The Snow Globe

by Sheila Roberts

  Thirteen

  The second time Suzanne awoke it was to the aroma of tomato and spices and the yeasty fragrance of home-baked bread. Those were the smells of her childhood and as comforting as the blankets she was nestled under. Her mother’s taste in clothes and décor were abysmal, but when it came to cooking, Mary Madison could have had her own show on the Food Network.

  Suzanne stretched and then reached for her cell phone only to find it was no longer on her nightstand. She checked to see if it had fallen on the floor. No cell phone there, either. She frowned. If Bryn had sneaked it away to play with she was going to be in big trouble.

  Suzanne pushed herself off the bed and grabbed the instruments of torture known as crutches, and made her clumsy way to the upstairs hall. “Guy!”

  Guy didn’t come. Instead her mother appeared at the foot of the stairs. She had donned an apron over her polyester pants and Bryn appeared at her side like a living accessory. “Oh, you’re awake,” she said.

  Bryn detached herself and ran up the stairs, bearing a miniature marshmallow tower covered in pink sprinkles. “Look, Mommy. We made marshmallow snowmen.”

  Goody. The craft marathon had begun.

  Bryn held it out for Suzanne to take.

  Suzanne kissed her daughter and gave her a hug. “That’s very nice, Brynnie.”

  “This one’s for you. Try it, Mommy,” urged Bryn, shoving it in front of her nose.

  “I can’t right now, baby,” said Suzanne. Thank God. “Mommy needs to take her pain pills first. You keep it for me in the kitchen. Okay?” Her daughter’s hands were a sticky mess. “And then go wash your hands before you touch anything.”

  Bryn made a face and trudged back down the stairs and Mom’s brows took a disapproving dip.

  Ah, how well Suzanne knew that expression. “Where’s Guy?”

  “I told him there was no need to hang around here when he had things to do,” said Mom, “not when I can take over.”

  Take over was right. And Guy had been happy to let her. What was with that? Her husband just ran off and left her the minute the next shift arrived?

  He has to work, her rational self reminded her, but she told it to shut up. “Do you know where my cell phone is?”

  “Oh, I took it downstairs,” said her mother as if it were perfectly acceptable to take someone’s cell phone. “I figured you need your rest.”

  Suzanne could feel her blood pressure rising. “I’ve had my rest. Now I need my cell phone.”

  Her mother’s easy smile stiffened. “Fine. I’ll get it. Would you like some soup?”

  “That would be great,” said Suzanne, equally stiff. “Thanks.”

  There was nothing else to say after that, and besides, Suzanne’s ankle was not happy. Scowling, she maneuvered herself back to her bedroom. By the time she got back to bed she was exhausted. This was so not fun. She grabbed her bottle of happy pills and popped one. At the rate things were going, by the time her mother left she’d be a drug addict.

  Mom appeared a few minutes later, carrying a tray with a steaming bowl of soup and a plate with a slice of fresh-baked bread smothered in Suzanne’s healthful butter-substitute spread. The aroma of tomato, garlic, and onions spread through the bedroom. Suzanne sniffed and closed her eyes. Just the smell made her feel better.

  She opened her eyes as Mom set the tray on her lap. There, next to the bread, lay her cell phone. Good. She was connected to the outside world once more.

  Mom perched on the foot of the bed. “How are you feeling?” Her tone of voice said, Let’s make up.

  Sick in bed with her mommy bringing soup; suddenly, Suzanne felt twelve years old again, and in need of understanding. “Crummy. Frustrated.” She tested a spoonful of soup. “This is great,” she said, and dipped the spoon back in, dredging up a pile of finely cut carrot, celery, and parsnip. Mom had given her this recipe last winter but she’d never gotten around to making it.

  “You always did love that soup. Your daughter likes it, too,” Mom added with a smile.

  Suzanne bit into the bread. Wait a minute. This wasn’t her spread. This was real butter. “You bought butter?”

  “Real butter is better for you than that awful imitation stuff,” said Mom.

  “You went out and bought butter?” When had she found time for that?

