Sonant

by A. Sparrow

  Just when Aerie had begun to wonder whether her mom had made the flight, a pair of automatic glass doors slid open and there she stood. The sight of her raised a flutter like a startled moth beneath Aerie’s ribs.

  Mom wore jeans and zip-up Patagonia fleece. She walked with a bit of hesitation between each step, studying her surroundings as warily as a gazelle checking a water hole for crocodiles.

  Their eyes met. Aerie caught a glimpse of her mother’s fear before it melted. She surged forward to take Aerie in her arms. There was something luxurious about her mother’s hugs, no matter if she was five or twenty-five, like swimming in a sea of cashmere, smothering under a goose down quilt.

  She pecked her mom on the cheek and pulled away, finding in Samantha’s grey eyes the sum record and distillation of every argument and spiteful word they ever shared since Aerie’s puberty.

  “Well, well, you’re looking much sharper than I expected,” said her mom. “Did you get your hair cut?”

  “I did.”

  “Your eyes, they look so clear again. That’s good to see. I was worried you might be getting over-medicated. Is that a scratch on your cheek?” She reached with her finger.

  Aerie pulled away and raised her own hand to the line of scabs above her jaw line. “Oh, that? That’s nothing. It’s just … from a branch. I went hiking the other day.”

  “You’re limping, too.”

  “Just sore from all that hiking, mom. Must be out of shape.”

  “Well I think it’s great that you’re getting some fresh air, some exercise. It can only do you good.”

  “Come on mom, let’s go have lunch. My treat.”

  ***

  They were driving down from the heights, where Route 13 swept around a curve overlooking the eastern shore of Cayuga Lake, when Aerie’s mother gasped.

  “Aerie. You pull over! Right now!”

  She took her foot off the gas and braked. “What’s wrong?”

  “Your engine light just came on.”

  “Oh that? Pfft. It does that all the time. No biggie. It’s just a light.” Aerie goosed the accelerator back up to speed. “It does that all the time.”

  “You’ll destroy the engine! It could seize up … or burn … or something.”

  “It’s fine, mom. It just overheats if I drive too long. We’re just going to the bottom of the hill.”

  “You really need to get that checked.”

  “I’ve been intending to, just haven’t had … time.”

  Aerie drove her mom to Raconteur, a pretentious neo-French fusion restaurant set in an old renovated Victorian on the fringes of Ithaca proper.

  Her mother looked alarmed as Aerie pulled into the lot.

  “This isn’t Moosewood. I assumed you would take me to Moosewood.”

  “Why would you think that? I’ve always wanted to try this place. It gets great reviews.”

  “I wanted to eat at Moosewood. I even bought their cookbook.”

  Aerie forced herself to take long, even breaths. “I wanted to take you someplace special, some place not so … vegetarian. Frankly, I’m sick of Moosewood.”

  Her mother pursed her lips. “Alright. Fine.” She pushed open the door.

  They were seated at a window with a view up the steep ridge abutting the rear of the property. The appetizers were simple but tasty—summer squash and roasted peppers sprinkled with pepper and drizzled with lemon, topped with paper-thin flakes of ham.

  Mom ranted about her travails as administrator for a charity that must have been the most unethical and incompetent management on earth, if everything she said was to be believed at face value. Samantha Walker was no stranger to hyperbole.

  She went on to gossip about Aunt Sadie and her kids—an odd contrast of achievement and delinquency. The younger girl had won a viola scholarship to Oberlin. The older cousin had never graduated high school and was not only bulimic, but pregnant.

  Aerie devoted her full energies into being an attentive listener and facilitating the conversation down these paths. The more they talked about others, the less time mom would have to probe into her life. Aerie wondered what sort of gossip they shared about her in her absence.

  When the entrees came, her mother fussed with her rack of lamb. She complained that it was undercooked and the sauce annoyed her because it was spiced with something she couldn’t identify. Aerie enjoyed her order just fine—a take-off on lobster thermidor with an intriguing hint of wasabi.

