Mending the Past

by Avery June Ligon

  Mrs. Mae had sat Ed next to a beautiful woman with long brown hair and green eyes, who everyone called Em. Jet was never introduced to Em, but caught enough of her husband’s conversation to know that they’d been in the same class in their private elementary school. Jet brought her left foot up and in line with the center of her body. Mrs. Mae had spoken of a day when Ed had come home from school and told her about a ceremony performed on the playground in which he and Em had been married. Jet stood on the foot chip and caught a big handhold out to the right. Jet had been left to talk to a couple to her right about their grandchildren, who turned out to be four puppies birthed by their first two poodles. Jet matched her hands on the big handhold and relaxed her body a bit as she looked around for her next foothold. Mrs. Mae had announced her happiness on seeing Ed and Em enjoying each other so thoroughly. Then she sent Jet an icy smile. Jet placed her foot. She could hear her mother-in-law talking about her views on divorce, which, Jet noticed, had become far more liberal. In a continuous movement Jet pulled on the big handhold with both hands, let go with her left and caught the thin blue hold. Ed and Em were still talking. Jet brought her body to a firm stop close to the wall. When Ed and Em had hugged each other goodbye Mrs. Mae had looked gleeful.

  As Jet and Ed were nearing home after the dinner party Jet had confessed her jealousy. She had hoped to work the conversation toward the idea that Ed’s mother hated her, and was doing her best to get Jet out of her son’s life. She never made it that far though. Ed pulled the car to the side of the road as soon as he understood Jet had been uncomfortable. They had been only a few blocks from home. Ed placed his hands on Jet’s cheeks and looked at her like she was a confused child.

  “Jet, I like women with bouncy curly hair that I can bury my face in when I sleep. I like women who can cook tofu so that I really love it, and I like women who don’t think I’m so important that they won’t hesitate to order me around when they’re too pregnant with my child to get what they need on their own.”

  “What did you just say, white man?” Jet laughed, but tears were spilling from her eyes. “Exactly how many other women have been too pregnant with your child to move?”

  Jet pulled her body with enough force to just grab the top of the wall with her left hand. She took her right hand off its hold to show that her grip on the finish was controlled, and then she climbed down.

  She sat down to rest and thought about the first time she had seen Ed’s old room and his family’s art collection.

  When Ed had lived at the Mae family home he’d slept in a room on the third floor. There was an anteroom to Ed’s room where his nanny slept when he was small. When he’d gotten older the room became Ed’s study, and his Uncle Steward had often been reading there when Ed came home from school, and when he woke up in the morning.

  “Steward loved to read. I’ve never met anyone who read as much as Steward did. He also told great stories. When I’d have sleepovers in elementary school I’d always ask Steward to tell a goodnight story. I think Bud wanted to come over more to hear Uncle Steward’s stories than to play with me.”

  “Bud? The guy you play tennis with?”

  “Yeah. We’ve been friends for as long as I can remember.”

  “Well, what kind of stories did Steward tell you boys?”

  “Intricate stories of theft and desperation. He’d always bring something from the art collection for a prop, and set it on that little table,” Ed said, pointing to a small coffee table between two soft leather chairs. “Bud and I would sit in that one, and Steward would take the other. He’d bring a flashlight for each of us and turn the lights off.” Ed looked toward the table and chairs. “I loved shining my flashlight on whatever the thing on the table was. Once Steward brought a mummified cat from the Egyptian room of the collection.”

  “Yuck,” Jet said.

  Ed laughed. “That night Steward told us about how the cat was stolen from its master’s tomb, and about how its master wanted it back. Bud kept his flashlight pointed behind him to protect us from the approaching mummy. Steward assured him that we were safe, but it didn’t do any good. I didn’t take my light off of the cat. It looked so pet-like to me. I was sure it would jump into my lap, if I let my light fall.”

  “When you talk about your childhood you almost always mention Steward.”

