by K Larsen
“I have music.”
“Learn to cook! You are allowed to use the kitchen, aren’t you?” Jezebel asked.
“I am. Yeah. And my mom’s cooking blows, so that’s not a terrible idea.” She admitted.
“Brava darling. Now, go home and whip up dinner for your parents. Maybe you’ll even get them to smile before the night is out.”
Annabelle slid her sneakers on and stretched. Jezebel stuffed her feet into slippers and pulled a blanket across her lap. Stopping in the threshold Annabelle turned.
“See you next Tuesday Jez.” Jezebel lifted a hand, her long slender fingers waved Annabelle off.
Annabelle sang along to the lyrics of the music that played in the kitchen. The floorboards creaked slightly under her feet as she walked from the stove to the refrigerator and back. The lace curtains danced in the breeze at the open window by the opposite counter. A swirl of Spring air gently worked its way around the kitchen. It would just be her mom and her tonight. Her father wasn’t due home for another week.
Annabelle whipped together a heavy cream sauce per the recipe. Her mother’s book club had ended and she was going to walk through the door any moment. Annabelle wanted everything to be close to finished before then. The table was set, just the way her mom liked it: candles lit, plates, utensils and napkins at their settings and the overhead light set to dim. She lifted the cover off the pot. Steam billowed up, snaking white tendrils that danced in the air. She put the pasta in the boiling water and set the timer for ten minutes. Everything else was done. The Carbonara only needed the pasta to be ready. It even smelled perfect. Pride brimmed in her heart. Cooking was kind of fun.
Heels clacked on the hardwood floor signaling her mother’s arrival. A pang of anxiety shot through her. Would she be impressed or would she be irritated?
“Wow,” her mother stated as she entered the kitchen. “What’s all this?”
“I was bored, so I tried my hand at cooking?” Annabelle wasn’t sure if her question was a statement or vice versa. Her mother chuckled.
“Well, let’s hope you got your father’s cooking skills and not mine.” Annabelle’s eyes widened in disbelief.
“Why the face? You couldn’t honestly believe that I wasn’t aware of how awful my cooking is.”
“You know?” Annabelle crowed.
Her mother’s laugh, light and breezy filled the air. “Oh yes. I know.”
“Why do you make us all suffer then?”
Her mother shrugged. “I’m bored. Cooking, or trying to gives me something to do.”
The honesty in her mother’s words hit Annabelle in the chest. All this time, how did she not notice how broken each of them was? Was she really so focused on only herself?
“But,” she started, “you never got better.” Now it was her mother’s turn to look shocked. They stared at each other a moment before both doubled over laughing. Warmth crept in, filling Annabelle’s soul with a light and airy feeling. The timer dinged and Annabelle turned the burner off before carrying the pot to the sink and draining the water from the pasta.
“You know what I am good at?” Her mother asked.
“What?” she answered.
“Getting the serving bowl out.”
Annabelle smiled as she watched her mother retrieve a serving dish before filling it with the sauce she’d made. Annabelle added the pasta and her mother stirred it all together before bumping her hip to Annabelle’s and carrying their dinner to the table.
Annabelle smiled as she chewed. “Could we read tonight? I know it’s silly . . . but—“
“What did you want to read?” her mother asked, grinning. She resumed eating while waiting for Annabelle to answer. She thought on it and remembered how when she was younger, before life was altered, her mother used to read her chapters from an old book. Annabelle swallowed her last bite.
“Would you do a chapter aloud from Little Women?” she asked feeling hopeful.
Her mother nodded and smiled as she walked to the bookshelf in the den. Annabelle hurried after her, following her lead and leaving the dirty dinner plates on the table.
“I love you Belle.” The words created a cavernous ache deep in her chest but she didn’t quite understand why. Maybe it was simply because it had been too long since she’d heard them said. Maybe it was something else entirely.
Fighting the emotional overload, she replied, “I love you too.”
