by Beth Hoffman
She closed her eyes and whispered, “Thank you, Teddi.”
Sliding the compact from her fingers, I swirled the brush into the peachy pink powder. “This blush will look perfect on you, Mama. It’s called Joyous Spring.”
An almost imperceptible smile curved at the corners of her mouth when I smoothed the blush over her cheeks. “So this is what you do with your furniture,” she said, her eyes still closed. “Take something old and worthless and make it look pretty again.”
“As far as furniture goes, I suppose that’s right. But you aren’t old and worthless, Mama.”
“Oh, I know I’m lookin’ worn these days. It’s funny how age comes. Some people say it creeps up, but it hit me all at once.”
“What do you mean?”
My mother’s eyes became watery and sad. “Not all that long ago, I went to bed thinking I looked pretty good for my age. I swear, when I woke up the next morning, a haggard old woman was staring back at me in the mirror. When I decided to come visit you, I figured I’d better do something to fix myself up. I didn’t want to look like a country bumpkin and embarrass you in front of your fancy friends.”
“You’ve always been pretty. You have the most beautiful eyes and hands I’ve ever seen. And just so you know, I don’t have fancy friends. I have some fancy clients, but—”
“Well, you’re fancy. Always dressed crisp and nice with your face on and your nails done. You’re real stylish now, Teddi.”
I smoothed a little more blush onto her cheeks, holding tight to the closeness we were sharing. “I’m still me, Mama. I’m a farm girl in high heels, that’s all.”
Mama reached out and fingered my hair. Her touch was gentle, and it felt so good that a shiver tickled my neck. I held still, hoping she wouldn’t stop.
“I’m real glad you kept your hair long and straight,” she said, twirling a length around her finger. “Remember a few years back how girls wore their hair all ratted up? That was awful.”
I leaned closer, wanting her to keep touching me, but her face saddened and she pulled her hand away. “I wish you could have seen how nice my hair looked this afternoon.”
“I’ll bet it did.” I pushed a few unruly locks from her forehead. “Tell you what. When you get out of here, I’ll treat you to a trip to the beauty salon. We’ll have manicures and pedicures and get our hair done. We’ll make a mother-daughter day of it.”
My mother looked at me, her eyes slowly scanning my face and a small smile on her lips, as if she were seeing me as an adult woman for the first time.
Just then Stella walked back in and the tender moment I was sharing with my mother faded away. Stella gave me a wink and headed straight for Mama. I pulled my legs against the bed and made room for her to get by.
“What did you have for dinner?” I asked.
“Well, the buffet didn’t look all that good so I just had a slice of cherry pie.” She laughed and patted her belly before easing into the chair. “Looks like you two have been havin’ fun.”
“Teddi did some of that faux finishing on my face like she does on old furniture.”
“That blush looks real good on you, Franny. I stopped by the drugstore yesterday, and I swear they have the nicest cosmetics aisle. Bought myself the prettiest new lipstick. When you get out of here, I’ll drive you over and we’ll pick out a new one for you, too. Then I’ll take you to lunch . . .”
The three of us talked until the sky darkened and my mother’s eyelids grew heavy. At eight o’clock Stella pushed herself up from the chair. Leaning over the bed, she rested her palm against Mama’s cheek. “I’m goin’ home now, but I’ll be back early tomorrow.”
Mama and Stella looked into each other’s eyes. The unspoken language of their friendship was so intimate that I pretended to pick lint off my pants.
Stella patted Mama’s thigh. “Tomorrow I’ll bring you a surprise. Don’t know what it is just yet, but it’ll be something good.”
As Stella disappeared, I reached out and untangled a curl in my mother’s hair. “Would you like me to brush your hair, Mama?”
Her voice was flat with fatigue when she said, “How about you fix it up tomorrow. All those pills are making me tired. And you should go on home and get some rest.”
“You go ahead and sleep, Mama. I’ll stay right here.”