  “I brought a few things up with me,” said Mom. “I figured if I was going to come up early for Christmas I might as well bring some ingredients for baking. I think Bryn will enjoy that.”

  “She’d like anything her grammy made,” said Suzanne in an effort to be gracious. “I suppose she’s been talking your ear off.”

  “A little.” Mom smoothed the bedspread. “Mostly about a dog named Happy.”

  Suzanne shook her head. “That dog.”

  “She appears to have her heart set on it.”

  “Well, I have my heart set on a diamond necklace,” Suzanne retorted. “That doesn’t mean I’m going to get it.”

  “You’re not a little girl,” said her mother, with that same superior smile she always used when handing out unrequested advice. Before Suzanne could think of anything to say, she stood and moved away. “I’d better get downstairs and see what she’s up to.”

  Suzanne let out her breath in an irritated hiss as her mother bustled her busybody self out of the room. Shouldn’t she be at school still, bossing around helpless children? Two weeks of this. Suzanne would go crazy.

  “I’m losing my mind,” she told Allison when her friend called to check on her Saturday morning. “Julie is having to take my clients around, Bryn is making an army of marshmallow snowmen and expecting me to eat every one, and my mother is, well, my mother.”

  “Any time you want to trade moms let me know,” said Allison, her voice taking on a scolding tone.

  “How about now? I’ll send her right over. She can help you make some more fudge.”

  “Deal,” said Allison.

  Suzanne could see Allison and Mom in Allison’s state-of-the-art kitchen, whipping up exotic confections in Allison’s designer pots. Those two had a mutual admiration society going. “Why don’t you come over here for dinner tonight instead?” What the heck? Let Allison have a dose of Mom. It would give Suzanne a break.

  “That sounds good to me.”

  “Great,” said Suzanne. “I’ll call Kiles, too.” Like Allison was always reminding her, girlfriend time was important.

  “Don’t bother,” said Allison. “She already got a better offer. She and Craig are going skating at the Lynnwood Ice Center and then out for pizza.”

  Kiley was going into this new relationship at a gallop, racing for another heartbreak. “Have you met this guy?” asked Suzanne.

  “Actually, he came by when we were making fudge. He’s funny and kind, perfect for her. It looks like that snow globe was the best investment Kiles ever made.”

  “Yeah, well, it sure paid off for me,” Suzanne grumbled.

  “If you don’t want it, I’ll take it.”

  “You can have it with my blessing.” Right along with her mother. “Just don’t sue me when it ruins your life.”

  They chatted a little longer. Then Allison went back to her baking for the holiday home tour and Suzanne returned to being bored.

  Until she remembered that the decorators were finally coming. Yes! She threw off the bed covers. She was going downstairs no matter what.

  Since it was Saturday Guy was on hand to help her clean up and get downstairs. But on hearing about the pending invasion, he took off for the gym. She had coffee and a piece of toast for breakfast and averted her eyes from the ratty snowman and snow lady Mom and Bryn were constructing from cotton batting.

  “We thought they would look nice on the fireplace mantel, right next to the snow globe,” said Mom. “Didn’t we, Brynnie?” She smiled at Bryn who was happily gluing a lopsided eye on her snow lady.

  “We’ll see,” said Suzanne noncommittally. “I’ve got the decorators coming today.”

  �
�Ah.” Mom nodded, her politeness poorly masking her disapproval.

  Too bad, thought Suzanne. This was her house, not her mother’s.

  To prove it she set up court in the living room and watched while the place became a thing of beauty. When the Holiday Creations crew left a nine-foot tree graced the bay window, simply yet tastefully decked with gold balls and wine-colored ribbon and tiny white lights. The same theme was carried up the stair banister and along the mantel.

  Suzanne made the circuit with her crutches, pleased with all she saw. Everything was perfect, from the front hall to the powder room. “It looks like we’re ready for the holidays,” she said happily as she swung her way back into the living room.

  Bryn, who had been following the workers from room to room, looked at the mantel and frowned. “Where can we put our snowman and snow lady, Grammy?”

