by Beth Michele
My fingers grip the door handle, knuckles turning red from the exertion. Suddenly, my skin is too tight for my own body. Everything is coming to a head, like an explosion that can’t be contained. “My mother has been here for a few years now. It never gets any easier.”
The car slows to a stop and I sense Ember’s hand moving toward mine on the seat. It never quite makes it and I let out a ragged breath. I’m not sure it’s relief. But I do know it’s better for me this way.
“I can’t begin to imagine how hard this is for you. Do you…,” she starts. A thick pause, then she tries again. “I mean… would you like me to come in with you?”
I’m taken aback, and at the same time, there is nothing I wouldn’t fucking do to not have to go in there alone. But I don’t want her to see my mother like this. And I’m trying like hell for her not to see me.
I look up to find those big green eyes full of concern, and I want to scream yes at the top of my lungs. The one word my lips can’t seem to form. Instead, I shake my head as I reach for the door handle, glancing back to give her a half-smile. “I appreciate it, though.”
My legs are like lead as I walk toward the building. Putting one foot in front of the other is too much effort. My steps slow and instead of going forward, I end up slouched against the cement wall. Sweat breaks out across my neck and under my arms. Rejection of this whole damn situation crawls along my skin like a rash that never goes away. The clock is ticking though, and I know that. It’s been six years and while I fucking hate statistics, I can’t ignore them.
I try to catch my breath, but it’s choppy and jagged. That fucking meditation shit Julian is into would come in handy about now. Not an ounce of me knows how to be calm about this—how to be ‘accepting.’ My mind grapples with wanting to kick the crap out of anyone who can’t make my mother well again.
“Vance.” Ember’s voice is soft yet firm. “I’m going to come in with you.” Her quiet insistence leaves no room for argument. Frankly, I probably need that right now. I’m in no position to dispute her when my body feels like it could crumple to the ground at any moment. “Come on.”
A gentle touch on my lower back propels me forward. She opens the door for me and I walk through as I’ve done hundreds of times before. My resolve is weakening though. That shell of strength cracking. Maybe it was a façade all along.
I catch a glimpse of Mr. Hinkle out of the corner of my eye, but I don’t have the wherewithal to do anything except give him a weak wave of my hand. As usual, he has other plans.
“Vance. Who is this pretty young thing you’ve brought with you today?”
Risking a look at Ember, I’m not surprised to find her cheeks more rosy than normal. She utters a cheerful hello and without hesitation, reaches out her hand to Mr. Hinkle who is grinning from ear to ear.
“I’m Ember. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Marty Hinkle,” he winks, “and the pleasure is all mine.” He turns his attention to me. “I’m not sure where you’ve been hiding this one, but you’ve made my day so I thank you.” His gaze lands on Ember’s feet and he slaps his knee. “I loved that little guy growing up.” His stare moves beyond us to the window. “My siblings and I used to sit and watch The Mickey Mouse Club while we waited for dinner.” His focus returns to us, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Anyway, any friend of Mickey’s is a friend of mine. Enjoy your visit.”
“Nice meeting you,” Ember calls out as we travel down the hallway. “He’s lovely,” she remarks once we’re out of earshot. “Why is he here?”
“Mr. Hinkle, he’s….” I keep talking, my body thankful for something to do or it’s going to shut down. “He’s the youngest of three but his siblings have passed away as have his parents. Being in the wheelchair, he has no one to look after him.”
“That’s so sad.” Her voice is a compassioned whisper and I try to ignore how it softens me in some way, needing to build up strength for what’s to come.
Before we enter Mom’s room, Ember hands me the flowers I didn’t notice she was holding. I walk in first. The curtains are drawn, bright sunlight bouncing off the yellow walls. My mother sits in her chair by the window, as always, but her eyes are elsewhere. She stares at the painting she did of me and Julian when we were ten. A tiny morsel of hope crops up in my chest. It dies off quickly when she shifts in her chair, startled, and faces me with a blank expression.
