The Eves

by Grace Sammon

  Erica pops in, exuberant about the pictures she’s taken. She’s heard from her mom who is getting ready to leave DC and head down here.

  “Hey, Erica, can you text her? Ask, if she hasn’t left yet, can she go by my place. I think I left my cell phone in the house when we went back inside for her present. If she can, can she bring it with her?”

  Jan comes in to put some hot items out on the tables knowing that soon families will start wanting food. Paul Simon’s Mother and Child Reunion is playing and it’s hard not to sing along with Jan. Upbeat tempo, beat bopping around the kitchen. “…no I would not give you false hope on this strange and mournful day….” Our eyes meet. The lyrics seem about right to Jan and me, we continue, and it feels good. “The mother and child reunion is only an ocean away,” Jan sings.

  “It’s notion, not ocean, Jan,” I correct her.

  “No, it’s not.”

  Erica chimes in, “You are both wrong. Once again, through the magic of the internet, I bring you proof—the word is motion!” She says as she holds up her cell phone and presents the results of her web search.

  “Like the word ‘motion’ makes sense? I thought it was notion, too. Is there anything you can’t instantly know?” asks Tia prodding Erica.

  “Leave her be, child.” This from Tobias. “Einstein himself said he never bothered to memorize anything he could just look up.”

  “Here’s something interesting,” Erica reads from her screen. “Paul Simon himself didn’t really know what the lyrics meant. He just made them up because he got this idea from a Chinese restaurant.”

  “What are you talking about?” Tia asks.

  Erica replies, “He thought it was hysterical that the menu had an item that combined chicken and eggs. It was called ‘Mother and Child Reunion’! Ha!”

  Jan leans over to her and takes her cell phone away.

  After lunch Tia and Tobias decide to take Oliver and the cart over to the cemetery, giving him a break from the constant attention of all the kids. It makes sense to me that they would want some quiet time themselves today. Erica, not getting that, asks if she can go too.

  Tobias purses his lips, but says, “You sure may, child, and you might as well bring your Aunt Jessica, too.”

  I kiss Roy goodbye and the four of us climb into the cart. Tia, gloved-handed, ably drives. Tobias goes up top with her. Erica and I sit in the wagon, feet dangling off the back. The Chesapeake glimmers to our right, and sailboats slide through her waters as we bounce along. You really couldn’t ask for a more perfect Mother’s Day, unless of course you were missing your mother, or the children that made you one.

  At the cemetery we sit in silence for a while. My eyes, and the tight hand on her arm, tell Erica that she too needs to be still for a bit. Finally, Tobias says “Your mother would have really loved this day, Tia. She would have been so proud of what you and CC have created. I’m proud of you.”

  “I miss her so much,” Tia says.

  “I know you do child. I know you do. You’ve created something lasting here for her. And, maybe a little bit for me, even though there won’t be any more Tobiases on this land.”

  This is a special moment between them. I’m feeling like we shouldn’t have come. Erica, not so much. She takes this exact opportunity to say. “OMG, Tia, you and CC should so get married, adopt a little boy, name him Tobias, and then he’ll have babies someday…”

  The explosion of laughter from Tobias makes it all alright.

  As we turn Oliver back toward the houses, Tobias asks to be dropped off at The Grange House. He wants to spend some time in Joan’s studio. We can hear him chuckle as he notices that Roy has placed a sign stating “The Grange House” by the side kitchen door.

  When we get back to The Eves, we see Sonia’s car speeding up the drive. I’m not sure she’s even put it in park when she leaps out and rushes to me handing me my cell phone. “Read,” is all she says.

  Taking the phone, I’m surprised she doesn’t chastise me for never activating a lock code. “Sonia, what’s up,” I say tapping the screen and bringing the phone to life. My heart stops. Hi Mom, thanks for the gifts and cards. Adam tried to call. We are both fine. Happy Mother’s Day. –Ryn.

  half full

  S

  onia and Erica walk me into the house. Roy and CC are there, families have begun to wander in, the kitchen is filling quickly. I simply hand Roy the phone with the display showing. His eyes wide, he makes excuses to CC, telling her we have to go. She graciously tells us that everyone else can handle our few chores for the afternoon and we should indeed go.