  Ed shrugged. “He was always around.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “I don’t know. I came home one day from high school and Steward was waiting here for me. He looked upset. Told me he needed to go on a trip, take care of some business. That we wouldn’t see each other for awhile.”

  “Ed, that’s more than fifteen years ago.”

  “Seventeen.”

  “You’ve never heard from him?”

  “No.”

  “Well, can’t you ask your mom or something?”

  “I tried once. She wouldn’t talk about him. I think he’s dead.”

  Jet just looked at him.

  “Do you see the bookshelf behind the little table? Steward was gone for maybe five years and then, well, the things on that shelf started to change.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, there was a little statue there for a long time. Then it was the cat.” Ed looked at Jet and shrugged again.

  Jet didn’t know what to say. Ed wasn’t the type to believe in the supernatural. She decided on, “Yikes.”

  He nodded. “Just about every time I visit, there’s a different thing there.”

  “You’re kind of creeping me out.”

  “Sorry. Take a look though. There’s a little jade figure there right now. I bet the next time we come it’ll be different.”

  “Come on, Ed. Someone must be changing it.”

  “Who’d bother? Who has the keys to the collection? Just my mom and the guy at the gate. Why would either of them change it?”

  “I don’t know. But if you really think it could be your dead uncle then I think you should talk to my mom and dad about it. I bet they could help.”

  Ed hugged Jet lifting her off of the ground. “You’re such a weirdo.”

  “Me? You just told me that your ghost uncle comes here to redecorate.”

  “I know,” Ed said, giving her body an extra hard squeeze.

  Jet scanned the bouldering wall for her next problem. She found all of its orange taped holds and mapped out her strategy. She found her chalkbag and stuck her hands inside.

  How, Jet wondered as she made her first move, could Ed’s uncle just disappear like that? She tried to imagine how Mrs. Mae would ignore her son when he asked about Steward. She brought her right hand up and gripped a yellow plastic hold shaped like a thick fin. She felt herself tense her face and purse her lips as she tried to hold on. Well, Mrs. Mae is pretty much an expert at ignoring what she doesn’t want to hear. Or see. She probably just started paying her son compliments and then changed the subject.

  Jet moved her feet up and pictured Mrs. Mae’s stiff, insincere smile. She took her left hand off the wall to make her next move. Mrs. Mae’s face and grey bob loomed large in Jet’s mind. Jet’s key foot popped off its hold. Mrs. Mae’s smile became sincere. Without her foot on Jet couldn’t keep gripping the fin. She felt her thumb and fingers grate across the rough plastic and then meet. Jet could feel the angle of her falling body relative to the floor. She tried to change her position before she hit, but there wasn’t much she could do. She was going to flop on her back. It wouldn’t hurt much, but it would be loud and inelegant. Mrs. Mae smiled down at her. Jet closed her eyes anticipating impact, but instead she felt two hands hit under her shoulder blades. They slowed her upper body enough for her feet to just touch the floor before she found herself sitting.

  “That was a little rough. Sorry. It was the best I could do.” Cam said.

  Jet looked behind her. “Thanks, Cam. That was way better than back-flopping onto the floor.”

  “No prob. I was coming to tell you that five people tied their shoes together
. Five,” Cam said. “That’s unprecedented.”

  “See. People are good. Well, most people anyway.”

  “I said, ’Five’, not 50. Let’s go with some, not most.” Cam looked at the problem Jet had just fallen off and frowned. “That’s not the type of problem you usually fall on. Let me guess. You were thinking of some other problem, not the one that needed all of your attention?”

  This was an ongoing battle between Jet and Cam. Every time he had the opportunity he told her she needed to learn to clear her mind and think only of herself and the wall. Jet took his point, but clearing her mind wasn’t easy. She suspected this was the sort of thing she’d be better at if her worries were on the scale of those facing a teenager who lived in a van while going to college.

  “Thinking of something else? Me? Never.” Jet opened her eyes wide and said. “I was being telepathically hunted by the miserable, icy-eyed face of my mother-in-law. When she found me, death beams shot from her pupils blasting me off the wall.”

