A Little Ray Of Sunshine

by Lani Diane Rich

  “Part of me wanted to come, you know,” I said. Jess barely moved, but I could tell by the slight tilt of her head that she was listening, so I kept talking. “When we stopped at that first truck stop, you asked me how I felt when I thought we were heading to Fletcher. You know what? I felt relieved. I’ve been thinking about coming back for a long time, but I couldn’t bring myself to because... well. It doesn’t matter. But when I was stuck inside that Airstream, barreling down the road, and it wasn’t my choice anymore, I felt relieved.”

  “That makes sense,” she said quietly.

  “I wanted to see her again for a lot of reasons, but a big one was to show her how great I was without her in my life. Show her how happy I’d been. How little I needed her. Even if it was a lie, I wanted to show her.” I let out a bitter laugh. “And now, the woman I came all the way here to show up doesn’t even exist anymore. I mean, how is that fair? It’s like she gets to twist the knife one final time and I just have to suck it up and deal with it because the woman pretending to be my mother is kind and sweet and ‘healthy.’ And I’m...”

  I trailed off. I wasn’t sure exactly what word best described me, but I knew what it wasn’t.

  It wasn’t “healthy.” And it for damn sure wasn’t “happy.”

  Jess sat there in silence as afternoon rain clouds closed in, darkening the room. She sat as the storm started with gentle pitter-pats on the window, and then as it raged, pummeling the roof and the walls. She was still there when I fell asleep, but when I woke up the next morning, the chair was empty and settled back into its spot next to the desk.

  So many of my friends have entered treatment of one kind or another. I have to say, I don’t understand it. Not that you shouldn’t ask for help if you need it, but just the sheer number of people in my acquaintance deciding they’re addicted to drugs or alcohol or sex or money... it’s shameful. How bad have we had it, really? We’ve had food to eat. We’ve had luxury. We’ve had fame. Millions of people worldwide look to us for guidance and role modeling. And what message do we send? That we can’t handle the good life? That our good fortune is somehow a curse? I’ll tell you what - all these quote-unquote unfortunates should have to starve like those children in Asia. Or Africa. All of these so-called unfortunate Hollywood success stories should be banned to an A-country, that’s what I think.

  —Lilly Lorraine, The Dick Cavett Show, 1982

  Seven

  “Emmy, darling? Time for breakfast!”

  I opened one eye and glanced at my watch, then put my pillow over my head.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered.

  Knock knock knock knock.

  “Emmy?? I’m counting to five, then I’m coming in!” she called through the door. “One!”

  I threw the pillow down on the floor. “What the..?”

  “Two! Three!”

  “I’m not six years old!” I threw my feet over the side of my bed. “Come in if you’re gonna come in!”

  The door flew open and my mother - the new version, Lilly 2.0 - stood in the doorway, dressed in a white cable-knit sweater and jeans, her arms crossed over a green apron. “Four-five. Okay, get up. Family meeting, downstairs, right now.”

  “Family... what?” I looked at my watch again. “It is six-thirty in Oregon, right? I mean, I set my watch—”

  “Yes, it’s six-thirty, and we have a lot of things to address, so you and I are having a family meeting, downstairs, over scones and tea, like decent human beings. The day starts early here, so get used to it. Besides, you’ve been sleeping since two o’clock yesterday afternoon. It’s not good for you to sleep too much.” She held out one arm, ready to usher me into the hall. “Come on. Let’s go.”

  I ran one hand through my hair and pushed up off the bed.

  Mom raised an eyebrow. “Did you sleep in your clothes?”

  I glanced down at my wrinkled jeans. “Looks that way.”

  I crossed my arms over my stomach and hunched against the cooler air of the hallway, leading the way down the stairs toward the kitchen, which was part of a big open floor plan that included the den a half step down, which in turn let out through big sliding glass doors to the tremendous deck and back lawn.

  On the dark granite breakfast bar was a plate of cranberry scones, flanked on either side by two mugs of lemon tea. I sat down on one of the stools and Mom picked up one mug and stood across from me, cupping it in her hands and holding her nose over the steam for a moment before speaking.

