Cross Your Heart

by Layce Gardner

  Mabel buried her face in Clara’s protective bosom and sobbed.

  ***

  “That went well,” Millie said. She dunked another teacup in the dishwater. “You don’t mean that?” Amy said, drying the tea cup. Parker took it and handed it to Bernie who put it on the top shelf of the cupboard.

  They were in Millie’s kitchen. Mabel and Clara had already left, walking next door to their home. Edna had left, too, teary and shaken.

  “I have to say, that was the most difficult thing I’ve ever experienced,” Bernie said.

  Parker handed another cup to Bernie. She knew full well that it didn’t take four people to wash the dishes, but it seemed they all needed something to do. Parker and Bernie had already put the extra chairs in the shed and returned the patio furniture to its original placement. There was nothing left to do, so they added their helping hands to an activity that only required two at the most.

  “You did a good job,” Amy said to Parker. “I’m proud of you.”

  “It had to be done. That was the purpose of the tea party.”

  “I was so worried that Mabel would be hurt that Clara required all of us to help her tell the truth,” Millie said. “But I think it actually made her feel better being surrounded by people who love her.”

  “How’s this going to work?” Parker asked. She’d been trying to figure out the logistics of terminal cancer and a planned death. Susan hadn’t been any help and they were going to need her guidance without getting her in trouble. She’d worked way too hard to get her medical license revoked.

  “What do you mean?” Bernie asked. She put the last teacup away.

  Millie let the water drain out of the sink. Amy hung up the dishcloth. The leftover cookies were put away. There was nothing left to do but face the future.

  “How will Clara know when it’s time? As the disease progresses, she’ll need more drugs. Morphine doesn’t make for clear decision making,” Parker replied. She leaned up against the kitchen counter. Even standing up straight seemed to take effort. She hadn’t felt this tired in a long time. It was a universal truth that emotions sapped a person’s strength more than physical exertion.

  “And Mabel isn’t going to be in great shape either,” Bernie said.

  “Are we overstepping the line? Do they need to do this in their own time and way?” Millie asked.

  The back door opened quietly and Mabel stepped into the kitchen. “I want Clara at home. And I need you all,” Mabel said, as they turned to look at her. “She’s resting,” she said, answering their question before they asked it.

  “Are you all right?” Millie asked.

  “I’ll never be all right again,” Mabel said. She slumped down in a kitchen chair.

  Millie sat down next to her and put her hand over Mabel’s. “I’m sorry. That was a silly question.”

  Straightening her shoulders, Mabel said. “I have to make myself all right. I have to be strong for her. I’ll have plenty of time…afterwards.” She gulped. “Afterwards. It’s so final, like this chunk of endless time where my sweet Clara won’t be.”

  “We’ll all be in that afterwards with you,” Parker said. She pulled out a chair for Amy who looked tired in the way only pregnant women can. Amy sat on the other side of Mabel. Rascal had taken up residence beneath the table. It seemed the day had been hard on him, too.

  “You know, as I watched Clara sleeping, I thought about all the things I don’t know how to do. I don’t know how to function without her. I haven’t written a check in years. I don’t cook. I’m terrible at folding laundry. I hate to dust.” Mabel stared off in space. “I feel bad for only thinking of myself. I wish it was me going. Clara would survive without me, but I don’t know that I can survive without her.”

  “Make a list of what you need to know,” Parker said. She got Mabel a drink of water. In the movies when people were suffering a shock they always got them a drink of water. It seemed the thing to do.

  “The list would be endless,” Mabel said, accepting the glass of water. She drank deeply. “I think all that crying dehydrated me.”

  “Just tackle the basics. Ask Clara to help you,” Parker said.

  “Won’t that make her sad?” Mabel asked.

  Parker considered this. If she was dying wouldn’t she want to leave Amy in good shape? Wouldn’t it put her mind at ease knowing that Amy would be all right? She decided it would. “It might make her feel useful and give her peace of mind.”

  Mabel furrowed her already heavily wrinkled forehead. “It might.”

  “Would you do it for her?” Parker asked.

