by Maggie Thom
A man stepped out from behind some trees. He was standing near the back of her Hyundai rental. She stopped and stared. His black suit was appropriate for a funeral but she didn't remember seeing him at the grave site. He looked as though he'd just raised his head from prayer, his feet were still shoulder width apart and his hands were clasped loosely in front of him. Who was he? What was he doing over there? Why was he looking at her so expectantly? Not just the casual, hmm-who-are-you but the I-need-to-talk-to-you-and-I-know-this-won't-be-well-received look.
Bailey frowned. What could he possibly want with her? She was tempted to look over her shoulder but she knew she was the last person there. Slowly she made her way along the gravel road, her eyes never leaving his face. As she neared she noticed that he wasn't as old as she'd first thought. Kind of cute with a young George Clooney look - dark and mysterious. A shudder shook her body causing her to hesitate a few feet away from the car.
"Hello. I'm sorry for your loss."
She'd heard that over and over for the last few days and yet she felt that this man, who she had no idea who he was, actually meant it. She tilted her head to the side as she studied him. There was something else in his voice.
"Did you know my mom?"
He looked down, his whole body visibly tensing. A couple of heartbeats later he raised his head. "No. Not? No I didn't." His sky blue eyes darkened. "I just wanted to give you my condolences." He stared at her for several seconds before turning and striding away.
Bailey stared after him in confusion. Something had just happened but she wasn't sure what. It was as though he'd made a decision that was directly related to her. She watched him climb into a dark SUV and drive away. He wound his way through the maze of roads as though he knew them well.
Maybe he was from the funeral home. They had been so thorough but maybe they had overlooked something. She couldn't imagine what. Someone had paid for her mom's funeral but they wouldn't tell her who. Or why.
That hit Bailey hard. Her mom had known she was dying. And someone else had known too, the person who had forked out a lot of money so that her mom had the best funeral and ceremony. Could that have been the guy? But why would he? Why would anyone? Her mom wasn't close to anyone. She'd told her there was no family. Who was this mystery person? Did her mom have a boyfriend she hadn't told her about? He's kind of young, Mom but wow.
For a brief second that brightened her mood. It would be cool if her mom hadn't been alone. Bailey sighed. Her mom hadn't dated and never would she have even looked at a younger man. No, if she'd been going to find a man, she'd always said he'd be eighty and too darn weak to lift his arms.
So who was that then? Did he pay the invoice? But why would he do that? She grabbed the car door handle. I just want to go home.
Her mind wouldn't stop though. She was curious as to who had paid the bill. Could it have been the couple with the daughter? No, because they couldn't have known her mom, she'd never let Bailey near dance. They had wanted to thank Donna for helping their daughter with her ballet. They'd be embarrassed when they realize the mistake they'd made.
Bailey's headache pounded through her skull with jackhammer precision. She pressed her fingertips against her temples. The wind whipped up, letting its presence be known as it wound its way through the trees and gravesites. Fear came from nowhere and landed with a punch to the gut and then spidered its way throughout her body. It wasn't the noise so much as the absence of it. Someone was watching her. She knew it. It was a feeling that had served her well in the past. Looking around, she noted the rows upon rows of granite, etched with names, dates and loving memories that surrounded her. The flowers dotting the graves and the shrubs and pine trees broke up the uniformity but it was still deserted. She couldn't help but shudder at what all that meant. For a brief second she had a vision of all the bodies rising up from the graves, with arms held forward, walking towards her.
All of a sudden the breeze which had been like a gentle caress blew with a howling force. She staggered at the impact of it.
Struggling to stand upright, she looked up. Big drops of rain hit her in the face. Heavy gray clouds encased the sky. She scrambled for the door handle. Grabbing it, she yanked it open and dove in, just as the downpour started. She sat there for several minutes staring at the bleak sight. Sheets of rain obliterated her view. Fumbling around in the unfamiliar car, she managed to get it started and then found the windshield wiper switch. She flipped it on to high speed. The deluge hit her window like a waterfall. The wipers were flipping as fast as possible and still weren't able to clear it for more than a second.
A chill scooted down her spine like a colony of ants. Shivering, it wasn't clear to her if it was from the cold and rain or the sense of dread that the cemetery had evoked in her, or all that she wasn't ready to acknowledge. She eased the Hyundai forward, straining to try and see through the curtain of water. Puddles the size of mini lakes formed. The poorly graveled road had turned into a child's dream muck fest. Out of respect for the place, she was trying to drive slow but her car kept losing traction. Fed up with absolutely everything, she sped up, ignoring the mud packs being flung from her tires.