  “The wedding is on Friday,” she said. “Seven days doesn’t give us much time to resolve our issues, and it’s probably not realistic to think we can. We need to establish some sort of cease fire, however, or this wedding will be ruined, and I don’t think either of us wants that, if not for each other, then for Danny’s sake. I know you care about him very much, and he couldn’t love you more if you were his own daughter, so we need to find a way to make this work.”

  “Right,” I said, staring down into my mug. “You’re right.”

  “I spent the better part of yesterday afternoon talking with Dr. Travers, and he gave me some working guidelines for establishing our new relationship. The first thing I need to do is let you know that I’m not going to apologize.”

  I raised my head and looked at her. “Well. That’s a great start.”

  “Darling, I realize I have a lot to apologize for,” she said, “but there simply isn’t time, and I refuse to torture myself any more than I already have. All it will do is feed your anger and self-righteousness, and quite frankly, I think they’re healthy enough on their own.”

  “Wow.” I blinked and sat up straighter. “I can’t believe Jimmy Carter didn’t use you at Camp David.”

  Her face went rigid. “Do I need to revisit that we are doing this for Danny? The same Danny who, despite the fact that he owed me nothing, practically raised you? The same Danny who paid a private detective four thousand dollars to find you? The same Danny—”

  I held up one hand against the tirade. “I know. I’ve met him. I get it. I’m in. Let’s go. What’s the plan?”

  “The plan is this: You and I will be spending every hour together, joined at the hip, and we will not leave each other’s presence until we’ve established a workable peace between us. If that means I have to sleep in the top bunk in your room, that is what I will do. Are those terms acceptable to you?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  She pursed her lips and swiped an imaginary crumb away from her apron. “Digs has agreed to take Jess out and show her the town, and Danny has a project in Lake Oswego that he wants to work on anyway. If you have any other commitments you need to shuffle, I suggest you do so now.”

  “Let me check my Day-Timer.” I raised my eyes up and to the left, then let them fall back on her. “All clear.”

  She inhaled through her nose and puffed the air out of her mouth in what looked to be a well-practiced breathing exercise. “I will also ask that you limit your sarcasm, as it tends to block honest communication.”

  “Block honest communication? Really? Is that a trademark Dr. Traversism?” I narrowed my eyes in mock suspicion. “This guy hasn’t been giving you any Kool-Aid, has he?”

  She held a long, dark, stare. I sighed.

  “Fine. Fair enough. I’ll try to keep a lid on it. Anything else?”

  “One thing.” She stepped forward, took a corner off one of the scones, placed it on a napkin and played with it as she talked. “We need a place of common ground. One that isn’t Danny. Some kind of shared personal interest we can use to start the bonding process.” She put the napkin with the untouched scone corner on the breakfast bar and flashed her hands over her apron. “Do you, by any chance, enjoy cooking?”

  I chuckled. “Do microwave meals count?”

  “No. How about, um... golfing?”

  I gently shook my head.

  “Fine.” She cleared her throat and ticked options off on her fingers. “Knitting. Antiques. Nature walks. Bird watc
hing. Clothes shopping. Spa days. Um...” She lowered her head and tapped her foot as she thought. “Reading’s no good because we can’t really do that together...”

  “There’s always Cary Grant movies,” I said softly.

  She raised her head. “I’m sorry?”

  I shrugged and kicked my feet under the breakfast bar like some a teenager reluctant to admit she still likes teddy bears. “When I was younger, we used to watch Cary Grant movies together sometimes. That was fun. Kind of.” I looked up, surprised at how afraid I was of the answer to my next question. “Do you remember that?”

  She blinked a few times, then nodded. “Yes.”

  I swallowed against the odd lump forming in my throat at the memory of those rare occasions when she’d been home and unconsumed by a job, or a marriage either on its ascent or decline, and we had actually been able to enjoy time spent together.

  “We could rent movies,” I said. “Um, The Philadelphia Story is good. And then there’s Arsenic and Old Lace.”

