by J. A. James
Last wishes, mom, she thought as she gazed at the marigolds which ensconced her body. A pretty wreath of them nestled on her head. A crown fit for a queen, she thought sadly. She’d always imagined her mother was a queen growing up; she was the princess. The king ruined her. She pushed the thought away, almost angry that it had intruded into her thoughts.
She looks almost peaceful, Halva thought numbly, as she stood at the front while her mother's sad-looking neighbors and past colleagues went by. She caught a few sidelong glances cast at her.
She imagined what they thought of her. Gave her mother a lot of trouble, that one. Ran away and her ma never found peace again. Never came back when her mother was alive. Unimaginable. Brought her to an early grave, that one.
She closed her eyes as the hot boil of tears threatened to spill over for the umpteenth time. She didn't wear a stitch of makeup for this very reason. If they only knew.
The long line of attendees was nearly finished. And then a voice crept in.
"Hello, Halva."
She stiffened immediately, knowing the voice even though she had not heard it in over fifteen years. Every decibel and slight inflection, she recognized.
He's here. He dared to come? Her eyes shot up and met his dark eyes that matched her own. He had thinned out some; but he still loomed over with his 6'2" wiry frame, a slight beard now framing his jaw. Instinctively, she shrank back before realizing she had done it.
And yet – as she looked at him – something had changed. He looked older, a faded copy of what she had remembered him to be. She realized she was no longer that small, frightened girl anymore.
You bastard. How dare you think you can show up here! Within a nanosecond, something inside her sifted - to one of anger. She was furious that he had shown up; furious her mother never had the will to leave. Furious that he had destroyed her childhood; that all she remembered was running away.
And you dare show up now with all your goddamn righteousness. The poisonous thought entered Halva's mind as her fists curled up in anger, and her jaw tightened as he continued to stand there in front of her, unmoving.
"What do you want?" she hissed out in a barely heard tone.
"I just want to pay my respects," he responded calmly, a little louder than her. A few people in the front pews began looking at them; their eyes wide and sifting back and forth between Halva and her father. Halva could feel the whispers arising like the little waves on a beach, building and crescendoing into a massive wake.
"Do it and leave," she retorted, as her own voice got louder. She didn't care anymore. The one person she cared about now was dead; and her murderer was standing in front of her, unscathed. Guiltless.
He glanced at the casket. "Don't you think you went a little overboard with these flowers?" he asked disdainfully.
His tone and words lit a fuse in Halva that was ready to explode. With the years of abuse her mother had tolerated, and now to pick a fight over something as inconsequential as this?
She tried to swallow and speak slowly. "Just - leave." Her eyes began shooting sparks at him. Just leave. And I never want to see you again.
His nostrils slightly flared at her words. He backed away, however, knowing that a church full of eyes were on his back. He managed a small half-smirk as he moved onto the coffin, glancing down for a long moment, before turning away and striding towards the back of the church.
Halva felt eyes looking at her in sympathy. The lady beside her reached out, placing her hand on Halva’s trembling arm. It was one of her neighbors who had lived on the street. Wordlessly, Mrs. Winnow handed Halva a tissue as tears began sliding down Halva’s face.
“It wasn’t easy, I know,” Mrs. Winnow whispered to Halva.
Halva nodded, pressing her lips together tightly. She knew she was turning red. Perhaps her neighbor knew how difficult it had been. Maybe she’d heard one of her father’s drunken rages and sounds of smashing glass. It wouldn’t have been hard… that had been on the weekly rotation. Her home had been a barren battleground where everybody had lost. Nothing had been saved.
Halva's mind was spinning through the rest of the sermon. She barely heard the pastor's words; it was all she could do to keep herself together, and not lose herself in the familiar rage she had worn almost daily as a shield for years. She barely heard the preacher as the sermon ended.
As the people got up to leave, some of them came and talked to Halva softly. Their words were careful; they were delicate and overly considerate, as if she were a china teacup ready to break. Or smash on the floor.
Halva forcibly tried to turn her lips upward as she thanked them for coming. They were her mother's neighbors; her longtime friends from church. Christine Dandy, one of her mom's closest friends came up to her, then.
Halva recognized her vaguely from when she used to come over with her two daughters and they would play together. She didn't like her two girls, Jane and Sasha, much. She felt they always looked down on her. They always had the prettiest dresses in their elementary class, while Halva always found herself in ripped, over-patched pants and stuffy sweaters that nobody wanted. Her clothes were always from the secondhand store, and she hated how she always dreamed of the dresses Jane and Sasha were always twirling around in.
