“He’s not a stranger!” Kristina shouted back, feeling her backbone straighten. “He’s a neighbor. And he’s nice. He doesn’t have germs because he doesn’t go anywhere. Like me. I don’t see why I can’t talk to him.”
“Because I forbid it!” Her mother slashed her arm in the air with finality.
“No!” Kristina shouted back, feeling the flame on her own face burn. “You can’t make me stop. I want a friend, Mother!” Kristina felt her bravado crumble as the child she still was emerged in defeat. Tears rushed to her eyes. She covered her face with her hands and slid to the floor on watery legs. “I’m so lonely.”
Her mother was all sweetness then, wrapping her arms around her, rocking her like a babe.
“Shhhh,” she crooned. “I’m here. Your mother is here. I will always be your best friend. Isn’t that what we promised each other? To be best friends forever? You’ll never need anyone else. Not while I’m alive.”
Not while I’m alive.
Kristina heard the words echo in her mind even as the rumble of thunder sounded in the distance. She shook the memory away and peered into the sky. A line of thick, black storm clouds was moving in from the west. The wind was picking up, too. Kristina was not a skilled driver and the thought of driving through a storm had her gripping the steering wheel tighter. She reached over to turn the dial of the radio stations to find the local weather. She paused when she heard a weatherman reporting a fast-moving storm front heading toward the Augusta/Aiken area. Flash flood warnings were issued.
Kristina felt a flicker of fear and pressed the gas pedal harder in hopes of getting out of the path of the storm. Within minutes, fat raindrops splattered across her windshield. Feeling her heart quicken, Kristina flicked on the windshield wipers and turned on the headlights. She wished the wipers could sweep away the memories flooding her brain, too.
Kristina and her mother had lived in a state of war since that first big argument about Joe. Despite Deborah’s ceaseless haranguing, berating, and even the occasional beating, Kristina had refused to stop seeing Joe. What could Deborah do to stop her? Especially once Kristina discovered that Deborah had been collecting disability payments for her sick child. Things in the small brick house went from bad to worse. Word got out that Kristina could walk, and the neighborly charity dried up. As the house fell into disrepair, Deborah turned to drinking, blaming Kristina, of course, for being such a horrid daughter and driving her to it. Deborah would pass out when drunk, which was frequent, giving Kristina the chance to sneak out and visit with Joe.
Their love was the purest thing Kristina had ever known. Joe was kind and patient. They were each other’s best friend. They spent every free quiet hour together, lying side by side on his bed in his room, talking, watching TV, listening to music or reading books. Or outdoors on his soft grass at night studying the stars. He taught her how to throw a basketball. She taught him how to knit. He gave her chocolates, which she adored. She wrote him love letters that she’d leave in the fork of the tree that stood beside the chain-link fence.
And they kissed. They touched. Curious, but innocent. Once Joe began chemotherapy, he was uninterested, or unable, to pursue sex. She didn’t care. She was content loving him.
Their favorite thing was to lie in each other’s arms and make up stories about their love and how it would go on and on and they’d live happily ever after. Knowing it would—could—not happen made them all the more desperate to play the game. He called her his Cinderella because of the way the wicked “step” mother made her do all the chores and kept her hidden from the outside world. Which she’d thought was pretty spot-on. She called him her knight in shining armor because he had rescued a damsel in distress. Again, she nailed it.
Outside the little car, the rain became torrential. Kristina flicked the windshield wipers to a higher speed as the rain pummeled the roof and thunder roared around her. Kristina clenched her teeth as she turned on the emergency blinkers and slowed the car to a crawl in a long line of red lights barely visible in the thick fog. Over and over she had to reach up to the windshield in a desperate attempt to wipe away the mist. She leaned far over the wheel, trying to see more than ten feet ahead of the car.