  Mabel was quiet. Parker had never seen her quiet. Clara’s death would change Mabel forever. The little ball of spunk they’d always known might fade away and follow Clara to the grave. People died of broken hearts.

  “I would want that,” Mabel said finally.

  “Then that’s what you do,” Parker said.

  “You’re right,” Mabel said. Her resolution seemed to fortify her. “I better get back. I don’t want her to wake up alone.” She slid off her chair and stood up. She straightened her shoulders. Age had stooped her, but it wasn’t going to stop her anytime soon. “Thank you all for what you did today. I needed you there and I know Clara did.” She gave Parker a spontaneous hug. “Especially you. You’ve got balls of steel.” She exited the back door quickly.

  “Okay, that was better,” Millie said.

  “She’ll be a different Mabel when she gets through this,” Bernie said. She sat next to Millie.

  “She’s stronger than she looks,” Parker said. She hoped so with all her heart. She squeezed Amy’s shoulders. “We should go. Everybody needs their rest.”

  “That’s right,” Bernie said. “We got a long row to hoe ahead of us.”

  Chapter Ten

  The next day, Amy stopped by Millie’s before work, like she did every morning, for a cup of decaf coffee. Baby wasn’t supposed to have caffeine so mommy had to forgo as well. Most of her strange cravings could be satisfied, but what she wanted most was a good cup of java full of caffeine. Millie and Bernie were in a somber mood. They all sat in silence and stared down at their coffee cups.

  Bernie tried to break the group funk. “This isn’t good,” she said.

  “I made it the same way I always do,” Millie said defensively.

  “I didn’t mean the coffee. I meant our attitudes,” Bernie said. “Us being gloomy isn’t good for Mabel or Clara.”

  “I don’t feel cheery. And if I act cheery that makes me feel disrespectful to Clara. And then there’s the wedding plans. We still haven’t decided on the theme,” Millie said.

  “Millie, please don’t worry about that. We’ll just do a quick ceremony with the Justice of the Peace,” Amy said. She couldn’t imagine her wedding right now or anytime soon.

  Mabel appeared in the kitchen doorway. They hadn’t heard her come in. Gone were the days of her bursting into the room like she was doing a cannonball jump into a pool.

  “Good morning, Mabel. I didn’t hear you come in,” Millie said.

  “I’m working on my manners. I made Clara write me a list of things I need to improve on,” Mabel said. She was dressed in all black and looked like a miniature Johnny Cash— if he were a lesbian, wore polyester, and had two six shooters on his hips. She held a casserole dish between red oven mitts, making her look like a lobster bearing gifts. “I should’ve have rung the bell, but I forgot. It’s only my first day of being polite. I’ll improve.”

  “No one rings the bell,” Bernie said, waving her hand in the air. “They just give the door a tap and come on it. No one’s caught us making mad, passionate love on the living room floor, yet.”

  “And if we were, I’d lock the door,” Millie said, chuckling.

  Mabel set the dish down on the counter. “Good. I’m not sure I could look at you the same way after that.”

  “What’s in the dish?” Bernie asked. “It smells good.”

  “Coffee cake,” Mabel said.
“Clara taught me how to make one this morning.”

  “Yummy,” Amy said, too brightly, not knowing how to approach this new and improved Mabel.

  “I’ll get us some plates. Mabel, there’s coffee in the carafe on the table,” Bernie said. She scooted her chair back.

  “Don’t get up,” Mabel said. “I can’t stay. Clara took two painkillers and I don’t want to leave her alone in case she feels woozy. The doctor gave her some stiff ones. It’s her back mostly where the cancer is ripping away at her spine.” Mabel kept her face neutral like she was making a note on the weather.

  “Why are you wearing all black and packing your guns?” Millie asked, taking a piece of the cinnamon and brown sugar-topped coffeecake.

  “I’m practicing being a widow. According to the rules, I’m supposed to mourn for a year. Wearing black will remind me and keep the pain of loss fresh. I’ve got my guns because I’m going to the shooting range when Edna comes over to sit with Clara. I planned on pulling out of the contest, but Clara wants to see me win before she goes. She told me that was her final wish, and by god, I’m going to give that to her.”