“Oh, hello. My, what pretty flowers.”
The hole in my stomach grows though I smile wide. “Hi Maggie. It’s Vance, and this is—”
“Clara?” My mother squints at Ember then blinks. “I can’t believe it. It’s been… years.” The emptiness in her eyes is replaced by a fondness I haven’t seen in a long time. I’m about to say something when my mother speaks again. “Come sit by me, Clara.” She pats the bed directly beside her chair and Ember sits down. I set the flowers on the table and lean my hip against the wall. Suddenly, it’s like I’m an outsider in my own life.
My mom tilts her head, her recently brushed hair resting against her fuzzy pink robe. With her hands intertwined in her lap, she surveys Ember. Warmth wrinkles the corners of her eyes and mouth. In this moment, she appears so young, so innocent. So… not ill, and warmth spreads through my chest. “The dance, right?” Mom stares at Ember and Ember nods. “I was wearing….” She pauses for several minutes, her cheeks lifting and contorting in thought. But then her smile fades and a tear slips from her eye. “I can’t… I don’t—”
My jaw ticks and I push off from the wall, wanting nothing more than to wrap my arms around my mother—to take away all her suffering—to bring back her memory. Ember’s voice stops me cold.
“I remember.” She places her youthful hands over Mom’s rapidly aging ones. “You were wearing that blue taffeta dress that crinkled as you walked.” Ember lets out a small laugh. “You thought it was so loud.” She continues as something jolts my heart and I back up, bumping into the wall. “You had your hair in a twist and you were wearing your favorite bright red lipstick that made your eyes pop.” My mother nods, a nostalgic smile curving her mouth as she stares down at her lap. “You looked so beautiful, and when you were dancing, no one could take their eyes off of you.” My mother’s smile grows as she holds onto Ember’s every word. “You’re still beautiful, Maggie.”
A tear spills from my eye and runs down my cheek. I don’t bother trying to push it away. I wonder who this girl is. If somehow she’s an angel that’s been sent here—which is crazy-thinking for someone like me. Yet a bandage rests over a sliver of my heart, seeing the joy on my mother’s face. Even if it is from a made-up memory. It’s something she can hold on to. Even though it only brings her joy in this moment, and in the next it’s forgotten.
My mother coughs then clears her throat, lifting her gaze to mine. “Would you mind getting me some water?”
“Sure.”
I leave for a minute and come back with a cup of water to a room filled with laughter. The kind where old friends share secrets of days gone by. It stops me again, because I can’t remember the last time I heard my mom laugh. I wish I could bottle that sound for later, when the silence is too much to bear.
Ember turns her head and our eyes meet. Hers are teeming with a hundred smiles and I only hope mine convey my absolute gratitude for what she’s doing for my mother.
When their laughter settles down, I sit on the bed next to Ember. “Would you like me to read you some poetry, Maggie?”
“Yes. That would be wonderful.”
For the next hour, I read from one of her favorite poetry books—a collection by E.E. Cummings. When my voice gets hoarse, Ember takes over and reads to Mom until she yawns and her eyelids become heavy. Ember glances over to me as she closes the book. I stand up and she follows suit. “We should probably go and let you get some rest now.”
“Yes, I am feeling very tired. I’d like to close my eyes for a bit.”
I lean down to kiss her cheek and Ember surprises me when she bends to giv
e my mother a hug.
“It was great to see you, Maggie.” She straightens and my mother grabs her hand, embracing it between her own.
“Please come again soon, Clara.” She looks from Ember to me. “I’m sorry. What did you say your name was?”
I swallow down the hurt that threatens to surface. “It’s Vance.”
“So long, Vance.”
Every time I leave here, I’m numb. Hollow. Not today. Today, I got to see my mother experience joy. I got to hear her laugh. Ember did that.
As we reach the car, the air around me is suddenly too thick, making it impossible to breathe. I latch onto the door handle for support, fighting tooth and nail against the tear that ultimately tracks down my cheek. Before I realize what’s happening, slender arms surround my neck. My hands drop to my sides and I freeze.
