The Milestone Tapes
By Ashley Mackler-Paternostro
The Milestone Tapes. Copyright © 2011 Ashley Mackler-Paternostro. All rights reserved.
First Kindle Edition: December 2011
LICENSE NOTES
All rights reserved. This eBook is licensed for the personal enjoyment of the original purchaser only. This eBook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this eBook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
DISCLAIMER
The characters and events portrayed in this book are a work of fiction or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Table of Contents
Dedication
BOOK ONE
Prologue
May
June
July
August
September
October
BOOK TWO
November
December
December, part 2
January
February
March
May
Epilogue
About the Author
Acknowledgments
Dedication
To Susan,
There is so much to thank you for ... like, everything.
Love you always.
BOOK ONE
Because I can no longer ignore death, I will pay more attention to life
—Treya Wilber—
Prologue
With much determination, Jenna willed her fingers to press the record button. She couldn’t allow herself to think about how silly she felt speaking the paramount words to only herself and a small tape recorder in the dark of her office, years and years before they’d even harbor an inkling of truth. Or, how heartbreaking it felt to know that eventually she would be finished recording and the silence left behind would speak volumes.
She had no notes, no frame of reference and no way of knowing exactly what her daughter would need to hear when she finally, in time, came about pressing play. All she had was a list, a list of milestones and a corresponding blank tape.
The fear and utter sadness of that enveloped her like an inferno, burning her, buckling her heart and breaking her in a million ways that would remain unseen, as so many other breaks did. She would never really know if she got it right, of course. She’d. Never. Know. And, if she were being honest now, that realization had been the driving force behind the recordings to begin with.
Hadn’t that knowledge pinged her so many months ago, while the quiet of the morning and darkness of her home gave the illusion of peace and rightness, and did nothing more than make her think.
But even more than that, wasn’t the unknown what she’d been fighting all along. Trying to somehow rally against what the doctors told her was inevitable, trying to be the exception rather than the rule. Jenna knew that she had fought hard, battled with every moment, with umpteen doctors, with every drug, every needle or pill or hope. The fighting had never been the problem; it was simply what she was fighting against. That thing, so bound and determined to win.
So now she was left with the unknown. All of the things that couldn’t possibly be known. It was no longer a question of science, medicine and time. Now it was a matter of fate, faith and the natural unfolding of things. Jenna had resolved that, although everything moving forward would be unknown, she would plan and prepare and hedge her bets like a mother would, she would bet on her daughter, and leave behind her voice.
She knew her little girl now. She knew the determined expression that would cross her face when they worked together side by side in the expansive kitchen she had designed for family time and togetherness. She knew the jubilant smile that would never fail Mia’s face when she huddled over her English homework, letting her unique brand of creativity roll off in waves, limited only by what she could spell and express at seven years old. She knew the tell-tale face of a fib or half truth, Mia’s mouth dropping open just enough, as she tried not to smile and tried harder to convey honesty. She knew the way Mia’s lower lips would tremble as she departed the bus when the kids had been less than kind, running for the security of home and the comfort of her mom, running to the place that would nurture and welcome her budding individualism rather than shy away from it.
Jenna knew Mia better than she knew herself in every single way possible; she was her mother. From the very beginning, her baby girl had been the epitome of a miracle in Jenna’s eyes and remained steadfast in that role forever after. Mia was Jenna’s sole reason for the death match that spanned out behind them now, defining holidays and birthdays, along every other ordinary day. Mia was reason and logic, hope and heartbreak; she was Jenna’s dream personified. The prose of that would have made Jenna laugh, had the thoughts and feelings ambushed her in a normal life. But in her life, their life as a family with their singular child, the emotional turmoil was highlighted and hung from their only child. Jenna knew she could never, even if words flooded her, really say enough about her daughter.
But who would Mia be when these tapes became relevant?
Suddenly the unknown crept in again, playing around, twisting two or five or a million different landscapes. Landscapes Jenna would be absent for. Would Mia be analytical and thoughtful, living a life of logic and reason, a breathing echo of her father? Would her love of words bloom into a love of numbers? Or would she hold fast, stay true to her dreamy and creative nature?