  Amy bit the side of her cheek. She mustn’t cry. Hormones be damned, she had to remain strong.

  “You’re going to wear black for a whole year?” Bernie asked. She handed Amy a piece of coffeecake and a fork.

  “Clara said I should go to Bette’s Boutique and let her find me some proper mourning weeds.”

  “Weeds?” Amy said.

  “I’m approaching this in an old school sort of way,” Mabel said. “Okay, got to get back.” She left as quietly as she came.

  Millie looked at Amy who looked at Bernie. “Is she losing it?” Millie asked quietly.

  “Apparently,” Bernie said. She took a bite of the coffeecake. “Mmm… this is good.”

  “We all handle things in different ways. This is Mabel’s way,” Millie said

  ***

  Amy leaned back in her office chair. She wasn’t in the mood to write about sloths. She stared at her keyboard. She had gotten a positive response on her article about Mr. Walker’s animal farm and his rescuing the sloth. People wrote emails wanting updates, especially the people who had contributed to the sloth’s care. Her mind wandered back to Clara. Then she had a eureka moment. She knew the Clara of today, but not much about her past.

  She knew she’d have to write Clara’s obituary, but why not start now by showcasing her life while she was still with them? It seemed more fitting that Clara tell her own story. She bet there were lots of funny and sad stories. She wanted to hear them all. She’d start with Clara first, then Mabel. They could relive their past and that could give them relief knowing they spent a well-lived life. She would run the idea by them tomorrow when they had coffee. She hoped Clara was well enough to come over.

  Now that she had a plan she felt better.

  Clementine and Jeb came into the office, their voices loud. “I’m telling you as a politician, you’ve got to have thick skin, no matter your approval ratings,” Jeb said.

  “I call it ungrateful,” Clementine said. She looked at Amy. “Good morning, Amy. How are you feeling?”

  “Very pregnant and ready to free this baby,” Amy replied.

  “More than evident,” Jeb said, looking at her belly.

  “Oh, my, this isn’t even the bad part yet,” Clementine said. “Give it another two months and you’ll want to rip it out yourself.”

  Luke came in carrying his camera gear, a Cheshire cat grin across his face.

  Looking at Luke, Clementine said, “That one weighed ten pounds and kicked like a mule. I couldn’t wait for him to be gone.”

  “You said the same thing when I went off to college,” Luke said, setting his camera gear down on his desk. He turned his computer on.

  “And then you returned,” Jeb said.

  “Only temporarily,” Luke said. He went to the small fridge in the makeshift kitchen and pulled out a high-octane energy drink. He popped it open. Clementine glared at him.

  “Those are bad for you,” she scolded.

  “Only in excess,” he replied. He gulped it down. “I need a pick-me-up. I’ve got a lot of work ahead of me.”

  “Oh? And what’s that?” Jeb said. Ever since Luke had been hired on full-time at the newspaper, his choice of subject matter for the local news had been odd.

  “He’s helping me with the trash receptacle controversy,” Clementine said. She put the electric kettle on to boil. In solidarity with Amy and her caffeine restriction, they were drinking herbal tea. After many trials, they’d settled on peppermint—it seemed the least of the evils. The peppermint was also good for stomach issues. Clementine was having a few of those after becoming mayor.

  “I got some really good pictures with the artists standing by their garbage cans.”

  “Trash receptacles,” Clementine corrected.

  “Right,” Luke said. He jotted that down.

  “What? Garbage can isn’t politically correct anymore?” Jeb asked. He eased back in his chair and put his boots up on his desk. Clementine pursed her lips. He said, “It’s my desk, which means I get to treat it as I like.”

  “I like the trash receptacles. The murals painted on them are art,” Amy said. “And I see a lot of kids using them. They like to go up and look at them, so they collect trash to deposit.”

  “Which was precisely my plan. However, we’ve gotten flack from the Internet community. They seem to think that it’s disrespectful to put art on garbage cans,” Clementine said. She plopped down at her desk and sighed. “I like my newspaper job better.” She still wrote a weekly column, but now it was dedicated to informing her constituents of her mayoral plans to improve the town. She worked at the paper in the morning, then went on to the courthouse where her office was located.