“It’s okay,” Ember whispers, laying her head against my chest. A rush of breath leaves me and I give in, wrapping my arms around her waist. “I’m sorry, Vance,” she soothes, and all I can do is nod against her hair. She smells like peaches and feels like the comfort I desperately need right now. I allow myself a minute to get lost before I abruptly pull away.
“We should get going.”
Fumbling with her hands in front of her, she gives me a curt reply. “Yeah, sure.”
I wait for her to get in and start the car, then angle my entire body to face her. “Listen, what you did in there… thank you.”
A lock of hair falls over her shoulder as she turns toward me. “For what?”
“For being her memory.”
“It was nothing.” Her nonchalant answer infuriates me. She has no idea how much more than ‘nothing’ it really was.
“No,” I retort, determined. I refuse to let this go. I’m not sure I’ve felt this strongly about anything in a long time. “It was everything, Ember.” I hesitate for a minute and look away. I’m not used to talking about this so earnestly. “I haven’t seen her smile or heard her laugh like that in a very long time.” I turn back to Ember. “You did that.”
Her gaze meets mine, and all at once I’m naked to the intensity of her stare. I pull on my earring, desperate to find an escape. “She’s wonderful, Vance. And you look just like her. The hair color, the eyes. Even your smile. When you decide to smile.”
Self-consciousness causes me to rub at my chin. “Well, you definitely made me smile today.”
She revs the engine, cutting the wheel to the right and exiting the parking lot. “Maybe I’ll see if I can go two for two,” she replies, and her belly follows with a loud rumble. One hand on the wheel, she places the other on her stomach. “Wow, um, I guess I’m hungry.”
“Good. I know just how I can repay you then. There’s a diner only a few blocks from here.”
She pauses at a blinking yellow light and lets a car pass. “Ooooh. I love diner food. I hope they have those curled up fries.”
Something about the innocence in her phrasing coupled with her excitement makes me laugh. “You mean, curly fries?”
“Yes, those.”
I yank the wallet from my back pocket to check for my credit card. “Yup. They’ve got them.” And you’d think someone just handed her the world—her smile is that big.
It reminds me of the sun.
I HOPE MY smile masks the commotion inside my chest. I can’t let on how much my heart aches right now. Vance’s mom asking his name earlier almost made me break down. He’s trying to be strong though, and I want to be strong for him.
The diner is packed when we arrive and I have to make two passes around before we find a space. I unclick my belt and hop out of the car, meeting Vance on the other side. My stomach grumbles in protest about wanting food again and I’m about to comment when I happen to glance up at a nearby tree. I stop walking and unzip my purse to grab my iPhone. Vance turns back when he realizes I’m no longer beside him.
“What are you doing?”
I point a finger toward the highest branch. “Look at that.”
“Yes, I see. It’s a tree.”
I elbow him playfully. “Yes. I know it’s a tree. But look higher up, almost at the top.”
He chuckles. “Those are called branches, Mickey.”
I glare at him, still using my arm as a pointer. “There are four blue jays up there. And I love birds so I’m taking a picture.”
“Mmkay.”
While clicking several pictures from a few different angles, I catch Vance staring at me. “What?”
“I didn’t say anything. Come on.” He teases. “Let’s go eat before your stomach embarrasses us.” Then I pause again, cognizant of the fact that it’s been a while since I’ve stopped to notice my surroundings. “What now?” he asks, and I brush it off with a shake of my head.
The hostess leads us to the last available booth then drops menus on the table. Being faced with six pages of options, it takes me time to decide. I eye Vance over the page. He’s not looking at the choices but fixated on something beyond the window.
“You already know what you want?”
His focus remains elsewhere. “Yeah.”
“Are you okay?”
His cloudy blue gaze finally makes contact with mine. “Can I ask you something?”
I put down my menu. “Sure. Anything.”
