A Mother's Choice

by Kristin Noel Fischer

  *

  Instead of waiting for Kyle, I went to my mother’s house. From past experience, I knew an hour at the hospital could easily turn into two or five, and I didn’t want to stay home, waiting for my husband’s return. I was sick of waiting behind everyone else who demanded his attention.

  At my mother’s house, we ate lunch on the back porch under the live oak trees. It was unseasonably warm for late February, and I embraced the sunshine, knowing the Texas weather could change any minute.

  Usually, my mom asked all sorts of questions about work and school, but today she seemed distant and distracted. Her eyes were red rimmed as if from crying, and she kept coughing.

  “Are you okay?” I asked after the boys excused themselves to inspect the perimeter for invaders.

  She rubbed a finger over the wooden picnic table. “My allergies are bothering me, but other than that I’m fine, sweetheart. What about you? Is everything okay with you and Kyle?”

  “Of course.” I swallowed the lump in my throat. I hadn’t even mentioned my fight with Kyle, but somehow she knew, just like I knew she wasn’t fine.

  She touched the sleeve of my emerald-green sweater. “I love this color on you. It brings out the color of your eyes.”

  “Thanks. Kyle gave it to me for Christmas.” I hugged my chest and rubbed the sleeves of my sweater.

  “Hey, Mom, look at me,” Zane hollered from a lower tree branch. “I’m going to climb all the way to the moon.”

  I smiled. “Just be home in time for dinner.”

  “What if an alien asks me to spend the night?”

  Logan joined his little brother in the tree. “I’ll make sure he comes back.”

  “I’ll send my spaceship to get you if it’s dark,” my mother added.

  Both boys grinned. “Cool.”

  “Thanks,” I told her, feeling content. I’d always found being at my mom’s house comforting. I loved how she took care of me, cooked for me, gave me books to read, and often let me take a nap while she watched the boys. Instead of being a responsible wife and mother, I could relax without worrying about anything.

  Logan had been such a fussy baby, and at one point, my mom suggested Kyle and I move in with her so she could help. I’d jumped at the offer, but after talking it over with Kyle, we both agreed it would be best for our family to stay in our little rental house next to the medical school and hospital. Today, I questioned that decision.

  My mom stacked the plates, but instead of carrying them into the kitchen, she remained seated. “Did I ever tell you about the horrific fight your father and I had before you were born?”

  “No, tell me.” I tried not to sound too eager, but she seldom talked about her past, and certainly never spontaneously like this. Perhaps my melancholy mood had triggered her memory.

  Everything I knew about my father came from my older sister Eleanor. She’d told me his name was Jude Kingsley, and he was a handsome man, very much in love with our mother. They’d built a good life in Seattle, but shortly before I was born, he was killed in a horrible car accident along with my oldest sister Angela. After that, my mother moved our family to Texas in order to be closer to her parents and start over.

  Scooting back on the picnic bench, she smiled. “Well, the fight was awful. We yelled and screamed and didn’t talk for hours.”

  “What was it about?”

  She shook her head. “It’s not important now, but we worked it out. I didn’t think we could …”

  “How did you resolve it?”

  Her eyes lit with mischief. “Your father finally realized I was right.”

  She said the last part as a joke and I laughed. Hopefully, Kyle would realize I was right. This fellowship was a terrible idea.

  She squeezed my hand and stood. “I’m playing golf this afternoon, so I better get going. If you want to stay for dinner, there’s leftover seafood pasta in the refrigerator, but I’m going out and won’t be back until later.”

  “Who are you going out with?” I asked.

  She gathered the plates, placing the silverware on top. “Oh, just some friends from golf. No one you know.”

  There was a faraway note in her voice. She didn’t elaborate, and I didn’t ask her to. After she left, the boys and I went inside, and I helped them set up my old wooden train set. I’d been somewhat of a tomboy and had collected several thousand train pieces over the years, including my beloved ferryboat and suspension bridge. There were now enough track pieces to construct a large circular path that ran through the kitchen, living room, and dining room.

