“Please listen to me, dear.” She paused.
I looked at her. She mouthed “Promise” and pointed at the phone. I stood and turned on the water to fill the vase I’d found.
“Yes, I do understand that living here was difficult for you, Jenny. Believe me, I understand that more than you know. But running away was not the best solution to the problem.”
She listened to Promise’s voice on the other end of the line.
“No, Nesto isn’t here. He was picked up by child services this afternoon. He’ll be going to live with the family you met with last week.” She dabbed a tear from the corner of her eye. “You’re working tonight?”
I put the flowers into the water.
“Well, I’m concerned about you dancing for that man. If you would just please tell me where you are, I’ll come get you.” She grabbed a piece of paper and a pen. But she didn’t write anything. “No, I won’t call the cops on you. I just want you to be safe.”
Lola pushed the paper to the back of the counter. “Just please be safe, Jenny. And no matter what, you are always welcome to come back here. Even if it’s just for a visit.” She frowned. “Please be careful.”
She closed the phone and put it in her pocket.
“Have a nice evening, dear,” she said, patting my shoulder. “I’m going to bed. Please don’t be late.”
“Lola, if you want, I could stick around tonight,” I said, putting the last rose in the vase. “Paul and I could play cards with you on the porch or something.”
She turned toward me and smiled.
“Dorothea, your kindness is beautiful. I shall be fine. I just need to spend some time praying for our sister Promise.”
“Okay.” I picked up the vase of flowers and handed it to her. “Take these. You need something to brighten that teeny tiny closet while you pray.”
She took the vase.
“Thank you.” She winked at me. “Now, go be wooed.”
Paul sat on the steps, his back toward me. When he heard my footsteps, he turned and smiled at me. It was a smile that took up his whole face. And it was for me.
“Ready?” I asked, my heart pounding.
We rode in his car. When he reached for the gear shift, I wanted to hold his hand. Just for a little contact. Some connection. But touching him seemed impossible, terrifying.
“Do you think Promise will come back?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” I said, glad for the break in tension. “I just hope she stays safe.”
“I guess that would be a pretty dangerous lifestyle.” He glanced at me. “Aren’t you glad you’ve never been in that situation?”
I didn’t answer him. We rode the rest of the way in silence. After a few minutes, he pulled into the parking lot of a restaurant.
“So, last time we talked about my parents saving the day. What’s next in the life of Dot?” he asked after we slid into a booth.
“Oh, gosh. I seriously don’t know why you have to hear about all this.”
“Because I want to know. And you’re a good storyteller.”
The waiter stopped by our table. Took our food order.
“What if I don’t want to tell you?” I asked.
“You do. I know you do.” He looked at me, his face was serious. “Dot, you’ve had the roughest life of anyone I have ever known. I want to be part of your life. You know, I want to try and make things better for you.”
“Well, sometimes it’s just not very fun to talk about all that stuff.”
“I bet. But you know I’m not going to sit here and judge you. It’s not like you have some huge issue that you’re so ashamed of or anything.”
“Maybe I do. And maybe I have a hard time trusting people.”
“That’s okay.” He took a napkin from under his silverware and wrote on it. “This is my contract to you. If you’re worried about being judged, then I promise that I’m not going to judge you. If you’re worried that I’ll tell other people, I promise that this conversation will go nowhere outside the two of us. If you’re worried I’ll run away from you because of how terrible things were, I promise that I’ll stick around at the very least to be your friend.”
He signed the napkin and passed it across the table to me.
“Paul, you didn’t have to do that.”
“Yes, I did. If I break any of those promises, I will personally give you all the money in my savings.”
“Yeah, I bet you have twenty bucks in there.”
“Dot, do you happen to remember that my father is a money manager?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Dorothea, this is important.”
I knew that I had a choice. I could have clammed up and kept everything to myself. Or I could trust him and share my burden. But that would require so much more from me than I thought I was able to give.
“Trusting you is scary, Paul,” I whispered, twisting the napkin in my hand.
Our waiter brought our plates of steaming food.
“Why?” Paul asked after we were alone. He sat forward, looked concerned. “What’s so scary about trust?”
“I don’t want to be exposed. I’m not so sure I’m ready for you to see all of my heart.”
“Then take it slow. I’ve got time.”
~*~
Christmas came the year my Dad died. For some reason my nine-year-old brain assumed that life wouldn’t keep moving. But it had. And we were without a tree or presents or a big meal when the day arrived. It was just like any other day.
The Wests went on a vacation to Florida. They made sure we had plenty of food to get us through the week. We had the number to their condo in case of an emergency.
Pete and I sat, watching a football game that neither or us cared about and eating Ramen noodles from little foam cups.
“I hate football,” I said, my mouth full of the salty, gummy noodles.
“I hate these noodles,” Pete said, spitting them back into the cup and tossing it on the coffee table. “Merry Christmas, huh?”
There we stayed for hours. Every once in a while one of us would go to the kitchen for a cookie or a glass of milk. Before we realized that the day was half gone, the sun set. We turned on the lights.
We barely heard the soft footsteps on the stairs. Not until I caught the movement of her slippers did I realize that my mom had emerged from her room.