The Dandelion twins, she used to mumble under her breath. Whenever she saw dandelions on the sidewalks or gardens, she went over to stomp on them right away. Somehow, it made up for all the playdates she had to endure.
"Dear, it is so lovely to see you," Christine gushed, her cheeks reddened with too much rouge and eyes highlighted by a shockingly bright shade of bluebird eyeshadow. She flitted her mascaraed eyes at Halva.
"It isn't the best of circumstances, but I just wanted to thank you for pulling this all together. Your mother was a lovely, lovely dear," Christine continued.
Halva's eyes filled with tears at her words. She felt completely raw; and at the slightest mention of her mother was enough to send her overboard. A few tears began slipping down Halva's cheeks.
"Oh, honey," Christine cooed as she quickly embraced Halva, who crumpled slightly in her arms, not wanting anyone to see her cry. She was still shaking from seeing her father.
They stood there for a few moments before Halva gained a modicum of control and managed to stand upright again. Then, she recognized Sasha and Jane, standing a few rows back, chatting with a small group of women, their backs turned to her.
"Thank you, Christine. Thank-thank you for coming. I'm sure my mother would have appreciated it."
Christine smiled sympathetically. "I know... she was so dear to me." She paused for a moment before continuing. "Also, if you have time in the next few days before returning home, your mother left me a few things to give to you."
"Oh?" Halva was moderately surprised at her words. She hadn't imagined that her mom would have left anything for her with this woman. Then again, it wasn’t as if her Mother had had many friends… "Do you know what she left me?"
Christine shrugged. "It wasn’t a lot. She just asked specifically that I not share this with you until I saw you in person."
Not to tell my father, Halva realized. There was that. She nodded. "Of course, I can come tomorrow, if you'd like." She was flying out the day after.
Christine smiled. "Wonderful... I'll be home in the late afternoon, if you'd like to stop by for tea and pick up your things." She squeezed Halva's hand. "Take care," she whispered, before whisking away, leaving a trail of her expensive Dior perfume - she wouldn't wear any other - lingering in Halva's nostrils.
CHAPTER 8
Halva arrived at Christine's house promptly at three o'clock. She pulled into the cul de sac, which was laid out in a similar fashion to the one she grew up in. The only difference was the neighborhood was ten times wealthier, with manicured lawns, gardeners and pool boys maintaining everything. The weather was cold; and Halva was shivering at the doorstep as she rang the doorbell.
Why hadn't she packed a warmer jacket? she berated herself then. She
hadn't remembered how chilly it could get; in fact, she hadn't considered much of anything at all before she had boarded the plane. The last week and a half had been mind-numbing for her. Edith had given her the entire week and a half off, with no questions asked. And Halva was more than grateful for it.
Christine opened the door, dressed in an elegant yellow jacquard dress. "Come in, dear," she sang as she ushered Halva in.
"You look nice," Halva offered wanly. "Did you just come back from somewhere?"
"Oh, yes," Christine chirped. "The Menuonos next door invited me over to their granddaughter's sixteenth birthday, held at The Birch Restaurant at noon. Their mother was so proud - " she suddenly stopped at her words, biting her tongue.
Halva forced out a laugh. "Don't worry, please. Thank you. I'm glad you had a good time."
Christine waved her hands in the air, revealing a fresh blood-red manicure. "I tell you, dear. Between your mum's funeral yesterday and today's birthday - sometimes I wonder. It's too much sometimes! Life, you know!"
Halva nodded. Christine was a socialite back then and at least that part had remained the same. "I know," she responded.
"Come...sit." Christine gestured into the living room. It had been eons since she had been in this house, and she stepped in gingerly, wondering where to sit amongst the oversized, expensive leather couches. Her husband's touch was very much apparent here; amongst the leather couches, dark ebony bookcases and stuffed animal heads that hung over the two fireplaces in the vast room.
She shuddered at the sight of the taxidermied heads. She never liked dead animals. She saw a flash of her mother's face, suddenly, and her eyes filled with tears once again.
She was grateful Christine had disappeared into the kitchen. She came back moments later, carrying a tray full of hot tea and biscuits.
"Oh, thank you," Halva said wanly. "I didn't want you to have to go to all this trouble - "
"No, this wasn't trouble at all!" Christine interjected. "Please. I'm happy to. It's been ages since I've seen you - what have you been up to in all these years?"
She sat down pertly, folding her gingham-checkered apron edge neatly over her dress before pouring a cup of tea for Halva. The china slightly rattled as she placed it in front of her. Halva picked up the cup of dusty pink porcelain carefully, taking a sip. Blueberry-something, she guessed. “Thank you,” she murmured to Christine.
