Madam Mom

by Lynda Rees

  On the second-floor landing paused then spiraled to the third crowned by an ornate mural-painted with intricately carved, gleaming white trim circling it, setting expectations of regal events hosted here. The sophisticated atmosphere could look intimidating to an outsider, its icy, pale-blue walls fitting the majestic scene; but Tisha loved this space as a child pretending her Barbie dolls attended balls. She descended the grand staircase in her prom gown as a junior in high school and Mom waltzed down it in elegant attire speeding off to formal functions. Suitable for a queen, it became a mortuary with the queen gone.

  Tisha dabbed tears bittersweet memories evoked. Tisha would decide the fate of the grand estate; but like Scarlett, she didn’t want to think about it now.

  Familiarity embraced Tisha with an unnerving allure wandering lost in revelry through the rooms she’d once felt safe in. Without Mom the monstrosity was simply a structure.

  She should face Gran, but needed her bearings first. Taking a few moments to gather them, she glanced at the laundry and butler’s pantry where she’d hid in the dumbwaiter angering the housekeeper and cook. Tisha snickered, recalling the scolding. They feared for her safety pulling the dangerous stunt in fun.

  She strolled by the chrome and glass formal dining room rarely used. The small maid suite and huge gourmet kitchen complete with a rock fireplace and stainless, industrial appliances held a central work station with built-in wine rack and cooler. Hand-cut stone, earth-tone flooring and black marble counter tops gleamed in late afternoon light streaming through expansive windows across the back.

  She’d spent cozy mornings sipping cocoa with Ms. Flanagan as she prepared the day’s meals, slipping Tisha a couple of her favorite white-chocolate macadamia nut cookies. Tisha graduated to strong, dark, Italian brew while schooling in Paris.

  The family room, complete with flat-screen TV, stereo and blue-ray functionality centered family action where memories were born. Fresh tears trickled along her damp cheeks.

  No new memories made.

  Running a hand over a slick-finished, gleaming-white, baby-grand piano in the corner Tisha swiped a tear. Mom encouraged her to learn, but she had no musical talent or yearning to play. Disappointing Mom saddened her, but Tisha contentedly enjoyed Gran and Roberta’s musical talents. The vast room enveloped the silent piano.

  Would it play again?

  Dad’s memory lingered here. He’d furnished it for comfort with soft, masculine tones and furniture. Tisha treasured family gatherings watching movies or sports, rooting for the Kentucky Wildcats, especially their last precious Christmas together. Tisha performed a play she wrote while they proudly roared with laughter watching her dance and sing, dramatically clowning around in Mom’s elegant evening gown. Dad died soon after the holidays, and their world a tailspin.

  Tisha sighed deeply. Tim, a strange healer—a two sided blade where one side rushes by taking those we love in its wake. On the other it allows hearts to mend leaving memories held tight to our breasts and treasured, until it’s our turn, swept away in time’s ever-rushing current.

  More than blown away by this latest current, she longed for her heart to cease hungering for Mom. She yearned to remember happiness shared without her breath freezing painfully like a glacier in her chest.

  Tisha headed toward Gran’s domain—might as well get it over with. At the doorway she leaned on the frame for support, numb, with a not-quite-all-there sense. The resonance of the place, no longer home, drew her in acknowledging its welcome and cherished memories. It would never be the same. Life here ended. A trespasser, a visitor at best, she belonged elsewhere.

  Testing Tisha’s talent for losing loved ones had grown weary. Dad murdered, shot in a gang-style drive-by. Uncle Jason succumbed to cancer, and Mom gone. She’d believed she loved Simon. He felt dead to her. Gran aged quickly and would soon go with the others.

  How could Tisha survive? She never felt as totally alone. A leading force in their lives, a tower of strength, Mom had been a beacon quietly forging the path, the family center—small as it was—the glue holding them together. A maestro, she taught Tisha to eliminate obstacles and achieve goals. The essence of a true leader, a blessing and a wonderful trait in a mother, her light in the dark, rock to lean on, and a ladder to achievement. Base—structure—support—the center of her universe, Mom held her heart. Tisha had been lucky to have her.