Her mother pulled her into her warm embrace and held her as she melted into her mother’s side. Without hesitation, she laid her head on her mother’s shoulder and listened to her narrate one of Annabelle’s favorite stories. Her mother kissed the top of her head and Annabelle’s breath caught in her chest. As she settled in, the rain became a soft hiss behind her mother’s words.
The grandfather clock sat in the corner near the door, tall and stately, marking the unwavering constant of time as it ticked past, second by second. It chimed nine times marking the time and woke Annabelle from her nap. She was tucked into her mother’s side still. The book lay open but flat on her mother’s chest, which rose and fell steadily as she slept.
Annabelle grinned and laid her head back down. She pulled a throw from the back of the couch and pulled it over them both before settling back to sleep.
~***~
She woke in the best mood she could remember in a long time even though she was alone on the couch. Stretching her neck and arms she pushed up and off the couch to head upstairs. She counted each gleaming mahogany step as she went. As she entered her bedroom she thought of Jezebel. There seemed to be an unconscious pull to the woman, a call that she desperately wanted to answer. Part of her attributed her family’s slow but steady progress of fixing their broken bonds to Jezebel. Another part genuinely liked the woman. She looked forward to her Tuesdays now. She liked listening to Jezebel’s story and liked the conversations they always seemed to find themselves in.
A warm breeze blew through her brown hair. Today after school she would ask her mom if she would take her to Skillins Nursery to buy Jezebel a plant for her windowsill. She wanted to do something nice for her. She wanted to make the woman smile and possibly feel less alone during the week.
The day ticked by in minutes instead of hours, dragging excessively. By the time school let out Annabelle felt worn out from the effort it took to will the day by. She gathered what she needed from her locker and slammed the door shut.
“Hey!” Madison called. Annabelle spun around to face her friend.
“Hi.”
“How’re things? I feel like we never talk anymore.” Madison frowned.
Annabelle knew the feeling. Being cut off from her best friend hurt. She worried that by the time she was allowed to do anything Madison would be gone. Gone to school or just moved on—gone. “Yeah. It sucks. But, I’m alright. I mean, bored a lot but the volunteer gig isn’t so bad. Jezebel and I spend my time in her room. I just listen to her talk.”
They moved together down the hall. Madison’s sneakers squeaked on the linoleum flooring. “Is she really old?”
“No. She’s actually like, my parents’ age and she’s kinda cool. I like her.”
“What does she talk about?” Madison asked.
“Life. I guess. Mostly she tells a story about some lady from Paris in the Eighties.”
Madison’s brow furrowed. “Sounds . . .”
“Lame,” Annabelle giggled. Because it did. But it wasn’t. Not at all. “I guess you have to be there to get it. I swear though, she’s pretty interesting.”
“Hey!” Madison chirped. “You can’t go out and I can’t go to your house, but . . . can I come to a volunteer day with you? Maybe we could hang that way.”
Annabelle liked the idea but wasn’t sure if it would fly. Sure anyone could volunteer at Glenview but her gut grew anxious at the thought of sharing Jezebel. The woman seemed like magic somehow and she, quite frankly, wanted to keep her all to herself.
“Yeah,” she answered instead of saying no. “Tues
day, after school. Room two-oh-eight. I have to take the bus but meet me there.”
“This’ll be fun! I mean, I’m not going to do it every week, but I miss you, Belle. And it’ll be nice just to hang out for an afternoon.”
Annabelle smiled at her friend. It would be nice, and maybe Jezebel would like the extra company too. She hurried to the bus and waved bye to Madison who was parked in the student lot. Another reminder of her punishment, she was reduced to riding the bus again. She sighed and climbed up and onto the bus that perpetually reeked of garlic.
~***~
It had been raining for five days straight. Her boots created puddles on the floor as she stepped across the foyer. Her mother would be pissed at the mess. The overcast sky mimicked her mood. She’d been naïve in thinking that her home life was looking up. Friday, she’d heard her mother on the phone, presumably with her father, and it had left a sour feeling in the pit of her belly. She kicked off her boots and trudged upstairs. Her mother had gone from lighthearted to glum after she hung up. There had been no more music in the kitchen, no more shared moments after dinner and no more cheer in the air. There had only been silence. Again.