“I won’t be able to rest with you staring at me. I’m sure your little dog would like to see you. He’s probably scared bein’ in a strange house all alone.”
I tucked the blanket over her bony shoulders. “All right. I’ll be back in the morning. Do you need anything from the house?”
She thought for a moment. “Yes. I’d like my own nightgowns. Bring me the blue one with the lace collar, and I’d like the yellow flannel one, too, in case I get cold.”
“If you think of anything else, just call. I hope you get some good rest.” I gave her a kiss on the forehead and hoisted my handbag over my shoulder.
“Teddi, you’d better take my purse home with you. I don’t want to worry about someone snatching my wallet.”
I took her handbag and slung it over my other shoulder.
“On your way out, turn off the overhead lights, will you?”
While heading for the door I had the sudden urge to tell her that I loved her. It was so strong that I could feel it mushroom across my chest. But I was afraid. What if I said those words and they fell flat on the floor between us? What if she didn’t say them back?
The words continued to rise in my throat. Instead of pushing them out, I did what I’d always done—swallowed them whole. For a moment I hesitated at the door, and then I flicked off the lights and stepped through the open doorway.
Why, I don’t know, but I stopped and took a step back. Mama was watching me. I smiled, pressed my fingers to my lips, and sent her a big, lip-smacking kiss across the room.
An unexpected light, both fierce and tender, shone in her eyes. To my surprise, she blew a kiss back to me. For a brief moment, she held her hand suspended, her slender fingers opening like a pale flower.
FOURTEEN
Eddie squealed with delight when I opened the back door. After taking him for a walk and feeding him dinner, I locked up the house and went to bed. I was so wrung out that the muscles in my legs twitched, and yet I lay awake as a galaxy of thoughts swirled in my mind.
Mama shouldn’t live alone anymore. Maybe I could talk her into coming to live with me. But she’d fight me on that, and what if it made her blood pressure go up? Maybe she and Stella could live together. How long can I afford to stay in Kentucky? How long can I expect Inez to handle the customers on top of her regular work? Will Albert be able to keep up with the extra workload? What about all the custom work that only I can do? And what if . . . ?
I woke to a shimmer of sunlight glazing the windowpane. My head felt heavy and my body stiff. Throwing back the covers, I wrapped up in my robe and padded to the kitchen. While Eddie ran around in the yard, I picked up the phone and called Olivia. The moment she answered, I blurted, “Mama’s in the hospital.”
A long pause was followed by the words “You’re kidding.”
“Unfortunately, I’m not. She had a mini-stroke. But she seems fine, fussin’ like always. I’m worried about her, but I’m a little angry with her, too. She hasn’t had a medical checkup in a million years.”
“What did the doctor say?”
“Well, she has high blood pressure, high cholesterol, and Lord only knows what all else is high, low, or out of whack.”
“I’m really sorry, Teddi. I know how much you were looking forward to having her visit. I was, too. Shoot, last night I even dusted my entire Pez collection.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “Well, maybe she’ll still be able to come, and if not now, another time. Anyway, I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Call me anytime, even if it’s the mid
dle of the night. I mean it.”
After we said good-bye, I took a few moments to collect my thoughts and then called my grandmother. I all but chirped while making light of Mama’s condition, softening the truth until I outright lied by claiming she’d suffered little more than a migraine. “Don’t worry, Grammy, the doctor says she’s doing great. She’ll be released in a few days, and then I’ll bring her to Charleston . . .”
I ended the call as fast as I could, and after a quick breakfast and a shower I slid Mama’s nightgowns into a bag and left the house.
The morning air rolled in through my open window as I wound along the country roads. I passed cornfields left barren by the final harvest, some already plowed under in preparation for winter, others filled with geese pecking for stray kernels. As I neared the hospital, I noticed lights go on inside a small floral shop, and when I slowed to turn in, a woman placed an Open sign in the window.
