by Harper Bliss
Tess puts her hand on my knee. “You’re looking at it the wrong way. First of all, she lived in Nelson, and before she broke her hip, she was still very mobile and got to see enough people during the day. Second, you were hardly in a state to think of anyone but yourself.” Her hand remains on my knee.
“I didn’t get to ask her the million dollar question, though.” I wanted to. Every day, I wanted to. But, somehow, I couldn’t bring myself to let their names flow from my lips.
“What’s that?”
“Whether, when the time came, she wanted her brother and his wife invited to the memorial.” That cold fist is there again, clenching for a different reason now.
“Your parents?” Tess’s hand squeezes.
“Richard and Phyllis Baker. The people who raised me but stopped being my parents long ago.”
“Did they get along?” Tess asks.
“Heavens no. My father never approved of Uncle George. Nowhere near Christian enough.”
“You might still get a chance to ask her.”
“I hope so.” Tess removes her hand and stares at her palm while a sliver of a smile appears on her face.
“What’s that.” I see something on her hand.
She shows it to me. “Sherry gave me her number. I may interview her for The Ledger.”
I can’t believe I was jealous earlier. I just want Tess to be happy now. “Sorry for interrupting your, huh, whatever it was.”
“I would never have gone back with her. I told you I’m not one for one-night stands.” Tess’s voice goes all hushed, as though this is not something to discuss in a hospital waiting room. “But it was nice to… I don’t know… do some heavy flirting. She’s a poet.”
“A poet?” I don’t get the chance to ask more, because a doctor is coming our way.
“Are you the relatives of Millicent Johnson?”
“Yes.” I rise and wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans.
“She’s in intensive care. She took a nasty fall. Hit her head. She’s stable for now. You can see her, but she’s not conscious. Taking into account her advanced age and overall health I think you should prepare for the worst.” The doctor is young, but he delivers his words in a gentle but confident manner, his gaze unwavering.
I nod my understanding, though the words don’t really get through just yet.
“Family only.” The doctor walks off.
I look at Tess, wishing she could go in with me.
“Laura, come here.” She opens her arms.
Without thinking, I step into her embrace, choking away a tear.
“I’ll be right here waiting,” Tess whispers in my ear. “Take all the time you need.”
✶ ✶ ✶
Aunt Milly looks as frail as I’ve ever seen her. She’s connected to a monitor that beeps steadily. An oxygen mask is on her face. I can still see some dried blood in her hair, although the nurses have tried to clean it off. And the sight of her floors me. My stomach crumples, my knees go a little weak, and I need to steady myself against the wall. She’s the only family I have left. The only person with Baker blood running through her veins that I know. She and Uncle George never had children. My mom has three sisters, but I never met any of them. I probably have a bunch of cousins out there but, if I do, I’ve never heard of them.
“My family has never been a good influence on me,” my mom told me when I was little. “I was better off without them.” Then I became better off without my family too—except for Aunt Milly.
What I’ve always wondered though, is why devout Christians like my parents, who vocally disapproved of contraception, never had more children. I never asked. I shake off the thought and look at my aunt. It’s as though I can sense that, no matter if she recovers from this head injury, these are her last days on this earth.
I look at her and wonder what she would want. “I forgive him,” she once told me. “I forgive my brother for being a bigoted ass, which makes me, a heathen as he would call me, a much better person than him. How’s that for irony?”
Does that mean she would want him to pay her his last respects? Then I ask myself the only question that will solve this issue for me. Would I want my parents to come to my last send-off? I find it impossible to give a quick yes or no, though I’ve always tried to consider them as no longer existing in the same world as me. Why is it so hard to shake them off completely?
I postpone making my decision. Aunt Milly is still alive and, as long as she is, I’ll be by her side.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
TESS
Laura is spending all her time at the hospital. She takes her laptop to Aunt Milly’s room and works from there. “Just so I’m there when she wakes up.”
