The Beautiful Now

by M. Leighton

  “Thank you. How’s she doing?”

  “Well, she’s stable right now.” Then Pam starts to rattle off all kinds of medical stuff, something about her oxygen and her EKG and a sheath in her leg. She tells me about Momma’s blockages and mentions something about a widowmaker and how lucky we are that my mother has such great collateral circulation. “She’s a strong one, that’s for sure.”

  I know she’s trying to be encouraging, but my mind just can’t take in any of what she’s saying, so I nod and I smile, and I ask, “Can we see her?”

  “It’s after visiting hours, and only one of you can stay, but I’ll let you both go back, just for a few minutes.” She winks like she’s doing me a solid, which she probably is, and then points to a place behind me. “Room four.”

  I turn to see my mother’s pale face, bathed in light from the window and nestled in among a mountain of pillows. Her eyes are closed, but I don’t need to see them to see that she looks nothing like the vital woman I’m used to seeing.

  I walk toward her on a surreal wave, my feet gliding over the floor independently of my instruction. I step through the door and it’s considerably quieter, which seems odd since the room is glass on two sides. It does a great job of keeping out sound, though, and giving the patient some degree of peace.

  I edge over to the bed and reach for her hand. My mother has never been a particularly touchy-feely person. Not a big hugger or hair petter, but I am. In fact, maybe that’s why I am all of those things—because she isn’t.

  I stroke the back of her hand. It’s silky and doesn’t feel as old as it looks right now. I can’t feel the lines and cracks that I can see in her skin. I can’t feel her age, but I can see it. Now more than ever.

  “Momma?” I keep my voice soft and calm as I shift my eyes to her face. It, too, is pale. Her mouth is drawn and the brackets around it are deeper than I’ve ever seen them. She’s a beautiful woman who takes great care of herself, but her body is fighting for life and it shows.

  When she doesn’t respond, I say a bit louder, “Momma?”

  Her lids flicker and she opens her eyes, rolling them toward the ceiling before looking right to where I am. When the usually cool green lights on me, it softens and I’m transported back to age six at my McDonald’s birthday party, and age nine when I had mono and she sat on the couch with me for an entire day. This is the woman I’ve loved since I was a baby.

  “Brinkley.”

  She isn’t questioning that I’m here. She’s relieved that I am. It paints her voice like the sun paints the sky at sunrise.

  “I’m here, Momma. How are you feeling?”

  Her lips curve as she attempts a smile. “I’m okay.”

  “Doesn’t look like you are.”

  “Well, I’ve seen better days.” Absent is the usual superiority that seems to constantly surround my mother. Life, age has stripped her down to the woman she used to be. The woman I loved with all my heart.

  “And you’ll see even more.” I hope my words are accurate. Suddenly, the thought of losing her is overwhelmingly painful. This is all too real, too raw.

  “I hope so.” She spots my daughter behind me and brightens considerably. “Celina! What are you doing here? You should be in bed.”

  Smiling that smile that people smile when they want to be pleasant, but know it’s not quite right to be too cheerful, Celina steps around to the other side of the bed and takes my mother’s other hand. “I wanted to come and see you, Grandma.”

  “It’s always a pleasure to see you. How was your day?”

  Celina launches into an animated recount of the day she spent with her father. She tells her grandmother all about the house and Frisbee, and how he cooked pizza on the grill and it was the best thing ever. To her credit, my mother doesn’t scowl one time. She just nods and smiles and gives her granddaughter her full attention. She, too, must be thinking this might be her last conversation with Celina.

  Fifteen minutes later, Pam sticks her head in the door. “There’s someone here to see you. Out in the waiting room.”

  I nod. “Thank you.”

  It’s Dane, I’m sure.

  I look to my mother. “Dane’s taking Celina home, but I’ll be right back, okay?”

  She nods and Celina bends to kiss her cheek and tell her goodnight. I note that, and wonder if my mother does as well. She says goodnight, not goodbye.

