Remember Us

by Lindsay Blake

  He surrendered enough tears to fill another lake.

  When I had a millisecond to think, I let the rage build.

  I wanted to go back to Atlanta, to last year, to before.

  I wanted to lie on the couch and sleep for weeks on end and not think.

  I wanted to punch a wall, a mountain, a lion in the face.

  I wanted to stop believing I could have changed this, to shake the sickening sensation that greeted me every morning and didn’t leave me until I’d fallen into a restless sleep in the early hours of the morning.

  I wanted a second chance to make things right.

  They looked at me to speak, but I grabbed a handful of her and staggered away beyond their sight.

  I gagged some more. I attempted gathering my thoughts into something coherent, but I found a depth of fury containing nothing but blackness in every direction. So I welcomed the nothingness in, and I exhaled it out anew.

  The wind was light on my cheek, again and again, enough to bring me back. The sky was a shade of azure that shouldn’t have been possible, and I squinted up, wondering where to begin.

  I imagined she thought this goodbye would be poetic, theatrical, but there was nothing romantic or idyllic or anything, about this. It was only Death, and there was nothing beautiful about that.

  Why did you leave me? I had nothing else to say to my mother, so I threw her at the sky. I turned before she fell back down, and I walked away fast, hardly breathing.

  When I found Dad, Ben, and Maya huddled, I ignored them, and went and sat on the ground two feet away. I studied the earth around me and for a long time we stayed like that in silence, until I dared to look up.

  The pain in Dad’s eyes was unbearable. “She showed up at the house a few days after she first left,” he choked out loud enough for us all to hear. “I shut her out. I wouldn’t let her in.” He exhaled, ran his hands through his hair, and I absorbed the revelation. “She wanted to talk. Maybe she wanted to fully hash it out, work us out. I’ll never know what that day could have meant. It was complicated, and I was angry. I didn’t even give her a chance, wouldn’t listen to one word she had to say. I thought she’d been having an affair, and I was so pissed off at her. I can never undo the decision, and I hate myself now for that moment as much as I’d ever hated her.”

  “Well,” Ben exhaled, “my therapist’s wallet just thanked you.”

  Dad’s mouth kept moving, but no words came out. Tears and snot ran down his face as he reached for Ben. “But I hated myself more because every time she asked to see you two, I told her you weren’t home, didn’t want to see her, despised her. She came and called, incessantly at first, but I told her it was better for you two if she stayed away, that if she loved you at all she would give you space, stop showing up on the porch every day. Eventually she believed me, eventually she got the message, thought you despised her…she was…I was so angry, and I…”

  “No.” I was crying, shaking my head, insides ripped in two.

  “She hated me; I couldn’t have you two hate me too, so I never told you. Then I didn’t even know how to get ahold of her and tell her it was me, not you. The guilt, it’s been—” Dad looked pleadingly between us. “I tried to tell her after we renewed our vows, but she wouldn’t let me. Said the past was the past. But I should have told her. She had a right to know. I was a coward.”

  “No.” No, no, no. I jumped back up and raced into the distance.

  After we ceremonially said goodbye to Mom, life continued in a blur. There were more logistics with lawyers and calls about paperwork. I half heard and half saw everything unfolding before me. Someone from the Waldorf kept calling for her every day like some sick joke until I told them to shove it. Maya drove back to Knoxville, and the three of us hunkered down in the family house for a week. After his revelation, I avoided Dad as much as possible.

  Dad decided to sell the house, the car, and everything in between. He only wanted to keep Ernie. He planned to travel to Canada to say a final goodbye to his bride.

  After being inhabited by Hamiltons for three decades, sorting the house was a wreck. We only came up for air when absolutely necessary—to eat, sleep, and use the toilet. We ordered out every night and ate leftovers in the early afternoon. We didn’t do a single dish or load of laundry.

  We didn’t talk because we had nothing left to say.

  At night, haunted by what could have been, I sat on the front porch in my sweats drinking wine and Rocky cuddled beside me. “It’s you and me now, buddy.” Rocky barked in agreement. In Mom’s absence I’d wake to find him curled up by my feet, and he’d stick to me like glue as I moved through the house, packing up a lifetime.

  Every night, as I poured my glass of wine and wrapped myself in a blanket, Ben and Dad grabbed beers, studied the car manual, and worked on putting a new engine in the Mustang. And later still, I sat on the darkened porch alone and watched nothing.

  The globe was the first thing in my “Keep” pile. It had been in my room since I was ten. Next, I pulled the box of unopened cards and the birthday package to the center of the room. I spread the envelopes in rows in front of me, but didn’t move to open them. I reached for the gift instead. It was large, wrapped in kraft paper and tied up with a piece of ripped fabric. In bold letters across the whole front was written, To The Best Reese in the Entire Universe and Galaxy and Beyond. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, baby girl. There was a glittery gold heart beneath the words.

  I opened the package carefully. The quilt inside was soft and covered the expanse of my floor when I spread it out. A note floated to the ground as I fanned out the folds of the fabric.