  While the boys played, I went into the living room and pulled down several photo albums from the bookshelf. As a child, I’d spent hours on the couch, paging through family albums while my mom taught piano lessons in the other room.

  Opening the first album, I smiled at a picture of my parents on their wedding day. My mother wore soft pink lipstick and a beautiful, white lace gown. My father looked young and gave an expression of wonder, as if he couldn’t believe this gorgeous woman was actually marrying him.

  The edges of the picture had yellowed, and I vowed once again to scan all my mother’s photos into the computer to make a digital file. I’d helped my brother’s wife, Darlene, do the same last summer, and while it was time consuming, it hadn’t been difficult.

  Turning the page, I found a picture of my father holding a newborn baby. “Angela and Jude,” the caption read. This was my father and oldest sister who’d died together. I often wondered how different my life would’ve been had they lived. Would my parents have stayed in Seattle? Would they have had more children after me?

  Several pictures were missing from the album. My mom explained they’d fallen out during the move to Texas thirty years ago, and she’d stuck them in a box for safekeeping. Maybe I should start my digital project by scanning those loose photos before addressing the pictures already in albums. I was pretty sure the photos were in a box at the back of the attic; the worst place in the world for photographs.

  Deciding there was no time like the present, I climbed into the attic and made my way past the Christmas decorations, old furniture, and clothes. I used to criticize my mother for having so much clutter, but once I became a mother myself, I understood how difficult it was to throw away your preschooler’s macaroni masterpiece of Abraham Lincoln.

  As a teenager, I dreamed of turning the attic into my own private sanctuary like I’d seen in several teen movies. Unfortunately, my mom never agreed to the idea, and I was forced to live in a conventional bedroom with heating and air-conditioning like the rest of my middle-class subdivision.

  At last I reached the back wall, and sure enough, the box was exactly where I thought it would be. I peeked inside, relieved to see most of the pictures were still in good shape.

  I laughed at a picture of my mother with Angela and my brothers—all wearing red, white, and blue bicentennial button-down collared shirts. I’d never seen anything so tacky. Scrawled on the back of the photo were the words, “July 4, 1976. Happy 200 years, America!” Had my mom sewn these shirts? Had she made one for my father? What about Eleanor? I couldn’t imagine my finicky sister wearing something so atrocious.

  I continued digging through the photos, overwhelmed by how many there were. How would I ever organize them?

  I found one of the many handmade postcards my father had sent my mom during their courtship. Eleanor told me he’d written hidden messages in them, but I couldn’t see any secret message. Maybe if I used a magnifying glass I’d be able to read them.

  I continued looking through the box, laughing at all the various fashion trends. Some of the things my brothers wore were hysterical—plaid pants, sweater vests, and wide collars. Dan had a plum-colored velour sweater he was quite fond of, and Michael didn’t seem to go anywhere without his red tracksuit. No wonder neither one of them had any fashion sense to this day.

  My phone buzzed with a text from Kyle. “Where are you?”

  “At my mom’s,” I typed back
.

  I watched the cursor blink, wondering if he was mad or actually writing something. Finally, his text came through. “Come home … please.”

  Chapter 6

  Jude unexpectedly showed up at my house on Saturday evening with a sheepish grin and two pairs of ice skates slung over his shoulder. “A pretty girl like you probably has plans for Saturday night, but—”

  “No,” I practically shouted, too excited about seeing him again to hold back the eagerness in my voice. I hadn’t been able to stop fixating over the way he kissed me during our practice the other day and what he’d said about falling for me.

  He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Would you like to go skating? I don’t know if you have your own pair, but I borrowed these from a neighbor.”

  “Wonderful. I’ve outgrown mine.” I gestured awkwardly at my enormous feet, then cringed, fearing I’d frighten Jude. If he noticed, he didn’t seem to be bothered.

  My mother came to the door and invited Jude inside while I collected my coat, hat, scarf, and mittens. Daddy came out of his office to say hello, but he kept his distance and scowled at the way Jude’s hair hung over his brow.