From a stainless-steel cooler, I selected creamy white roses and Stargazer lilies, two of my mother’s favorites. I paced at the counter while the shop owner took her good old time snipping the stems and arranging the flowers in a glass vase. When she was done, I grabbed the vase and nearly ran to my car. I didn’t want to miss the doctor’s morning visit.
I pulled in to the hospital parking lot thinking maybe, just maybe, Mama’s mini-stroke was one of those upside-down blessings that would bring us closer together. If the way we’d talked last night was any indication, I had the feeling we might be in for a long-awaited mother-daughter treat.
With my handbag slung over my shoulder, the paper bag filled with Mama’s nightgowns in my hands, and the vase of flowers cradled in my arms, I pushed through the door with a smile on my face. I inhaled the sweet scent of the flowers and knew she’d be surprised by the bouquet.
When the elevator door opened, I turned toward the corridor and found myself in the middle of a commotion. A young man in blue scrubs ran by, nearly mowing me down with the metal cart he was pushing. Two nurses scurried behind him, followed by a man in a white coat. I watched them bolt up the hallway and into a room.
Mama’s room.
I sped up, my purse bouncing on my shoulder, the bag with Mama’s nightgowns slapping at my side while water from the vase of flowers sloshed onto my sweater.
A gray-haired nurse ushered Stella Rose from my mother’s room. Even from a distance, I could see that she was crying.
I broke into a run—flowers flying and water splashing everywhere.
Stella turned and spotted me coming.
Our eyes locked.
When I saw the way her lips quivered and the flush on her cheeks, I stopped running. Just stopped. I stood in the middle of the corridor as water spilled down my hands and onto the shiny linoleum floor.
Drip . . . drip . . . drip.
There was no need to rush.
I knew.
When the commotion ended, the nurses filed out of Mama’s room while the doctor led Stella and me to a small alcove at the end of the corridor. I stood with my back against the wall and watched his lips move, but his words seemed far away, as if whispered from behind a thick curtain. I didn’t care what he said about high risk, the final stroke, or how sorry he was . . . blah-blah-blah . . . His words meant nothing to me. Still grasping the vase of flowers and the bag of my mother’s nightgowns, I turned and walked away.
My legs felt unsteady. Nothing seemed quite real. A nurse approached me holding a towel. She tried to take the flowers, to dry my hands and blot my soggy sweater. Her face was kind, her words kinder. But I moved away and stepped into Mama’s room. With my foot I closed the door behind me.
The lights had been turned off. The room was so still that I could hear a faint hiss of air streaming through the ceiling vent. “Your favorites,” I whispered, stepping across the room. I set the vase on her bedside table. The bouquet was a mess—two rosebuds were broken off and several lilies were crushed. I took a moment and tried to make them pretty again.
How long I stood and looked at my mother, I don’t know. But it felt like an eternity. Reaching beneath the blanket, I took hold of her hand. A smudge of the blush I’d applied the previous evening remained on her left cheek. The sight of it nearly brought me to my knees. Turning toward the window, I looked into the morning sky, so blue and bright with the promise of a new day. I wanted to rip it down and throw it away. I wanted black clouds, thunder, and unforgiving winds.
I wanted the world to hurt like I did.
Leaning against the wall, I closed my eyes and said, “Well, Mama, I guess this means you won’t be comin’ to Charleston anytime soon.”
FIFTEEN
It’s sad that so much is discovered about a person only after her death. From Stella I learned that Mama didn’t want to be buried. She wanted to be cremated, her ashes set free into the wind. Where that wind was didn’t matter—she just wanted to go wherever she pleased. This was confirmed when I opened the fireproof box that held the deed to the farm and the simple last will and testament that Mama had made following Daddy’s passing.
She left everything to me. My brother was never mentioned.
I honored her wishes, cremation and a small memorial service, nothing more. The plot next to Daddy’s would remain unused. Where I’d scatter her ashes I didn’t know, was too raw and confused to know. But I’d figure it out.