  Reese, this is a quilt of our history, yours and mine. So you can find peace with the past as you dream about your future. You’ll notice a couple of your old girl scout T-shirts in the middle, from when I was your troop leader, as well as fabric from the clothes I made you through the years. I cut up a couple of our beloved Christmas sweaters because, well, you know. There is a strip of my wedding dress here too, because I know you’ve always loved it. You’ll find the dress itself altered for your figure and hanging in the back of my closet. (Watch the second servings of those casseroles, or it won’t fit.) My gut tells me you’re going to need it soon. Knowing you, you’ll run off and get hitched without telling any of us, HAHAHA. I’m forward-thinking enough to give it to you now.

  I shoved the cards back into the box and left them by my suitcase. I stared at the quilt long into the night, walking through my history, the steps that had brought me this far. In fabric letters over the top of the quilt it read, Remember Us. I traced my fingers over the stitching again and again but couldn’t find the answers I craved. And it didn’t bring her back.

  There was a note from Blake:

  Dearest Reese,

  Ben messaged me, and I won’t bore you with the commonalities like, “You will be okay,” “With sympathy,” etc.

  To be honest, it will hurt in the deepest parts of you. I know it already does. I don’t know what it’s like to say goodbye without getting a real go at it.

  I do know the horrors can take you to the worst places of yourself, to the ends of all you’ve known and at the exact moment you think you may never come back, you will lift your eyes and see a bit of hope. But you are not yet there.

  Right now I imagine you are raging and confused and feel desperately alone. I think you must have more questions than answers and alternately hate your mother for leaving you like this and wish your ending with her could be different.

  How I wish we could go throw rocks into the sea, and run miles on end, side by side, fuming against the skies. Thank goodness you have Ben or Charlie for that.

  So while I wish I were there with you, what I most wish is that you are being taken care of on all fronts, and I know it’s already sorted.

  I won’t write you again, but know I care.

  I agree with Tolkien—“I will not say: do not weep; for not all tears are an evil.”

  Yours, etc.

&n
bsp; Blake

  I ripped it into a hundred pieces and then a hundred more. I’m sure he thought he was being kind, but he would never understand. No one would ever understand.

  When we were done with the house, the garage, with everything, we passed the remnants to a real estate agent named Emily. The house would be on the market within two days, and Emily assured us it would be sold within two weeks.

  The thought of selling our home distressed me, but Dad was unwavering in his resolution. He sold it to a family who needed a quick closing. And just like that, the house I grew up in wasn’t ours, and Rocky and I had no home.

  Almost a week to the day after we’d sent Mom into the universe, Ben packed his belongings into the back of the Ford Mustang and drove away while Dad and I were still sleeping.

  I rented a small trailer to move what I was taking to Atlanta. The day we were handing over the keys to my childhood home, I found Dad on the porch swing. We had to be out by 2 p.m. and we were alone in the empty house. Dad put his arm around me, and I snuggled in close. Cinnamon. Tobacco. Fire. My father smelled of all that was comforting. I hadn’t sat with him like this in over a decade, but I think we’d both grown to need the proximity.

  He held his left hand toward me and I placed my right flat upon it, staring at the differences. Little and big. Smooth and worn. Pale and weathered.

  I’d always loved Dad’s hands. Through the last few months, I’d found myself taking photo after photo of them, trying to capture the texture of their rugged edges forever. But no matter the lighting or the composition, the photo was a poor imitation of reality. It didn’t stop me from trying once again, and so I reached for the camera beside me and focused carefully on our fingers. One slow click of the shutter, and it was documented.

  Dad shifted and spoke, his words measured. “I remember when you two were born, you both had the tiniest hands, the most perfect toes. Bernice and I counted them again and again in those first few weeks.”

  I wiggled my fingers in front of us as my throat closed in on itself.

  “Sometimes, when you’re beside me, all I can hear is the story I want to tell you: I remember the first day I held you; you were minutes old and screaming so loudly. The sun was setting outside the window and I knew my life was forever changed. Thank you for making me a father. But I haven’t been able to squeeze the words between my obstinate teeth until now.”

  His eyes leaked tears, and I couldn’t meet his gaze.

  “When we brought you kids home, there were many nights I fell asleep on the rug beside you, desperate for you to sleep, frantic to make sure you kept right on breathing. You two were perfect. And it was you alone, Reese, who held my finger for an hour straight, with a tenacity something so tiny shouldn’t possess.”

  “Thanks, Dad.” I patted his hand. My heart hurt.

  “I’m sorry about keeping your mom from you all those years.” He stopped and mauled his eyes. “She was a great lawyer, you know.” He looked at me, and I nodded. “But I think she never filed for a divorce because she didn’t want the finality of you two rejecting her. And I never filed because I didn’t want to lose her and you kids. She loved you, she—”

  I was still upset at him over his recent announcement, but I waved my arms to quiet him. For the moment, I didn’t have it in me for that much anger. I was sure I’d need to ask him more questions later, yell at him eventually too, but for now I’d decided to keep the one parent I still had close.

  “And I think we both know I owe you a second apology too. Since it’s our last morning in this house, I need us to go to the kitchen, the original scene of the crime.” I smiled, bewildered. We shuffled inside and he turned, putting his hands on my shoulders.