  Choking, overwhelmed with tears, she grasped for the hankie in her pocket and smiled connecting with the business card. She felt it there, comforted knowing she could reach out to Sam if she chose. Sweet and sexy, an intriguing, unusual combination, he gave what she needed and wanted. She felt grateful to the strange man. Any other time — Gran’s sweet, melodious voice woke her from musing. “Angel, is it you? Tisha are you home? Come, I’m in my bedroom.”

  Bad enough for Tisha, Mom was Gran’s remaining child. Could frail Gran handle it? Gran’s inability to hear clearly on the phone was expected at her age. Physically healthy, she weakened considerably from a previously broken hip. Arthritis forced her to rely on a walker. She never complained, treading forward like the Ever Ready Battery® no matter the obstacle.

  The way Gran rolled.

  Could she survive it? Tisha feared losing her before long. She dreaded watching her suffer this pain. It wouldn’t be easy, but they had each other.

  “Yes, Gran. It’s me. I’m here.” Tisha forced calm into her voice strengthening for Gran.

  She removed her coat, folded it and laid it atop her suitcase sitting by the stairs. She dropped her purse next to it. Forgetting stealth employed in her wandering tour, her clicking heels on wood flooring echoed in the silence as she strode confidently into Gran’s room.

  Frail but brilliant with enthusiasm, Gran appeared happy to see her. Sitting in a cushy over-stuffed loveseat aside a roaring blaze from the hearth, her tiny, noble body ruled the ultra-feminine suite. Reaching with thin, pale arms covered with crepe-like age spots, her gentle hand cradled Tisha’s cheek. The miniature woman exuded power Tisha hadn’t foreseen. Long, slender fingers stroked Tisha’s pale jaws. Perfectly manicured, fuchsia nails testified to her boisterous personality.

  Had Tisha underestimated Gran?

  “My girl, my perfect girl, I’m glad you’re home.”

  Tisha bent to kiss thinning skin on Gran’s flawlessly made-up face. A stickler for appearance, she deemed it unacceptable being seen without makeup. She religiously applied it soon as she woke each morning.

  Tisha laughed. “I see you’re still using the walker.” The customized contraption testified to Gran’s creative, wacky side and fascination for bling.

  “Heck yeah, I don’t need a damned wheelchair.” Gran stubbornly pointed to the closet.

  “Your Card Club did a fine job bejeweling it with multi-colored rhinestones.”

  “Well sure. I finally decided to use it. They dedicated a meeting to decorating it for me. I love the shocked looks as people take notice.” Gran fondly treasured the walker.

  “You have a good time with those girls in The Card Club.”

  “Yeah, we used to focus on cards. It morphed into a social outing with cocktails and juicy gossip.”

  “You delighted in shocking each other with whatever scandalous tidbits you share. I understand the goal to provide the most provocative news.” Tisha’s tone teased.

  “It’s harmless for the most part, done in fun.” Gran shrugged.

  Elegant, soft, snowy curls framed her adorable chirrup head. She must’ve been knock-down gorgeous when young. Age enhanced her beauty. Iridescent, blue eyes filled with tears. “Baby girl, I’m happy you’re home, and sorry we lost your sweet mom.”

  Tisha fought breaking into sobs herself taking the seat beside her. Gran drew her into a tight hug. Needing comfort the tiny, tough arms provided, Tisha melted into Gran’s embrace. They clung for a while, hesitant to release each other.

  Gran’s realm sported romantic hues of wine and pink velvet and satin. White crown molding accent
uated dark hardwood floors with plush, white rugs strategically placed. A huge flat-screen television capped the fireplace where three brocade love seats encircled the hearth creating a cozy entertainment area, inviting you to curl up and chat. Matching bedding, trimmed with rose velvet edges decorated a hospital bed topped with pink pillows. Gran loved the girlishness of it.

  “I can’t believe it happened. I spoke with her on the phone last evening. She sounded fine.” Tisha bolted upright eyeing the older woman, wiping tears springing forth.

  How could someone cry so much? Endless tears came in an unlimited supply.

  “I know, my dear. It’s shocking. I never considered I’d outlive my girl. It isn’t right—not the natural order of things. No, Mom should outlive her children. No—not right at all—not right.” She shook her head and downy curls bounced. Tisha clung to Gran’s feeble yet sturdy hand.

  “Tell me Gran, what happened?”