From the distance she heard the wail of an ambulance then saw the blinking red lights approach. “Oh God Oh God,” she murmured as she wildly wondered what to do. There was no place to pull over and the ambulance was on her tail. Squinting, clutching the wheel, she spied a large green exit sign and, not caring where it led, she flicked the turn signal and took the exit. As the ambulance siren faded into the distance, Kristina inched her way off the ramp and to her eternal relief, spotted a gas station just ahead. Terrified she’d be hit by some oncoming car or truck she couldn’t see in the fog, she rolled down her window to better hear the traffic. Rain gusted in, drenching her. She quickly rolled the window back up, wiping her face with her hand. Throwing her fate into God’s hands, she drove across the street, breathing again when she made it safely to the entrance of the gas station. She parked beside a gas pump under the wide awning. The sudden silence was deafening. With a shaky hand, she turned off the ignition.
She was safe. For the moment. Her world was trapped inside this tin box. She felt wet and the humidity was building with the air-conditioning turned off. For no reason, and for a thousand reasons buried deep inside of herself, Kristina unbuckled her seat belt, brought her legs up to her chest, and burst into great heaving sobs.
Maybe she wasn’t brave enough for this journey. She didn’t think she could go any farther. She just wanted to return to her apartment, to Minnie and her books, where she felt warm and safe. Why had she started this quest? She’d finally created a life for herself that was predictable. Normal. Sustainable. Wasn’t that enough?
“Joe,” she called out into the vacuum. “I need you. I miss you so much.”
She cried for a long time. At last the heat and humidity overtook her and she fell into a deep sleep. The sound of an ambulance was the last thing she heard.
* * *
The flashing red lights in the driveway next door awakened Kristina from her sleep. She leaped from her bed and raced to the window to peer out. Joe . . .
To her horror she saw a stretcher being wheeled from the house to the open doors of the ambulance. Joe was lying on it and his parents were trailing behind in their pajamas. Mr. Cohen’s arm supported his wife.
Kristina grabbed her bathrobe and raced out the front door. The ambulance was pulling away by the time she’d arrived.
“Joe!” she cried after it.
Mrs. Cohen came closer to put her arms around her. Both women were crying openly, fear trailing down their faces.
“We’re going to the hospital,” she told Kristina. “Would you like to come with us?”
Kristina didn’t give a thought to what her mother would say or do when she found out. She jumped into the Cohens’ car, barefoot, and sat in stoic silence, praying all the way to the hospital. The blackness filled the car, though dawn was but an hour off. The hospital waiting room was air-conditioned and clean, that much could be said for it. But the pale green and white paint, the bad art, and the uncomfortable wood and polyester chairs were dismal. She imagined Joe leaning close to her and saying in a low voice, “It’s the definition of institutional décor.”
How long she sat waiting for the chance to see him, she couldn’t remember. But the sun was high in the sky by the time Mr. and Mrs. Cohen returned to the waiting room, their faces haggard and shoulders drooping.
“He’s asking for you,” Mrs. Cohen said gently.
Kristina looked into her red-rimmed eyes and saw the unspoken message. This would be her good-bye.
She gingerly pushed open the door to his room and peered inside. More institutional décor. Her eyes went directly to the slender form lying in the metal hospital bed, hooked up to an IV. His eyes were closed. He lay so still, and his skin was so white she sucked in her breath, wondering in a panic if she was too late. But then his e
yes fluttered open, and seeing her, he smiled weakly.
Her heart leaped to her throat. “Joe!”
She hurried to his side and clasped his hand. Tears began to flow uncontrollably. “Don’t go,” she begged him. “Fight this. You can. You’re the strongest, bravest person I know.”
The shake of his head was barely perceptible. “It’s my time.”
The words struck her to the core. He meant to leave her. Here. Alone in this horrible, lonely world. It was inconceivable.
“Then I’m coming with you,” she said, squeezing his hand.
A teasing smile crossed his face. “A suicide pact?”
“Yes.”
He made a mild, mocking face. “Please . . .”
“I mean it,” she said fervently.
“Kristina . . .” His expression shifted to sympathy.
Imagine, she thought with shame, he was offering her consolation.
“That’s not one of our stories,” he said. When she frowned, his smile slipped away, and he spoke earnestly.
