“Why do you think Peter said, ‘She’s dying,’ and not, ‘Mom’s dying’?”
Sarah’s fingernails dug into my shoulders, where she squeezed them. She was restraining herself, was my guess. She often accused me of acting like an intellectual first and a human second. She hesitated for a moment before saying, “Honestly, I don’t know. But I think we should discuss it later—”
“I read somewhere recently that when someone says ‘honestly,’ they’re lying.”
“Lizzie…” Her voice sounded tense before it died out. She dashed out of the room and returned with my jacket. I was still fully dressed.
She clutched her car keys in one hand. Without speaking, she pulled me out of my desk chair and pushed me toward the door. “Let’s go.” It was a command.
Neither of us said a single word during the drive. The digital clock on the dashboard announced it was three in the morning. Heavy clouds tinged the sky a vibrant rouge, and if I didn’t know the time, I would have thought it was closer to sunset or sunrise, not deep in the night. Snow sprinkled the windshield but left no trace of moisture. The asphalt was bone dry. The first snow of the season usually didn’t amount to much.
A hospice nurse met us at the door and led us to Mom’s room.
The death room.
I cringed, hesitating before entering. This time, Sarah didn’t shove me into action; instead, she gave me an encouraging nod.
My father and brother sat on either side of the bed.
Tiffany stood by the window, gazing out.
“It’s snowing outside,” she said, to no one in particular.
No one responded.
My father looked up and nodded hello, seeming relieved that we arrived.
Peter didn’t seem relieved. He stormed out without saying a word. No words were needed.
I took Peter’s seat and reached for my mother’s hand, half expecting it to be cold; it wasn’t.
“We’ll give you a moment,” my father murmured. He stood and directed his gaze to Tiffany, imploring her to follow. She finally realized Sarah and I had arrived and smiled a wan greeting before looping her arm through my father’s. I didn’t think I’d ever seen anyone do that to him before.
When they left, I kept my eyes fixed on the closed door, feeling trapped. Stunned.
Sarah cleared her throat. “Do you want me to leave?”
I shook my head, unable to speak.
My mother remained absolutely still. I felt the urge to place a mirror over her mouth, like they did in the movies. Then she let out a gasp that made me jump. “Jesus,” I whispered loudly.
Mom stirred, and then settled back down, still not opening her eyes. The sheet moved up and down, very slowly, almost imperceptibly. At least Mom was still breathing—for the moment.
“Do you have anything you want to say?” Sarah nudged my shoulder.
I felt like I was six years old, standing in front of the class, panicking during my turn for show-and-tell.
My mouth opened, yet no words came out.
I stood and stared out the window. The sky was still red, and I couldn’t help but wonder about it. Did the universe know about my mom’s impending death?
“I never got the chance to get to know you.” My words were barely more than a whisper and were followed by a small, insincere chuckle that held no joy. “We lived in the same house for eighteen years, and I never felt like I belonged. Not in your world. Not in your home.”
Sarah shuffled uneasily behind me. This probably wasn’t what she’d had in mind, but she stayed mute.
“Did you know I used to call you The Scotch-lady?” I turned, to see Mom’s response.
Of course, there wasn’t one.
Sarah blinked uneasily, but I continued. “It wasn’t until you got…sick…that I felt something. Like you letting me in…well, as much as you could. It wasn’t how I wanted it.” I sat back down next to Mom and held her hand once again. “But I’ll take it,” I sighed. “I didn’t tell you this before, because I was scared. You always terrified the shit out of me.” I paused and sucked in a deep breath. “Sarah and I…we’re trying to have a baby.”
I felt Sarah’s hands on my shoulders. I couldn’t see anything through my tears. My voice was faltering, and I knew I needed to say the rest quickly, or I would never finish.
“I learned a lot from you, Mom. Even if we didn’t have the best relationship, it never stopped me from loving you.”
Finally.
I’d said it.
I twisted my hands in my lap, waiting for a reaction—any reaction.