  “I hope you think you’re joking.”

  “Hm, half joking,” Jet said.

  Chapter 4 Job Offer

  While still pregnant and in line at her regular coffee shop, Jet met a tall, slender man with curly, grey and white hair that bobbed on his head as he moved. He’d flashed a huge smile at her. He reminded Jet of someone she couldn’t quite place. He seemed so avuncular that she couldn’t help telling him, “My hair used to look just like that,” she paused for effect, “when I was five.”

  He’d ignored the possibility of this being an insult, and they sat down together. She told him a little about the rock climbing she’d done, and he’d asked a surprising number of questions. Rock climbing questions from novices were usually less technical than his. They began a conversation on art as he started his second cup of coffee.

  “I don’t mean that I don’t enjoy a conversation, or a book. I just like poetry better, and I like sculpture even more.” Jet said.

  “Why?”

  “Sculpture communicates in a glance. It’s fast and it can be powerful.”

  “Define powerful in this context.”

  “Geez, is this an exam? Um, a good sculpture communicates mostly the same thing to most people quickly. That’s powerful. Just think how long it takes to read a novel. I’m just not that patient. If there hasn’t been any blood by, oh say page twenty-five, then I’ve had it.”

  “It seems to me that your husband has made the perfect choice,” he said.

  “I have no idea how to respond to that.”

  “May I ask a personal question?” He waited for an objection. “Are you carrying a boy or a girl?”

  “A boy.”

  “I figured as much.”

  “You did?” Jet patted her belly.

  “Healthy and kicking?”

  “Oh yes. Healthy. Kicks too hard and too much.”

  “And married life, how’s that treating you?”

  “That seems like a far more personal question.”

  “That is the personal question.”

  “It’s fine.”She looked for a wedding band. “Maybe it works for me better than it has for you.”

  “I’ve never been married. I tried to get married a couple of times.” He paused. “They both liked my brother better.”

  “Ouch. Well, don’t worry. Being married is pretty boring, really. You do the same thing every day. Wake up at the same time. Say the same things. Eat the same things. I have the extra bonus of a mother-in-law who wants me dead.” Jet shrugged.

  “I’m afraid you’re not making me feel better.”

  “Sorry.”

  The wild-haired man glanced at his watch.

  “It was nice to meet you,” he said. Then he leaned close to her belly and said, “Goodbye, I do hope we’ll meet one another soon.”

  He looked at Jet’s face again and said goodbye as he handed her a card on which there was only a phone number.

  “It would be best if you began apprenticing as soon as possible. When you’re ready,” he said, glancing at her belly, “call, and don’t tell your husband yet. Your rock climbing experience will save hours. You’ll need to travel. I hope your husband will come along. He can watch the little one.”

  Then he left and Jet had his card, but she realized she had never asked, or been given, his name.

  She nibbled at the remains of the muffin and croissant she’d ordered. She thought about Ed and how chubby he’d become. She rubbed her belly and told herself that she shouldn’t be critical of Ed’s weight gain. She thought about how they used to go out to dinner together, or get a beer, and how they would talk and laugh. Jet sighed. She thought about her mother-in-law who wouldn’t look her in the eyes and rarely looked in her direction at all. What could have made Mrs. Mae into such a nasty woman?

  Jet flipped the card over a few times, and thought about how having a job that made some money would change her life. She smiled at the idea of Ed having to travel with her to watch the baby. Maybe he could cook dinner too. Maybe they’d visit Mrs. Mae and she’d ask Ed what he had planned for the next few weeks and he would say, “Oh, well, I know we’re going out of the country, but I can’t remember where.”

  “Can’t remember where?” Mrs. Mae would say in a perplexed tone.

  Then Ed would tell her, “It’s for Jet’s job. She knows about it. You’ll have to ask her.”

  Jet laughed to herself and slipped the card with the phone number into her pocket.