“Listen to me. This is my time. My destiny. Not yours.”
“How do you know? Maybe it’s my destiny to go with you.”
His laugh was soft and weary. “What’s your hurry?”
“You’re all I care about on this earth.”
“Not true. You love your mother.”
“No, I don’t,” she fired back with more vehemence than she’d intended. “I hate her.”
“You don’t,” he said with conviction. “But I’m not talking about Deborah. You have two mothers.”
Kristina’s mind spun. “Her? My birth mother? I don’t even know her.”
“But you do. Somewhere, somehow you do. And you love her.”
He took her breath away. He knew her better than she knew herself. “I don’t even know where she is.”
“Then find her.”
“You know I can’t,” she said pulling back her hair from her face in a gesture of frustration. “I promised Deborah I wouldn’t.”
“And you keep your promises.”
“Yes,” she said, feeling the truth of it. “I know it doesn’t make sense. But Deborah, for all that she’s bat-shit crazy, is still the only mother I’ve ever known. She’s her own worst enemy. She’s unstable.” Kristina looked at her hand over his. “I won’t add to her misery. She is still my mother.”
“You’re a good person.”
She sniffed and wiped her nose. “I’m not. Any goodness you see in me is because of you.” She leaned closer so her face was inches from his. She stared into his dark brown eyes, the color of chocolate, and still saw the inner light shining in them.
“Please, help me come with you,” she said in a pleading voice. “It hurts too much to stay in this world if you’re not in it.”
Sadness flickered in his eyes. Joe patted the mattress. There wasn’t much space on the narrow hospital bed, but both Joe and Kristina were pencil thin and she managed to settle in the small bit of mattress. His body was all bones and flesh, but it was all Joe. She curled up on her side and rested her head in the crook of his arm. She smelled medicine and starch, but not Joe. His scent was already lost to her.
“See, here’s the thing about dying,” he told her in an even voice that, against his chest, sounded to her like a lullaby. “It’s like graduating. If you live a good life, you’ll be rewarded and get to go on. How . . .” She felt the slight lift of a shoulder. “I’m not so sure.”
“I thought you didn’t believe in heaven or hell.”
“I never told you that,” he replied. “I said I don’t know what heaven is. In Judaism, the afterlife is not as well defined as in Christianity.”
“You mean the pearly gates?” She heard his laughter rumble in his chest.
“There are lots of theories,” he continued, speaking softly. She heard the weariness and worried if speaking was taking too much of his energy. Too much of his precious time.
“Maybe you shouldn’t talk.”
“I want to,” he replied. “I don’t know if I’ll have another chance. And don’t you know? Talking with you was what I’ve lived for these past years. You kept me alive.”
She felt herself come undone. “Joe . . .” she cried, clutching him tightly.
He patted her hand and kissed her forehead. “Let me finish,” he chided. “So, this heaven thing . . . I think I finally figured it out. For me, anyway. I’ve read a lot of opinions. Some of them were wise. Some . . . not so much. Me, I’m more logical. I believe in a God who is all-powerful and all-just. So, it makes sense, to me, that God will not allow evil to triumph. God rewards good people. He’s the final judge.”
Kristina listened to every word. “Okay. By that theory, Hitler doesn’t go to the same place as his victims.”
“Right,” he said with a short laugh.
“Then you’re saying you believe in heaven?”
“I believe in eternity. A place with no beginning and no end. It’s infinite. Like love,” he said, gently stroking her arm. “I’ll be there waiting for you, whenever you arrive.”
She clung to him. “I want to go there with you.”
“No. Not yet.”
“But why?”
“You have to find your purpose. I believe each of us was given a purpose to fulfill in our life. It’s tied in with our destiny. Kind of like a test we must pass or fail to reach heaven, or whatever you call it.” He paused. “Kristina, I believe you have yet to discover your purpose.”
“How will I know if I’ve achieved it?”
He lowered his head and she felt his kiss on the soft hairs of the top of her head. “You’ll know.”