I wait until Wednesday to call Sherry. After Laura went into her aunt’s room at the hospital, I quickly copied her phone number on a piece of paper, before it had the chance to fade away.
When I meet her for coffee at Mary’s, we’ve barely sat down before she asks, “How’s Laura’s aunt doing?” Sherry’s kindness already came through on Saturday night when she was flirting with me. It shone through her bluster and bravado so easily, which is probably why I enjoyed her flirting with me so much.
“It’s not looking good. She has woken up a few times, but the prognosis is not hopeful.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that.” Sherry couldn’t sound more sincere. That must be how she does what she does, conquering hearts—or other body parts—across Texas. She’s an expert at making people feel special and that’s hard to resist.
“Laura is pretty cut up about it.”
“Understandably.” Sherry clears her throat. “So you and Laura, huh?”
Of course I know what she’s getting at, but, for my own sanity, I need to play dumb. “What about me and Laura?” I can’t even make my voice sound genuine.
“It’s very clear to me that you love her. I barely know you, yet I can’t ignore it. I don’t want to be stepping on anyone’s toes here.” She rests her chin on her palms, strokes her cheeks with her fingers.
“I know what it looks like. But it’s very complicated and there’s a very good reason why Laura and I aren’t together.” Not an hour goes by that I don’t think about that reason.
“U-hum.” Sherry does that low, slightly cynical hum I’ve heard her utter quite a few times. “There always is.”
I inhale sharply. “But you’re right. I have feelings for her.” Though it’s a relief to be able to just blurt it out to someone, Sherry is perhaps not the best choice of person to confide in. I’d better bring us back to the order of the day. “So, about our interview.”
She pulls her lips into a lopsided smile. “I don’t care to be interviewed, Tess. I’m glad you called me, but I’d rather keep myself under the radar, so to speak.”
“But… you said…”
Sherry reaches her hand across the table and touches my forearm with her fingers gently. “I think I can safely presume we both know why we’re here.” She looks me straight in the eyes, her stare bold and unblinking.
A fierce blush creeps all the way up from my neck to my cheeks. If I say something now, it will surely come out as an inadequate stammer. I give a slow nod while I suck on my bottom lip. I return Sherry’s stare, though mine doesn’t feel half as bold as hers.
I called her. Under the pretense of interviewing her for The Ledger, yes, but, deep down, I knew what it would really be about—like Sherry just said. I took the necessary steps to see her again. I wanted to see her again, because I liked how she made me feel. As little as I know about her, I know enough to see she’s good at heart. So, the only question that remains now is: do I want her?
“How about dinner tonight?” Sherry says, her fingers still on my skin. “No strings attached.” She’s still gazing into my eyes. To me, it seems she wants to seal the deal here and now.
Then the door of the café opens, I look up briefly, and see that it’s Laura, and in that instant I know for certain that, no matter how nice Sherry’s fin
gers on my arm make me feel, how wanted and craved for, I will never go anywhere with her. Because the woman I want just walked in the door and our eyes met only for the briefest of moments, and still I knew.
Sherry turns to see whose presence in the café has thrown me, then looks at me again, her smile a little sad. “I’m going to leave you to it, Tess.” She starts to get up.
“I’ll call you,” I mutter.
Sherry takes a step in my direction, puts a hand on my shoulder, and says, “There’s no need.” She leans in and kisses me slowly, gently on the cheek. “See ya, Tess.” She gives a quick two-fingered wave to Laura and leaves the café.
I lean back in my chair and give a few minutes of thought to how thrilling it felt to be truly wanted by someone else for a few minutes. I watch Laura as she orders a tea to go. In the two short encounters I had with Sherry, she made me feel more desirable than Laura has in the entire time I’ve known her. I don’t hold it against her, because how could I possibly do that? Nevertheless, it stings. It hurts to want someone who can’t reciprocate. Who explicitly told me not to wait for her.
“Hey.” While Mary brews her tea, Laura comes over. “I hope I didn’t interrupt anything.”
