Crossing the Lines

by S. J. Hooks

  I don’t know what to say in response, so I take the cup and blow on the hot liquid. I didn’t think it would be so easy to let go of all the negative feelings I’ve harbored. I haven’t forgotten the past, but I also know I won’t gain anything from denying him this last wish. I want him to go in peace.

  “How long does he have?” I whisper, taking a sip.

  “Days. Maybe a week or two according to the doctors.”

  I glance up at my mom, seeing her blinking back tears. “There’s nothing they can do?” I ask even though I already know the answer.

  She shakes her head. “They offered us a bed in a hospice, but I brought him home. He—he should die in his own home.” Her voice cracks, and she walks out of the room. I set down the coffee cup and let go of my father’s hand. He’s still fast asleep, clearly heavily medicated. My mom is downstairs in the kitchen, cooking up a storm, bowls, pots, and cutting boards everywhere. She looks up when I come in, quickly wiping underneath her eyes as she plasters on a fake smile.

  “I hope Luke likes meatloaf,” she says.

  “He does. Mom—”

  “I’m making chocolate chip cookies for dessert. He’s not allergic to anything, is he?”

  “No.” I walk over to her, stilling her frantic movements by placing my hands on top of hers. “Mom, are you all right?”

  “Yes, yes, I’m fine. You will bring him over for dinner, won’t you?” she asks, obviously deflecting. “Your father would love to see him.”

  “Okay,” I say, sighing softly.

  My mother keeps cooking, and I go upstairs to watch over my father. Half an hour later the nurse from before comes back, and I leave her to do whatever it is that she does.

  “I’m going over to Cecile’s,” I tell my mom, who’s still busy in the kitchen. She nods. “Can I invite her over for dinner?” I ask hesitantly.

  My mom’s head snaps up.

  “She’s been watching Luke all afternoon. I’m not sure if she’s even had time to cook for herself.”

  “I … I don’t know.” Her hand goes straight to her hair, trying to smooth it.

  “She’s not going to care how you look, Mom. She’s really nice.”

  “I’ve never really spoken with her—except that time in the grocery store.”

  “She cares about me,” I say, by way of explanation.

  “I know. She was there for you when I wasn’t. I know that.” She draws a breath. “Yes, she can come if she wants.”

  “Thank you,” I say softly. “She really is nice. And Jo—I don’t know what I would’ve done without her. I’m going to be her maid of honor, you know.”

  My mom gives me a small smile.

  “I won’t be long.”

  I walk back toward Cecile’s house, trying to sort out my conflicting emotions. I’m relieved that my mom really does seem to have changed—she’s so much softer and kinder now—but at the same time heartbroken that it had to come to this, for my father to be on his deathbed for it to happen. I’m also nervous about bringing Luke over there, of how he might react to seeing his grandfather like that. We’ve never talked about death, and I’m not even sure Luke understands the concept. I never imagined I’d have to have this talk with my son so soon, and I don’t feel ready for it at all. I could keep Luke away—my father and mother have done nothing in the past to deserve having him in their lives—but they’ve both apologized now, which is huge. I’ve never once heard either of them admit they’ve been wrong about anything. And I’m exhausted from holding on to my feelings of anger toward them. It feels good to let it all go and I’m hoping we can start over somehow.

  I wonder how Simon would react if he knew where I was right now. From the way he talked about his father, I’m sure he never let go of his feelings of anger, but he seemed genuinely regretful for me when I told him I wasn’t close with my mom anymore.

  But of course he would be. He lost his mother before he ever got a chance to know her. The thought brings tears to my eyes. I can imagine him as a little boy, lonely and sad, longing for something he’ll never know. He never got to be a loved son, and he never got to watch his own son grow up. My throat constricts and I have to stop walking. Impulsively, I fish my phone out of my pocket and pull up Simon’s number, staring at it. I want to call him, to hear his voice. I never felt happier than when I was with him, never felt more at peace. Without him I feel lost, at sea. I look down at his number again. Have I ever called him? No, I realize. I haven’t. And he’s never called me. We’ve never really been out together in public or gone on a date. I don’t know what happened to his son or where he got his scars, or even why he hates Christmas. I don’t really know him at all.