  “Well, dear, Roberta applied makeup to go out. Some sort of attack, I understand. I’d gone to bed. Ms. Nelson retired to her room. Ms. Flanagan went home. Nurse Hensley watched television in her room adjoining mine. We heard nothing. No one realized Roberta never went out as planned. She’s always quiet, careful not to disturb the rest of us. We knew nothing until this morning. Roberta always eats breakfast with me, no matter how hectic her schedule or how late she’s out the night before. She didn’t show up. Something had gone wrong.”

  Tisha listened intently, lost in heartache. Moisture flooded her eyes.

  So much for being strong for Gran.

  “I sent Ms. Nelson to check. Roberta’s car parked in the garage where it should be. I sent Nurse Hensley to her room. I figured she might be under the weather. If she’d gotten sick Nurse could tend to her.”

  “Your Mom lay on the floor by her vanity, having fallen from her dressing table chair where she’d applied her makeup. A few curlers removed from her hair, she wore a dressing gown. She’d scheduled to attend a formal business engagement. She didn’t make it.” Gran’s voice quivered. “Nurse Hensley checked vital signs then came rushing, crying. Roberta lay lifeless, not breathing—dead.”

  Tisha patted her bony hands, slick like stretched satin.

  “Apparently a seizure or attack killed her instantly. We never heard her cry out. She’s been there all night. By the time we realized, she long since died.” Gran swiped her eyes with a lace hankie. “I asked her to call 911 and your mom’s attorney. He arrived the same time as the ambulance too late to revive her. They declared her dead upon arrival, having died alone.” Gran pursed her lips and sniffed.

  Tisha cried quietly listening to details. Loss consumed her. Helpless, she didn’t know what to say or do.

  “Of course, they’ll do an autopsy. Likely they’ll declare it a stroke, heart attack, aneurysm or something similar. Whatever, it appeared to have killed her instantly. She wasn’t ill. She would’ve confided in me if she had a condition or illness. The medical examiner’s report will be ready day after tomorrow. The actual autopsy report could take up to six weeks. They won’t bother rushing it since they don’t suspect foul play.” Gran’s voice trembled. “I asked Daniel to make arrangements and call you. I knew you’d come right away.”

  “Yes, Gran, you did right, thank you.” Tisha wiped another flood away. “You could’ve done nothing else. What now?”

  “Yes, dear, I understand. First, go to your room and unpack. Take a nap. Have a long, hot bath. Later come down and have dinner with your old Gran. Ms. Flanagan made your favorite—grilled salmon with horsey sauce, asparagus with a light cheese, wild rice, rye hard rolls, and lemon meringue pie from scratch. Get a good night’s sleep. Arrangements can wait until tomorrow. There’s nothing to do today.”

  “Arrangements, I have no clue what needs to happen or where to begin. Mom always cared for such things.”

  “Dear, Roberta more than over-organized. As usual, she’s seen to everything. Actually, everything is prearranged. Neither of us figured she’d go first, of course. But while we made my arrangements, she did hers as well. She got it over with so you wouldn’t have to deal with it. God knows you’ve enough to handle. It should have been years away, of course.”

  “Gran, what will I do without her? I call and expected her to be here every Sunday. We planned summers traveling exploring the world together, we’ve always done visiting Venice and Greece next summer.” Staring at the ceiling provided no answers. “It doesn’t seem real. I can’t believe she’s gone.” Tisha dabbed her swollen eyes.

  “I know, dear. I can’t believe it either. I’ll miss her every minute for the rest of my life. Why couldn’t it have been me? Why didn’t I go first? Why did God take my Roberta?”

  Tisha’s heart broke watching agony in Gran’s tearful eyes. McClain ladies carried identical hankies engraved with their initials handmade of cotton adorned with fragile lace, created by a local seamstress. Family tradition reassured.

  “Go, dear, get some rest. You look ragged out.” Grand cupped Tisha’s face in her hand. “See you later. I need a nap before dinner.” Gran waved her away.

  Tisha kissed her rouge-pink cheek sniffing Ben Gay® and Chanel No. 5®. The familiar, bizarre combination soothed her senses.

  The house oddly had grown quiet where normally music played. Usually alive with staff activity, none existed. Ms. Flanagan prepared dinner with the kitchen door closed. Nurse Hensley stayed in her room adjoining Grans. Ms. Nelson had been dismissed for the day.

