by Sara Evans
“Some . . . party . . .” Mama struggled to breathe between each word. Even connected to the oxygen, her effort was laborious.
“Sure was, and you took our breath away, gorgeous.” Jade attempted a smile.
Mama exhaled what might have been a laugh, but the rattle in her chest caught her wind making her choke and cough. Jade brought her upright, rubbing her back, coaxing, “Breathe with me, Mama. Inhale . . . good. Exhale. You shouldn’t have stayed outside so long.”
“Oh, Jade-o . . . my farewell . . . party.” Mama held on to Jade’s hand as she eased her back onto the pillow. “My farewell . . .”
“No talk of dying now, young lady.” Jade fluffed the pillow behind Mama’s head, wincing, nearly panicking herself as Mama struggled to breathe. Carbon dioxide, Dr. Meadow said, would build up and Mama wouldn’t be able to expel it fast enough. “What will I do without you, Mama?”
Mama’s smiled softly. “My Jade-o . . . capable, tender, kind. So proud, baby. So proud.” Her forefinger lifted ever so slightly and pointed at Jade. “What you . . . became . . . did . . . without me.”
A stream trickled down Jade’s cheek. “You can’t go, Mama, you can’t. I need you.”
“You needed me. Those days . . . gone by . . .” She faded, and for almost an eternity, didn’t inhale.
“Mama?” Jade shook her into gasping for air. “Breathe. Keep breathing.”
“So . . . tired.” A deep, rattling cough exploded in her chest. Mama gasped and gagged, panic filling her eyes as her hands grasped the air.
“Okay, okay, here, Mama.” Jade drew her upright again, making sure the cannula was in place. But the carbon dioxide was winning. “Breathe with me, Mama. In. Out. In. Out.” Jade eyed the drugs on the nightstand.
The coughing-gasp subsided and Mama shivered, lowering back down to the plumped pillows.
“Hey, Mama, remember how you used to sit up with Aiden, Willow, and me on fall nights and tell us about traveling with Carlisle and the carnival? You told us stories of the trapeze artist and the runaway lion. Of the bulimic fat lady?”
Mama closed her eyes with a long sigh. “Circus . . . freaks . . . home.” The end of her lips quivered as if she wanted to smile.
Jade brushed her hand over Mama’s cheek. Her skin was so dry and sallow. “Everyone needs a place to call home.”
“He’s here,” Mama said with a crisp clarity, her glistening eyes fixed on the window.
“Who’s here, Mama?”
“Jesus . . . on His donkey.”
“He’s visiting again?” Jade tucked the blanket tighter around Mama’s narrow frame.
“No, not visiting. Oh, Jade-o.” She exhaled each word with a sense of wonder. Without gasping for air.
“Mama, do you believe?” Jade cupped Mama’s face in her hands and turned her head until their eyes met. “Is He your Savior? I need to know. Will you be with Him on the other side?”
“It’s . . . why.” Mama struggled for a full breath. “He’s come. But He waits.”
“What’s He waiting for, Mama?”
“You,” she whispered.
“Me?” Jade peered at the window as if she might see Jesus with her own eyes. What do You want, Jesus?
“Let . . . me . . . go, Jade-o.” She exclaimed a sharp, “Oh! He looked . . . at me.”
“I can’t.” Buckets of tears filled Jade’s eyes. “I can’t let go. I’m scared.”
Mama’s chest slowly expanded, rattling and gurgling, then contracted. “I’m ready . . . peace.”
Mama reached for the cannula, her hand shaking, tugging it free. Jade’s tears dripped onto her hand. Mama’s fingers shook and got tangled in the tube.
“Here, Mama, let me.” Jade unhooked the hoses and turned off the tank. The silence echoed in Jade’s ears. “Do you want the drugs Dr. Meadows left?”
“I want to enter . . . drug free.” Her tender smile quickly faded.
“Even in death, you’re doing it your way, aren’t you?” Jade brushed Mama’s cheeks with a kiss. Shaking, Mama puckered her lips. Jade’s eyes filled as she lowered her lips to Mama’s.
“I love you.”
Mama tapped her chest. “Me too. Jade-o . . .” She coughed, working to draw air. “Max . . . it’ll be . . .”
