by Cat Connor
She was determined to make me much more interesting than I was.
“Gabrielle, you’re nearly thirty and you have never even mentioned a man.”
“I don’t want to discuss this with you.” I picked up my fork and tried to continue with my breakfast, quietly hoping the eggs would choke me. My hand shook as I lifted the fork to my mouth.
I don’t want to discuss anything with you!
“Look at you, you’re a wreck. You need a man.”
Lowering my fork and raising my eyes to Mom’s, I spoke with calmness that took me by surprise, “I’m tired, Mom. I’m very tired.”
“Perhaps you should consider a different career with more civilized hours.”
“I like my job.”
“You should eat more.”
All hope evaporated with her last comment. My jaw muscles tensed and head started to ache. My right hand slid to my hip, bringing a moment of relief followed by a deep sigh. My gun and badge were useless against my mother; time to invest in silver bullets.
“When did you last have sex?”
“I said. I. Do not. Want. To. Discuss. This.”
Pulling my gun and decorating the walls of my parents’ kitchen with my brains would’ve been more enjoyable than her questions, but choking to death on eggs seemed like a more reasonable option.
“Have you ever had sex?”
I desperately attempted to relax my taut muscles. Pressing my fingers to my temples, I massaged gently, hoping to ease the headache before it became thunderous. “Have you, Gabrielle?”
I let my arms rest lightly on the table and tried for a reasonable tone, “I’m not ten years old anymore. I don’t have to answer to you.”
“No, you were much more respectful when you were ten.”
I pushed my plate away and stood slowly, making deliberate eye contact with her. Biting my tongue didn’t work and there was no way to keep the truth in now, “That wasn’t respect Mom. That was fear.”
I stepped back from the table.
She never missed a beat, “That’s right, Gabrielle, run off and vomit.”
“Actually, Mom, I am going to vomit then have sex with the first woman I can find and the next man I come across – just in case I swing both ways, and maybe if I’m very lucky I’ll develop some totally fascinating mental illness so you can feel good about yourself. I’d hate for you to think I was a regular normal person, lord knows you can’t cope with normal!”
Her lip trembled. I had to get out before she started crying.
She watched me close the car door from the kitchen window. In my mind, she appeared like an ogre but in reality, she was simply a sad human being. It was hard to see the insanity as tears trickled down her beautifully made-up face.
If only she could disguise the mental illness as well as she could her advancing age.
Sheer stupidity on my part coupled with extreme tiredness – never a good mix around Mommy dearest. I didn’t wave as I drove away.
It was hard to know what made me relive the last meal I’d shared with Mom, three years after her death. I had a brewing theory that everything hinged on my actions that day. My inability to deal with my mother led me to a coffee shop in Richmond instead of going directly home. There I met Mac for the first time in the flesh. Two months later Mac and I were an item; the Son of Shakespeare was on a killing spree and killed my mother along with a long list of people I knew. A while later Mac and I were married. He joined the FBI and a year later while working with me in Delta A was killed. That breakfast with Mom started a chain of events that left me feeling gutted.
Maybe it was mortality. Maybe it all hinged on the fragility of life. Maybe nothing lasts forever, not even scars. Maybe if I’d handled Mom better, Mac would still be alive.
Mac’s voice drifted from the car radio. “Maybe’s ass.”
My smile was fleeting. “Maybe’s ass.”
A song buried his voice under the recognizable opening bars of Poison’s Every Rose Has Its Thorn. I listened hoping the song would make me feel better somehow. It didn’t. All it did was remind me that his voice was fading and one day I wouldn’t be able to remember what he sounded like.
My focus turned to the road. I wasn’t driving from Richmond to Rockbridge.
I sat in my car outside a house in Georgetown with absolutely no idea how long I’d been there. House lights twinkled up and down the street. The song finished.
I grabbed my bag from the passenger seat and got out of the car. The door opened as I raised my hand to knock.
Special Agent Noel Gerrard of NCIS smiled a little as he said, “You’re on the wrong side of the river.”