“How did you do that back there?” My face must show my confusion because he immediately clarifies. “With my mother?”
“Oh.” I’m about to reply further when the waitress, an older woman with a grey bun and deep red lipstick steps up to the table. She pulls the pencil from behind her ear as she chomps on a piece of gum. “What can I get you two?”
“I’ll have a turkey burger with mushrooms and onions, and a side order of curly fries, please.”
“Anything to drink sweet young thing?”
I look back at the menu, smiling at the description and her subtle accent. “Just a water with lemon, thanks.”
She gestures to Vance with her pencil. “What about you, hon?”
“I’ll have a large order of pancakes with extra butter, a side order of bacon and sausage, and one of those glazed doughnuts in the glass case… and a Coke. Please.”
“You got it.” The waitress picks up the menus, her glance darting between us. “You two are awfully cute together,” she comments as she walks off toward the kitchen.
“We’re not together,” I yell out, and from the way Vance’s face twists I think I might have offended him. “No offense,” I quickly add. “I just don’t like people making incorrect assumptions about me.”
He grimaces, heaving his arms over his chest. “You mean much like you did with me?”
“Right.” I bow my head, both in apology and to hide my red cheeks. “I’m sorry about that.”
“I’m just razzing you. Take it easy there, Mickey.”
“Oh.” I lift up and he shoots me a half-smile. The waitress shows up with our drinks and I wait until she walks away. “So you were asking about your mom?”
“Yeah.” His expression shifts, now stamped with severity and he leans against the booth.
I do the opposite and edge forward, placing my elbows on the table. “I don’t know. I reacted, I guess. I saw her struggling with the memory and wanted to take away her pain in that moment. I wanted to make it happy for her.”
Vance nods. Of course he understands. “I just… I haven’t been able to make her smile like that in so long.” His chin lowers. “Sometimes… a lot of times, I don’t know what to say or do. It’s… I never know what the right thing is… and I used to know. Before she got sick. I always knew.”
Something inside of me demands I reach out for him—his hand, his finger, anything. But I know he doesn’t want that so I keep my body parts to myself. I won’t deny it’s a struggle for me, though. I’m an artist and a sculptor. Touch is as natural to me as breathing.
“I understand. But Vance, she’s not my mother.” I lock my fingers together and squeeze, trying to ease my frustration. “I’m not as close
to the situation as you are. It’s easier when you’re on the outside. I’m not sure I could do it if it was my own mother. I’m not sure I’m strong enough.”
“I guess.” He pinches a sugar packet, flicking it with his finger while disappearing into his head. I feel the need to find him.
“I loved the poetry. Do you read to her a lot?”
“I do.” He lets out a sad laugh. “She was always the one to read to me, and now the roles are reversed.”
“It’s a beautiful thing.”
His eyes flick to mine and linger to the point of making me shift in my seat. “You’re right. It is.”
The waitress chooses that moment to return to the table with our food, smirking as if she interrupted something. “Okay, loveys. We’re a little busy tonight. Food is served and apologies for the delay.”
“Thank you,” Vance and I utter at the same time.
“Jinx,” I hurry and say to him.
“I don’t do that shit.” He grins, pouring half the maple syrup bottle onto his pancakes.
My mouth gapes open. “Are you kidding me? You could swim in that.”
Again he grins, this time around a mouthful of pancake. “Yup.”
I cringe as if I’m disgusted, even though I’m smiling. “Yuck.”
He stabs a piece of pancake and holds it up, the syrup dripping onto the table. “Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.”
I block him with one hand, lifting my turkey burger with the other. “No thanks.”
“You’re missing out,” he counters, making a big show of swirling his pancake in gobs of butter and syrup.
My face contorts in a crazy way and he chuckles as he continues to eat. Without thinking, I tell him, “I like it when you laugh.”
He stops chewing, his grin long gone and I think I might have ruined the rare carefree moment we were having. In fact, I know I did when he replies, “It’s not okay for me.”
