by Hilary Dartt
Well, who wouldn’t be curious?
In a move that was completely out of character for her, she smiled back. It was a tentative smile, a wobbly pressing together of the lips, but it was a smile nonetheless.
“First day, huh?”
Josie nodded. She swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat as a reaction to the girls’ kindness.
It was the tall one who spoke first. “I’m Summer,” she said, casually, and Josie thought the name fit her perfectly. “And this is Delaney. We both came here last year, in seventh grade. But the first day is always kind of nerve-wracking, right, Dee?”
The shorter one smiled, and Josie noticed a dimple on her left cheek. “It is. Who do you have for homeroom?”
The three of them took out their schedules and formed a little huddle, comparing classes and lunch breaks. They were pleased to find that they all had two classes together—algebra and life science—and the rest of their classes overlapped throughout the day. Just like that, Summer and Delaney enveloped Josie in the fun, funny steadfast friendship they now took for granted. The first day of eighth grade at Juniper Junior High served as the first example of how, between the three of them, someone always knew just what to say.
When one of the skinny athletic girls teased Josie about her big breasts, Summer said to Josie, “Well, at least the guys can tell you’re a girl. She looks like one of them.”
Looking back on that day now, twenty years later, it didn’t seem like that witty of a remark. But it had worked. The girl never teased Josie again, and Summer’s comment infused Josie with a new confidence she hadn’t felt before.
A few years later, when Josie’s first bonafide boyfriend, Michael Riggs, broke up with her the night before the homecoming dance, shattering her perfect visions of dancing with him to romantic songs like “Kiss From a Rose” and “Have You Ever Really Loved a Woman,” while he rubbed her back and pressed his body against hers, Delaney said, “You know what? Homecoming dances are no fun, anyway. Let’s just go to the game and then go back to my house and watch movies. We’ll have popcorn and chocolate. Way better than a stupid school dance.”
The support bolstered Josie immediately, and although the girls offered to stay home, she sent them off to the dance with their dates and had a girls’ night with her mom. That night, she felt exactly the opposite of lonely, simply because of what Delaney said.
Throughout their adult life, too, the girls had a knack for saying precisely what Josie needed to hear. Whether it was offering congratulations for a killer interview for the Juniper Elementary third grade teacher position or putting her in her place when she didn’t make a big enough deal of Paul’s first promotion, they were always straight shooters.
So why now, after all this time, were they speechless? Had she messed up that badly, that they didn’t have any positive or scathing-but-educational words to offer?
Oh, God. Maybe she had.
***
“I—I don’t know what to say,” Summer said, finally breaking the spell. She and Josie looked expectantly at Delaney, who shrugged.
“I’m at a loss, Josie,” Delaney said. “I mean, what were you thinking? Then she looked at Summer and said, “We’ve failed her.”
Silence descended again, although the other deli patrons continued to talk and laugh like nothing momentous had happened. Summer was nodding. She pressed her lips together and kept nodding.
“We have,” Summer finally said.
Both girls stared at the table, crestfallen.
Josie heaved a deep breath and said, “I think we were solving the wrong problem. And that’s because we didn’t know what the right problem—the real problem—was. Is.”
They didn’t answer immediately, and Josie was almost frozen with fear. She took a bite of her sandwich. Summer and Delaney looked at each other as if Josie were crazy and needed escorting to a psych ward.
“No, really. I didn’t,” Josie said. “But I’ve done a lot of soul-searching lately, and I think I know now.”
“Please, enlighten us,” Delaney said.
Before she knew what had happened, Josie felt tears stinging her eyes. Not again.
“My mom always said I should choose practicality over romance. She always said you can’t depend on romance. Romance doesn’t pay the bills or stick around. You know, my dad was a real romantic. It’s why he left. He had that bug. He was a dreamer. He felt called to travel, to try new things. He was constantly infatuated with new ideas, and my mom was just one of them, easily replaced by others. So mom clung to practicality.”