  I walk Celina back the way we came. As soon as we pass through the double doors that divide the two worlds, I see Dane standing in the center of the room. He’s so tall and seeing him somehow makes me feel better. Even though he isn’t here for me, the fact that he’s here at all is comforting. The one time we put everything else aside—fear, anger, societal rules, threats, life—was when one of us was in pain. And although his face isn’t filled with the love that it used to be, it’s not filled with the anger of late either. That’s progress. And he’s here.

  I’ll take it.

  “How’s she doing?” he asks when Celina and I make our way to him.

  “She’s okay right now.”

  He nods several times as I fight the urge to cry. Almost as though he can sense it, Dane grabs both my upper arms and bends enough to look me right in the eye. “Are you?”

  I muster my most courageous, unaffected smile. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

  He doesn’t look convinced, but I know he won’t argue in front of Celina.

  “If anything happens, call me.”

  “I will.”

  No, I won’t. I won’t worry him or Celina unless it’s absolutely dire.

  Like death kind of dire.

  “I’ll take good care of her.”

  I inhale slowly so that I don’t release the sob that’s lurking in my chest like a toad, hunkered down and ready to jump.

  “I know.”

  I hope it goes without saying that if I didn’t trust him to take care of her, I wouldn’t have asked. I wouldn’t let him take her to the elevators if I didn’t trust him, much less let him keep her overnight.

  “Did you bring a bag or anything?” He directs his question to Celina.

  She looks to me and I let my head drop back on my shoulders. “Shit.”

  Celina answers, “No, we forgot to pack one.”

  “It’s fine. Give me the key and I’ll run her by there first.”

  I reach into my pocket for my keys, which thankfully aren’t in my purse back in Momma’s room. I slide the house key off the ring and hand it to Dane. When he takes it, he leaves his fingers pressed to mine until I look up.

  “You worry about your mom. I’ve got this.”

  I nod and stand to watch them go as Dane James leaves with my daughter.

  With our daughter, I correct myself.

  The thing is, she feels like she’s just mine. I know she’s not, and I’m thrilled he’s in her life now, but I birthed her. I raised her. I rocked her when she teethed, I held her when she was cried, I bandaged her up when she got hurt. She feels like mine and only mine, and it’s hard to watch her walk away knowing that she’s in someone else’s hands now.

  But I do.

  I make myself, because I know I have to.

  Before they turn the corner, Celina turns back to me and blows me a kiss, calling just loudly enough for me to hear, “Love you, Momma.”

  I catch her kiss, which is a rare gift from her. “Love you, too, honey.”

  I wait until they’re out of sight before I burst into tears.

  My mother notices my red eyes when I walk back into her room. I splashed cold water onto my face hoping to conceal it, but… If there is anyone who will notice your appearance immediately, it’s Katherine Peterson.

  “You shouldn’t stay. You should go home and be with her. I told them not to bother you.”

  “Momma, why would you do that?”

  “She’s your little girl. She comes first.”

  I can’t argue that, but it seems odd for my mother to be telling me that.

  “She’s fine
. I want to spend some time with you.”

  “In case you don’t get another chance?”

  Her question lands in my throat like a water buffalo, obstructing something as basic as swallowing and, for a second, even breathing.

  I angle my head away and clear my throat as though there’s something in it before I turn back to my mother. “You’re gonna come through this just fine, Momma. Even the nurse said so. She said you’re lucky it happened this way, and that you’re strong. She even said you’re too stubborn to go like this.” I add a smile to the last.

  “I am stubborn. You get that from me.”

  I sigh. I don’t want to argue with her. Not now. Not like this. “There are worse things.”

  Her eyes fill with tears and her bottom lip begins to quiver. “I wish I could’ve given you only good things, none of the bad. I hope you know that.”

