Return to Grace

by Bethany Surreira

  My smile quickly faded and I began to look around the office, admiring all of Principal Palmer’s plaques and diplomas. Artwork that his kids drew for him when they were younger was framed and hung on his wall. A picture of him and Marina was sitting on his desk, turned ever-so-slightly. I wanted to stand up and straighten it, but I didn’t. Just as I was about to ask him how his kids were, Marina walked through the door carrying to-go bags from Rosewater, a little hole in the wall Lebanese restaurant in the next town over.

  “Leah Abernathy, my word! What a pleasure it is to see you here! I was so sorry to hear about your mom. Come give me a hug, sweetie,” Marina said, coaxing me out of my seat.

  Of course, I was delighted to see Marina. I had spent so many wonderful days over at her house playing with Janie, their youngest child and only daughter. Janie was four years younger than me but that had never bothered us. She was a cute kid and we had a lot of fun together. We always played school and took turns being the teacher. I wondered what she was up to these days.

  “Hi, Mrs. Palmer. Thank you. It’s good to see you, too.”

  “Well, will you be joining us for lunch, sweetie? There’s plenty to go around. I always make sure to pick up extra when Billy and I get together for lunch.” She winked and patted Bill’s ever-growing belly.

  “I would love to. Thank you,” I replied, trying not to stare at Bill.

  “Funny, Marina. Very funny.” He laughed and pulled up a chair to sit at the table.

  Marina laid out the containers of food, and she wasn’t kidding when she said she bought extra. There was enough food to feed ten people. My mouth watered when I saw the kibbe pockets and lentil soup. Sure, New York City was home to the most amazing restaurants, but nothing could beat Rosewater’s food. Especially the soup. I grabbed a plate and fork and began to dig into the ridiculous feast.

  “So, Principal Palmer—I mean Bill—has told me you two are going to be discussing some things for the festival,” I said between bites.

  “We’re planning on making a few announcements at the end of the festival so we need to collaborate on those, and we’re also trying to decide who will light the tree. As you know, your mother won Teacher of the Year, so we were going to honor her there. Now that the plans have changed, we need to move things around a bit.” She wiped the corner of her mouth with her napkin before gently placing it back on her lap.

  “I see,” I replied, sucking my bottom lip under my teeth. My fists were balled up under the table, and I was trying to remain calm. I was sure Marina didn’t mean anything by it, but her words were like a thousand tiny daggers stabbing me over and over again. “If you don’t mind, I’m just going to walk around and get some air.”

  “Oh, of course, honey,” Marina quickly declared. “I’m sorry if I’ve upset you. I didn’t mean—”

  “I know,” I told her, and walked out of the office, leaving my coat and purse on the chair. I knew Marina meant well; I just needed some air.

  I walked through the secretary’s office and into the main lobby of the building. I just stood there, taking it all in. It had been seven years, yet the school had not changed a bit.

  If I went left, I’d end up at the lower school, the shared gym, and the lower school’s cafeteria. If I went straight, I’d end up in the high school cafeteria. Right would take me down a long hallway into the main part of the school and all the high school classrooms. I went right.

  I ran the tips of my fingers along a handmade bench that had been gifted to Principal Palmer by the class of two thousand and seven. I laughed when I remembered everyone getting questioned on the whereabouts of all the wooden hall passes.

  The walk down the halls seemed much shorter than I remembered and eerily calming. Without the ruckus of students pushing and shoving to get to class on time, the stillness was soothing. Before I knew it, I was at my mother’s classroom.

  It was no surprise the room was organized in tip-top shape. The bookshelves were decorated with Christmas trinkets that had been gifted to her throughout the years from her many loving students. The ceiling was draped with Christmas lights that would flicker along with the music she would play during the students’ breaks in class. She always had a way to make them feel special and relaxed.

  I made my way over to my mother’s desk and sighed. Mom’s reading glasses were folded neatly and sat upon a stack of papers that were ready for distribution when winter break ended. The same picture I had in my bedroom of the three of us sat in a white, flowery frame right next to what looked like a more recent picture of her and my dad.

  Your love story was always my favorite, Mom.

  I gasped when I saw the last picture that stood alone on the other side of the desk. I didn’t quite know what to make of it. My mom had the formal portrait of me from my NYU graduation. I looked at the girl staring back at me, wearing a deep purple graduation gown and black cap. In the bottom left hand corner was a selfie taken of my parents with the world’s biggest grins on their faces as I was walking up to the podium to collect my diploma. They had been there? This day kept getting worse and worse.

  I sat in my mother’s chair and propped my elbows up on the desk, my head sinking into my hands once again. I couldn’t believe I had pushed my mother out of my life, and yet there she was, still supporting me from afar. All these years that I refused to talk to her were so selfish.

  In a flash of anger, I threw my arm across the desk and watched all of my mother’s things fly to the floor. Her reading glasses cracked when they bounced off the floor, and I lost it. Crying had become the new norm and this time, I wasn’t ashamed by it.

  “Leah, honey? What happened?” I heard coming from the doorway.