“Pete,” I said, pointing to her. “It’s Mom.”
Pete stood up. He walked to her and held her hand, steadying her as she made the last few steps. He helped her into a chair. She had become so thin. Thinner than anyone I’d ever seen.
“Thanks, Pete,” she whispered.
“Do you want something to eat?” he asked, his voice so gentle.
“I don’t know,” she answered. “I just don’t have the stomach for anything.”
She sighed, rubbed the center of her forehead with her fingers.
“Mrs. West made us a giant tub of cookies,” I said, crumbs falling from my mouth and melted chocolate in the corners of my lips. “They’re super good.”
“I can see that.” She looked at me. “How many of those cookies have you had?”
“I have no idea.” The sugar made my body jittery.
“Well, I suppose I could use a little of that energy.”
Pete went to the kitchen to get her a cookie.
“Merry Christmas, Mommy,” I said.
Her whole face winced. Pete handed her the cookie.
“Is it really Christmas?” she asked.
“Yes,” I answered.
“How did I lose track of all this time?” She rolled her eyes. “I’m becoming just like her.”
“Like who?” Pete asked.
“Nobody. I just feel like the worst mom in the entire world. How does a mother forget all about Christmas?” She took a bite of her cookie. “And I used to be the one to make all the cookies around here.”
She scanned the living room, seeing the mess created over months. Dishes were stacked on the coff
ee table, school books scattered across the carpet, a thin layer of dust covered everything.
“And I would never have let this house get so filthy.” She sat up straighter. “I can’t do this anymore. What would your daddy have thought of me?”
“I don’t know,” I answered.
“Well, I’ll tell you. He would have told me to stop moping and take care of you.” She scratched her scalp. “Dot, how long have you been wearing those pajamas?”
“I don’t know.” I looked down and saw the stain from a sloppy joe. “Four days. We had sloppy joes four days ago. But I think I put them on the day before that.”
“That is just horrible. Oh my goodness.” She sighed again. “I want the two of you to go get dressed. You do have clean clothes, right?”
“Yeah. Mrs. West did all the laundry before they left,” Pete said.
“Well, that was very nice of her.” She stood, wobbly. “Get something on. We’re going out to eat.”
“But it’s Christmas,” Pete said. “Nothing will be open.”
“Haven’t you ever watched any Christmas movies? Chinese restaurants are always open on Christmas.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Well, I don’t know. But they always are.”
She struggled to walk to the staircase. The sadness wasn’t gone from her. I could still see it in her eyes. But I also saw some determination. She was getting up and out for us. It felt like things might get better.
After we all got into clean clothes we piled into our car and she drove us to a Chinese place in a strip mall. We filled up on sweet and sour chicken and egg rolls.
“This tastes so good,” Pete said, mouth full.
“It sure does,” my mom said, taking a small bite. “Your Dad would have loved this. I think this might have to be a new Christmas tradition.”
“Sounds good to me,” Pete said, shoving a crab Rangoon into his mouth.
A large, scruffy man walked past us. The smell of sour booze and cigarette smoke lingered behind him. My mom looked up just as he past her. She cleared her throat and took a drink of water.
“Hey, Mom, do you think that guy was homeless?” I asked.
“What?” She seemed back to that far away place where she’d been after my Dad died. “Oh, that man? I don’t know.”
“Excuse me, ma’am,” the waiter said. He carried a plate of orange slices. “The man that just left ordered these for you and your children. Merry Christmas.”
“Thank you, but we’re fine.” She looked at the two of us. “I don’t think any of us could eat another bite, could we?”
“He said it was a peace offering.”
“A peace offering?” she asked. “Well, you eat them. Or just throw them out. We don’t want them.”
“He said he’d be seeing you around.” The waiter put the plate on the table. “He told me to say that you don’t look so much like ‘her’ anymore.”
“We’ve got to go.” She pulled money from her purse and left it on the table. “That should cover the bill. Pete, Dot. We need to go now.”
We left so quickly that we didn’t have time to get our coats on.
“Get in,” she said, turning on the ignition.
She put the car into reverse. The scruffy man stepped right up to her window and knocked.
“Found ya,” he said.
My mom made whimpering noises as she struggled to move the car away from the man. The wheels spun on the ice, unable to gain traction. The man reached for the door handle. Pete leaned over the seat and hit the electric locks.
“Mom,” he yelled. “Drive.”
“I can’t,” she cried. “He’s going to get us.”
The man doubled over, suddenly and surprisingly. He coughed violently. His entire body heaved with the hacking. Somehow, while he was bent over, the wheels caught a bit of dry pavement, moving us backwards. Suddenly. Out of control.
Recovering from his fit, the man walked toward us, his hand inside his jacket. My mom struggled to put the car into gear. Panicking, she screamed, pulled on the gear shift. As soon as the car went into drive, she sped away, leaving the man behind us.
Cora – 39
“I brought you a chai latte today, Cora,” Lisa said. “It tastes like pumpkin pie.”
“Just in time for Thanksgiving,” I said, tasting the warm, creamy spiced tea. “Oh, that’s good. I didn’t expect you this evening.”