  “Only when I don’t over-edit your column,” Jeb said. He raised his bushy eyebrows at his wife. She ignored him. He logged onto his computer and went in search of Internet news for the front page of the Sentinel. He sprinkled in what he referred to as the idyllic local news. He believed people could only handle so much bad news and needed a respite. It was the respite part that kept the paper alive.

  The office went quiet as they all settled into their work for the day. After a few moments, Jeb looked up from his computer. “Are you going to cover the shooting contest at the Top Gun range?” he asked Amy.

  “You kidding? I wouldn’t miss it. Mabel intends on winning,” Amy replied. She hoped Mabel did win, because she wanted to make Clara proud just one more time. How many “one more times” did those two have left?

  ***

  While the roofers worked on the addition, Parker went to Steph’s garage and worked on the crib. It was coming together nicely. She planned on finishing the sanding and, time permitting, painting it a light yellow. The color grew on her as the piles of yellow baby stuff accumulated—blankets, sheets, more clothes—it seemed there wasn’t a person alive who didn’t have something to contribute. Parker was concerned that they wouldn’t have enough room to put it all in the baby’s room. She contemplated increasing the size of the walk-in closet and adding extra cabinets.

  Steph came in the garage followed by Ruth. That was the only problem with working on the crib at Steph and Rosa’s. All the socializing. Parker needed quiet to concentrate. Rascal usually slept in a corner unless he found a playmate who’d throw the ball. Steph happily obliged Rascal, usually suggesting that Parker take a break and come have a cold drink on the deck.

  “Wow, this is beautiful,” Ruth said, running her hand across the smooth railing of the crib.

  “Thank you. I hope the baby likes it,” Parker said. She pulled out another piece of sandpaper from the pack, hoping that would be a hint that she wanted to get more work done. It didn’t work. Rascal dropped his ball at Ruth’s feet, hoping to find yet another playmate.

  “Come out and have some iced tea with us,” Steph said. “Then we’re going shopping, which means you can get back to work
.”

  “Steph’s taking me to Bette’s Boutique to get a nice outfit,” Ruth said.

  “She’s taking Tamika to the city to see a play. Isn’t that romantic?” Steph said.

  “My wardrobe doesn’t include a lot of dress clothes,” Ruth admitted.

  “What play?” Parker asked, setting the sandpaper aside.

  “Spamalot,” Ruth said.

  Parker cocked her head. “Hmm… sounds interesting.”

  “It’s the Monty Python play,” Steph said, “I suggested it. Comedy makes people feel good and releases stress. Besides, once you and Tamika move in together, date nights get harder to come by.”

  Ruth raised her hand in a stop gesture. “Whoa, there. We’re not even close to that,” she said.

  “Come on, lots of lunch dates, now dinner and a play. Pretty soon maybe an overnighter,” Steph said.

  “Not with Cece. I’m thinking the best we can do is afternoon delight,” Ruth said.

  “Yes! You guys need to have sex. It takes dating to a new and necessary level. Especially with lesbians. Either they jump into bed and move in or they have a long and protracted dating period that goes on endlessly,” Steph said. “And sometimes, when this next level doesn’t happen, people go their separate ways. Either give yourself over to the siren call of desire or the relationship fizzles.”

  “Believe me, I know all about fizzle,” Ruth said.

  Parker thought about her relationship with Amy. Steph had given them both a push. They might not have gotten together otherwise. Under the looming cloud of Amy’s mother’s Alzheimer’s and a burned house, they could’ve easily fizzled before they even got properly ignited. Not to mention, they were both haunted by failed love affairs. Yes, she thought, it had taken a push from Steph to help them realize their chance at true love and happiness.

  They went out to the back deck. Steph let the silver maple in the backyard grow over the deck each summer before trimming it back in the fall. It provided shade and cooled the deck, especially in the dog days of July. Parker was glad the roof would be up on the addition. She couldn’t wait to wire the room and get the sheetrock up. Then they could paint and decorate. She knew they’d both feel better with their baby’s nest ready.