  Suzanne’s mother cocked an eyebrow at her. That eyebrow. Her mother always could say so much with it. Right now Suzanne didn’t particularly like what she was saying.

  “How about we put them on your dresser?” Suzanne suggested.

  Bryn’s lower lip stuck out. “But then nobody can see them.”

  That was the general idea.

  “How about here?” Mom suggested, plopping the tacky things on the new coffee table, right next to the pillar candle arrangement. The perfect tacky finishing touch, and a fire hazard to boot.

  “They might catch fire there,” said Suzanne. Had her mother thought of that? Nooo. “I think your room would be better.”

  “But I want Aunt Kiley and Aunt Allison to see them,” protested Bryn, frowning.

  “They will,” Suzanne assured her. “They’ll come up to your room and look. And just think, you’ll have your very own special Christmas room,” she added. “You can put them right next to your pink Christmas tree, and you’ll be able to look at them every night when you go to sleep.”

  Bryn gave up. “Okay.” She hugged the ugly things to her and left the room, frowning.

  Suzanne kept her gaze focused on her daughter, successfully avoiding visual contact with The Eyebrow. But she didn’t escape The Sigh, which was almost as bad.

  She turned to her mother and demanded, “What?”

  “The house looks beautiful, dear. It really does. Certainly more lovely than anything you had growing up.” Her mother stopped and bit her lip.

  She was on a roll. Why stop now?

  “But,” prompted Suzanne. As if she didn’t know what was coming next.

  “I just think what makes a home truly beautiful is the happiness shared by the people who live in it.”

  “We’re happy,” Suzanne protested. How could they not be? “Our life is perfect.”

  “It certainly looks that way,” said her mother. The sneaky little dig wasn’t lost on Suzanne, but before she could respond, Mom said, “I think I’ll get busy in the kitchen. If Allison’s coming over she’ll want Spritz Christmas tree cookies,” then made her exit, leaving her daughter smarting.

  The sting continued all day and into the evening, making it hard for Suzanne to appreciate her friend’s visit. Guy had insisted on moving their daughter’s craft project back down to the living room and the snow couple was now on the coffee table in place of the candles, sitting in judgment on Suzanne, and pronouncing her the world’s worst mother. To top it all, Mom fussed over Allison as though she was the daughter Mom never had.

  Finally, Suzanne had enough. “My ankle is hurting. I think I’m going to go to bed.”

  “Do you want help up the stairs?” Mom offered.

  “You’ve helped enough for one day,” Suzanne assured her.

  “I’ll help her,” said Guy, getting up.

  She would have appreciated his offer if his tone of voice hadn’t added, Pain in the butt that she is. “I can manage,” she said stiffly.

  “Let your husband help you,” said Mom. “That’s what he’s here for.”

  More unrequested advice. “Mom,” Suzanne said sternly.

  “You can pretend you’re Scarlett O’Hara and he’s Rhett Butler,” quipped Allison in an attempt to lighten the moment.

  “I can do it myself,” Suzanne snapped.

  Guy shrugged and said, “Okay then. Knock yourself out, babe.”

  Suzanne turned around in a huff and hobbled off.

  By the time she got to her bedroom she had a thin film of sweat on her forehead and tears on her cheeks. No one understood her.

  She managed in the bathroom, then popped a pain pill and fell into bed.

  She had just gotten settled when her mother arrived with a cup of cocoa. She handed it over with an empathetic look. “I thought you could use this.”

  Mom always did think cocoa was the solution to all of life’s problems. It had made Suzanne feel better when she was a child, but she wasn’t a child now, even if she was acting like one.

  “I know this isn’t fun,” her mother said gently, “but maybe there’s a silver lining here. Maybe this is God’s way of slowing you down a little.”

  Oh, that was helpful. “I don’t need to slow down. I need to make money. This place doesn’t maintain itself. It takes two salaries.”

  “I understand,” said her mother.