Annabelle had tried everything Jezebel had encouraged her too. She’d listened to music, she’d smiled non-stop and she’d tried to strike up easy conversation with her mom but it was all met with a pinched expression and not much else.
She didn’t understand it. She scooped up her laundry basket and carried it down the hall. She opened the washer door and haphazardly threw things into the machine. She poured liquid detergent in and started the water.
“What’re you doing?” Her mother stared at her, eyes chilly.
Annabelle shrugged. “Laundry?”
“How very . . . adult of you,” her mother said. Confused by her iciness, by her mother’s words, she shut the washer door before starting the appropriate wash cycle.
“Rude much?” she muttered.
Her mother sighed long and hard. Her heels clicked on the hardwood floor. “I have . . . I’m sorry,” she said turning to Annabelle. “I have time, now, to bring you to Skillins if you want.” Annabelle considered her mother’s apology and decided it was the best she was going to get. She nodded at her mother and shuffled in her wake down the hall.
~***~
Feeling rebellious, Annabelle let Madison drive her to Glenview Tuesday after school; no one would know. It lifted her spirit giggling in the car with her best friend while belting out lyrics to their favorite songs on the drive over.
“Listen Madison, I know it’s weird, sitting with a stranger and listening to them talk but, be polite okay?” She wasn’t asking. It was an instruction. And surprisingly, Madison nodded. Annabelle carried the potted flower down the corridor with Madison dragging her feet behind her.
“Hi, Jez!” Annabelle greeted, entering the room.
“Hi,” Madison said and smiled uncomfortably.
“Well! What do we have here?” Jezebel asked, pointing to the flower.
Annabelle shrugged. “This is for you.” She walked to Jezebel and handed her the gift.
“Ah, an orchid. Do you know what it means?”
“Um, captivating, I think,” she answered.
“Yes and strength,” Jezebel added. “It’s beautiful. Why did you choose it?”
“When the lady told me what it meant it just seemed fitting for you. I dunno, it’s how I see you I guess.”
“That’s quite the compliment. Thank you.” A bright smile graced Jezebel’s face. “Annabelle, who is this?” Jezebel gestured to Madison.
“My best friend Madison. I thought it was okay for her to come today.”
“Oh why not!” Jezebel answered. “So Madison, what’s your deal?”
Annabelle snickered at Jezebel’s question as she pulled a small chair from the opposite corner of the room for Madison to sit in.
“I don’t know. I just wanted to spend some time with Belle. I miss her.”
“Interesting, so you chose to come here with her?”
“She’s grounded. No friends over and no leaving her house, this was the only way,” Madison answered matter-of-factly.
Annabelle sat and toed off her shoes before tucking her legs underneath her. She motioned for Madison to get comfortable.
“So, my dear, how was your week? Still pining over the boyfriend?” Jezebel asked.
Madison snorted. “No. Actually I didn’t really think about him at all,” Annabelle answered.
“Well at least you didn’t waste brain cells.”
Annabelle noticed Madison absentmindedly navigating her phone. It struck her as rude, but she knew that if hers hadn’t been confiscated by her parents, she’d be doing exactly the same thing. Still, it bothered her. “I made dinner for my mom.” she blurted.
Jezebel raised an eyebrow at her and grinned. Madison’s thumb stopped moving on the screen. “I made pasta carbonara. And you know what? It was really freakin’ good. Actually, my mom even admitted to being a terrible cook that night—which was hilarious. And we read. Well, she read to me after we ate and fell asleep together on the couch.” Her words were rushed and enthusiastic. She felt pride about her small accomplishment and wanted to share it.
“Are you for real?” Madison asked without bothering to look up from her phone.