  “This place is lovely, don’t get me wrong,” said her mother when the desserts arrived. “But the point of my coming here was to see some of my daughter’s new life. I don’t suppose you take lunch here regularly.”

  “Just wanted to treat you to something nice, mom. There’s really not much to see downtown. It’s just a typical college town. Bunch of bars and book shops.”

  Her mom sighed. “Ithaca’s not as quaint here as I remember. That ugly commercial strip has gotten only worse. Cornell, up there on the hill, looks just ghastly. Whatever have they done to that campus? From a distance, it looks like they’ve plunked a steel mill into the quads.”

  “It’s not that bad, mom. It’s still got some pretty parts.”

  “Well, of course, how can it not, with such a location? Ithaca is blessed with good geography, if not good weather. I remember how stunned I was when your father first brought me here. That such a place could exist in New York State, of all places. I had no idea.”

  “It still feels like the Ithaca I knew when I was little. It still has the bones of the place we knew.”

  “Are you still seeing that doctor? What’s his name?”

  “Dr. Bowen. I didn’t like him. I kind of … stopped going.”

  Her mother leaned over the table and dipped her brow. “Then … who’s writing your prescriptions?”

  “I still have some refills. I think. But to tell you the truth, I’m not taking those pills anymore.”

  “Oh Aerie. Is this wise? Considering all you’ve been through?”

  “I’m doing fine … for now.”

  “For now?”

  “Mom, I’m fine. If I find I need the pills I’ll go back to them.”

  “I was speaking with Dr. Simon at my last appointment. He tells me there’s a new antidepressant out there. It’s called Paxiplac, or something like that. He says it’s a wonder drug compared to what’s out there. Most are no better than placebos. He says some brains are just not wired to respond to some drugs, but this new stuff … has a wider spectrum of activity.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “Aerie, you need to take your condition more seriously. You have an illness, and it’s treatable. So why not treat it?”

  “Mom. I know what I’m doing. Trust me.”

  “It’d be nice for you to have some medications around. For emergencies, if nothing else.”

  “That’s not how they work. You can’t just pop pills when you’re sad and expect them to make you happy.”

  “Don’t patronize me. I know how they work.” Her fork hung suspended over her plate. A chunk of triple chocolate cake with a wedge of candied mango dangled precariously. “A young man called for you last night.”

  “Was it … Hollis?”

  “I said a young man. Found it interesting that he had an Ithaca area code. I gave him your number. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “What? You gave my number to a complete stranger? Who was this guy?”

  “He sounded very nice. Very polite.”

  “I can’t believe you did that.”

  “Oh come on. It wouldn’t hurt for you to have some human contact. Have you made any friends since you‘ve been here?”

  “Plenty.”

  “I mean friends, not just … musicians.”

  “Same difference, mom. Music’s my … hobby. Of course I’m going to meet musicians.”

  “Are you playing again?”

  “Not at the moment. My bass, it got stolen.”

  “Your ten thousand dollar instrument? My Lo
rd!”

  “It’s insured—for six thou—but I’m still hoping to get it back. It’s just a hassle getting through all the red tape.”

  “Who would steal such a thing?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe it wasn’t actually stolen just … misplaced.”

  “That makes absolutely no sense. Why didn’t you …? I wish you would have told me about this.”

  “Why? What could you have done?”

  “I’m your mother. And it would have explained why you sounded so distraught when I spoke to you the other day.”

  “I was just having a bad day.”

  “Another reason to have those pills on hand.”

  “Pills can’t fix bad days … never mind bad lives.”

  “Oh, now there you go. When I hear you speaking like that I want to take you straight to the doctor’s.”

  “Mom, I’m fine. I’m just saying.”

  “And I don’t care what you say, you can’t ignore that light. You don’t want to get stranded on some back road.” She placed her napkin on the table and called for the check. “I’m paying.”

  “But I said I would treat.”

  “Save your money. You might need it, now that you’re no longer employed.”

  “How did you … who told you?”

  “You are going to let me see your apartment, aren’t you?”