Mama’s sudden death had left me in a stupor of disbelief, and though I was devastated to dysfunction when Daddy had died, his passing was almost a blessing. For two weeks I’d sat in a helpless vigil and watched cancer shrink my once-powerful father to a skeleton, his skin waxed yellow as he writhed in pain. By the grace of God, he passed away the day he looked at me with sunken eyes and asked me to get him his gun.
But where was the grace of God now? Both my parents were gone, and my brother was still missing. I sat at the kitchen table, buried my head in my hands, and let out a groan that turned in to a sob. I didn’t know how to begin to deal with everything—the paperwork, the farm, the furniture and household items.
A gentle knock sounded at the back door. I wiped my eyes on my sweater sleeve and looked up to see Stella walk in holding a foil-covered plate.
“Hey, honey. I brought you some supper. How’re you holding up?”
“Not so hot.”
She pulled out a chair, sat down next to me, and smoothed her hand down my back. “Me neither.”
We leaned toward each other, and I rested my head on her shoulder.
“What can I do to help you, Teddi?”
“At this point I can’t think of anything.”
“Well, just remember—I’m only a few miles down the road, and Lord knows I have plenty of spare time on my hands. Why don’t I come by a few days a week to check on the house?”
“That would be great if it wouldn’t be a bother.”
Stella stayed and talked while I picked at her supper. Wrung out as I was, I was glad for the company. I pushed a pea across the plate with my fork. “I’m going back to Charleston tomorrow. Grammy Belle needs to know what’s happened, and I can’t tell her over the phone.”
“Bless her sweet soul. Give her a hug from me.” Stella glanced into the living room, to the urn holding Mama’s remains that sat on the fireplace mantel. Her voice broke with emotion when she asked, “Any idea where you’ll scatter her ashes?”
I shook my head.
The next morning I woke to a dreary, flannel-gray sky that darkened the mountains. It was a good time to head south. From room to room I went, latching the windows and closing the blinds. Already the house felt cold and emptied of energy. I walked into Mama’s bedroom and looked at her half-packed suitcase. Reaching out, I ran my fingertips over her folded clothes. Next thing I knew, I zipped her suitcase closed and was carrying it down the steps.
After tucking it into the trunk, I went back inside the house and marched into the li
ving room. “C’mon, Mama,” I said, lifting her urn from the mantel. “A promise is a promise. You’re comin’ to Charleston.” With her urn cradled in my arms, I walked out of the house and locked the door behind me.
And so it was on a foggy autumn morning that my mother and I embarked on what would become our first and last road trip. Surely not the way either of us had planned, but a road trip just the same.
“We were going to stop here,” I said while passing the exit to Asheville. “The Biltmore Estate. I thought you’d like to see it, Mama.” Later in the day, I zoomed by the town of Newberry and said, “Right off this exit is the sweetest little restaurant. I was planning to take you there for dinner . . .”
When I reached Charleston, I lugged everything up the stairs. After setting her urn on the night table in the guest room where she should have been sleeping, I put her suitcase into the closet. “Here you are, Mama. I hope you like your room.” My voice broke when I added, “I even ironed your sheets.”
Fatigue was folding me in half as I walked down the hall and collapsed on my bed.
Tomorrow I would have to tell Grammy.
I woke before dawn, puffy-eyed and cotton-mouthed. After dragging myself into the shower, I dressed and was back in my car as the day opened above the trees. I drove aimlessly, turning from one street to the next while trying to gather my thoughts.
Once I’d parked my car at the nursing home, I took a deep breath and slowly walked toward my grandmother’s room. Grammy grinned like an elf when I stepped through her open door, her eyes bright with anticipation. When she realized that Mama wasn’t behind me, her smile faltered, yet her recovery was remarkable. She straightened her shoulders and said, “What day is it, honey?”
Forcing a smile, I pulled up a chair and sat. “Tuesday.”
“I lose track,” she said, resting back in her chair. “I’m never sure anymore. That’s just another part of getting old that drives me buttons . . .”