“Don’t worry about Max and me.” Jade dried her cheeks with her sleeve, then nestled next to her mother, tucking her arm under her shoulders. “We’ll breathe together. In . . . good. Out.”
“Sing . . .”
“Sing?” Sing what? No song came to mind, only fragments of melodies from the old tunes played at the party.
“A hymn.”
A hymn? Jade scrambled for a hymn. Why couldn’t she think of one? No words came. A hymn for the hippie . . .
Then she heard Granny’s clear contralto. Come home, come home, ye who are weary . . .
Jade cleared the emotion from her throat. “Softly and tenderly, Jesus is calling . . .” She breathed in, breathed out with Mama. “Calling for you and for me . . . Breathe in, Mama. Out. Come home, come home . . . all who are weary come home . . .”
Jade breathed out with Mama. A serenity fell on her face. “Softly and tenderly, Jesus is calling . . .” Jade watched Mama. Inhale, Mama, come on. “Come home, come home . . .”
“Mama?” Jade squeezed her shoulder. “Mama, breathe in. Mama. Ye who are weary come home . . .” Mama?
She’d breathed her last. “Oh, Mama, Mama.” Jade collapsed against her warm but still body, weeping, gathering the soft material of her gown in her hands.
Softly and tenderly, Jesus was calling.
God had painted cotton ball clouds across the cyan sky and set the day’s thermostat to a warm and balmy sixty-two degrees. A perfect day for saying goodbye, for lowering Mama into the cold, dark earth.
Jade stood on the pale-green grass carpeting the burial mound that snaked around the old homestead with her back to the mourners gathering in the house, on the porch, in the yard.
The indistinguishable hum of voices married with the song of the wind floated toward her from the barn where a team was setting up tables. Willow wanted to celebrate Mama’s passing with a barbecue. “That’s what she would’ve wanted.”
Jade inhaled the heady fragrance of roasting meat along with the warm, moist soil of Tank Victor’s field.
For a moment she was eight, maybe nine, watching one of Mama’s parties from her bedroom window, canvas tents pitched all over the yard, the green hose stretched through the grass for the makeshift shower. She ached to watch those parties again.
But the parties would be no more. Mama was gone. Jade’s past was buried with her. She wrapped her arms around her waist, fighting the sense of loss that began swirling in her thoughts during the funeral.
“You doing all right?” Daphne and Margot appeared on either side of her. Daphne pressed Jade’s shoulder with her hand.
“Yeah, just thinking.” Jade shook her head and twisted Mama’s jade ring around her pinky finger. “I wasn’t a good daughter.”
“Don’t go there, Jade. You’re mourning, not rehashing the past. It’s over, book closed. You can’t change anything back there.”
If Daphne meant to comfort her, she missed.
“Come on, if you’re being honest, go all the way. Your mom wasn’t a stellar mom, remember?” Margot bent forward to see Jade’s face.
“Margot.” Daphne reached in front of Jade and shoved Margot aside. “You really shouldn’t be licensed to stick sharp, moving instruments in folks’ mouths. You have no compassion.”
“I’m sorry, but the truth and reality are compassionate.”
Jade shook her head. “I was just so mad at her for so long. I was the selfish one. So what if she married a few too many times? So what if she traveled for her job?”
“Traveled? Jade, she—”
“Margot.” Daphne’s interjection was piercing. “Jade, sweetie, none of us can see the past clearly. Good or bad. Be sad, be angry, cry, grieve, remember all the grea
t things about your mom. And then, look to the future.”
“My thoughts are stuck on how horribly I treated her. When I was packing to go to UT, she wanted to help. What’d I do? I ignored her, talked on the phone to my friends, who aren’t even here today, and yelled at her because she had the nerve to fold my wadded-up tops.”
“That was after the abortion, Jade. You were hurting.” Daphne kept her voice even but firm.
“Right, but did I tell her I was mad? No, I just showed her. Acted like a two-year-old. Was I there for her when Bob Hill divorced her? When she got diagnosed with leukemia? She went through eight years of illness. Alone. A-lone!” The tears stung again in her tired eyes.
“It takes two to make a relationship, Jade.”
“I didn’t appreciate her. I didn’t learn from her. I was too arrogant to think she had anything to teach me. And now, it’s too late.”