  “Of course. I’ve even made up the spare bed. I was using the room for storage but I cleared it out and got it all cleaned up.”

  “Oh, there’s no need for that. Sadie’s coming to pick me up this evening. I’ll be spending the night in Skaneateles.” She slipped on her reading glasses as the bill arrived in its folio.

  “Really? You didn’t tell me that.”

  “I know you need your space. Being around me too long only seems to upset you, for whatever reason. I figure two birds with one stone. We have a nice afternoon together, and then I’ll go visit with my sister a while. I’ll come see you before I fly back to Maryland. How’s that sound?”

  “Fine. I guess.”

  She dipped her head and peered over her glasses. “You’re not too, too disappointed?”

  ***

  Aerie gave a quick tour of the apartment, noting her mother’s every grimace—at the mildewed grout in the bathroom, cracked tiles, dings in the wall.

  “Told you it was kind of a beater. That’s how student rental units are. It’s a good value for Ithaca, though. It’s really helped me stretch my savings.”

  “The rooms are a nice size, and they catch the sun well. I’ll give you that. Furnishing’s a bit sparse, don’t you think? Maybe you can pick up some nice pieces at a yard sale. An armchair would be nice. And that kitchen table with those rickety chairs. You can do better than that.”

  “It’s functional. For me. It’s not like I really entertain.”

  “And why not?”

  “I don’t know. Busy, I guess.”

  Something in a corner betwixt wall and ceiling had caught her mother’s gaze. Aerie came up behind her shoulder and followed her line of sight. “What exactly are you looking at?”

  “Webs. You missed some. Here, let me get them for you.” She dragged a chair over, climbed up and daubed at a few diaphanous wisps with her handkerchief.

  “How do you even notice those?”

  Her mother hopped down from the chair, a smirk creasing one corner of her mouth. “You’re blind like your father. He never seemed to notice any spiders or their leavings.” She went to the sink and rinsed her hands. “Overall, I’m impressed. The place is remarkably tidy for a girl who once grew mold monsters on her night stand.”

  “You’re still obsessing about that?”

  “Who knew such a thing could thrive in a glass of cola? I swear it had grown tentacles and was fixing to climb out of that glass. But enough with that, I must praise you on your housekeeping. I don’t suppose it was quite as neat when I called to tell you I was coming up?”

  “Is that really a question?”

  Her mother snickered. “I suppose I would do the same if my mother were coming to visit me. Sadie’s probably cleaning house as we speak. Not that she needs to.” She sighed. “It’s a good sign, I suppose, that you cared enough to lift a finger, considering the places your psyche has been.”

  Aerie stared at her mother, watching her faint smile erode as the void of silence lengthened. She took a breath. “Want some tea?” she said. “I’ll put on a kettle.”

  “Oh, I’d love some.”

  ***

  They sat together at the little kitchen table with the cracked veneer. Aerie sipped Darjeeling straight, her mom, Lipton with lemon.

  “So how did you know I wasn’t working at Moosewood anymore?”

  “A little birdie told me.”

  An impatient rush of breath escaped Aerie. Her eyes bore down on her mother’s.

  “It was that young man who called.”

  Both Ron and Mal knew where she lived. They had no reason to call her mother. “Who was this guy? What was his name?”

  A lost expression crossed her mom’s face. “My mind these days.” She wagged her head. “I think it begins with a ‘J.’”

  “John?”

  “Yes, I think that was it. You know him?”

  “Barely.”

  “He seemed quite pleasant and personable.”

  “He’s married, mom.”

  “Oh? Well, that’s not a deal killer in and of itself.”

  “He’s married, and he’s a stalker. Calling my mom out of state to get my phone number. How pathetic is that? How did he ever know where to find you?”

  “Resourceful, apparently.”

  “I can’t believe you gave out my number to a stranger. Don’t ever do that again without my permission. Do you understand?”

  “Is this my own daughter scolding me?”

  “You deserve it. What if he’s a rapist, or a murderer?”