“Girl, put that away,” Jezebel snapped at Madison. “You don’t need it, those damn phones are automating our humanity. Talking in person, touching in person, seeing a smile in person, those are the things in life that will carry you through your hardships. And trust me, you will have hardships. Do you really think five years from now you will remember a sweet text your boyfriend sent? No, don’t be silly, if you remember anything about him at all it will be something that was tangible, the feeling of his lips on yours, the softness of his hair or perhaps the way he held your hand.”
Madison stared slack-jawed at Jezebel, thumb hovering above the phone screen. Annabelle snickered. She couldn’t help it. Madison looked to her and she shrugged because quite frankly, she agreed with Jezebel. She watched as Madison powered off the screen and tucked the phone in her purse.
“Uh, sorry,” Madison stammered.
Jezebel cocked her head to the left and scrutinized Madison for a moment. “Now, Annabelle, I think it’s wonderful news that you had a good week.”
“No. Just a good twenty-four hours. My dad called the next day and somehow killed mom’s mood. The rest of the week was back to miserable silence,” she answered, deflated.
“You cooked? And hung out with your mom?” Madison asked shocked.
Annabelle nodded.
“Child, do you really think that eight years of behavior would be changed overnight?” Jezebel asked.
“No. I mean, I was hopeful though.” She frowned. She had thought that maybe everything was truly going to be better. How foolish.
“Hope is a nasty little bitch isn’t she?” Jezebel laughed.
“That’s a depressing sentiment,” Madison balked.
“Not at all kiddo, it’s just a realistic one,” Jezebel retorted.
Annabelle found herself agreeing with both of them. What kind of a life could a person have without hope? But, hope alone couldn’t make a person happy. There had to be a middle ground, one where expectations, hope and reality coexisted. The large diamond on Jezebel’s wedding ring sparkled in the light, catching Annabelle’s eye.
“How was your week? Did your husband visit?” she asked hoping to change the subject.
“You’re married?” Madison asked.
“Why is that shocking?” Jezebel retorted, not missing a beat.
“I don’t know, I guess I just assume that people in these places aren’t.”
“These places?” Jezebel prompted. Her tone dripping with disdain.
“Yeah, nursing homes, or assisted living places. Like—if you had a husband at home, you wouldn’t be here because he’d take care of you. These are the places you go when there’s no one left to take care of
you.” Madison answered, brow furrowed.
“Do a husband and wife love each other?”
“Of course.” Madison replied.
“And, if you had a husband, and you were still relatively young, would you want him to be saddled with taking care of you alone, worrying about you all the time, while he still works all day? Would you feel terrible knowing that he feels terrible about having to go to work while you struggle at home alone?”
“Well sure. I mean, that sounds like a lot of pressure,” Madison conceded.
“It is. And it also wasn’t fair to either of us, or feasible, as my episodes worsened. So here I am, fifty years young and in one of these places.”
“Yeah,” Madison replied sheepishly.
“To answer your question Annabelle, yes he visited. We had a splendid dinner together and spent the rest of our time snuggling in my bed and reading.”
Annabelle noticed that Madison’s expression mirrored her own. Their noses both wrinkled up in revolt at the thought of anyone their parent’s ages snuggling in bed together. It made her laugh. Madison giggled beside her.
“We’re middle-aged dears, not dead,” Jezebel chuckled. “Shall we start?”
Madison and Annabelle nodded in unison.
“Hm, okay, Paris . . .”
“Nineteen eighty-five,” Annabelle finished for her. Jezebel smiled and began.
Chapter 10
Celeste
Paris 1985
Gabriel whistled a song while he unpacked. The tune carried throughout the house. Celeste stopped what she was doing and listened, a smile creeping over her face. This would be her every day. This would be her norm now and it made her heart lift and stomach flutter. She put her stocking-clad feet up on the coffee table while she listened to his whistle, sipped her coffee and tried to find motivation to tackle unpacking. She had convinced Gabriel to wait until they had told everyone of their engagement before moving into the house he’d purchased for them. It bought her time to pack and figure out how she would get through her last year of college with him around to distract her.