Margot gripped Jade’s shoulders. “Jade, she lives in your DNA. She will always be with you.”
“Am I interrupting?” Max took his place on the mound with the three of them.
“N-no, Max,” Daphne said, unable to look directly at him.
“Can I speak to Jade alone for a second?”
“Sure.” Daphne backed away.
Margot touched Jade’s arm before leaving. “We’ll be helping Willow with the barbecue. The dudes from the restaurant are very cute. A bit young, but very cute.”
Jade smiled. Margot got her every time. “You do that.”
“You holding up?” Max’s voice was tender in her ear. He stood near enough for their arms to touch. His warmth penetrated through to her soul.
“Barely.”
“Babe, I need to leave after lunch. If I don’t get home in time to get organized, I won’t be able to fly out to Texas Sunday night. I hate the timing of this—”
“When I was twelve,” Jade started, “Mama split from Willow’s dad, Mike. Mama had enough of men and marriage, of kids, so she took off with Carlisle and her carnival. She called Aiden out here, right where we’re standing. Then me. She sat here with her face to the setting sun. Said she’d be gone for about four months, and I was to look after two-year-old Willow. Help out Granny. Not to fight with Aiden. Told me where I could find money and diapers.” She looked up at Max. “And here I am again.”
“I don’t have to go to Texas, Jade. I can go later.”
“Max, go to Texas.” Jade patted his arm. “If you don’t, this window will close forever.”
“I don’t want to abandon you.”
“Your son needs a drug-free dad. I’m going to stay here for a while, at the house.”
“What about the Blue Umbrella and Blue Two?”
“Just a couple of fancy junk shops.”
“Stop. You worked hard to build those businesses. You’re a respected—”
“Junk dealer. Sanford and Daughter.” Her laugh was sardonic and cold. “Daughter . . . I could have a daughter now, but I don’t. I killed her.” Jade glanced up at Max. “How can you ask me to keep your son when you know what I did to my own child?”
“Stop.” Max grabbed her and turned her to him. “Jade, this is a dark path. You don’t want to travel here. You’re being unreasonable.”
She squared her shoulders, pressing against his hand. “Am I? Have I said anything untrue?”
“Factually, no. In tone and intent, yes. Very untrue. Jade, we can have Tom keep working the issue on the Blue Two insurance. Lillabeth can keep the Blue Umbrella going. Take time up here if you need it, but don’t quit, Jade. It’s not in you.”
Jade stepped off the mound, heading for the cluster of cars sitting askew on the lawn by the barn. Dustin stood by his truck, hands in his pockets, ankles crossed. He was watching her.
Max regarded him for a moment. “Listen, Jade. Mom will take Asa, if you decide—”
“Good, good, I—I think that’s best.” Jade pressed her hand on his arm. “I’m sorry I can’t be more for you right now.”
He enveloped her in his arms. “It’s okay.”
They walked side by side to the house. In the kitchen, Carla and June had organized the paper goods and side dishes on the counter. Daphne and Margot, along with a small troupe of women, waited to march it all out to the barn.
“Jade?” June’s hand brushed Jade’s shoulder, her latest L.L.Bean sweater tied around her shoulders. Her blonde hair hung loose about her high cheeks and broad chin. “You doing all right?”
“As well as one can the day her mother is buried.” At the sink she filled a glass with water and stared out the window.
Upstairs, Mama’s room was empty. The bed made, the blinds open, the oxygen tank and medicines gone. And by this time tomorrow, the house, the lawn, Jade’s life, would be quiet and alone. Stopped. Waiting for direction.
Her hand shook as she drank, but the water cooled her dry, hot insides. Her arms and legs wobbled with a hollow sensation, almost like they were detached from the rest of her. The burnt amber popped up over her thoughts, deeper, fiercer than before. The swirling purple rising from her soul was spotted with a penetrating black.
Batting her eyelids, she tried to clear away the blur and organize her thoughts. But they were caught in the gathering storm. She’d hoped she’d make it through the day without sinking into panic, without dodging anxiety. Grief had been a great anesthesia so far.
Yet in the span of a few seconds, Jade felt weightless, spinning, lost and adrift, like a ship at sea on a starless night.