  “We’d better get going,” I said, worried my father might suggest a barber or offer to cut Jude’s hair himself.

  Outside, I exhaled with relief and watched my breath dance in the cold air. It had snowed all morning, transforming the trees and rooftops into a magical kingdom. Our feet crunched on the sidewalk as we walked down to the park.

  At the outdoor skating rink, we sat on a bench underneath the large evergreen tree decorated with hundreds of little white lights. As we laced up our skates, our legs casually brushed against each other, delighting me each time.

  Finally, I stood, excited to join the other skaters on the ice and show off my skills. “Ruby and I used to come here all the time. It’s one of my favorite places in the world.”

  “Then I’m glad you agreed to come with me.” Jude remained seated, looking up at me with a vulnerability I didn’t understand. “I should probably confess I’ve never skated before.”

  “What?”

  He nodded. “Tim suggested I take you ice skating, but now that we’re here, I don’t know what to do.”

  I laughed, both surprised and touched. Holding out my mitten-covered hands, I pulled him to his feet. “Come on. I’ll teach you.”

  His ankles flopped back and forth as we walked to the ice. “You won’t let me fall, right?” he asked, sounding like an adorable little kid.

  “Falling is half the fun,” I insisted. “Besides, it doesn’t hurt that much.”

  I stepped onto the slick ice, and he followed, gripping my arm with his left hand and flailing wildly in an attempt to catch his balance with his right. I’m sure we looked like Laurel and Hardy, tripping over each other until we suddenly fell hard, my back landing against his chest.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, worried I’d hurt him.

  He laughed and so did I. The ice was cold on my legs, but my back and neck felt warm against Jude’s body. He squeezed me tight. “All right, superstar, let’s try again.”

  Blushing, I stood and brushed off my pants before helping Jude to his feet. Then, holding his hands with both of mine, I skated backwards, gently pulling him forward. We both stared at his shaky feet as we circled the rink in an awkward dance. He didn’t seem to be improving, and I wondered if skating was one of those skills you had to learn as a child. Maybe it was too late for Jude.

  “Wait a minute,” he said, interrupting my thoughts. “I think I can do this.”

  He straightened and released his grip. Then he shocked me by striding across the ice as if he’d been skating his whole life. I stood in awe, watching him expertly glide forward, knees bent, head up, and torso straight. He easily turned one direction, then the other. Beaming, he raced back toward me before angling his blades to shave the ice and come to a full stop.

  “Jude Kingsley,” I shouted. “You tricked me! You’re an excellent skater.”

  He laughed. “I guess I did play ice hockey for five years back in Boston.”

  I tried to swat him on the arm, but he spun out of my reach and took off across the ice. I sprinted after him, chasing him around the rink several times. We both laughed until our bellies hurt.

  “Will you forgive me?” he asked when I’d finally caught up with him. “You can’t blame me. I just wanted an excuse to be near you.”

  I softly elbowed him in the ribs, and he put his arm around me. He didn’t need an excuse to be near me, but I wasn’t going to tell him that. At least not yet.

  We continued skating together, talking and flirting as if we didn’t have a care in the world. On a distant radio, I heard Elvis singing Are You Lonesome Tonight. Jude squeezed my hand and winked. Lonesome? No, I wasn’t, thank you very much.

  Afterward, Jude bought two hot chocolates from a street vendor, and we leisurely strolled home, talking about books, blueberry pancakes, and architecture. Jude was obsessed with large structures, especially the Empire State Building, which he told me had 103 floors and 6,514 windows.

  “That’s a lot of windows to clean,” I said, trying to be funny.

  His gaze met mine. “I’m sorry. I’m talking too much. It’s just so easy to talk to you, Nadine.”

  I smiled. “It’s easy to talk to you, too.”

  On my front porch, Jude kissed me goodnight for a long time. His kiss grew more urgent, and without warning, he placed both hands low on my hips and pressed me against the wall. I let out an involuntary moan of pleasure. Oh, Lord. Is this why the nuns spent so much time warning us about boys and their lustful desires?