  “Momma, I—”

  “Listen to me, Brinkley.” She raises her hand and clamps onto mine with a grip that’s surprisingly strong. Almost desperate. “I know I made mistakes with you. I know I did. Seeing you with Celina… I see it. I see how wrong I was. But I thought I loved him. I thought he was a good man and you were just being difficult. I didn’t really think you’d leave. Or that you’d stay gone. If I’d known, I…I never would’ve let you go. You’re my baby. Do you know that? Still, after all this time, you’re my baby.”

  I’m stunned into silence as she begins to weep. My heart is breaking and I’m not sure why. This feels so…final. And I’m not ready to lose her yet. I thought there would be time. Time to make up, time to get to know each other again. Just time.

  “Momma, I love you. I always have. That’s never changed. I know we didn’t always get along or see eye to eye, but I never stopped loving you. Not for one day in all my life.”

  “I was so hurt when year after year went by and I didn’t hear from you. But I should’ve tried to find you. I should’ve protected you. I shouldn’t have let him run you off, Brinkley. I should’ve listened to you. You tried to tell me about him and I…I… Oh, God, I was so selfish!”

  “It’s okay, Momma.”

  “No, it’s not. I thought he was just drunk, but I should never have let that pass. It’s unforgivable.”

  “It’s not, Momma. I won’t say that you didn’t make the wrong choice, and I won’t say that I wasn’t upset with you for a while, but it’s all in the past. He’s gone. There’s no reason to hold onto what he did.”

  “But what about what I did?”

  “It’s over. Let’s just—”

  She’s determined not to let it go, though. She’s determined to say her piece and to make peace. Because in some corner of her mind, she thinks this might be it, too.

  “Please forgive me. Please tell me we can be a family again. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. For us to be a family, and for you to be taken care of. When you came back, you gave me a reason to live. You and Celina. I hadn’t cooked in months until the day you showed up at my door. You always were my world; I was just terrible at showing you.”

  She lays her head back and tears pour steadily down her ghostly cheeks. I feel a spike of panic. “I don’t need to forgive you, Momma. It’s already done. I did it a long time ago.”

  And I did. Even though I still have moments of bitterness that creep up and wash through me, I’ve never stopped loving her. I forgave her the instant she chose him over me. Or at least within a few months. Because she’s my mother. I love her. And love is worth everything. Every risk. Every sacrifice. Every uncomfortable day that might lie ahead as she struggles to accept Dane in our life. I’d do it all for her. So that she can have the family she’s always wanted, and so that my daughter can have one, too.

  “You don’t blame me?”

  “The only thing I blame you for is making me strong.”

  She sobs delicately, her fingers still gripping mine, and I bow my head to rest on our joined hands. I pray for God to heal her, to give her—give us all—another chance to do things right. For her. For Celina. For me, too. Maybe for us all.

  Through the night, I sit holding Momma’s hand as she rests or chatting about light, happy things when she’s awake. It seems to soothe her, and it certainly soothes me. I fill her in on Celina’s life, which she gobbles up eagerly, and we reminisce about fun moments in our life before Shepherd’s Mill.

  In our own way, we’re all preparing for the morning, for the moment when they’ll wheel her to the O.R. and we may or may not see her alive again.

  When the sun breaks through the curtains and her appointed time approaches, I excuse myself to go to the bathroom.

  It’s as I’m coming out of the waiting room bathroom that I see Dane and Celina speaking to the little old lady that has arrived in her red smock and crisp white shirt to man the waiting room reception desk. I didn’t expect them to come back, but I can’t deny the relief I feel at seeing them.

  I start toward them, very much aware that I look like crap and feel even worse. I tried to clean up the best I could, but there’s not much I can do at this point. My hair is tangled, my eyes are red, and I’m pale as a ghost. I plaster on a bright smile, however, when Dane turns and spots me making my way to them. His eyes remain on mine as I approach.

  “How you holding up?”

  “I’m okay. What are you two doing back here?”

  “She wanted to see her grandmother again. And I wanted to check on you.”