  She smiled, her eyes misty and grateful. “Bringing up Baby is one of my favorites.”

  We sat in silence for a long moment. I grabbed a scone and placed it on a napkin, then took a bite. It was sweet and moist and still warm, yet something about it so overwhelmed me that I had to wash it down with a large gulp of hot tea to keep it from getting stuck in my closing throat. Which was fine by me; if scorching my gullet kept my emotions in check, then scorching there would be. I might be able to form a workable peace with my mother, but no way was I going to become vulnerable to her again, no matter how much she seemed to have changed. All that business about leopards and spots was a cliché for a reason.

  “Okay, then,” she said after a while. “We can run down to Al’s and get a bunch of movies. Maybe we can make popcorn. And I think there’s some soda in the pantry. Oh, and Danny has a home theater setup in the den. It’s all high-tech and I can’t operate it, but I’m sure he’ll walk me through it over the phone.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” I put the scone down and pushed up from my stool. “I’d like to shower first, though, if that’s okay. I mean, this joined at the hip thing... I get to take showers by myself, right?”

  She grinned. “You get a half hour. After that, I’m coming in after you.”

  I didn’t doubt it for a minute.

  The sale of The Lyceum to Pete’s Feed and Hardware notwithstanding, downtown Fletcher was very much the same as it had always been. Four square blocks offering everything from coffee shops to independent bookstores to boutiques to... well... Pete’s Feed and Hardware. The sidewalks were immaculately kept, as usual, and the Town Beautification Committee’s love affair with bright and blooming hanging flower baskets was readily apparent. As my mother led me through the town, pointing out the places where I’d spent a good portion of my youthful summers as if I’d never seen them before, I was grateful for each and every familiarity the town had to offer.

  Al’s Movie Barn didn’t open until ten, so Mom dragged me from shop to shop looking for a decent pair of pajamas for me, as though my sleeping in my jeans the night before was evidence that I owned nothing but the clothes on my back. Finally, after accepting a pair of cherry pajamas, some sunglasses, and a Hello Kitty stationery set, I was able to talk her into getting some coffee at Burgundy’s, a little sidewalk cafe in the center of town. Yesterday’s rain storm had subsided into sunny weather, and we got a small table outside where we could at least be distracted by the occasional passerby.

  “So,” she said as we sat down, “tell me about your life. What have you been doing all this time. David said you were traveling? Is that right?”

  I picked up my menu and scanned the pastries. “You really want me to tell you?”

  “Yes,” she said, leaning forward. “I’m curious.”

  “Okay.” I put down the menu. “I’ve been living in an Airstream trailer, going from RV park to RV park, basically whenever the whim strikes. I’ve been working in convenience stores, doing temp work, hitting the seasonal industries, that kind of thing. Your basic minimum-wage crap work that no one else wants to do.”

  Her posture stiffened. “You don’t have to be so abrasive about it.”

  I conceded. “You’re right. I don’t.”

  “Dr. Travers says that when there are moments of tension, we could try to break them by thinking of something honestly nice we can say to each other. So, I’ll start.” She did one of her practiced in-through-the-nose, out-through-the-mouth breaths. “I’m very glad you came. I think it shows a great amount of maturity on your part.”

  “Well, it’s not like I had a choice,” I muttered.

  “What?”

  “You gave Danny that ultimatum. You said you wouldn’t marry him unless I came to the wedding.” My eyes narrowed. “Which is classic Lilly Lorraine 1.0, by the way. If you’ve changed so much, what’s up with that?”

  She sat back. “I never gave him an ultimatum. I was sad that I’d be getting married without my only daughter there, but I never said—”

  “That’s not what Digs told me,” I said. “Then again, there was a lot that Digs didn’t tell me, so maybe he was just spinning things to get me out here. I don’t know. Anyway, it doesn’t matter, because I still wasn’t going to come, but then the angel kidnapped me.”

  “I’m sorry—the what?”

  “Jess. She thinks she’s an angel sent from God to drag me out here to your wedding. She kidnapped me while I was sleeping in my trailer, and that’s why I’m here. So that whole thing about maturity? You might want to take that back.”