"Oh, I’ve just been keeping busy, you know, with life," Halva answered half-heartedly. She saw Christine looking at her with a question mark in her eyes. Was she curious or just plain nosy? Or both. If she stayed in town for the next week, she was sure half the town would have the update.
"Oh," she said. "I'm going to be running a catering business soon. It’ll keep me plenty busy over the next few years."
Christine put her hands together, smiling brightly at her. "That sounds wonderful!" she exclaimed. "How on earth did you get into that? I never realized you enjoyed cooking."
"Uh, no," Halva responded, smiling at her. "I don't cook. I have two chefs who do all the cooking. I manage the client and business side of things.”
Christine looked mystified at her words, as if it was hard to imagine a job besides the actual cooking. "I see!"
Christine had been a housewife all her life, with a wealthy husband who willingly gave her most of the fruits of his labour to furnish the home with and to dote on their two little girls. She was privileged. Halva only now realized that Christine had a kinder heart than many as she had ignored the economic gulf between her and her mother for so many years.
Halva remembered that her own family had been quite well off until her father had lost his job at the busiest law firm in town around the time she was finishing elementary school. At that point, he had begun drinking heavily and never recovered from his downward spiral.
“How are your daughters?” Halva enquired. She wanted to change the conversation.
“Ohhh…my darling Jane! Well she just got engaged to a lovely man, a surgeon from Washington! We’re going to get all their wedding details finalized in the next two months. And my other one, Sasha, well she’s just taking a step back from her dental practice as she’s onto her third child now. Her girls are just dolls. All of them!” Christine chatted merrily along, as Halva nodded politely at her words.
The biscuits were slightly dry. They must have come from the main bakery downtown. She remembered they used to taste better than this. Did they no longer bake them in-house….?
Christine’s voice broke into her thoughts. “And you, dear?” she asked. Her roving eye landed on Halva’s hands, which had no rings to speak of.
“Oh…me,” Halva laughed. She was used to the questions. “No. I haven’t been seeing anyone lately.” It was partly true… she hadn’t seen anyone, well, since she’d started working with Edith. It had been years. And before that, she’d only dated someone half-heartedly for three smattering months. Poor Ben… she admitted her attentions toward him had only been lukewarm at best. Eventually, it was he who stopped calling and coming around. Her love life hadn’t amounted to much... It was much easier to help people get married than try and go through what she saw being a tiresome game of finding a shoe that fit for herself.
Christine set her teacup down and got up. She seemed satisfied with the amount of gossip they’d exchanged. It would be enough to fill her needs for tomorrow’s social hour, Halva thought dryly.
"Well, dear, these things always take time. And a girl like you - you’re pretty, just like your mother was. A bit skinny though, given you work with food all the time.”
Halva chuckled at those words.
“You needn’t worry, dear,” Christine said, leaning over to pat her hand. “The right gentleman will come at the right time.”
“Do you think my mother found the right one?” Halva blurted out. She was suddenly embarrassed at her question, but wanting to know what Christine thought of her dad.
Christine hesitated and shifted her eyes. Right then, Halva knew that she’d known more than she let on.
“Did you know about what happened between them?” she whispered.
Christine took a sip of tea. “Your mother was never the type to air her dirty laundry, Halva. I always got the sense over the years that she was deeply unhappy. When you disappeared from high school, I knew something was terribly wrong and that your mother was fighting to maintain a semblance of normalcy.”
Halva’s eyes welled up with tears again, listening to her words. “So… she never said anything?”
“I offered her to stay here if she ever wanted. But she never took me up on it.” Christine then looked down. “I suspected things were going badly… but I didn’t want to pry. Your mother was a dutiful wife. She took pride in how she ran her home. And when she came over to visit, I suspected I provided a great and welcome distraction. It felt like that was the best I could do for her. I don’t think - I was wrong?”
Halva felt her eyes searching on her. She smiled quickly. “Thank you for being her friend. You were good to her.”
Christine placed her teacup down. “I don’t know if I was good enough, looking back.” She sighed a deep sigh, brushing the wrinkles from her skirt as she rose.
Halva then wondered if she had known more than she let on.
“Let me fetch the things for you."
Halva was quiet as Christine left. She realized how typical it was, that the abuse had stayed behind closed doors. She was more than familiar with domestic abuse statistics and how women felt ashamed to tell anyone. I’m no different. She had never breathed a word of it to anyone, even Edith, the person she loved and trusted the most in this world.
Christine came back a few moments later, with one small black box, tied together with a large giant red satin ribbon. Definitely Christine's touch, the ribbon, Halva thought. Her mother would never have spent the money on frivolous things such as that.