My mother remained still. I was always late in realizing my feelings. Yet, I’d said it. I would have to be okay if she didn’t reply.
I sucked in some air, flinching when I also swallowed some snot. Sarah squatted next to me, and I rested my weary head on her shoulder and flicked more tears off my face.
“Is she—?” Peter barged in. My tears stopped him in his tracks.
I shook my head.
He didn’t respond, but I felt his scorn. Determination and control, the two things my brother exuded. I felt the urge to laugh in his face. To slap him, even. His bravado was useless in this situation, and I was starting to realize that it was all he had. Bravado. No human emotion. He’d never be a happy man. Or a complete one.
“Come on, Sarah. Let’s give Peter some time with Mom.” I resisted my desire to emphasize Mom. He wouldn’t understand why. He would never understand much of anything. I’d always thought I was the weak one, the pathetic one. But I wasn’t. That was Peter. And Mom.
We found Tiffany and my father sitting at the table in the kitchen nook. Tiffany looked up when we entered and hopped out of her seat. “I’ll fix you two a cup of tea.”
“I’ll help,” offered Sarah.
I sat across from my father. He grunted quietly to acknowledge me. The sky outside had turned charcoal; the snow had stopped. I searched for some meaning in that, but couldn’t piece it together. Life. Death. Who knew anything, really? Probably, by the time I had it all figured out, I would be on my deathbed. Was that why Mom had started to let me in? Did she have an epiphany? Or was she terrified? The poor woman forced to rely on the one child she had never liked.
Peter ambled in, still exuding control. I glanced at my father to gauge his reaction. There wasn’t one.
“I’ll go sit with her,” Dad said, leaving.
Peter patted him on the back the way football players did after a tough play. There was no emotion in it; he was just going through the motions.
Sarah and Tiffany sat down, cradling their teacups.
The three of us sat in silence while Peter leaned against the window, his arms akimbo.
“We haven’t sent out invitations yet…considering…” Tiffany flushed. “But I hope you two will come to our wedding.”
That drew Peter’s attention. “Tiff, family stuff really isn’t Elizabeth’s thing.” His tone was prickly.
None of us paid him any attention.
“It’ll be a small affair, actually,” Tiffany continued. “Two hundred or so.”
Two hundred! That was small?
Peter cleared his throat and tried to make eye contact with his fiancée. It appeared that Tiffany was intentionally shutting him out. Had something happened between them? Maybe she had caught him red-handed, and this was part of his just desserts? She seemed stronger, more in control.
“We’d love to,” said Sarah.
I nodded.
I knew Peter had always wanted a marriage just like our parents’, but I didn’t think he understood what that meant. He scowled, his handsome face showing his frustration, but there was something else there too. I studied him out of the corner of my eye. Defeat. He looked defeated.
I sipped my tea, its warmth sliding down my throat and into my body. I reached for Sarah’s hand and gave it a squeeze.
My mother died a little after midday.
All five of us were present when she took her last breath. I had hoped she’d looked peaceful when it was all said and done, but she didn’t. She looked tiny and alone under her blanket.
The days afterward passed in a blur. Dad asked me to help organize all of Mom’s personal papers. It was the first time I had been in her study. She’d never spent much time in there, so I never thought to snoop when I was younger. I’d forgotten about it completely until my father brought it up.
In the bottom drawer of her desk, I found several historical journals. Intrigued, I pulled them out to study the table of contents. Each one contained an article I had published. Stunned, I sorted them. To the best of my recollection, she hadn’t missed a single article I had penned.
Anger welled up inside me. Would it have killed the woman to have said something—just one thing to let me know I wasn’t the biggest disappointment of her life. Shit! I’d tortured myself for years trying to get her approval, and spent even more years pretending her words, or lack of words, didn’t cut me to the bone. And now this.
“She was proud of you.”
I hadn’t heard my father enter the room, and I jumped in my chair.
I rested my hand on the stack of journals, tapping my fingers so he wouldn’t notice my hand was shaking.