  “Reese, I did make it to your university graduation, you know. I showed up two hours before it started and sat on the far left side. I looked for you the whole time, but I couldn’t find you in the sea of gowns until they called your name. I told everyone in my section you were my daughter and as you marched across that stage, so proud and beautiful and good, my chest expanded two sizes. I wanted to find you after, but things were so awful between us I barely knew how to put two words together to talk with you.”

  “Thanks, Dad.” I looked down.

  “Bernice, hold me now, keep me strong.” He dabbed at his eyes. “I’m sorry for not being around for so much of your growing up. And I was a fool that night at the dinner table. I was a fool years before that too. I should have believed in you. I should have been a supportive and present father. I didn’t know how to do it, but I should have asked. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. And I hope you can forgive me.”

  My eyes went misty, and Dad plunged ahead.

  “I’m proud of you, Reese. So incredibly proud. You’ve done more than I ever did, than I ever imagined. I don’t know anyone else like you. You are a wonder.” I nodded, overwhelmed and ready to be done with the conversation, but it kept coming, like Niagara Falls, the Mississippi, the Amazon. “I am proud of you, daughter, I am proud of you one hundred times over. I think you are beautiful, strong, and worthy of love. Because I never told you enough growing up, I will tell you until the day I die: I am proud of you, and I wouldn’t trade you for a dozen Ansel Adamses or Dorothea Langes. You are better than both combined. I love you, Reese.” And with that, Dad stepped back with a nod. “My baby girl is ready for the world.”

  I’d been numb for days, but something about Dad throwing around Dorothea Lange in the conversation perked me right up. I knew something akin to happiness, in the bittersweet edges of my body. I clung to the distraction like it was my only hope in a world gone mad. It was the strangest feeling, and I paced about Benson in the late afternoon, trying to make sense of it all. I bought a coffee, but only held it, aware of the burn in all the edges of my fingers. Before I poured it out, I noticed a homeless man sitting on the corner of a bench, and I ran to give it to him.

  “Sorry it’s not food. I hope you get to eat today too.”

  “Wait, I’m not—” But I didn’t wait for him to finish, shooed aside his pending thank you and smiled at this new grace.

  It was as if, after all these years, my sky expanded to limitless. The day was gray and the clouds hung low, the wind swept all around me, matching my mood.

  I wanted to call Charlie. But again and again, I stopped myself. I wanted to hold the secret close a bit longer.

  Instead I rode my bike out the trail behind our house and left him a note in our secret tree spot. Besides, he felt distant, and I felt, well…I felt a thousand different things.

  20

  October

  Reese

  I’d been back in Atlanta for two months when I turned Charlie’s second bathroom into a makeshift darkroom. He was slightly annoyed, but I’d begun negotiating wedding favors with him for things I wanted. I gave him ten extra minutes of speech time at the reception in exchange for this baby.

  We’d finally decided on a Christmas wedding. “Not this year, it feels too rushed. Feels too wrong. But next year.” It was the only decision I could make for now.

  “I’ll marry you on every holiday for the rest of our lives.” Charlie kissed me.

  “Next Christmas will do.” I found a half smile I didn’t know I possessed. “I can’t shake the feeling it’s what Mom would have wanted.” There was something in those last moments with her; I’d played them over and over again in my head. I’d had so many nightmares about the day she left, I was beginning to lose what was real and what was conjured.

  “For your mom, then.” He wrapped me into a hug, drowning my whispered plea. “And for us.”

  I had twenty rolls of film to develop from the road trip, and I was anxious to see my pictures. I started the process one Friday morning and by ten that night, Charlie had left the apartment. He said the chemicals hurt his brain. By midnight, I had the right wall of the living room covered in photographs. There was a selfie of Mom and me laughing, heads thrown back. Her arm was around me, but I didn’t remember the moment at
all.

  It watched me, vexed me, so I turned my back on it, grabbed the road trip journal out of my bag, set it in my lap and skimmed over the pages. I glanced between the words and my photos without inspiration.

  When the photos and the words couldn’t make sense of anything, I gave up and went to bed.

  It was after two when Ben called.

  He didn’t wait for my greeting. “Maya is the one.”

  “Of course she is. Are you drunk?”

  “Hello to you too, Reese. I decided it before Dad became sick, before everything. I’d already waited a couple of years to propose. First it was because I needed more time to save up for the ring, then it was because she started a new job and said she didn’t want any other big changes.”

  “We girls know what we want.” I yawned.

  “Somewhere along the way, we settled into life together without making it official.”

  “Okay.”

  “Here’s the thing, Reese, it was easy. And when we found out about Dad, everything between Maya and me went on the back burner. And after Mom died, I held off on the proposal because the thought of her not being there to celebrate with us gutted me.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it, Ben.”

  “But tonight, I had a revelation. I delayed all these years, thinking there would be an ideal moment to take the next step. But I now know, time is a bastard who shows no man grace. The time is here, the day is now. I don’t want to miss out on any more life without Maya being my wife.” It sounded as if he was pounding the table in front of him.

  “How many drinks had you had for that little gem?”

  “Only three beers.”

  “So you were basically sober.”