“It’s been a long day.” It’s been a long few weeks.
“Wanna drink?”
I stepped inside and let the door close behind me. Bathed in the warm glow of electric light, I followed Noel through the house to the kitchen and dropped my bag on the floor by a chair. He placed two tumblers on the table and produced a bottle of whiskey from a cabinet. I liked his kitchen. The wood felt cozy.
We sat at the table with the bottle between us.
“I was wondering if you were ever going to come in,” Noel said, pouring three fingers of whiskey into my glass. His eyes flicked to mine.
“Me, too.”
“Thought you were on leave.”
“Didn’t wanna rattle around an empty house, so I went into the office to catch up on paperwork.”
“I heard you were asleep at your desk.”
Guess the not sleeping at night is catching up with me.
I raised my glass. “To Mac.”
“To Mac.”
Glasses clinked. The amber liquid slid easily down my throat.
“To hindsight.”
Noel put his glass down. “I’m not drinking to second-guessing and twenty-twenty retro vision. Gimme something else.”
“I got nothing.” I drained the glass. Noel filled it again.
He held his glass in the air. “To those that made us who we are today.”
“To Mom.”
6 IF TOMORROW NEVER COMES
The stereo lights flickered and music filled the room. I closed my eyes as Garth Brooks sang. It took me a moment but I recognized the song. ‘If Tomorrow Never Comes.’
Mac used to love Garth Brooks. I listened for a little bit but the lyrics broke my heart all over again. Sometimes tomorrow never comes. I turned the stereo off and sat in silence. It wasn’t long before my own thoughts created a commotion.
Words rolled around in my mind. They’d been taunting me for over a year, the poem became muddled and disjointed. I wasn’t even sure if it was the beginning and I didn’t want to open our poetry book to check.
I whispered, “When the world has done, lost in time too tired to run, a safe place came to be…”
My engagement ring slipped on my finger. I straightened it, pausing as the princess cut diamond sparkled in candle light. It still captivated me, even now that our life together is nothing but memories stolen by the night. Time sliding dividing light, jumbled thoughts trapped inside, who I was suddenly died.
I remembered the day he pushed the ring onto my finger. A smile reflected back at me from the television screen.
My smile.
Candles flickered.
My wedding ring sent tiny pools of iridescent light across the ceiling. They almost looked like butterflies. I poured another glass of wine.
A voice I knew too well and missed too much spoke, “Wine? We out of bourbon?”
Words fell from my mouth as my eyes searched the room, “Bourbon holds too many memories.”
“How about tequila? You always loved te-kill-ya.” His voice flowed warm and smooth, like he was right there.
Feeling his words surround me I shook my head. “Mac…” Again, my eyes flicked around the room but I never moved.
Seemed I was always looking for a ghost and he was always finding me. A faded reality trapped in my head.
I looked down to find th
e TV remote in my hand, my fingers pressed buttons, and the screen changed. Flashing pictures on the screen. Jingle bells flooded from the set of a cheesy sitcom Christmas party.
Christmas party.
Shit!
I jumped to my feet knocking the coffee table and spilling wine on the rug. I hurried to the kitchen and grabbed a fist full of paper towel. Moments later the rug was dry and the paper towels sodden. I tossed them in the trash. The house would smell like a winery later.
My keys and cell phone were on the kitchen counter, I took them.
I blew out the candles in the living room and switched off the television.
The room plunged the room into darkness.
No more glittering lights to play upon the ceiling as I moved my hand. Darkness folding images like cloth. Out in the hallway I put on a long woolen coat and hat, then wrapped a scarf around my neck and tugged on soft purple leather gloves. The threat of snow hung heavy in the air when I arrived home an hour earlier. I didn’t expect it to have changed much between then and now. Unsure reality dripping through a dream.
On the way into the city, I tried to raise some Christmas cheer. It wasn’t a happening thing. I found an unexpected car park right outside the venue and even that didn’t change things. I knew I’d have to fake it. So fake it I would. At least I didn’t have to walk miles in the freezing air. Snowflakes drifted down and stuck to the windshield.