Outside the window, Jade spotted Aiden and Willow on the lawn with Carlisle and Eclipse, who drove in from California and had to leave tonight. Mike Ayers and Daddy, who flew in today, joined their circle, looking as if they were reminiscing. Even in death, Jade let Mama down. Did she call Dad like she’d asked? No. Aiden had called. Daddy was leaving in a few hours. Rebel’s plane waited to fly him home, but he was trying to convince June to go with him. His swearing in was postponed until next week. And June appeared to be weakening. And now, she apparently had guardianship of Asa.
In the morning, Aiden would be gone. Willow in the afternoon.
Jade gulped the last of her water. Mama was dead. In the cold ground. Reminiscing or staring at the pictures of her Aiden had enlarged and set on easels wouldn’t bring her back.
Jade stumbled back from the sink, pushed by an internal pressure. Mama. She wanted her . . . Here . . . now . . . I want you back, Mama.
The bottomless sensation of aloneness doused her. Burnt amber collided with the purple swirls. She reached for the counter. She floated, the swirl lifting her soul from the kitchen. Jade’s glass dropped from her hand, crashing but not breaking against the hardwood.
Mama . . .
The call echoed in her chest, but not from her voice. Max’s boy wandered into Jade’s view framed by the sink window. His little brown jacket hung loose over his shoulders. The tip of his nose was red and runny, while a tuft of his black hair stuck up from the crown of his head. “Mama?”
Why was he wandering alone? He could get lost. Max? June? No one trailed after him. Were they all in the barn? Did they just leave him?
Asa stopped toddling when he reached the edge of the grass and fell forward, catching himself with one pudgy hand to the ground. When he stood upright again, he stared at his hand, slapping away the dirt.
Jade figured he’d turn and do his little one-arm-pumping run toward the barn, but he remained still, staring at something Jade couldn’t see. Then his head jerked toward the house, his bright eyes wide. He made a circle, looking. A pout weighted his little red lip, and even from the distance, Jade saw his brow tighten and tears emerge.
His lips moved. The wind captured his tiny, “Mama.”
Jade fell against the sink’s edge and stretched toward the window. Oh, his shoulders were trembling. Jade smacked the window frame with her palm, then shoved open the pane.
“Mama.” His tiny voice broke through the screen. “Ma-ma.” Asa tipped his head back. His wail hit Jade and trailed
down her limbs to her toes. “Ma-ma! Ma-ma!” Tears sparkled on his raw, red cheeks. “Maaamaaa.”
Jade jerked straight, her middle constricting, her heart beating. Mama. Slowly, she collapsed to the floor, the boy’s cry chasing her own wail. “Maaama . . .” She buried her face against her arms.
She wept hard. But when she heard voices, she raised her head, weak and drained. As if she’d cried for days.
June’s voice skimmed passed, then Max’s, comforting Asa. On her hands and knees, Jade crawled to the back door to peer out. Max was swinging Asa up in his arms, and the boy clung to his daddy’s neck, shivering. “Mama.”
Mama.
Jade crawled across the kitchen, burnt amber blinding her thoughts, rising to her feet as she reached the living room. Flutters filled her chest. Her thoughts fired without aim into a thickening fog. She burst out the front door and stumbled down the stairs.
Her body moved, but she couldn’t feel her hands or feet. The only sound was the thrust of her breath in her ears.
Down the driveway . . . toward the road . . . She watched herself as if standing on the roof of the house. Slapping her hands to her face, her pulse surged. Her nose . . . her eyes . . . she couldn’t feel them.
What if it was all a lie? If the man on the donkey was an evil, lying demon carting Mama off to hell. No, no, no. What if the whole big deal about God and the afterlife, going to heaven and meeting “on that beautiful shore” was a myth? A grand illusion?
What if there was no true hope? Jade ran, stumbling on the pebbled berm, gasping to fill her shallow lungs.
Did she let Mama go into nothingness? She might explode with a single scream. Mama!
A car horn shoved Jade from the side of the road into the ditch. She caught her fall with the heels of her hands. A rock had gashed her knee, so blood glistened against her skin and soaked into her skirt. Climbing out of the ditch, numb and detached, Jade bolted down the road, escaping from some thing, aiming at no thing.
Twenty-seven
Max heard shouts. He listened as he wiped Asa’s mouth. More shouts. Jade, they were calling Jade.