to hear any comments from Mandi. Her house was always in pristine order. Not only did she not have any children to leave a trail of toys everywhere they went, she also had a maid who came in three times a week.

  What did that maid do with her time?

  Dusted the lightbulbs? Shined the door handles?

  I mean, the house was already clean when she got there.

  I had often imagined what it was like to live Mandi’s life. Everything about her was so perfect. Her life, like a dream. She had a charmed life. She and Lewis owned a mansion on Providence Road. The house was so big that she didn’t even use half of the rooms, keeping most of them closed up.

  She drove a black Jaguar, wore a Rolex on her pencil thin wrist, ate at the finest restaurants, and shopped at the best boutiques. She was wealthy, beautiful, and vibrant.

  Had she ever had a bad day in her whole life?

  If she did, she never told me about it.

  Envy rose up like a wildfire, burning my insides.

  Yes, I was jealous. But deep down inside, I didn’t really want her life. I had always been happy with Ben and the life we had together.

  Ben, this house, our boys…it was my dream come true.

  I didn’t know why I let Mandi get under my skin. But she always had. As far back as I could remember.

  Maybe Ben was right. I should just let her behavior go.

  Give up on trying to figure out who’s at fault in all this.

  But mostly, I wanted to stop living my life in her shadow.

  Despite my resolve, it still irked me that everything was so perfect for her.

  And now look what I was going through.

  My life was unraveling in front of me, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

  Mandi arrived at close to one o’clock with a bag of pastries from Des Floure, a French bakery in downtown. I had just finished cleaning the house when the doorbell rang.

  She waltzed in the door smelling of Dior and looking as fabulous as ever.

  Did she ever age?

  As soon as she stepped inside, she kissed my cheek and shoved the bag of treats into my hands.

  “Save some for the boys,” she said as she eyeballed my waistline.

  “Lord, Mandi! I might not be as skinny as you, but I’m perfectly fine the size I am. Why do you always have to make me feel like a beached whale?”

  She gasped. “Claire, I didn’t say a word about your weight! Your body is cute!”

  I noticed how she accentuated the word cute. That was just like her to turn something around that was meant as a put down and turn it into a passive-aggressive, pseudo compliment.

  I could feel my cheeks burning as I followed her into the kitchen. “Can I get you something to drink?”

  “Do you have espresso?” she asked as she took a seat at one of the counter barstools.

  Do I look like a coffee shop?

  “No, just regular old coffee…you know the kind that gets served in ceramic mugs?” The sarcasm slipping out.

  “God, what’s with you today, Claire? You’re being snappy.”

  I took a deep breath. She was right.

  “I’m sorry. I’ve just been a little stressed out lately,” I said as I warmed the leftover coffee in the pot.

  Her mouth dropped open in shock. I wasn’t certain if it was my apology or my stress that surprised her.

  “What could you possibly have to be stressed out about? You have the perfect life, for god sake!” She averted looking in my eyes as she turned her barstool and looked out toward the foyer.

  “I have the perfect life?” I asked, not sure if I had heard her right.

  She turned back around and looked at me. “God, yes. You have the life every woman dreams of. You have Ben, who is absolutely in love with you, and you have those beautiful boys. I will admit that sometimes I’m a little jealous.”

  I was stunned.

  Jealous of me? Mandi? I knew she was competitive, but never jealous.

  It seemed impossible to me.

  Before I could speak, she quickly changed the subject. “So, what’s going on with you that’s got you so stressed out?”

  I poured us both a cup of coffee and then came and sat down on the stool next to her.

  She waited patiently for me to speak while her red lipstick made prints on the coffee cup that she was sipping from.

  I turned my body around, so I was directly facing her.

  “Ben’s going to die…” A sob caught in my throat.

  “Oh my God, what!? What’s wrong with him? Does he have cancer? This is just terrible!” she exclaimed.

  “No…he doesn’t have cancer…” I answered quietly. Wondering if starting this conversation with her was actually a good idea. She was already getting into hysterics.

  “Well then, what’s wrong with him!?” Her eyes on mine as she reached over with long maroon colored nails and patted my arm in a frail attempt to comfort me.

  “He’s going to die in an accident on June 3rd.” My voice cracked as I said it.

  Her face was blank and she blinked rapidly, looking at me, trying to figure out what I meant.

 
“What the hell are you talking about? You’re scaring me, Claire…” Her eyes were wide with fear.

  “I had a dream. I think it was like a premonition or something,” I responded.

  Suddenly she began to laugh. “Oh my god, Claire. You terrified me! Lord, I thought something was really wrong for a minute!”

  “Something IS WRONG!” I shouted.

  “Stop being so dramatic! It’s not becoming! It was just a damn dream. Get over it!” she yelled back.

  I stood up too quickly, and the barstool that I had been sitting on turned over and landed with a loud thud on the floor.

  “How dare you talk to me that way, Mandi! I have had enough of it! You think you are the most perfect thing that ever walked on the face of this planet, and the rest of us should just fall in line behind you. Well, I’m DONE with falling in line behind you!” I shrieked.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” she bellowed. “I have NEVER thought I was perfect! My life is FAR from perfect! God! You always do this. Little miss innocent Claire, sitting in the corner. Poor Claire! You always want people to feel sorry for you! And I always have, but I’m done with it now! You have no reason to be falling apart! Because of some dream? Why don’t you try living my life for a while? Let’s see how perfect you think I am then!”

  “God, Mandi! Oh yes, it’s such a hardship to be a rich housewife! Go where you want, buy what you want, do what you want, whenever you want! Poor POOR MANDI!” My voice echoed out into the foyer.

  When the echo faded, it was quiet, and I instantly regretted yelling.

  When I looked back at her, I was stunned to see her face red and her eyes filling with tears.

  “You just don’t get it, do you?” she choked out. Tears now streaming down her face, making troughs in her perfect makeup.

  I walked to bathroom to get her some tissues.

  When I came back into the kitchen, she was sobbing.

  I held the tissue out to her, and she took it and blew her nose. Beige foundation and mascara smeared carelessly all over it, reminding me of Amanda’s painting rag at art class.

  “Claire, my life is far from perfect,” she hiccupped.

  I felt awful for starting this and I didn’t know what to do.