“But what does this have to do with you?” they said in unison.
It all seemed so clear now. It was so obvious. But because she’d always kept Scott a secret from her friends, they didn’t realize he was a romantic, a dreamer. They didn’t realize he was the epitome of what her mom had warned her about. So she told them. She told them how he lured her in with flowery language and big promises. How he thrived on romance, on fancy restaurants and flashy bouquets. She told them how even now, he said things that made him irresistible to her, like, “Love you in that dress.”
He never said he loved her when they were dating, so throwing the phrase into a compliment was this close to admitting he had.
She explained how Paul was Scott’s opposite. He was beyond practical, packing a First Aid kit but forgetting the sled on their first sledding trip. He thrived on quiet moments in private corners, and every event had meaning for him.
He’d say things like, “You look nice,” but he didn’t mean he wanted to get into her pants. He said it when she walked out of the bedroom in the morning wearing a scowl and his t-shirt. He meant she looked nice. He meant he was proud to be her husband. He meant she was beautiful, all the time.
But he meant it.
“I get that,” Summer said. “I get that they’re different. But you started out this conversation talking about your mom.”
“Right,” Josie said. “I’m getting to that.”
“Carry on, then,” Delaney said.
Now the tears spilled out of Josie’s eyes as she told them about how every encounter with Scott, every situation with Paul, was like a conversation between her and her mom.
“It’s like she’s there with me. She’s telling me, ‘This is what I warned you about, mija,’” Josie said. “‘This Scott is a real romantic. S-C-O-T-T spells trouble.’ And then with Paul, sometimes she is nodding her head in approval, even when he walks out on a delicious dinner we’ve been planning all week. ‘He’s a good provider, mija. You should be grateful for that.’”
Josie shook her head, then wiped her eyes and nose with the thin brown deli napkin Summer held out.
Then she continued, “I sometimes want to say to her, ‘But practicality is leaving me lonely, Mama.’ I know Paul is the one for me. I know it. There are certain things I miss about Scott, but overall, I know Paul is it. But it’s like, if I write Scott out of my life, the conversation with my mom is over. And she’s gone.”
Josie was now crying openly, her chest heaving and hiccups escaping her throat. Delaney handed her another napkin and massaged her shoulder with one hand. Summer was almost in tears, herself.
“You know,” Summer said, “you kind of cut us off after your mom passed away. Was it because you were spending so much time with Scott?”
Josie could only nod. Summer went on, “That explains a lot. Did you ever really get the closure you needed around your mom’s death? Did you ever really get to say good-bye to her?”
The sobbing and hiccuping threatened to turn into an all-out wail, and Josie took a deep breath. “I don’t know.” She sniffled. “I don’t think I did. I mean, Scott encouraged me to move on. Whenever I brought her up, he changed the subject. At the time, it seemed reasonable. Thinking about her, talking about her, it all made me so sad. I never even spread her ashes.” At this, Delaney and Summer exchanged horrified looks. “When I met Paul, I thought I should be over it, you know? I never even talked abou
t her. Sometimes he would practically beg me to tell him stories, or give him details about what she was like. But you make a good point. I mean, maybe I never did get the closure I needed. And maybe that’s why I’m kind of scared to close out this conversation.”
“Well, Dee,” Summer said. “I guess we’ve found our new starting point.”
Delaney nodded sagely, still rubbing Josie’s shoulder. “Yes, we have,” she said. “Not to worry, Josie. We can fix this.”
Ah. There it was. At her friends’ perfect words, Josie burst into a fresh round of tears.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Josie woke before dawn Saturday morning, anticipation giving her the rare gift of watching the sunrise, a peach and lavender quilt, gilded by the sun’s rays, intersected by a dark gray jet stream. Wide awake before even having her coffee, she stepped over a still-sleeping Delilah who couldn’t be bothered to uncurl her body and instead nuzzled more deeply into her bed.