  Marina stood there with her mouth gaped open and her eyes as wide as saucers. I lifted my head and didn’t bother to wipe my nose, which was running like a faucet at this point. I looked up at Marina and kept crying until my puffy eyes couldn’t cry anymore.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Palmer. I need to go home,” I said and I rushed out of the classroom, not bothering to clean up the mess I had made.

  I ran down the hall to the office to grab my things and left from the back entrance. I didn’t stop running until I was safely on the front porch of my house. Gnocchi greeted me as if he had known exactly how I was feeling and I was eternally grateful.

  13

  When I finally walked into my house, it was close to dinnertime. My dad would probably be coming home soon from wherever he had ventured off to, and I knew he would need to eat dinner, so I decided to get it started. It was the least I could do. As I rummaged through the pantry trying to find something to make, my cell phone started buzzing in the back pocket of my jeans. It was the main line to my company.

  “Hello?” I answered.

  “Hey, girl, it’s Sara. Is this an okay time to talk?”

  “Hey, Sara. What’s up?”

  “Cameron asked me to connect you two. I don’t know why he couldn’t have Amy do it—or, I don’t know, do it himself—but he wants to talk to you and it sounds urgent.”

  “Shit, okay. I hope he’s not mad about me leaving early.”

  “Who the hell knows what actually goes through his mind except for how to make the most money while doing the least amount of work,” Sara said and laughed. “I shouldn’t be saying things like that on the work line. Who knows if it’s being recorded? I’ll put you through to him. Call me whenever you feel up to it, okay?”

  “Sure. And Sara, thanks for everything. I really mean it.”

  “Anytime, my love. Anytime,” she said and transferred the line.

  I went to my room to take the call, figuring if I had to deal with this, I could at least be in the comforts of my own room.

  “This is Cameron,” came obnoxiously booming through the phone, and I had to pull it away from my ear.

  “Cameron, this is Leah. Sara said you wanted to speak with me,” I said, rolling my eyes and trying to conceal an audible sigh.

  “Yes, I do. First, le
t me extend my deepest sympathies. I didn’t receive any messages until this morning, and I apologize for not getting back to you sooner. I know I can be a bit harsh with time off, but please take all the time you need,” Cameron said, shocking me.

  I was absolutely not expecting that, and my expression of annoyance quickly faded into one of appreciation. I had worked for Cameron for many years and had never seen him show an inkling of the compassion and understanding that he was now.

  “Thank you so much, Cameron. I really appreciate that,” I said.

  I pulled at the corner of my comforter and twisted the end of it with my fingers. I was nervous, although I couldn’t pinpoint why. I knew I wouldn’t be out of work any longer than was necessary, and Cameron had made it clear I could take all the time I needed. However, I knew I needed to get back to some level of normalcy. If I even know what that looked like anymore.

  “I’m not sure if you’re aware, but I lost my wife about five years ago to cancer. She struggled a lot while trying to have children and we later found out she had some cancerous cells that were slowly killing her. She succumbed to her illness, and I just haven’t been the same since,” he admitted. “If I am not mistaken, you came on board right after I returned after she passed.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that. No, I was not aware, but thank you for being so understanding. I can’t imagine I’ll be out any more than a week. The funeral is in a few days and then I plan to be back to work the following Monday.” Blowing out a huge breath, I waited for him to say more.

  “Understood. You remind me a lot of her. I think that’s why we work so well together. You are a breath of fresh air in our office, and I hope you know how appreciated you and your work ethic are,” he told me.

  I didn’t know what to say other than thank you.

  “Aside from that,” Cameron continued, “the other reason I’m calling is because the Portugal project is becoming bigger than anticipated, and I want to offer you a more in-depth role. You would be heading the entire project while training Sara to take over the role that you similarly had with John’s project. I know it seems like a lot, but you won’t have to worry about any of that until mid-January, as I’ve been able to hold off on it for the time being. Also, this can all be done remotely. If you do feel that you need to spend more time with your family, or you just don’t want to come into the office, you also have that option. I want to make sure you’re happy and comfortable.”

  “Wow, Cameron, that all sounds amazing. Thank you so much. Can you have Karen draft up exactly what the job entails? I’d love to get a start on it while I’m here. I need to stay busy. I’m sure you understand what I mean.”

  “Of course. Do whatever you need to do,” he said. “I just wanted to let you know that this position does come with a new title, as well as a significant pay increase. I’ll make sure that’s included with Karen’s email. Your efforts are more than noticed and you should be rewarded. I’m proud of you, Leah.”

  I thought I was getting fired, and instead, got promoted. Who knew that Cameron had a soft side? I wonder if anyone else in the company knew about his wife. Surely Karen, his secretary, did.

  “Have you told Sara about this yet?” I asked. “I know she’s been working toward advancement as well.”

  “I spoke with her last week about her interest in other positions here, but I’ve yet to offer her this one. I could be jumping the gun, but I think we’ll all find a happy medium. I plan to offer it to her when we hang up. I’m sure you two will have lots to catch up on after our chat,” he said and I felt his warmth and smile through the phone.