  I surprise myself by refusing. “Really, I just need some time. I’m going to walk. I’ll be back. I’m fine, really. I just need to walk. Walk and breathe.”

  Roy and Sonia each want to come with me, but I tell them I need to go, right now, and alone. I slide my phone into my back pocket. Shoving my fists into my jacket pockets I find their carved wooden hands waiting for me. I grip them as tightly as I can, walk away as fast as I can, all the while trying to maintain sure footing and trying not to lose it.

  My mind is racing faster than my steps.

  Adam called, actually called? Ryn reached out?! She knew I would want to know they were fine. It’s Mother’s Day. Adam didn’t leave a message. What would it have said? Ryn didn’t sign it “love.” What’s the message in that? Did she text because she didn’t want to talk or because Adam’s phone call didn’t get picked up? She said they got the gifts. She didn’t say she liked the gifts. It’s been three years of missed holidays and birthdays and everydays. Half full, half empty. I’m so happy. I’m so angry. So scared. This is a start. This is going to be hard to finish.

  I need to quiet my mind. I wish I had joined Tobias in an early-in-the-day beverage! I want to pick up the phone and call each of them. What are the first words you say after three years? Jesper flashes to mind. What are the first words I say to him?

  I hear my mother’s voice in my head. “Jessica Marie, before you speak think about what it is you want to accomplish. Think about the result you want.”

  With everyone down at The Eves by now I head into the barn. The face painting tables are empty. The barn has the smell of fresh hay and manure. Tia must have brought Oliver in after she dropped us letting him settle for a while. He raises his head and nods as I come in, shifting his weight from hoof to hoof. We both need a little peace right now. His long glance draws me forward and I slide my hands out of my pockets, caressing the smoothness of his face as he nuzzles into me. I can feel my heart rate slowing, my breathing become easier.

  When I feel calmer, I decide to go upstairs to the loft. Taking the little wooden hands out of my pockets, I put them on the bench next to the hammer and nails Roy must have left. The handprints of others surround me. Each of these, regardless of the age of the maker, was made by someone’s child. Each of them has a story, someone they loved, didn’t get along with, wondered about, kept secrets from, and shared secrets with.

  Taking the phone out of my back pocket, I stare at Ryn’s message again, shaping a text of my own. “Fabulous to finally hear from you….” No, delete “finally”–it sounds like I’m scolding her. Is “fabulous” too strong a word? Do I sound too eager? God, am I going to ponder every single word and wonder if it’s OK?

  Yes.

  What is it I want to accomplish?

  To have them back. To have them back at any price. The price I’ve paid for the last three years has been too great. There can’t be anything more costly. What else do I want to accomplish? To have them understand my side of the story. And, if they don’t want to hear it?

  I said at any price.

  I prepare to text back.

  Ryn, my daughter! I love you, and love that you texted today! Thank you, very much. I am so sorry I missed Adam’s call. I would love to hear his voice, and yours. Perhaps we can talk very soon. I hope so. I know it won’t be easy for any of us. I would like to try if you a
nd/or Adam are ready. It is good to know you are both ok. Thank you for that, too. Much love, again, my daughter. –M

  Before I hit “send” I read it several times for any triggers that could send off a bad reaction. I think, I hope, it’s OK. I hit [Send].

  Next.

  Adam, you called! How wonderful, son. Ryn says you are good and I am so happy. If you are ready, I would love to hear the sound of your voice and to talk. It will not be easy, I know. This time apart hasn’t been easy, I assume, for any of us. It is your decision. Please know my heart waits for you both. Much love, – M

  It sounds more emotional, still “safe” though. At least I think so. I hit [Send]. Wait.

  Nothing back, but I don’t really expect it. They will want to talk together and decide if individually or collectively they want any more than they’ve already tried. Maybe they also emailed? Checking my phone quickly, nothing. Already I’m greedy for the sound of them. I want more.