  I still love him just the same. But he won’t let me.

  I sniff loudly, putting my phone away. Calling him would only make everything worse. I have to learn to be happy without him. I start walking again, putting one foot in front of the other. That’s all I can do: Keep moving forward.

  If Cecile is surprised by the dinner invitation, she doesn’t show it. We drive over there with Luke safely strapped into his car seat, and I’m grateful she’s with me, knowing she’s completely on my side in all of this. My mom greets us at the door as we enter.

  “Thank you for the invitation, Maude,” Cecile says, giving her a firm handshake. “I’ve had my hands full with this guy.”

  She smiles at Luke, who’s fumbling with his zipper. I kneel down and help him with it.

  “Hon, this is my mom,” I say. “Remember I told you about her and my dad?”

  Luke looks up at my mom.

  “Hi, Luke.” My mom’s voice sounds scratchy. “I’m your grandmother. You can call me Nana, if you want.”

  He reaches out his little hand, and my mom takes it in hers. “How do you do?” he asks. “That means hi.”

  Cecile and my mom laugh, but I can’t join in their merriment.

  “That’s what Mr. Thorne said,” he continues, much to my regret.

  “Who’s Mr. Thorne?” my mother asks.

  Oh, God. “My boss,” I say, standing up as I usher Luke into the kitchen, hoping to distract him.

  I don’t want my mom to know I don’t have a job anymore, and I don’t want her to know how desperate my circumstances will be if I’m not able to find a job within the next couple months. We may have started over, but not showing any sign of weakness in front of her is second nature to me, and I wonder if I’ll ever be able to let go of that.

  We sit down to dinner, and I’m once again grateful for Cecile’s presence. She effortlessly comes up with neutral topics of conversation like what’s going on around town and, of course, her excitement that her daughter is getting married. It’s actually a nice dinner, which I didn’t expect at all. Luke attacks the meatloaf with his usual healthy appetite, making my mother smile from across the table.

  “How come you don’t have a Christmas tree?” he asks her suddenly. “You need one so you can get presents.”

  “Oh.” My mom’s smile turns sad. “I don’t think I’ll be celebrating Christmas this year.”

  “No Christmas?” Luke is shocked.

  “Remember how I told you my dad, your grandfather, is sick, hon?” I ask him. “That’s why. They usually have Christmas together, but this year they can’t really.”

  I glance at my mom. Her eyes are wet, and Cecile reaches over to place her hand on top of hers.

  Luke suddenly lights up. “You can have Christmas with us, Nana!” he exclaims. “Mommy makes the best dinner. And there’s presents and candy, and we sing songs and watch Muppet Christmas Carol!” He turns to me. “Right, Mommy? Nana can have Christmas with us, right?”

  My son has such a good heart. I can’t possibly say no.

  “Of course she can,” I say, looking over at my mom. “We’ll have Christmas here this year.”

  “Yay!” Luke goes back to his dinner, unaware of my mom holding back tears across the table, now clutching Cecile’s hand.

  “Excuse me,” she
says, getting up. “I’d better check on George.” I breathe out once she’s left the kitchen.

  Cecile gives me a reassuring smile. “I think it’s a wonderful idea. Jo, Thomas, and the kids are coming up for the holidays, so we’ll be close by, all of us.”

  That makes me feel a lot better, but I’m still a bit wary.

  “Will you stay here tonight?” she asks.

  “I’d like to stay at your place, if that’s okay. This is all a little overwhelming.”

  “I can imagine. You stay as long as you need to.”

  “Thank you, not just for that, but for coming over here with me. I’m worried about her.”

  “I am too. We should talk later,” Cecile says, glancing at Luke.

  I nod. He doesn’t look like he’s paying attention to us, but I’ve been wrong before. Mom comes back after a few minutes, appearing composed again, and we finish dinner with more small talk. Afterward, I take Luke into the living room for a little talk.