  “One more thing, Leah. And I may be overstepping here but hear me out. I know it seems impossible right now, but try to enjoy every minute of being back home with the ones who love you the most. Tomorrow is never promised, and you must go through life as if each day could be your last. Love the ones you’re with and let them love you back.”

  “Thank you, Cameron. That was beautiful,” I said before we hung up. I couldn’t wait to call Sara back after dinner. I didn’t know how I was able to be so happy and so sad at the same time, but I thought Mom would have wanted me to smile instead of cry.

  I wiped a tear from my eye and tossed my phone onto the bed before I ran back downstairs and into the pantry. As I started rifling through the rows of pasta and rice, I struggled to find the right thing to make. Hmm…spaghetti and meatballs. Meatloaf with mashed potatoes. Chicken parmesan. And then my eyes landed on a box of garden herb crackers. I really hoped we had shrimp in the freezer!

  I walked out into the mudroom to check if there were any shrimp in the chest freezer. My mother was notorious for stocking up on almost everything. She always feared we’d be living through some sort of global pandemic or zombie apocalypse and wouldn’t have enough provisions to survive, even though my dad owned a grocery store. Jackpot! Baked stuffed shrimp it was!

  Baked stuffed shrimp held so many memories in that small dish. My mom cooked it for my dad on their very first wedding anniversary and every single year since. She also made it for my birthday every year, at my request. We were never a family that dined out often. Usually, a brunch here and there or maybe lunch when we were out. There was the occasional visit to Tammy’s diner, but that was mostly because she begged us to come taste test her latest creations.

  It wasn’t that we couldn’t afford to dine out, my mom just preferred to cook, and we definitely preferred her cooking over a restaurant. One thing was certain, we always made sure to be home for family dinner, especially on Sundays. And even in college and at my NYC apartment, no matter what I had going on, I always made it home in time to make something for Sunday dinner. I usually ate alone, but the tradition never stopped.

  “Mmm, it smells amazing in here!” my dad exclaimed. He threw his jacket into the mudroom, not even trying to hang it. “What have you been up to?”

  “I thought you could use a nice meal. I wasn’t sure what to make. I hope this is okay.”

  “Oh, pumpkin, it’s perfect. She would have loved this.” He looked down and cleared his throat, trying not to show any emotion. “Let me set the table while you plate those.”

  “Okay, Dad.”

  I grabbed the serving spoon and two plates and started piling the shrimp on. I handed them to him, carried the bowl of salad to the table, and sat down.

  “I’m starving,” I said, reaching for my fork. “I haven’t had this in so long. I don’t know why; it’s the easiest thing to make.”

  “You know, we haven’t had it since your birthday before you left for college,” he admitted. “Your mom stopped making it when she thought you wouldn’t be coming home.”

  It was like a punch to the gut. I was in between feeling sad and downright pissed that my mother never bothered to just pick up the phone and call me. Then again, I wasn’t exactly mature enough to pick up the phone either. I probably would have seen the number and sent her to voicemail or ended up hanging up on her in the middle of the call. I still couldn’t understand how it took my mother dying for me to be able to just grow the hell up and realize the mistakes I had made.

  Regret tore through me like a Caribbean hurricane. I thought it was bad leaving Caleb, but that pain was a stubbed toe compared to this. I wasn’t sure I had any tears left to cry, and at this point, I was just numb. I caused my mother’s death and there was nothing I could ever do to change that.

  “Hey, Dad?”

  “Yeah, pumpkin?” he replied, shoving another forkful of shrimp into his mouth. “Mmm, this is so good.”

  “How come you never told me that Mom was at my NYU graduation?” I asked nervously.

  He took a long swig of his water and cleared his throat. “How do you know about that?”

  “I ended up at the school this afternoon and went to Mom’s classroom. I saw the pictures on her desk.”

  Caught off guard, he didn’t have time to fabricate some story to make me feel better, so he had no other choice but to tell me the truth. We b
oth just sat there staring at one another, waiting for someone to say something.

  “Dad?”

  He cleared his throat and wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin before gently placing it back onto his lap. He clasped his hands and placed them on the table, looking straight into my eyes.

  “How much do you want to know?” he asked me.

  “Everything. And don’t leave anything out.”

  14

  My dad let out a huge sigh and began to fill me in on the seven years I had missed. He didn’t hold back, unafraid of hurting my feelings with what he was telling me. Like father, like daughter. After all, I was the one who had decided to leave and not be present in my own mother’s life.

  “When you were growing up, you definitely gave us a run for our money a few times, but nothing substantial and nothing that ever hurt us. But after you left for NYU, your mom struggled quite a bit. You leaving nearly killed her.”

  “But I didn’t do anything! I went to college,” I blurted out, my voice increasing in volume with each word.

  “You asked me to tell you, Leah. Now let me finish,” he commanded sternly.

  “I’m sorry, Dad.”

  “She continued to go to work and teach and put on a brave face. Everyone in town would always ask about you and say how exciting it must be for you to be studying in the big city. It tore your mother apart, but she never let anyone know. Not even Becky. Each year, when they’d start decorating the town for Christmas, I thought your mom was going to have a nervous breakdown. You and I had our weekly phone calls, but you refusing to talk to her…it broke her heart.”