  I should write to Jesper.

  Dear Jesper, today is Mother’s Day in the United States. You have come to my mind very often today. I do not know where your and my journey will go, but I would like to continue communicating and set up a time, somehow, that we can meet. Meanwhile, please tell your mother how joyful I am that she found you. –Jessica”

  At almost sixty years old, am I really becoming a mother of three? What would that mean? I so thought I was “done.” I don’t know how to create this part of my life—dating, estranged children, a once seen son, a career that is limping along, and this place, what the hell is it about this place that is unlocking things in me as I unlock things in it?

  If I stay away much longer the others will surely worry. Retrieving the little wooden hands, I decide. Picking up the hammer and nails I hang them, fingers touching, at the top of the stairs. When I descend, I touch them in the same way as you see Orthodox Jews give a light touch to the Holy Scriptures encased in their threshold mezuzahs. Then a kiss on their fingers, blessed for having touched them. I pray a silent prayer of thanks for the gestures of all three of my children, even as I grow uncomfortable with the foundation-rumbling events that will surely soon occur.

  When I return to The Eves, Erica has her tripod in place and is posing everyone on the wide front steps of the house overlooking the fields. To be more precise, Sonia, bedecked and looking beautiful in her emerald green scarf, is ordering everyone into places. It’s always amusing to see Sonia control the world.

  Roy and Sonia catch my eye. Nodding, I assure them that I’m OK.

  As I watch families move into their places with disheveled hair, muddy knees, and painted faces you can look for the gaps—Joan, Sydney’s deceased husband, Deirdre’s dead daughter, the absent Ryn and Adam, the awkwardly missing Allison and Malcolm.

  Or, you can look at the whole. Tobias, amidst all these people, overlooking his land. I know he can see a ribbon of Rt. 4 and the M and M from the top step. He’s flanked on one side by the celebrating Tia and CC, and on the other side by Jan and Brenda, who appear to be amicably talking. Beneath them there’s Gene, standing just behind Sydney and her family, joking with one of her sons. Deirdre is to their left with grandchildren all over her. Margaret Mary’s entire brood is to Sydney’s right. Elizabeth is sitting in a chair, front and center, Pavarotti lying at her feet. Roy, kneeling to her right, calls to me with both his arms wide open. Erica sets the self-timer and starts us all on a countdown to ten. She and Sonia run and kneel to Elizabeth’s left.

  Just for today, I choose to not see the gaps.

  As we all get frozen for this moment in time, looking out over Tobias’ land, I smile for the camera and chose to think of Joan, and all the others, even those up in the cemetery, standing just behind the tripod and looking at the marvel of this day through Erica’s lens.

  It’s Mother’s Day. Indeed.

  mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa

  W

  hen Roy and I arrive back at my place we are amazed that there, on the porch, is my large suitcase. Five months and, judging from the baggage tags, twelve countries later, there is my Africa-bound suitcase, wholly intact. Ridiculously amazing.

  By later that night Erica has already sent a link to everyone so they can view all the Mother’s Day photos. I sound redundant, even to myself, saying how much I like the way she sees things through her lens. The family portraits, in my opinion, will be long cherished, used for holiday cards, and shared widely. I print out the selfie she took with me and Elizabeth, and one she caught of Roy and me trying to hold a sheep to shear. I’ll give this to him next month for our sixth-month anniversary, framed with a note that says something pithy like “shear happiness together.”

  Clearly, though, I missed out on a lot of the day. The pictures of the little kids running through the fields, rolling down the hills, and playing in the dirt can’t help but make you smile. Tobias and Roy setting up the sign for “Joan’s Acre” are touching. Once again, Erica’s chosen to capture this mostly by shooting tight, just showing their hands.

  Somehow, I entirely missed that Margaret Mary’s children had gotten permission to redo her old room in the Grange house. Tia must have shared that they are starting renovations and updating that house after years of beloved use. Margaret Mary’s children latched on to this and created a whole new space for her. There’s a wonderful group of shots of her and her family in the now brightly lit room under the stairs. They’ve set up a chair with a magnifying rack so she can continue to do the fine needlework and embroidery on quilts squares. They’ve also installed a large quilter for the actual assembly and finishing of the quilts.