  Chapter 5 A Sign to Run

  The morning passed like the rest. Ed talked to Jet over his newspaper. The baby babbled at his food and toys as he pushed them over the tray’s edge. Jet closed the dishwasher as Ed said, “Well, I guess it’s that time. Thanks for breakfast.” Then Ed brushed his teeth and left for work after giving both Jet and the baby a kiss. The baby gurgled.

  Jet put the baby down for a nap and brought the baby monitor to the garage, which she used as a sculpting studio. First, she needed to cut a stack of four by fours into short pieces of different lengths. She turned on the saw and made her first cut. She made cut after cut, sliding the four by four down the table, bringing down the head of the chop saw.

  One after the other. Jet raised her eyebrows and shook her head. This is my life, she thought. The same thing, again, and again, and again.

  But then, as if in answer to her complaint, something different happened. She made another cut, and her face blanched yellow brown. She looked at her hand. For a moment she didn’t feel any pain. She only wondered how she chopped off her ring finger without scratching her pinkie. She turned off the saw and found her finger. It was lying next to the piece of wood it had been cut with. She held it in her open palm and poked at it. The finger rolled a little. She felt lightheaded and held the table for support.

  Jet pulled her wedding band off of the little dead finger and mumbled, “A sign. This must be a sign.” She thought about waking the baby and rushing to the hospital. About putting the finger on ice. The sight of her blood was making it difficult to focus. She wrapped her hand in a rag to help her ignore it. She put the ring into the pocket of her jeans and decided against having the finger reattached. After all, she thought, if mom taught me anything it’s that a sign is a sign. One should heed a sign, move forward, and accept the past. Not try to change it. What’s done is done, and it can’t be mended.

  Jet took her finger to the back yard and buried it in the flower bed. She placed a little white rock at the fingernail end like a headstone. Then she cried like she used to after she had buried a little dead bird or bug she’d found as a girl.

  When the ceremony was over, Jet found the card given to her by the man whose name she had never received, and called.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, this is Jet, we met at-”

  “Jet. I thought you might have forgotten about me. The baby must be about,” he paused, “six months old. Do I have that right?”

  “Yes.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “W
e haven’t decided.”

  “Haven’t decided? Well, soon you’ll just be able to ask him what he prefers.”

  “Listen,” Jet said. “I need to go to the hospital. I just lost a finger. I’d like some time away to think. Do you have any use for me?”

  The line was silent for a moment. “The hospital? Time to heal. I think you need a little time to heal. Thinking is fine too.” Another pause. “Will you be able to climb?”

  “I think so.” Jet tried to imagine hanging from her wounded hand. She couldn’t picture it, but she thought that if she forced herself into the situation she’d manage. And, she wanted to get away. “Yes. I’ll be able to climb.”

  “Then you’re about to save me a lot of trouble. I need you to get an MRI. I’ll call the right people as soon as we hang up. I’ll tell them about your finger, so they will have some idea of where to find you. When the MRI’s finished you should fly to Rome. I have a flat in the Trastevere. I’ll make a call and you’ll find it open. Can you write down the address?”

  Jet copied down the address and listened to the rest of his instructions.

  “Okay, I’ll be waiting for you, and, thanks,” Jet said.

  “Enjoy your time in Rome. There’s a lovely family-run restaurant down the street. They only take cash and your bank cards will only work in that district sometimes. Exchange money now. I’ll give you more when I get there. See you soon.”

  “Wait. What’s your name?”

  Jet was too late. He was gone. Already making phone calls and plans, and now that she had sent the nameless man into action, she needed to move forward too.

  First, she packed a diaper bag with the few things she was sure she and the baby would need. Then she added juice boxes, baby cereal, and a baby sling. She double checked that their passports were still tucked in next to her underwear. Then, because her hand was throbbing and leaving smudges of blood around the house, she packed a bar of soap and a hand towel, and decided to wake the baby and get to the hospital and their pain killers fast.