  Heavy blaring of extreme silence consumed the space as the house joined their mourning.

  CHAPTER 4

  The top level of the enormous structure where Tisha grew up had been her domain and sanctuary. The suite included bedroom, bath and sitting room. Her tall bed required steps to get into it. Its hand-carved, mahogany headboard expanded to the ceiling. Tisha loved sinking into the thick, down-topped mattress, cozy and warm. Her private escape as weight of a teenager’s world became too heavy.

  Sunshine-yellow silk with white, floral embroidery dotted bedding and drapes. Various shaped and sized matching pillows piled atop the bed. A hair brush rested on a white lacquered dresser. A double-door entertainment center complete with flat-screen television, stereo, blue ray and gaming system lived near a matching desk holding a gleaming white laptop and laser printer.

  The marble bathroom had a block-glass-walled shower beside an oval jet tub with a waterfall faucet. Plush, sunshine-yellow towels matched rugs. Tisha’s enormous suite occupied more than half of the third floor holding pleasant and pathetically sad memories of her childhood.

  Pulling back heavy brocade covers, she stripped to silk thong and matching lace bra then slid beneath the top sheet enjoying cool silkiness of six-hundred-count Egyptian cotton sheets. Her body went limp and relaxed into luxury. A nap would relieve jack-hammer pounding in her temples.

  Sleep didn’t oblige though she gave it an opportunity. Giving up, staring at the ceiling, heart heavy, her mind raced consumed with memories. Roberta remained strong in Tisha’s thoughts—difficult to accept, she’d no longer exist as part of her life.

  Her phone rang. She moaned. “Hello.”

  “Hey, girl, its Kelle checking in to make sure you made it. How you holding up?”

  She snickered. She’d been the farthest from herself today. How much to explain to her best friend?

  “I’m trying to hang in there. Lying here trying to nap, but my brain won’t shut up.”

  “What’re you thinking?” Kelle’s voice soothed. It felt good hearing it.

  Tisha laughed. “I sneaked into the basement wine cellar to snatch a bottle of Atwood Concord. Lounging on the weight bench in front of the exercise room’s mirrored walls, I chugged the whole thing. Mom found me upchucking in a laundry room bucket. She dragged me to the sauna; and we talked about what had been bothering me while I sweat it out of my system. Never once did she berate me for stealing the wine or getting drunk. Instead she acted loving and supportive.”

  “Your m
om was a hell of a woman. Are you, Tisha? Don’t forget it.” Kelle’s support warmed Tisha inside. She’s more a partner than an employee, though the business belonged to Tisha with Roberta as a silent partner. An asset, Kelle knew the company as well as Tisha and took pride in the gallery. The women made an effective team.

  Snickering, recalling earlier today, she decided to hare. “Yeah, I did something today more typical of you than me.”

  “Do tell.” Kelle sounded intrigued. “I’m not bad. Am I?”

  “Let’s say you like to love ‘em and leave em. Kiss and kick ‘em to the curb, so to speak. You play the field, my dear Kelle. No harm. No foul.”

  “I hadn’t realized my predictability.” Kelle used her best southern drawl imitation. As a running joke, they continually mocked each other’s brogues. Kelle haled from Boston with a strong Bostonian accent. Tisha, from northern Kentucky, didn’t realize she had one. Kelle insisted it twanged pure country.

  “A cute guy on the plane kept talking and trying to comfort me. At first annoyed, I acted the ill-tempered bitch.”

  “It didn’t scare him off? Great, did you get his number? You going to see him again?” Kelle’s voice perked up.

  “Geez, I hope not. I literally dragged him into the Ladies’ Room and had hot, dirty sex with him in a bathroom stall.”

  Kelle spit her drink followed with a long gasp and a moment of silence. “No shit? You did it?”

  “Yeah, in a moment of weakness with me dead inside, he acted sweet, kind, and well-meaning. His sandy blonde hair refused to stay off his forehead. Baby-blue eyes sparkled like Caribbean sea-water and the most delightful dimples formed smiling. Having him might bring me to life again.”

  A long whistle from Kelle pierced the line. “Hell. You go, girl. Did it work?”

  Tisha shrugged. “I believe so. I felt stronger and came out of a semi-catatonic state I wandered around in. Now I’m acutely alive and the pain is agonizing. I’m not sure I did myself any favors.”