  Just before the large group photo at the end of the day, there are three fabulous shots of Sonia and Erica. Two of them mugging for the camera, the third is the two of them, nose to nose kissing, eyes wide open. These I will print on good paper and frame for them in one of those multi-picture frames. It will be a great gift for Sonia’s birthday now that she already has the green scarf.

  The photos that resulted from the twenty rapid-fire, self-timer shots are great, capturing the expanse of the moment, the little quick glances, the inevitable rabbit ears behind heads, and one with me staring at the text that had just come through.

  Mom let’s talk. It’s from Adam, copied to Ryn. I texted them right back with a simple Yes! When? Anytime.

  Several hours later, still no response from either of the kids. Roy and I talk about all of this as we lie in bed, Gabler at our feet. The simple joy of how our bodies feel together is what I think I love most about being with him. The nights we are apart leave me incomplete. Being honest with myself, I have to admit that, after all these years of being solo, he fills the spaces I didn’t know I had. I suppose we will have to address living arrangements pretty soon.

  As we talk, I tell him I’m feeling very conflicted about this coming up with the kids now and how it feels rubbing up against connecting with Jesper. There’s no question in my mind that he is my son, however, Ryn and Adam are my children. There’s no replacing that. I need to focus on Ryn and Adam and work to fix us.

  I start to get up for a nightcap. “I’m sorry, I need to quiet my mind. I need sleep.”

  He pops out of bed instead, puts his pajama bottoms on and calls to Gabler. “Come on Beast. We might as well pour her a drink and see where this goes.”

  Coming back to the bedroom, he hands me vodka, neat, in my favorite glass. Danny Wright’s quiet piano music is now playing from the kitchen. “Roof or parlor?” he asks.”

  “The parlor’s fine,” I reply, knowing it’s closer to a second vodka. “Then back to bed.”

  By morning, Jesper has written!

  God morgen, Jessica.

  I hope you had a very happy Mother’s Day. My mother was very touched that you sent her your thought about her finding me. As I said, I am very lucky to have this family.

  I also am so very eager to know, and I have hesitated to ask, if I have other family that you will tell me a
bout. Is my birthfather from Norway or am I actually an, how do you call it, ‘All-American?’ Do I have any half siblings? I bring this up, in what I hope is not an intrusive way, because you wrote on Mother’s Day and I didn’t know if you have other children.

  Your offer to set up a meeting is most welcome. I am not sure, however, how we can make that happen in the short term. I am going on a four-month assignment to begin a documentary on the art of indigenous peoples. I will be travelling for all of this time. Regrettably, the art of your Native American’s is not included in our itinerary. Upon my return, there is a one month editing turn-around. I do not see how we could have a good visit before the end of October. Please do not take this for any hesitancy on my part. I am very eager to meet you.

  Would it be possible for us to set up video chat in the coming weeks before I embark?

  More confidently, yours,

  Jesper

  There’s an email from Erica and one below it from Ryn. I shouldn’t, but I do, give Erica’s short shrift. She’s sent me something about a school project. It’s photos of feet and shoes. It’s not her best work. It doesn’t evoke anything. I write back.

  Hey sweetie, I’m in a rush this morning, sorry. I think you might want to rethink this one. The shoes and feet thing seem shallow. Sorry, give me a call if you want to talk about it. Love you.

  Then, from Ryn–

  Hi Mom,

  Adam and I have to be in DC next week on business. We’ll be there for a week. We’ve asked Aunt Sonia if we can stay at her place. It’s been so long since we’ve seen her. Erica must be huge by now.

  Anyway, we are wondering, if you have time, can we meet someplace and talk. Let us know your schedule. -Ryn

  I notice she has copied Sonia. Thankfully, the phone is already ringing as I re-read this. It’s Sonia. She cuts me off before I can say a word.