“Spoiled puppy,” Josie whispered.
Spring mornings in the mountains could feel frigid, but the afternoon sun would cause heat waves to rise off the landscape. Josie dressed in layers, wearing the necklace her mom had given her closest to her skin.
She coaxed Delilah outside for a potty break and then fed her breakfast. While the coffee brewed, Josie set out three travel mugs.
Ten minutes later, beams of light swept the inside of Josie’s house. The whirling mixture of emotions brought Josie to the brink of tears yet again. She opened the front door before Summer and Delaney even knocked, and they folded her into a long, tight hug.
Delilah apparently decided having company was a good enough reason to be out of bed at this ungodly hour, and she ran around their feet, gyrating and yipping, every once in a while nipping at one of their pant legs.
“Are you ready to do this?” Summer asked.
“I’m ready,” Josie said. “Thanks again, you guys. Really. This means more to me than you know.”
Josie handed out coffee mugs, loaded Delilah and her food into the car and retrieved the tiny cardboard box the crematorium had given her.
Just after her mom’s death, Josie felt horrified that everything that was her mother could be condensed down into this one little box. Not just her body, but her love for the Spanish soap operas, her tradition of decorating gingerbread houses for Easter and her spending the days ahead of Christmas baking so the house smelled like warm bread and spices and Josie and Juan got sick on cookies. It was all here in this plain brown box.
Once she stowed the box away at Scott’s urging, shoved it to the very back of her closet with the carefully-packed photos from her childhood, Josie managed not to think about the actual cremation process or the resulting package.
Now, she felt a profound sense of sadness as she ran her fingertips over the label: CARLA M. GARCIA.
“It’s time to say good-bye, Mamacita,” she said.
***
Redwood trees reached toward the azure sky, the reddish-brown of their fuzzy bark contrasting the soft green of their leaves. The afternoon sunlight slanted through the branches, and Josie watched the dust motes dance and sparkle.
“No wonder your mom loved this place so much,” Summer said. “It’s magical.”
“It is,” Josie said. “She’d bring us here on her days off, and it was always a respite from the hot fields. We all loved it here.”
The girls had dropped Delilah off with Summer’s family and then driven twelve hours to the redwood forest of central California. Years ago, this spot provided a calm, shady escape for Josie’s family, and now it would serve as Carla’s final resting place.
“Did you bring your mom?” Delaney asked.
Josie laughed and held up the box. During the long drive through desert sand and fields of produce in neat rows, she had found peace with the idea of her mom’s entire being reduced to ashes.
“We’d always walk this trail,” Josie said, leading Summer and Delaney down a path that eventually wound along a little creek. “Mom would pack us a lunch, and we’d eat at this one spot by the water. Usually Juan wound up soaked. Inevitably, he’d fall in while he was trying to catch crawdads or walk across a log bridge.”
“Let’s go there,” Delaney said. “You can show us.”
It was exactly as Josie remembered it: postcard perfect. The huge redwood stump where Mama always laid their picnic blanket still stood off to the side of the trail, close enough to the creek that you could put your feet in while you ate your egg salad sandwich.
The branches of deciduous trees dipped into the water luxuriously, and the surface reflected them back, a wavering mirror image. And the sound. Josie had never forgotten it and hearing it again felt like the perfect medicine.
Birds chirped overhead, the creek gurgled and a breeze rustled the leaves. The air smelled earthy with the spicy edge of redwood bark, and Josie found herself breathing slowly and deeply as if to drink it all in. Summer and Delaney now stood on either side of her, Summer holding her hand and Delaney’s arm around Josie’s waist.
“Is this the spot?” Summer asked.
Josie nodded. For once in recent history she didn’t feel like crying. A new sense of calm washed over her.
“Do you want to say something before you spread the ashes?”
Josie nodded again, and her friends tightened their respective grips.