She lifted her gaze to meet his, so dark and unfathomable. “You found your purpose?”
“I did.”
“What was it?”
His gaze kindled. “Not what. Who. You, Kristina. Loving you was my purpose.”
This broke her. Kristina buried her face in his chest and wept, telling him over and over that she loved him, soaking his shirt with her tears, as he gently stroked her hair. When at last she quieted, the room was quiet. The gentle rise and fall of his chest reassured her that Joe was still with her.
“Kristina?”
“Yes?”
“I have something important I want to say to you.”
She felt her breath still and whispered, “Okay.”
His voice was soft, but deliberate. “I’ve talked this over with my parents. They’re in agreement. I don’t have much, but what money I have I’m leaving to you. It’s just under ten thousand dollars.”
“What? How did you get so much money?”
“It’s money I’ve received from gifts over the years. My bar mitzvah. I saved it, knowing I’d find a good use for it one day.” He paused, letting that sink in. “You have to leave your house. Your mother. Right away. It’s not good for you to stay there. My parents will help you in any way they can. Use the money to go to school. Start your life. And when you’re ready, find your mother.”
It was all overwhelming. She clung to him tighter. “But Joe, how do I do all that? You can’t give me all your money. It’s too much.”
He smiled. “A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. I’m just giving you a first step.”
Chapter Three
Reunion
MOTHER
Elinor put the final touches on the bouquet of flowers she’d arranged especially for Kristina’s visit. White roses and lilies with blue hydrangeas. Her favorites. Only the best for today, she thought with a final adjustment.
Stepping back, she perused the dining table. It sat in the middle of the brilliant turquoise-colored room enclosed on three sides with white plantation shutters. The epitome of a beach room, she thought with pleasure. The flowers were a counterpoint to the large coconut cake with the words “Happy Birthday Kristina, 40!” encircled in roses made of blue and white icing.
She glanced at her watch. Dinner reservations were for six-thirty. Her plan was for t
hem to meet on neutral territory, on the beach. Then they could walk back here, have a bit of cake and champagne, then go out to the Long Island Cafe for a leisurely dinner. This would be followed by bedtime. “Keep moving,” Maeve had advised. “You don’t want to get stuck in the mud.”
Elinor smoothed out her white linen tunic top, thinking what a shame how linen wrinkled up so quickly. She spread out her blue silk scarf across her chest. She paused to look at her hands. They were shaking!
She shook them and puffed out a plume of air. She was being silly. This wasn’t like her. She could face down a classroom full of students, speak to a large group without skipping a beat. Today she only had to meet one woman. What was there to be nervous about? She’d been waiting for this day for forty years. To the very day. She inhaled and blew out slowly, calming herself. She chose to meet at four o’clock today because forty years ago, that was the time Kristina was born—4:18 p.m. to be exact. Elinor hoped Kristina would be pleased to learn that. It was one of a series of little surprises she had planned for Kristina.
Including her birthday gift.
She picked up the small, wrapped package from the side table and carried it to the Sheraton dining table, setting the box beside the cake. She pinched the white bow to perk it up a bit. Elinor had thought long and hard about what might make a suitable birthday gift for Kristina’s fortieth birthday. It was the first time they’d be celebrating her birth together.
She didn’t want Kristina to think she was taking her adopted mother’s place. She would never do that. Yet she wanted her daughter to know that she was loved and cherished by another woman . . . another mother, as well. Elinor agonized over the decision, plaguing Maeve with a series of texts listing possibilities. She kept coming back to her original idea like a broken record. Maeve finally texted back in capital letters: JUST GO WITH YOUR HEART!
So, she did. Elinor moved her hand over her bare neckline. She was giving Kristina a gold turtle necklace. It had been her favorite for years, a rare extravagant purchase when she’d traveled to Hawaii. She rarely took it off. The turtle had always symbolized her belief in feminine independence and resilience. And yes, motherhood. She wanted to give her daughter something meaningful. She wrung her hands looking at the wrapped box. She hoped it wasn’t too much too soon.
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