Happy fuc’n Christmas.
Cassie was waiting by the door. She smiled warmly and hooked her arm through mine.
“It’s starting to snow. Come on, the kids are waiting,” she said squeezing my arm.
“How’d you know I’d come?”
“You wouldn’t miss this.” She looked quite smug when she added, “Carla is waiting for you.”
And suddenly the fake smile was replaced by the real thing. So I wouldn’t miss it on purpose for Carla’s sake. Touching a heart giving hope.
“Did Sam and Lee make it?”
“You think they’d miss the Butterfly Christmas party? Are you mad?”
Free food and kid’s games.
“Nope.”
And maybe yes, yes I am mad.
Stark raving bonkers.
Silver and gold butterflies hung from tinsel, high up on the ceiling. I didn’t know if the butterflies were real or imagined. The room sparkled. A deep breath revealed an undertone of teen spirit with top notes of Christmas. Pine trees and eggnog.
The noise level within the conference room settled at dull roar. One end of the room boasted an enormous Christmas tree. It took up the entire corner of the stage.
“Stage?” I questioned Cassie.
“We thought a stage would be a fitting platform for that huge tree, and make it easier for the talent to perform.”
“Talent?”
Now we have talent. A neon flashing light went off in my mind and Mac floated just out of reach waving his arms yelling, “Warning, warning.”
Cassie laughed.
Lost in Space? Oh no, not Lost in Space. Oh, crap. Talent. Stage. Mac warning me. This is not boding well for a pleasant evening with friends, family, and kids.
“No. Not me. No way.” I looked over my shoulder for an exit. No exit just Sam and Lee closing in fast. Long legs, long strides. I had nowhere to go. Sam’s smile shone. Panic set in. A hand clamped down on my shoulder and another gripped my other shoulder. Cassie released my arm.
“Traitor,” I hissed as she moved toward the stage.
“Chicky Babe,” Sam crooned. “Looks like the kids want to hear some poetry.”
“Uh huh,” I replied. That ain’t gonna happen.
“Come on Ellie, Cassie wants you up there,” Lee said steering me by the shoulder. “You’re up, you’ll be great.”
The three of them laughed as I grew nearer to the stage and the horror. Cassie scooted ahead. I watched her climb the steps.
There was a parting of the sea. Children lined the way, clapping, laughing, and being kids. I felt sick.
Cassie was talking into the microphone. Words became airborne; they flew on little silver tinsel wings all over the room. A few dive bombed me. I ducked involuntarily. Sam’s hand gripped my shoulder a little tighter. He leaned in and whispered in my ear, “You all right?”
“I’m okay,” I replied wishing it were so. If I wished hard, there could be a Christmas miracle and I might not make a complete dick of myself on the stage. Then it dawned on me. They were taking the mickey. There was no way my friends would let me spout dark morbid poetry at innocent kids. I relaxed just a little but I still had to venture onto that terrifying stage.
The crazy enthusiastic clapping was punctuated by squealing. I turned and there was Carla Torres, squealing with joy along with the other hundred and fifty or so young people in the room. She waved frantically at me. I waved back. My eyes scanned the area beyond the seething mass in my wake. Obviously, someone cool just walked in. I expected to see Rowan Grange, Lorenza Ponce, or maybe even Jon Bon Jovi. No one was behind me just Lee and Sam.
Man kids are excitable.
The clapping continued as I climbed up to the stage.
There I stood – dwarfed by a giant tree (I’m not short) and in front of a microphone.
Behind me was an impressive drum kit.
There were also guitars and other equipment, mostly hidden by the tree. I guessed there was a surprise in store for the kids. The real talent. My mouth was dry. Sand dry. I imagined trying to speak and the sand falling from my mouth all over the stage. The sand became glitter sprinkling magic.
An older deeper male voice spoke and came closer. Then another joined in. Mac’s father and mine materialized from the tree and introduced me to the kids.