“Your mother was a tough woman to know, and to love, Lizzie.” He sat down heavily in a leather chair. “But she was hardest on herself.” He handed me a tumbler of whiskey and took a sip of his own. “She didn’t allow herself to feel.” He raised his glass to his dead wife’s honor.
* * *
“She didn’t want to feel, and I couldn’t stop myself from feeling too much!” I paced in my office.
Sarah sat on the edge of one of the couches. “Isn’t it good to finally know the truth?”
I paused and glared at her.
She put her palms in the air and her eyes widened. “I know it doesn’t take the pain away, but still…”
I strolled over to the bar with one purpose: to pour a stiff drink so I wouldn’t have to feel; it had worked for The Scotch-lady. Raising the gin bottle, I shook it in Sarah’s direction. She declined a drink. The taut look on her face suggested she thought I’d had too much. I poured a generous swig and added a splash of tonic on top, not sure why I bothered.
Then I sank into a wing-backed chair and immediately guzzled half of my drink. Its burn began, a warm, tingling sensation coursing through my body. I let out a satisfied sigh.
“Is this your plan tonight?” Sarah motioned to my glass.
“Yup!” I answered, too enthusiastically.
She shook her head in disgust and left the room, letting me wallow in my own self-pity.
The next thing I remembered was someone shouting, “You fucking idiot!”
I rubbed my eyes, confused. Did I leave the TV on? Who was shouting?
“What were you thinking, Lizzie?”
I cracked open one eye and shut it just as quickly. Sunlight scorched my retinas.
I felt a weight on the couch and someone grabbed the gin bottle I’d been cradling. I fought, until I realized it was Maddie.
“Maddie, what the fuck?” I snatched the bottle back from her.
“‘What the fuck?’” she mimicked. “What did you do last night?”
I sat up on the couch, instantly regretting that decision. The room swirled and the bottom fell out. I held my head in both hands and groaned.
“Drank…! Drank too much.” I pushed my palms into my eye sockets, trying to still the falling feeling.
Maddie sniffed loudly. “You need a shower. I’ll make a pot of coffee.” She raised her hand and pointed to the door. “Go. Now.”
“Where’s Sarah?” I asked.
“She doesn’t want to be around you until you sober up. And Jesus, you reek!” Again, she pointed to the door. “Go!”
When I stumbled into the kitchen half an hour later, Maddie said, “Well, you look a little better.” She walked past me and sniffed again. “And you don’t stink as much.” Shoving a cup of coffee into my hand, she eyed me until I sipped the scorching liquid.
“Shit! That’s hot.” I waved my hand in front of my mouth.
“I don’t care. Drink it.”
Her scowl intimidated the shit out of me, so I did as instructed, even if I wouldn’t be able to taste any food for a month afterward.
She crossed her arms. “Are you done feeling sorry for yourself?”
I nodded, but Maddie didn’t look convinced.
“I’ll swear on a stack of Bibles to prove it,” I offered.
“Yeah, right. Like that would mean anything to you. Where’s your copy of Herodotus?” She bounded to the library and I stumbled after her. I watched her scan the shelves in search of the ancient Greek book, The Histories.
“How do you even know about Herodotus?” I surreptitiously searched the shelves for my copy as well.
“You aren’t the only one with a brain. Everyone knows the Father of History.” She waved my stupidity away.
“I’m pretty sure you’re wrong, considering many of my students couldn’t name him on their exam paper.”
“Students!” She scoffed. “No one knows anything until they finish college. Aha!” She made a beeline for it from across the room. “Here it is. Okay, put your hand out.”
I complied.
“Do you swear to stop wallowing and not to drink yourself into oblivion?”
I nodded.
Maddie cupped her ear. “What? I can’t hear you?”
“Yes, I swear. Now tell me, where’s Sarah?”
Maddie watched the book closely, as if it might burst into flames if it sensed I was lying. “Shopping with her mom,” she said. “She asked me to check on you, considering…” Maddie indicated the empty gin bottle on the floor. Her face softened. “Would you like to talk?”