As she reached the main street, she sagged over the steering wheel as she peered out at the fast moving traffic that didn't seem fazed by the poor weather. The worst part was that she shouldn't be either. This was normal weather for Victoria. Even that fleeting realization made her really sad. And quick on its heels was another - was it home or a place she'd been hiding out from her mom? Something she'd no longer need. Shaking off those morbid thoughts, she eased out onto Memorial Drive and headed east towards the Deerfoot Trail.
An hour and a half later, thanks to accidents and flooding and the odd feeling that she had to make sure she had no tail, she finally pulled up to her mom's little blue house in Canyon Meadows in southwest Calgary. The rain which had eased to a slow drizzle had her mesmerized as she sat staring at the depressing view. No thoughts, no sounds, no smells, nothing intruded on the glazed focus she had out her windshield.
A horn honked and she jerked upright. How long had she been sitting there? A dog shot across the street and disappeared around the corner of a house. She blinked a few times, becoming aware of the fogged windshield and the chill that had invaded the car and was working its way through her thin clothes. She reached for the handle. Leaning heavily against the door, she pushed it open. Exhausted beyond anything she'd ever experienced, she lifted her left hand overhead and grabbed the support. One. Two. Three. Heave.
Awkwardly and slowly, like a person with severe arthritis, she managed to pull herself out. She wobbled a few minutes before she found her land legs. After opening the trunk she pulled out her suitcase and carry-on bag.
Out of habit she walked up to the front door and lifted her hand to knock. Her mom was always in the living room, which the door opened onto. Just before her knuckles touched the wood she realized what she was doing. Her fist froze in mid-air, she was so shocked she couldn't move for a few seconds. Jerking back, she jumped down the four steps and headed around to the side. At the gate she dropped her luggage as she reached up to play with the tricky slider lock. After a few tries she got it open. Closing but not latching it, she continued to the back of the house. She hurried to the table and wooden stool set in the middle of the lawn as the chilly air wrapped around her. In the seat closest to the house a hidden clip had been installed under the seat. Once she'd retrieved the key she made her way back to the door. Her hand shook as she shoved the key in the lock. It took several attempts to unlock it.
She pushed her way in. The last time she'd left hit her like a locomotive. The fight she'd had with her mom flashed like a movie rerun. They were, as always, yelling at each other.
"Don't go, Bails. What aren't you telling me?"
"Not a damn thing, Mom. Like always, you want to control my every move. Well, not this time. And never again. You have meddled in my life for the last time. Bye, Mom."
"Bails. No!"
Bailey
walked out of the house, giving the door a heavy push. The hard slam infused her with a sense of satisfaction.
"Don't come back, unless you learn some damn manners first! Someone has to look after you and I'm the one who took the job. No one else was there. I'm your mother, Bails!"
She kept walking without acknowledging her mom. For the first time she left without a word. Climbing into her car, she drove away.
Her visit had been the same as always.
Fighting.
Yelling.
Storming away.
Tentatively making up.
Moving on.
Bailey shook her head. If she could have the last month back she could change everything. One month. How was she supposed to know that life would alter so drastically in that time? She could have gotten her mom medical help. She could have done something.
Two years and she could change another big ugly fight they'd had. She'd wanted her mom to come visit but her mom had refused, asking, "Who'd man the store? How would I get there?" Or five years ago when they'd argued about Bailey moving out east. She hadn't really decided where, it had just been a thought. But her mom had gone berserk, totally freaking out. She'd scared Bailey more than the hundred times they'd moved at night. Not moving east was another in her mom's one hundred and one rules that hadn't made sense.
If she could back fourteen years to when she'd turned fifteen, she could fix it. Everything had changed that summer and nothing either one of them had done could bring back the closeness they'd once felt. This time there'd be no making up. I'm so sorry, Mom.
Bailey felt like she went from free falling, to crashing with a driving force. She dropped to the floor, tears already dripping off her face. Heavy, wracking sobs tore through her. They started in her gut and ripped outwards. Her body shook as the pain and anguish coursed through her, like a hurricane zipping across the ocean to crash on land, tearing to shreds anything in its wake. She curled on her side, hugging her knees to her chest, clenching herself into the smallest ball she could.