  “Now, hon, I don’t want you to be scared, okay?”

  He nods.

  “Your grandfather is very sick, so he’ll be in bed the whole time we’re here. And he probably won’t be able to talk a lot.”

  “Can’t you make him better, Mommy?” he asks. “Like when I was sick?”

  My chest constricts painfully. “I’m so sorry, baby, I wish I could. But he isn’t going to get better.” Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.

  “But what will happen then?” Luke asks.

  I sigh softly, pulling him into my lap. I don’t want to lie to him. “One day soon he’ll just … fall asleep. And he won’t wake up again.”

  “Will he still dream?”

  “You could say that. A lot of people think that you go to a place called Heaven. And it’s beautiful there and peaceful. Your Nana believes that.”

  “But why is she so sad, then,” he asks, pouting his lips, “if he’s going to that place?”

  “Because she’ll miss him,” I whisper. “Even though he’s going to such a nice place, she has to stay here without him. Understand?”

  He nods, looking thoughtful. “I think I should give Nana a hug, then.”

  I smile through tears. “I think she’d like that a lot, sweetheart.” I follow him into the kitchen where he runs right up to my mom, tugging on her shirt until she kneels down, a puzzled look on her face. He throws his arms around her neck.

  “Don’t be sad, Nana,” he says. “Don’t be sad.”

  I watch as my mom’s walls crumble, finally, and she starts crying openly, hugging Luke to her. My legs move as if on their own, and I find myself kneeling next to them, feeling my mom embrace me too, sobbing against my shoulder.

  “I’m so sorry,” she says, over and over again. “I’m so sorry for everything.”

  Cecile extracts Luke and picks him up, carrying him out of the room while I too start to cry, the last remnants of animosity I’ve harbored toward her escaping through my tears.

  “I forgive you, Mom,” I tell her. “I didn’t get pregnant on purpose, but it was the best thing I ever did, bringing Luke into the world.”

  “It is. It is,” she agrees, pulling back to look at me. “I’m so proud of you, Abigail, of the woman you’ve become. I can’t take any credit for it. It was all you.”

  I stare at her, warmth washing over me. “Thank you,” I whisper.

  We hug again before helping each other off the floor, wiping our eyes. I look at her as she collects herself. We’ll never be able to go back and change our past relationship, but for the first time, I dare to believe we might have a future one. And Luke could have a grandparent in his life.

  “Will you really stay for Christmas?” she asks quietly.

  I nod.

  “Then we have to get a tree,” she says, giving me a smile, “so I have a place to put your presents.”

  I smile back. “That sounds great.”

  The next few weeks fly by as we help my mom get the house ready for Christmas. We spend the first night at Cecile’s house before unofficially moving into my old room, which is just as I left it more than five years ago. The bed is big enough for both me and my son, and it feels good being here, watching him interact with my mom, who seems determined to make up for lost time by spoiling him rotten with attention and treats. I let her, loving every second of it, although this newfound happiness can’t erase my longing for Simon. Being here with my parents feels right for now, but I know it’s not where Luke and I truly belong.

  Luke also meets my father, who unfortunately grows weaker every day, losing his ability to speak a few days after we arrive. Luke doesn’t seem to mind, though. He seems comforted by the thought of his grandfather going to Heaven, and more than once I find him sitting next to my father’s bed, telling him about his school, his friends, and things he has seen on TV. My father watches my son for as long as he can keep his eyes open, falling asleep with a small smile on his face. I often sit with him at night, giving my mom a break. I hold his hand and read to him to fill the silence or sing hymns I still remember from church services as a child. He squeezes my hand as I tell him goodnight, every day with less strength, and I know he doesn’t have long. It’s more than a week until Christmas, and although the doctor has said most dying people usually hold on until after the holidays, I don’t think he’ll be able to make it that long.

  “I love you, Daddy,” I whisper, leaning in to press my lips to his forehead.