“Turns out I’m not the kind of gal who goes off to make sweet sweet love to the cowgirl passing through town.” Truth is, I couldn’t even imagine it. As charming as Sherry is, every time I tried to picture us together, Laura’s face emerged. Maybe I will have to start keeping my distance, but what kind of friend would that make me? It’s as though, because of what Laura told me about herself, I’m now tethered to her because I want to be there for her as a friend, but I’m always kept at a safe distance as well. I don’t even have the option of walking away to preserve my own sanity, to safeguard my own heart.
“Sorry,” Laura says. She just stands there and in her demeanor—hesitant, wavering—she’s the opposite of the woman who just sat across from me, and I suddenly find it infuriating.
“Why are you sorry?”
“I don’t know.”
“Can we talk for a second.” I motion for her to sit.
“Sure.” She sits across from me, like she has done so many times before, but, this time, it feels different.
“How’s Aunt Milly?” I can’t just barge into what I’m about to tell her, though the rage I felt initially, and that was spurring me on to have this conversation with her, is quickly dissipating now that I’m looking into those blue eyes again.
“The same.” She’s not in a very communicative mood then.
And I can’t bring myself to say it. The line I was going to feed her: my head knows I need some distance, but my heart wants other things.
Deserting Laura now would make me feel much worse than all the useless pining for her does.
“What did you want to talk about?” Laura asks when I don’t say anything.
“Have you, er, made a decision yet,” I say instead of what I wanted to say. While I do, I think of what I said to Laura the night she told me about her deceased wife. I refuse to play the martyr because of how I feel about you. I sure as hell feel like one now. “About your parents?”
“I’ve sat with the phone in my hands a couple of times. I had to find their number first, so I went online and looked at both their faces on the church’s website. Such a nice, smiling couple they make. Dashing really. You’d never guess they once told their daughter to fuck off.” Laura scratches her neck. “I—I sent them an invitation when Tracy and I got married. To the church, because I don’t even know if they still live at the same address. The silence afterward was deafening. Not a word from them.”
“I’m so sorry.” Instinctively, I reach for Laura’s hand over the table—as though my touch can make it better.
“No need to feel sorry for me. Besides, that has nothing to do with Aunt Milly, who did attend the wedding, by the way. Came all the way from Texas. This was before she broke her hip.” Laura doesn’t shrug my hand off her. “I figure that even if I let them know about Aunt Milly’s condition, they probably won’t show up anyway. That they will just remain silent. Why would they forgive her for marrying someone as inappropriate as Uncle George now? My father will probably try to get her into heaven on her deathbed or something.” Laura’s voice is growing high-pitched.
“Do you still want that to go?” Mary comes over with Laura’s tea.
“Oh, no, I’ll just have it here. Thanks, Mary.”
“You give Milly my love, okay?” Mary says. “Tell her to pull through.”
We watch Mary shuffle off. Her appearance has diminished the anger in Laura’s eyes a little.
“Are you religious?” I ask. The arrival of Laura’s tea has my hand lying limply—and stupidly—next to her arm.
“Not in the tiniest bit.” Laura straightens her spine. “I’ll save you the speech that usually goes with that statement. Though I know my parents are fundamentalists, and the thought of a higher power means a lot to many people, and there’s a big difference between the two.” Her shoulders sag again. “But in my world, religion has done so much more damage than good.” She regards me intently. “How about you?”
“We’re surely taking this a step further,” I joke, because I think the conversation needs it. “We’ve moved on to discussing God.”
“You don’t have to answer.” Laura removes the lid from her cup and starts blowing on it.
“No, it’s fine. I really don’t mind.” My joke was clearly lost on Laura. “You’ve met my parents. You know they’re pretty casual—”
I’m interrupted by the loud chime of a phone—Laura’s.
She nearly jumps out of her chair. “I turned up the volume,” she says apologetically. “Sorry, I need to take this. It’s the hospital.” Her movements are tense, her lips drawn into a thin line.