  Her mother rolled her eyes. “So tell me, what happened at Moosewood?”

  Aerie blinked and stared. “Nothing.”

  “What do you mean, ‘nothing?’”

  “Nothing. Things were slow. They had to lay off some folks.”

  “Are you keeping up with rent?”

  “I’m okay for now. I still have some savings.”

  “My friend Martha works for an NGO back in Baltimore, and she says they’re hiring interns … for pay.”

  “Mom. I’m not moving back to Baltimore. I like Ithaca.”

  “But what’s here for you? Another menial restaurant job?”

  “I’m thinking … a bakery. I found that I really like making pastries. It’s like a type of alchemy. Taking dough and transforming it into all these different textures—flaky, spongy.”

  “And this is the girl I had to bribe to make the Christmas cookies?”

  “Things change mom. I’m in a much different place now, in my head.”

  “We have are plenty of bakeries in Baltimore.”

  “You wouldn’t want me living with you. We’d only squabble.”

  “It’s that boy, isn’t it?”

  “What?”

  “That’s why you want to stay here. You have unfinished business.”

  “John’s not a boy, mom. He’s married, with kids. And I have no interest in him. I told you, he’s just some stalker.”

  “He sounded plenty young over the phone. But no, you’d rather pine away for men old enough to be your father.”

  “I don’t pine for Hollis. There was nothing romantic about us. It was more complicated. It was a professional, artistic thing. He was my mentor.”

  The door bell rang.

  Samantha rose. “It’s Sadie, come to fetch me. Lordie, how the time flies.”

  ***

  Aerie watched and waved from the porch as Aunt Sadie whisked her mom away. As Sadie’s SUV departed from view, Aerie felt the loosening of a hundred straps that had been cinched tight around her brain.

  She plopped down on the sofa, depleted. She flic
ked on the TV, rotating through the channels on basic cable, past the talking heads and kiddie shows, hoping to land on something that could snag her attention, but demanded little. Twice through the cycle, she gave up and clicked it off.

  Her mood hovered in a limbo that was neither up nor down. But she felt the presence of that thousand pound piano dangling over her head, up there, swinging like a pendulum, its re-jiggered tether fraying, ready to come smashing down to squish her heart all over again. No pill could make it go away, forever.

  Aaron’s journal sat neatly aligned atop the stack of other books on the coffee table. She felt a twinge of regret now for having taken it. Once her car was fixed she could swing by his place and stick it in his mailbox, or send it back by post in an unmarked envelope.

  She picked it up and flipped through the pages, finding lots of little sketches and notes about things that looked garlic presses and pepper grinders. Had Aaron been a designer of kitchen implements?

  The back half of the book, however, turned into a daily diary, with full page and half-page entries recounting the daily trauma of his divorce proceedings, an arrest for assault and battery and a subsequent restraining order.

  She felt like a voyeur now, but she kept flipping through, stopping at a crude pencil sketch of a little girl on a swing set.

  27 July 1995

  My birthday. Woohoo. I’m Fifty-two. Celebrated in the pump house with a 5.99 bottle of wine. When I got buzzed enough, I crossed the river. Even from behind the knotweed I could hear the creak of the swing and Nina singing. This was my birthday present.

  When I reached the edge of the yard, she was playing in the garden, picking cherry tomatoes in a little basket, all by herself. The plants look all floppy. Nobody’s staked them since June. I watched from under the raspberries for the good part of an hour. It was close to sunset before Sheila called her in.

  Wish I could get word to her to be more careful. If only she knew what roamed these woods. I’m not thrilled with the idea of Nina out there alone with these things roaming the woods. At least Nina had me to watch over her.

  Aerie shuffled the pages back to an earlier entry.

  28 June 1995

  I’ve taken to sleeping in an old, abandoned pump house across the river, part of the EPA clean-up of the old W.R. Grace chemical factory. A bit dusty, but it keeps me dry when it rains. I swept it, made a space for a pad and sleeping bag. Gives me a base to keep an eye on the house without me attracting attention walking those train tracks every day.