  Pulling back, I gaze into his eyes, seeing his love for me there. It’s not something I remember ever having seen before, but now it’s there, strong and unwavering. He grimaces in pain suddenly. Even the morphine drip next to the bed can’t take it away anymore. Watching him in so much agony and being helpless to ease his suffering is devastating.

  “It’s okay to let go,” I croak as tears fill my eyes. “We’ll see each other again. And in the meantime, me, Luke, and Mom, we’ll take care of each other. I promise.”

  He gives me the slightest of nods. It’s barely visible, but it’s there. He understands.

  “I’ll go get Mom, okay? I’ll be right back.”

  My father falls asleep that night, never to open his eyes again. His one hand is in mine, the other one in my mother’s. It’s peaceful and quiet and how it should be. He dies surrounded by his loved ones, forever dreaming, according to my son.

  Chapter Thirty

  My father is cremated three days later. I make the decision to wait to bury his ashes until after Christmas. I’m hoping it’ll give my mom a little time to recover. She’s not doing well at all, staying in bed most days and declining all visitors as well as most of the meals I bring her. I now find myself having to face parents of former classmates, distant and not so distant relatives, and townspeople I haven’t seen in years, receiving condolences, flowers, and casseroles in abundance. While all of it is appreciated, it also leaves me exhausted. I’ve only just rejoined this family, and having this huge responsibility thrust upon me is more than a little overwhelming.

  Thankfully, Cecile and Jo visit frequently, and between the three of us, we manage to hold off visitors. I wonder if I should be sadder—devastated like my mom—and I feel guilty for being able to go on, all the while knowing it’s important that I do so. Luke needs me, and while he was sad that his grandfather passed away, he’s now wrapped up in the excitement of Christmas. We decorate the house, and I do my best not to think of the last time Luke and I decorated and the disastrous results that followed. In fact, I try not to think of the past at all, focusing on the present and the future. We can’t stay here forever, and I need to make sure my mom will be all right once we go back to Seattle.

  “Mom? Can I talk to you?” I approach her bed slowly. Dad’s hospital bed has been removed, so now it’s just hers left in the bedroom.

  She shifts, cracking open her eyes to look at me before pulling the covers up around her shoulders. “What is it?” she asks, not unkindly.

  I take a seat on the edge of her bed. “We made hot
chocolate and cookies. And we’re about to watch A Christmas Carol. It’s a tradition. We always do it on the night of the 24th.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “Will you please come down and watch with us?”

  “I’m tired.”

  “I know you are.” I take a breath. “But it’s Christmas, and your grandson wants to spend it with you.”

  She stares into space.

  “Mom, please. There are things that need taking care of, things I can’t do on my own, like Dad’s memorial service. And Luke and I have to go home at some point.”

  “I know,” she whispers, her lips trembling.

  “Talk to me,” I beg.

  “I’m scared,” she finally admits, moving up into a sitting position. “I’m not like you, Abigail.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re so strong, so capable. I’ve never been on my own before.” She looks at me. “I went from my parents’ house to college, where I lived in a sorority house, and then your father and I were married right after graduation. I don’t know how to be on my own.”

  I draw a deep breath. I know my mother is grieving, so I choose not to tell her that the only reason I’m so strong and capable is because I had no choice in the matter, and at times it was hard as hell. I can’t help but think about Simon, how safe I felt letting go with him, how wonderful and freeing it was having him making some of the decisions. Will I ever feel that way again?

  “I know it’s hard,” I whisper, “but you can do this. And you’re not alone, Mom. You have me and Cecile and all of your friends around town. You should see how many flowers and cards you’ve received. Please come downstairs with us and celebrate Christmas.” I hold out my hand to her and pull out the big guns. “Luke will think you’re getting sick too if you don’t get out of this bed. You don’t want that, do you?” It’s a cheap shot, but I can’t let her lie up here, wasting away.

  “All right,” she says, throwing the covers off, “but I’m not changing out of my pajamas.”

  “Perfect,” I respond, trying not to sound smug. “Slumber party it is. I’ll go put on mine.”