There was no escape. Instead of Lee and Sam, I had the fathers flanking me. With no clue if my voice would be heard through the sparkling sand, I spoke into the microphone. A little voice inside told me I could do this.
Do it for the kids. Show no fear.
Part of me couldn’t believe we’d come this far. The kids who looked up at me from the floor had better lives because of a vision Mac and I had. Mixed emotions confusion reigns. Holding love in shaking hands.
A golden butterfly tumbled from above and landed on the microphone. I wanted Mac. I wanted him to know that I’d never missed anyone the way I missed him. The butterfly whispered, “I miss you too.” I wrapped my heart around his words and cradled the fragile sound. They held strength and I needed to capture every ounce.
I waved to Carla and took a breath before injecting as much joy into my voice as I could. “Thank y’all for coming down here tonight. I’m truly delighted to see so many of your smiling faces.”
You could’ve heard a pin drop. Such focus. And all of it on me. I swallowed hard and pushed the panic aside.
“I’m happy I could be here. I can see some familiar faces out there, are y’all looking forward to Christmas?” A cheer went up. “I guess that’s a big fat yes! When I came in, it’d just started snowing…” Noise reverberated off the walls around me as they all yelled some more. I held up a hand, silence fell. “I’m going to turn this here microphone over to my Dad. I think he has a few things to say to y’all.” I stepped aside as Dad took my place. He took the microphone and walked to the edge of the stage with it in his hand. Dad spoke to the kids about the Butterfly Foundation and our goal for the coming year. I stood with Mac’s father. We watched the kids respond to my dad and the joy in their faces as he wished them all a merry Christmas. From the back of the room, I heard bells. The kids turned. Double doors opened and Santa waddled through dragging an enormous sack.
Dad put the microphone back in the stand as Cassie whispered in my ear. “We have a surprise for the kids. Every one of them is getting a gift.”
Mac’s Dad grinned. “We’re not talking girl or boy age-12 type gifts here Ellie.”
Santa dragged his humongous sack ever closer, chatting to kids as he made his way to the stage.
Cassie continue
d, “We went through every one of the online profiles and we shopped for each and every kid.”
So that was what the family had been doing while I was hiding from the world and burying myself in work. A lid banged shut. Dust rose. The picture in front of me was that of a coffin wearing a badge.
“That’s impressive,” I replied, blinking to clear the dust and remove the image of death. Santa reached the bottom step. I went to help him with the sack. Under the bushy white beard, I detected a facial twitch. “Caine?”
“No, it’s Saint Nick. Who’d you think?” he growled.
“A night of surprises. I hope someone has a camera.”
He grumbled under his breath and twitched so hard the beard jumped. A large padded chair appeared on the stage. Caine settled in it. The microphone was adjusted and moved closer. From his bag, he pulled a scroll and unrolled about ten inches. A smaller chair was placed on the other side of him. I figured that was for the kids. We don’t do the sit-on-the-fat-man-in-reds knee thing. It’s just wrong. The whole Santa thing irked me. Here we spend years teaching kids not to accept things from strangers … but an old fat man who says ‘ho ho ho’ is okay? I put my feelings regarding Christmas aside.
This Santa was my SAC not some semi-toasted mall Santa or some sick bastard who had a Santa fetish.
Sam and Lee appeared in the wings, they carried a large sack each. The sacks were placed beside Caine. I really hoped there was some kind of order to this, reading out a hundred and fifty names and finding the matching gift was going to take all night.
Cassie pulled my arm gently. “Come on.”
I was happy to escape the stage. Caine began calling out names. Lee and Sam, and both fathers had the job of finding the gifts. I’d escaped without having to spout poetry. Thank God! The only Christmas poem I knew by heart was one I wrote years ago and it really wasn’t for children.
Angels on the Christmas tree.
Christmas time is here again
Pick up the knife and count to ten
There’s no light in my eyes,
Hold the knife until the pain subsides
Sparkling lights and twinkling stars