“Not really.” Hank wandered in and jumped into his usual spot in front of the window, immediately grooming one of his paws. “It was a shock, really.” I wrapped my arms around my chest.
“Why don’t we go hiking? I know how much you love to hike in the snow.”
I did. I loved being surrounded by untrodden snow, feeling like an explorer seeing a place for the first time.
“It’ll clear your head.” Maddie left the room to find her coat.
I smiled, feeling fortunate to have such a wonderful friend.
“I’m awake,” I texted Sarah. “And not too hungover!”
I lied about the last bit.
Chapter Sixteen
My phone buzzed. Another text.
I blew it off, since it was probably only from Maddie. How that woman found the time to text and email twenty-four-seven astounded me. An hour later, as I was shoving some sprouts into a pita for lunch, I noticed it had no caller ID. And that I’d never responded.
“Would you like to meet me for lunch?”
My jaw nearly hit the floor. Tiffany—my brother’s fiancée. Why in the world was Tiffany texting me? How did she even get my number?
It wasn’t like we were friends. True, we’d be “sisters” after Christmas, but I never really bought into that. I didn’t like my blood relatives, let alone in-laws.
“Yes.” I sent a tentative message back.
“Tomorrow???” Within a minute, Tiffany responded.
Shit!
The last time I’d made an effort to befriend Peter’s soon-to-be wife, it hadn’t gone over that well. Sure, Maddie and I were still friends, but my brother hadn’t spoken to me since, not until I’d seen him at the hospital after Mom’s cancer. He didn’t know I’d made a pass at Maddie, but he knew I’d helped her escape minutes before she was supposed to walk down the aisle to marry him. I was 99.93% certain he wouldn’t want me to have lunch with Tiffany.
So I agreed.
I didn’t agree just to get under Peter’s skin; I was also curious about what she wanted. Knowing Peter wouldn’t approve was just an added b
onus.
I arrived early at the restaurant the following day. Tiffany was fifteen minutes late. It shocked me. I figured she’d be the type to arrive much later.
“So sorry I’m late, traffic was a bitch.”
Again, this surprised me. She didn’t just apologize for being late; she spoke like we were old friends. Something was going on, and I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to know what.
“No worries. I always have a book.” I patted my Kindle.
“Let me guess, you’re like Peter. You arrive early for everything. Except that he spends his time answering emails, not reading.” Her tone suggested she preferred my way of killing time, even if she didn’t read herself. I wondered if his career was causing issues on the home front. His job was the only thing my brother was devoted to. I used to think he was loyal to my parents, but after seeing how he handled Mom’s death, I suspected he was more of an opportunist than I’d thought. People didn’t matter to Peter. Business mattered. That and his inheritance.
“How is Peter holding up?” I had a pretty good idea, but I thought it would be polite to ask.
She waved a hand. “You know Peter.”
I did. But I wondered if she knew the man she was marrying in less than a month.
The waitress popped into view and scared the shit out of me. Was she a ninja or something?
“What can I get you two?”
I nodded for Tiffany to order first. She glanced at the menu and ordered a salad. How typical.
I ordered a steak and parmesan sandwich, with a side salad instead of fries. Sarah was really on my case lately about eating better. I’d never been a big fan of rabbit food, but I thought I might as well make an effort, especially since Sarah had been buying organic at home.
“So, you’re probably wondering why I invited you to lunch.” Her frown and smile baffled me.
“Uh…” Should I be honest with her? “Actually, yes I am.” I decided to go for it.
“It breaks my heart that you and Peter aren’t close. I plan on changing that.” Her smile was shrewd; it made her look ridiculous instead of triumphant.
“Really? How do you propose to make that happen?” I lifted my iced tea.
“I want you to be one of my bridesmaids,” she declared. She said it like it was the most obvious solution.
A Woman Ignored (A Woman Lost Book 2) Page 18