  What a joke. Their house growing up had been a hodgepodge of garage sale furniture and ugly, homemade decorations. Always a mess. Mom had never cared. She’d never even tried to improve the house. Instead she’d bumped along as if life was just fine as it was. Maybe for her, but not for her daughter. Suzanne still remembered having to make excuses for why she couldn’t go on trips with her friends or to school dances when the truth was that there was no money in the budget for those extras. Was it so wrong for her to want to spare Bryn the same disappointments?

  “No, you don’t,” Suzanne snapped. “I don’t want to live like you.”

  She regretted the words the minute they were out of her mouth. They were true but they were also cruel. It was the pain pills; they were scrambling her brain.

  Her mother turned to stone. “I know I couldn’t provide you with the kind of elegant lifestyle some of your friends had, but really, was your life so bad, Suzanne? Our home wasn’t full of expensive knickknacks but it was full of love. Which would you rather have had?”

  Love, of course. Suzanne bit her lip.

  “There’s more to life than selling houses,” her mother continued. “And there’s certainly more to life than living in one that looks like something from a magazine layout. You’re becoming so consumed with this place that you’re starting to forget about the people who live in it. This isn’t a dollhouse. Your husband and daughter are real people with real needs. And let me tell you, life is short. You can lose the people you love in a heartbeat. Now, drink your cocoa.”

  Suzanne scowled and set the cocoa on the nightstand as her mother left the room. She didn’t want cocoa and she didn’t want a lecture and she didn’t want a broken ankle!

  Even in sleep the torture continued. She dreamed that the angel flitted out of the snow globe and stood before her, an eight-foot tower in a glowing robe and a halo that looked suspiciously like Christmas lights. “You’re a mess,” she observed in disgust.

  “Gee, thanks,” Suzanne retorted. “It’s your fault I’m like this, you know.”

  The angel rolled her eyes. “Oh, please.”

  “Is there a reason you’re here?” Suzanne demanded.

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, there is. I’ve come to show you your future. Look.”

  At first all Suzanne could see was mist. Then, slowly, it cleared and she made out a middle-aged, slightly overweight woman sitting in a living room decorated for the holidays. The décor could have been lifted from the pages of Better Homes and Gardens.

  “Well, the house looks great,” Suzanne said.

  “It should. There’s no one in it to mess it up,” said the angel.

  “What happened to me?” wondered Suzanne, regarding her plumper, older self in disgust. “When did I gain all that weight?”
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  “Menopause,” said the angel. “And you were depressed.”

  “Why was I depressed? What happened?” Suzanne asked, and braced herself.

  “Your husband left you. He remarried. She’s a total slob.”

  The blow to both her heart and ego made Suzanne gasp. “You’re kidding, right?”

  The angel cocked an eyebrow. “Do you think angels kid about things like this?”

  “Why did he leave? I don’t understand.”

  “Oh, don’t play dumb,” snapped the angel, adjusting her halo. “Why do you think he left?”

  Suzanne decided to plead the Fifth. “What about my daughter?” she asked in a small voice. “Where is she?”

  “Look,” the angel said with a sweep of her hand.

  “Oh, good Lord,” gasped Suzanne as the angel showed her a garish house laden with multicolored lights, its yard a dump for every plastic holiday decoration ever invented.

  “Don’t worry,” said the angel. “You don’t have to deal with it. She never invites you over. She never comes to see you, either. You’re a pain in the butt.”

  Suzanne blinked in shock. “What kind of a way is that for an angel to talk?”

  “The truth hurts,” said the angel. “By the way, I brought you a present.” She turned around and picked up something hiding behind her robe and Suzanne saw it was a dog, a grown version of Happy.

  The dog jumped out of the angel’s arms and ran over to Suzanne and chomped into her ankle with huge fangs.

  Suzanne woke up with a strangled scream to a dark room. She was sitting up in her bed and Guy was next to her.

  He sat up, too. “You all right, babe?”

  Suzanne pushed her damp hair out of her eyes with a trembling hand. “It was awful. Bryn hated me and I was alone. And fat.”

  “You just had a nightmare. Everything’s all right,” he assured her, his voice heavy with sleep. He kissed the top of her head and then flopped back down and turned over on his side.

  “Guy, am I a pain in the butt?”