“Hello,” she says, as she listens to the person on the other end of the line. Then her face goes blank.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
LAURA
Tess must know that, without her by my side, I’d be crumbling right now. I wouldn’t be able to do what I’m about to do. She’s so strong, so unwavering in her support of me, despite me not being able to give her what she wants, that sometimes, usually late at night, I can almost see it. I can see us together. Because to me, she’s a rock. She’s always there with a joke to cheer me up, and a facial expression full of understanding when I need it.
“Do you want me to call them?” she offers now. “I can pretend to be someone working at the hospital informing Aunt Milly’s next of kin.”
The thing about Tess is that, when she says things like that, she’s dead serious about them. “I need to do this myself,” I say.
“Shall I go into the other room?” Sometimes, when she looks at me like this, her face all earnest and her eyes all kindness, I actually feel a twinge of desire to kiss her run through me.
“No, I want you here with me.”
Tess nods solemnly. “I’m here.” And that little phrase couldn’t sum up Tess more. She’s always here for me. Always.
“Okay. Here we go.” I dial the number I found on the website. I’m guessing it won’t be a direct line to the anointed Pastor Richard, but someone will be able to put me through.
“Hello, First Light Church. How may I help you?”
My heart pounds in my throat. “This is Laura Baker, the pastor’s daughter. Can I speak with him?”
“I’m very sorry, Laura. Pastor Richard is holding a sermon right now. Can I help?”
“What about Phyllis? His wife?” I wouldn’t be caught dead calling that woman my mother to a stranger. “Can I speak with her? It’s a family emergency.”
An exasperated sigh at the other end of the line. “Hold on, Laura.” The voice still sounds overly friendly and cheerful, though. “I may be able to whisk her out. Please hold.” I hear a dull click, then a hymn sounds through the speaker. Because some things in life you just never forget, I instantly recognize it as “Abide With Me”. I must have sung alo
ng to it a million times when I was a child. I still know the words by heart.
“I’m on hold,” I whisper to Tess. “Listen to this. The soundtrack to my youth.” I hold the phone to her ear. Meanwhile, my heart flings itself against my ribcage with increasing fervor. I haven’t heard my mother’s voice in more than a decade. What will it do to me now? They know nothing about my life, about what I’ve been through. If they did, they’d probably end up praying for me. Maybe they’ve prayed for my corrupted soul daily over the years.
“Hello?” A voice crackles over the phone. It’s not the same voice as before. It’s a voice I’ve tried to forget but never could. It’s the voice of Phyllis Baker. The voice of my mother.
“It’s Laura.” Automatically, a hardness creeps into my tone. “Aunt Milly passed away this morning. I thought you should know.”
“Oh,” my mother says. “I’m very sorry to hear that.”
I don’t say anything, unsure if it’s just plain reluctance on my part, or pure disdain flaring up—disdain for how she’s not falling apart right now, for how she sounds so emotionless. Does she really not care that it’s me she’s speaking to?
“The memorial service will be next weekend, here in Nelson. I’ll send an invitation.” I’m ready to hang up. I’ve done my duty. Now that Aunt Milly’s gone, I have no family left.
“I’m not sure we’ll be able to make it. Your father has a lot of obligations during the weekend.”
“Fine.” The phone is starting to shake against my ear. Without expressing a goodbye, I hang up. I stare at the phone for long seconds, unable to process the coldness I encountered on the other end of the line. Or was my mother’s heart pounding in her chest as well? Were her palms so sweaty the phone threatened to slip out of her hands? Does she ever think about the child she gave birth to forty-one years ago?
“What did she say?” Tess rises from her seat and stands next to me. I know she’s cautious about hugging me—and I know how much that goes against her very nature.
“Nothing, really.” I find her gaze briefly, then open my arms and throw them around her. Because I need human contact to get past this moment. I need someone’s arms around me.