  Mom sat back and eyed me carefully. “Why can’t you just say ‘thank you’?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “When someone gives you a compliment, you have never been able to just say ‘thank you.’ You always have to come in with all these reasons why the compliment isn’t valid.”

  I stared at her for a long time. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m not used to being complimented.”

  She opened her mouth to respond, but a waitress interrupted to take our order. I ordered a mocha and an apple turnover, then turned it over to Mom, who handed her menu to the waitress.

  “I’ll have a water with lemon,” she said. The waitress took the menu and walked away before my mother finally realized I was staring at her and said, “What?”

  “You still don’t eat,” I observed. “How can you cook so much and not eat? Don’t you have to sample the food?”

  “I eat,” she scoffed, then motioned lamely toward the café. “Coffee hurts my stomach, and the pastries here are too sweet.”

  “Mom, you’re in your late fifties and you’re still a size four,” I said. “It’s not natural. These are supposed to be your fat and happy years. You’re getting married, Danny would love you no matter what size you are, so what’s up with—?”

  “It’s your turn,” she said loudly, her face white with tension.

  I blinked. “Sorry, what?”

  “It’s your turn.” She kept her eyes off me, neatly smoothing out the folded napkin on the table in front of her. “To say something nice to me. I may have been a terrible person for your entire existence, but I gave you life, and the least you can do is find one nice thing to say to me.” She met my eye and raised her eyebrows in challenge. “So go ahead. It’s your turn.”

  I stared at her for a long while, then sighed. “I like your new style. I like the jeans and the sweaters and the no makeup. You’re prettier without all that gunk.”

  It took a moment, but her mouth finally twitched up in a smile.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  Involuntarily, I found myself smiling back. “So that’s how you do it, then? Just say ‘thank you’ and shut up about it? That’s the trick?”

  “Yes,” she said. “That’s the trick.”

  The waitress delivered our goods, and as Mom was squeezing the lemon into her water, a tall man in a gray suit passed by behind her, talking on a cell phone, and suddenly my entire bod
y stiffened. I glanced up, trying to process consciously what my body seemed to know on instinct, and saw only the back of his head, his hair dark and well-tamed, so it couldn’t be... except...

  “Emmy?” My mother’s voice was alarmed, but I couldn't drag my eyes away from the café doors, through which the man had disappeared. My eyes were acclimated to the brightness outside, and I couldn’t see in, but still, I knew. I knew his voice. I’d heard him.

  “Emmy? You look pale.” I pointed in the direction of the café. She glanced at it and then back at me. “What, sweetheart? Are you okay? Let me get you some water.”

  She raised her hand to command a waitress and I leapt across the table to lower it.

  “Don’t bring attention to us!” I hissed, sitting back down and flipping up the paper placemat to hide my face as though I was starring in some 1980s teen flick. “It’s Luke! He just passed behind you. At least, I think it was him. I don’t know. That guy was wearing a suit and his hair was all combed and...” I took in a deep breath. “Okay. Okay. Maybe it wasn’t him.”

  But my mother’s face only confirmed my suspicions. “I’m not the only person who has changed, Emmy.”

  I swallowed hard. “Oh, God. I think my throat is closing up. He’s probably ordering a cup of coffee or something and will be out in a minute and he’ll see you. He’ll see me. Oh, my God. Mom...” I met her eyes. “I’m not ready.”

  She nodded, glanced around, and pointed. “Go. Sit with her.”

  I turned and looked in the direction she had indicated. A woman sat by herself, reading a newspaper and sipping her coffee while nudging a baby stroller back and forth with her foot. I turned back to Mom and ducked lower behind the placemat.

  “I don’t know her,” I said.

  “Go. Introduce yourself. Sit down with your back to us and maybe Luke won’t know it’s you. Your hair is longer, and Digs told us all you weren’t coming, so...” She glanced at the café door and her eyes widened. “Go! Go now!”

  I shot up from our table and knelt-walked to the woman with the baby stroller, who froze mid sip and stared up at me.