  Running my hands through Jude’s thick hair, I pulled him closer. Kissed him harder. Held him tighter.

  Then Daddy yanked open the door and told me it was time to come inside this very instant. Jude practically jumped off the porch. With a startled wave, he said goodnight and disappeared down the street.

  “Goodnight, Daddy,” I hollered, racing up the stairs to my bedroom.

  “Nadine!”

  Heat burned my face, and I imagined my cheeks were red from Jude’s rough whiskers. “Yes, sir?” I turned around slowly, praying he hadn’t seen me in the mist of passion on the front porch.

  His eyes narrowed. “You be careful with that boy, do you hear me?”

  “Yes, sir,” I replied. Then I hurried down the hall, certain that “careful” was the last thing I wanted to be with that boy.

  *

  On the night of the talent show, my stomach fluttered with nerves. Ruby came over to my house to help with my hair and makeup.

  “Are we okay?” I asked as she teased my hair into a beehive that rivaled Audrey Hepburn’s. I was worried about our friendship because lately, I’d spent a tremendous amount of time with Jude. I hadn’t meant to neglect Ruby, but every day after school, Jude and I studied at the library while Ruby worked at her grandparents’ grocery store. Sometimes she’d join us after work, but most of the time she was too tired.

  Ruby picked up a bobby pin from my bathroom counter. “Of course we’re okay. Why wouldn’t we be?”

  “Well,” I began, nervous about her reaction, “I’m worried things aren’t okay because of Jude.”

  Her face flinched. “You mean because I liked him first?”

  I wanted to argue that I didn’t know she liked him first. I thought we both liked him at the same time, but I knew that wasn’t the point.

  “Do you want me to stop seeing him?”

  She sighed. “No, you two are perfect together. I’m just jealous.”

  I released the breath I’d been holding. “Don’t be jealous. He could never replace you. You’ll always be my best friend.”

  She pressed her lips together. “Too bad he doesn’t have a brother.”

  I smiled. When Ruby and I were kids, we talked about marrying brothers so we could be real sisters and spend vacations and holidays together. “What about Tim O’Connor? Jude and Tim are good
friends. They’re practically brothers.”

  Ruby made a face. “Tim O’Connor? No way.”

  “You were laughing with him yesterday.”

  Her face reddened. “Okay, I admit, he’s gotten kind of cute, and he isn’t as annoying as he used to be, but … I want someone who looks at me the way Jude looks at you.”

  My knees buckled. “What do you mean?”

  Ruby’s eyes met mine. “He looks at you as if you’re the most important person in the world. As if nothing else matters. As if he really loves you.”

  Joy bubbled through me. I felt the same way about Jude, and that feeling was intoxicating, addicting, and all-consuming. I was obsessed, drowning in nothing but thoughts of him day and night. I didn’t want to be one of those girls who abandoned her friends for some boy, but Jude wasn’t just some boy. He was the greatest love of my life, and I wanted to be with him constantly.

  Reaching over, I squeezed Ruby’s hand. “You’ll find someone like that. I know you will.”

  “What if I don’t? What if I end up an old maid with a thousand cats?”

  “Impossible,” I insisted.

  *

  At the high school, Ruby and I found Jude behind the stage, dressed in a stylish black suit and tie. His hair was neatly combed, and he’d shined his shoes with a fresh coat of polish.

  “Let me get a picture,” Ruby said, holding up her camera.

  Jude put his arm around me. “You look beautiful.” Bending down, he brushed his lips across mine. Ruby snapped a photo, capturing the kiss.

  I blinked hard from the flash and laughed. “Please don’t show that picture to my father.”

  “Of course not.” She wished us good luck, then left to find a seat in the audience.

  “Are you nervous?” Jude asked when we were alone.

  “A little.”

  He smiled and kissed me again. I ran a hand over his smooth jaw, but just as I began to relax in his presence, a hand clamped down on my shoulder.

  “Nadine Greene,” Sister Hildegard said, glaring down at me. “I’m ashamed of you. We’ll have none of this behavior! None of it!”