After minutes or hours or days, she didn't know, the sound of the old style ticking clock filtered through her consciousness. Opening her gritty, burning eyes, she closed them quickly as the last vestiges of light bounced off her mom's brilliantly shined floor. She pushed herself up, arching her neck so she could see over the top of the fridge to read the time. 5:40 a.m.? p.m.?
Beyond the window, it was still a bleary day - grey skies and muted light. She guessed evening. Shifting slightly, the hard surface dug into her tender hip. She groaned then shivered as the cold linoleum penetrated her thin, damp clothing. Easing herself up, she flopped back against the door. She took a deep breath and then on her butt shuffled a few feet to grab hold of the kitchen counter. Using it as a prop, she pulled herself up. Her stomach chose that minute to growl. She looked down at it in disbelief.
Did I have toast this morning? Or was that last night?
Grabbing a cup from the cupboard, she filled it with cold, tap water. The fluoride taste turned her off but she downed it anyway, hoping it would appease her empty body for a while. Her stomach instantly protested by knotting up and giving her an instant stomach ache. She held her belly for a minute trying to ease the pain, realizing it was more of a symbol for what she was avoiding. Where she found the courage to turn and look at what she had wanted to avoid, the reason she hadn't come to the house before now.
The city newspaper lay open on a stack of newspapers. Just like always. Her mom would read some and then rush off to work, do laundry, grocery shop, whatever and then she'd come back and look over some more. It had to be examined from front to back. Not necessarily in order but it all had to be reviewed. She should be coming back to check it over some more. Give her opinion on what the government was doing wrong. Grumble about who was still in government.
She'd be back, at any moment.
Bailey's breath hitched and she pressed her hand to her stomach. Everything else looked the same, clean, tidy and packed so tight with stuff, not a thing out of place.
But it wasn't the same.
She looked down at the mug in her hand - Friends are like sunshine, there for the good times and gone for the bad.
To avoid this, she'd chosen to stay at a hotel the last two nights. She hadn't needed to go to the house before. Staying probably wasn't a good idea. The memories would hound her but she also knew she wasn't in any shape to drive. Not wanting to deal with any of it, she picked up her dark red luggage which was splayed out across the floor. She flipped her carry-on over one shoulder and grabbed the pull-up handle of the suitcase and dragged it behind her. She walked out of the kitchen, turning right at the living room to go down the hallway. Her feet took the route that, although not done frequently, was still familiar. Her eyes stayed focused on getting to the spare bedroom and getting some sleep. She stepped into the room, dropping her stuff at the end of the bed, in the corner.
Immediately she heard her mom's voice, 'you have to put your stuff away. It'll get wrinkled. There's no one to pick up behind you. And don't expect it. You have to do it yourself. You're not royalty you know.'
Every chore since she could remember had been followed by that statement.
Bailey flopped backwards onto the bed, her arms flung out at her side. "Ouch." Sitting up, she pulled out the hair clip she'd carelessly put in that morning. She tossed it on the bedside stand and finger-combed her straight, brown hair. She tugged on it and then winced. Something finally felt real.
Lots of things floated through her mind. The only thing she kept coming back to was that she should call one of her friends. Only what would she say? She could tell them what was going on. But not really. She'd never really talked with the two of them about her mom. Her mom had always sworn her to secrecy about telling anything about her history - where they'd lived, what kind of work her mom had done, who her dad was - which she didn't know anyway, where she went to school, where her relatives lived, sometimes even what her real name was.
Everything was always a damn secret. Even your death.
Tired and wrung out, Bailey closed her eyes. Tears trickled out, ran down her face and into her hair. There'd be no more jokes between them - not that there had been many in a long time. Or ever really for that matter.
Now she'd have the fun of dealing with all of her mom's legal stuff. She didn't know where to start but she shrugged off the dilemma and yawned. She should get up and shed her coat, her navy blue pantsuit, her shoes? maybe put on pajamas. The thoughts rolled through her head every now and then but didn't have enough impact to propel her upwards. Her body remained flopped and probably wouldn't move even if a fire alarm went off. If she was lucky, sleep would come quickly and then she'd wake up to find out she'd had a bad dream. Her nightmare would be just that. She could call her mom and make up with her. Forgive her for being so damn obstinate. Something they definitely had in common.
Her mom's face with one of her rare smiles flashed through her mind. Just as quickly her mom lying in the casket soon followed. When did it end? Her body might have been resting but her brain wouldn't shut down. Thoughts continued to swirl for a long time, until all that was left was exhaustion, pulling her down a deep dark hole.
CHAPTER SEVEN