  My heart flops over at that. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

  Dane, still watching me, sighs. “Brinkley, I…” There’s a long pause and his eyes search mine. I know he wants to say something, but I’m not sure even he knows what that something is. After a few more seconds, I realize we’ll never know. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

  I smile and nod and turn my attention to Celina, reaching out to tug one end of her hair. “Why can’t you wake up ugly like the rest of us?”

  “Good genes, I guess.”

  “Good answer.”

  She holds up her hand for a fist bump and we grin at each other.

  “How’s Grandma?”

  “She’s doing okay. They’re supposed to be taking her back soon. Let’s hurry back so we don’t miss her.”

  Since her scheduled time is nearing, the nurse lets all three of us go into Momma’s room. I’m a little concerned about Dane, but he seems to want to go, so I figure I should let him.

  Momma is sitting up in bed, looking oddly fresh, which is crazy.

  “You look good, Grandma,” Celina says as she approaches the bed.

  “Thank you, Celina. You’re looking quite beautiful yourself this morning.” She sends a look in my direction and adds, “We have to give your mother a break. She hasn’t slept. She did the best she could.”

  I roll my eyes, but I don’t take near the offense that I might have at one time. It seems that my mother and I have finally found a peaceful way forward. She’s who she is. I’m who I am. We’ll meet somewhere in the middle and try not to argue constantly. But there’s love between us. That much is clear.

  I see Momma’s eyes flicker toward the door. To Dane.

  “Come here,” she says to him, a bit of her imperious verve resurfacing.

  I see the muscle along Dane’s jaw flex, but his expression doesn’t change as he steps into the small room and stops at the foot of my mother’s bed.

  “Closer.”

  I back away, leaving Celina closest to Momma and making room for Dane to approach her, which he does. His footsteps don’t falter and he doesn’t show the first bit of pause.

  “I’m sorry,” she says hoarsely, her eyes filling up with tears again. “I know you love her, and I hope one day you can forgive me for my part in all this.”

  I feel like I’m holding my breath, and like my heart is doing a tap dance on the head of a pin as I watch the scene unfold and I await Dane’s response.

  I know the bitterness he carries. I know it because I’ve carried it, too. But he’s never been able
to escape it. He’s lived his whole life under the unjust blanket of Shepherd’s Mill’s oppression. He probably has a reservoir of anger and resentment that’s years deep.

  And yet, with a kindness that turns my stomach inside out, I watch Dane James, The One Who Stayed, bend close to my mother, smile down into her face, and tell her with as much sincerity as I’ve ever known him to display, “I have Celina. And I have Brinkley. There’s no room for hate. Not anymore.”

  She starts to cry around her smile of gratitude and Dane steps away, leaving Celina to reach in and hug her grandmother, to give her comfort as though she isn’t equally sick. I think again that she’s the strongest person I’ve ever met. But maybe my mother is just as strong. I’ve never seen her this way before. And maybe I can be as strong as the other two women in my life. Whatever the future holds, I know I’ll have to try.

  “We need to clear the room. They’re here to transport Mrs. Peterson,” the nurse says from the doorway.

  Dane and Momma nod at each other as he walks away, like they’ve reached a place of understanding. A truce. Then Celina leans in to give her a quick hug before it’s my turn.

  I approach the bed, reaching down to brush a stray strand of blonde hair away from my mother’s youthfully beautiful if pale face. “So, we’ve missed a lot of years, but we’ll make up for them after you get out, k?”

  My eyes fill with tears that I blink away. She smiles up at me and I know she knows what I’m saying. “We need to find you a better car, too.”

  I laugh. I can’t help it. I bend to kiss my mother’s cheek, memorizing the way she smells and the way her hair tickles my nose. “Whatever you say, Momma.”

  She takes my hand and gives my fingers a squeeze. That’s the only way I know how nervous, how afraid she is. Her hand is trembling.

  And that breaks my heart.

  Suddenly, I feel more afraid, and more determined to convince us both that she’s going to be fine. “Momma, come back to me. Promise?”

  “I’ll do my best, honey.”

  Honey.

  She hasn’t called me many endearments in the last couple of decades. I miss them terribly.