“I know. But my day just isn’t the same without my Cora time. Even if it is later than usual.” Lisa handed me a bag. “I brought you a pumpkin bar.”
“You’re spoiling me.” I patted my stomach. “You know, I am getting a little soft around the middle.”
“I think you look good. Healthier.”
“Did you know that there’s an island somewhere in the Pacific where they try to get their women as big as possible? They think it’s attractive.”
“Where did you hear that?”
“Some afternoon talk show. I watched it with Edith.” I smiled. “Edith even swayed her head a little while we watched it.”
“Maybe Dr. Emmert should use that in therapy.” Lisa sat next to me. “How did it feel to spend time with her?”
“It was pretty nice to take a little time to think about someone other than myself for a change. Goodness. I have been so self-centered for the past decade.”
“I’m proud of you for thinking that way.” Lisa took a bite of her bar. “But I am going to ask you to keep talking about yourself.”
“That’s okay. The sooner I’m done telling you all this, the sooner I can move on to something new.”
“It’s exciting isn’t it?” She sipped her tea. “We left off with your mother making you promise to leave.”
“Right.”
“How did it make you feel to make that promise? You were just a teen.”
“Barely even that.” I inhaled deeply. “I guess it made me feel like I had permission to go. That she didn’t want to be what held me back.”
“Okay. So what happened next?”
“Later that night, there was a storm....”
~*~
The wind that night shook against the shack, whipping it with such force, I expected to be blown away. Thunder growled, echoing off the mountains. With each slap of lightning, I cowered, flinching in anticipation of something, anything to crash into the trembling building. Rain poured in through the rusty holes of the roof, running down the walls, making puddles on the floor. I moved around the living room, placing buckets and pots and pans under leaks.
I hurried to the bedroom to make sure my mother wasn’t drenched in her sleep. The lamp next to her bed flickered as I turned the switch. My mother didn’t move or squint at the light. She remained still. And dry.
Opening a drawer in her dresser, I found the shard of glass from a broken mirror. I looked at the fragment of my reflection. One eye. A wisp of auburn hair. I couldn’t see much of me. I drew it closer to my face. Beneath my nose, air steamed on the mirror. I wiped it clean on my shirt.
“Check Mother’s breathing,” I told myself. “Just in case.”
My bare foot landed in a cold puddle of rain as I walked to her bed. I held the glass under her nose. Nothing. No breath. No steam. No evidence of life. My own breathing became shallow, quick. I put my fingers on her wrist to feel for the blood coursing through her veins. Nothing. I touched her neck. Nothing.
“Oh, Lord! I can’t feel her life! Help me!” I screamed. I grabbed her head, made it to rest in the crook of my elbow. I pulled her face into my chest. Cradling her. Her head, so heavy, fell backward over my arm. Her mouth fell open. I pushed her hair back with the palm of my hand. It was soft.
“I should have checked on you earlier. I didn’t know this would happen. Why didn’t I just come check on you?” I whispered, my voice trembling. “What am I going to do now?”
Lightning flashed, killing the power. I held my mother’s motionless, cold body closer to me. As tight as I could.
I was trapped i
n the valley of the shadow of death and I feared evil because I was completely alone. I laid her head down, not in a place of comfort. Not in tranquility. But in the bed that she’d devoted her life to for so long.
Stumbling through the dark house, feeling my way through the kitchen drawers, I searched for candles and matches. My hands shook, fingers unable to hold the small match sticks. They dropped to the floor before I could light them. Only one match remained in the box.
“Please,” I screamed. “Make this one light.”
I pinched it between my finger and thumb and dragged it across the rough side of the box. The smell of sulfur as it lit inspired relief.
Touching the flame to the wick of a candle, I let the glow warm me. I cupped my hand around the tiny light, protecting it from any breeze as I returned to the bedroom. Stood at the doorway. Looked at her body in the bed.
On the bedside table, a paper propped up against the lamp, folded in half. I stepped into the room and picked up the paper. A page from one of her ancient books. Torn out, raggedy edges. I unfolded it. Her penmanship scrawled across the page.
My dearest Cora,
I cannot tell you how terribly sorry I am. I would never, in life, have been able to make up for all that you have endured. I did know that my death would be freedom for us. My living kept you tied to this house. You are freed from this prison now. You must go. Maybe God can forgive me. And I hope that you will, too. For all of it.
Don’t forget your promise to me. Leave the mountain. Go tonight.
Look in the bedside table. There is an envelope for you. It’s what my mother handed to me before I ran off to marry your father. I hid it and saved it for something like this. Use it to get away. Leave tonight.
All of my love,
Mama
I shuffled around her room, quickly gathering things to take with me. Slipping my feet into my worn shoes. I didn’t allow myself to cry. Refused to let any thought dizzy my mind. There would be plenty of time for that later. I had to move fast.
In the drawer of her bedside table, I found the envelope. How it had escaped my father’s searches, I couldn’t surmise. But it sat in the drawer, fat, and leaned up against a small box. I grabbed the envelope and the box and shoved them into a bag I found in the closet.
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