“Mama,” she said. “I miss you so much. Words cannot even express just how much. For a long time, I was so angry that you were taken from me so soon. I’ll never get to introduce you to my husband, and you’ll never get to meet my children. That thought still hurts me. But I know you’ll always be watching over me, and my husband and future children.”
“And you were right, Mama. It’s better to marry for practicality. Although, a little romance is good to have in the mix, too. You’d like Paul. He’s perfect for me. And I know you’ll be so proud of my children when I have them. I chose to lay you to rest in this spot because it represents so many things I love about you. It represents practicality. Egg salad sandwiches are nothing if not practical. And a picnic lunch is a perfectly practical way to turn an everyday lunch into something special. It represents romance. You wanted romance when you met my dad, and even though it turned out to be too much romance, this spot was romantic for me. Magical. You were magical to me, Mama. And although I’ve come here to lay you to rest, and to say good-bye to you, it’s not good-bye forever. You’ll always be in my heart, I know that now. And I know we’ll meet again. I love you.”
Josie opened the cardboard box and pulled out the bag that held the ashes. She unsealed it and walked forward to the creek’s edge. In less than a minute, she had emptied the contents into the sparkling water. Some of the ashes dissolved immediately, while others floated down the creek and out of sight.
***
Josie, Summer and Delaney stayed overnight in a small cottage in the woods. The owner, a grandmotherly painter with a self-proclaimed penchant for finding the perfect blueberry muffin recipe and a knack for making strong, delicious coffee, welcomed them Saturday evening with citrus-flavored ice water and a basket of cheeses and fancy crackers. Kara McCormick bought the cottage to run as a bed and breakfast when her husband Bud (short for William) died ten years before.
“It was always our shared dream to live in a cottage in the woods,” she said, nodding toward the window at the front of the house and the flower garden and trees beyond it. “But we waited. We were always waiting for the right time. He died before that time ever came. One of the greatest regrets of my life. Anyway. Reminiscing. Sorry, girls. You came here for a girls’ weekend. You don’t need to listen to an old lady blabber. Let me show you to the Quail Room. C’mon then.”
All three of them changed into pajamas and flopped onto the bed the moment Kara closed the door behind her.
“I’m so tired,” Delaney said. “I guess I’m getting old!”
“You’re not old, Dee,” Summer said. “You’re pregnant. You’re growing an
actual human in your body right now. It takes a lot of energy.”
Delaney didn’t answer. She was already snoring.
“So how are you feeling?” Summer asked Josie.
Josie sighed. “I feel content. Like I got closure today. Closure I really needed. And I have you guys to thank for that.”
Summer reached across the bed and grabbed Josie’s hand. “You’re welcome,” she said.
Within seconds, she, too, was fast asleep.
Alone and feeling wide awake at the same time as she felt calm and centered, Josie decided to go for a walk. The moon hung high in the sky, casting a silvery glow on the forest surrounding the cottage. She took the first path she came to, one that led into the woods, to a little chapel nearby.
“I’m ready to let go, Mama,” Josie said as she walked.
The forest was quiet, but not silent. Creatures scurried along the ground, which was padded with fallen redwood leaves. Somewhere nearby, a stream bubbled.
“It’s been so hard, but I’m finally ready. I know now that letting go doesn’t mean you’re not with me. It doesn’t mean I have to forget about you. It just means I’m at peace with you being gone.”
***
The next morning, the girls ate a huge pyramid of Kara McCormick’s famous blueberry muffins and Josie relished most of a huge pot of her coffee. They hit the road at seven on the nose, armed with peanut-butter-filled pretzels and black licorice.
Most of the morning passed in silence punctuated by Summer pointing out every train, plane, helicopter or farm animal they saw. “Sorry,” she said so many times. “Habit. Kids. You know.”
Suddenly, she burst into tears, sobbing loudly. Delaney pulled off the highway and the car jerked to a stop, tall weeds scraping its undercarriage. She and Josie turned around in the front seats to look at Summer, who went from crying to laughing in a split second.