Would some of these tapes be left, unheard, in their little plastic casings because they didn’t apply to Mia? And if they didn’t pertain, why not? But, if they did, and Mia needed them, and Jenna failed to push the worry aside, then what? What if Mia carried the responsibility, all the joys and all the burdens of life alone? The stark thought of that was enough to cripple Jenna.
Jenna pressed her finger firmly against the flat button with the red circle. She thought about the laughter and tears, the piles of homework, the family trips, the snuggles and hugs and kisses and fights. She thought about her husband, trying to understand the enigma that was the teenage girl. She pictured her daughter, grown up with a life, maybe even a family, of her own. And she felt courage; these tapes were not expectations, they were hopes— her hopes. And with all of that floating around in her head, she began.
“Mia ... I love you.”
May
Mornings, as they tended to do in Port Angeles, Washington, rolled in gloomy, the sky heavy and threatening. Thick waves of grey clouds spit a faint mist against the picture windows of her bedroom. The lush green beyond the enclave of her home sprawled out and over into the docile bay. In the hush of morning, Jenna lay totally still, wanting to take it all in for a long moment before the day unleashed itself. Closing her eyes, Jenna reflected on the life she had designed and the path she had hoped it would take when she first started down it.
Jenna and Gabe had managed to become pregnant later in life, but the desire for a child had been strong in both of them from the beginning. They were always the sort of thoughtful couple who had made a point of plotting for a baby from the very start. Timing, for them, was of prime importance and they always found themselves with one reason or another to put off parenthood. They wanted a certain life, a particular rhythm, that would afford a child easily, which had meant years of work spilled out ahead of them.
Remembering those childless years made Jenna’s heart flutter. She wouldn’t untangle herself from mother
hood now given the chance; it was same as imaging herself suddenly without her sight or another comfortable, almost given, attribute. Life without Mia was entirely unimaginable. But Jenna still loved her time with just Gabe. This morning, she gave herself up to that. It had been simple, easy with effortless cadence. The spontaneous vacations, lazy weekends of truly sleeping in, the ability to cast reason aside because it was the two of them who would potentially suffer the consequences of a failure. Jenna could write for the love of writing without the worry of a paycheck. Gabe could take the leap with a start-up architectural firm because they could live on scrambled eggs and ramen noodles if all else failed. They did all this with such joy that being childless, even as the years crept by, never filled them with emptiness because they had each other, and for a long, long while, that was more than enough.
Jenna and Gabe mustered the first years of marriage with something that resembled hope, they were young and in crazy love, it was the sustaining force of their relationship. They did live on eggs and on noodles during the bleak, broke times. Jenna pounding away on her second hand typewriter, Gabe wearing paths on his drafting table with a pencil. Then one day, it simply clicked. It clicked so completely that if anyone had been listening, they could have heard it.
Jenna was suddenly less of a struggling author and more of a published author with a bona fide literary agent, wonderful editor and multi-book deal with a great publishing house. Gabe was less overworked, underpaid, and more balanced. Suddenly, all the struggle looked simple and uncomplicated. They were in the position to thrive. They celebrated the windfall by renting a beautiful apartment in the Belltown neighborhood of Seattle. It was the sort of pre-war affair Jenna loved, with tobacco hardwoods, endless views of the city out of smog splotched, multi- paned windows, thin walls and happy spaces with warm radiators and chipped paint, a bonus spare room allowed space for a home office. Slowly, they inched closer to parenthood one realized success after another.
However strong the need for the baby may have been, the lives they led were suddenly complicated, successful ones and no longer exclusively their own. She was now an author with demands and pleads for another book, working exhaustively under deadlines. Gabe architectural firm had grown in bounty, he was now a senior partner with a following of people who appreciated his style and commitment to his work. Together, Jenna and Gabe, powered through life with projects and tasks and time management, and more quickly than ever before, months slipped into years.
Jenna awoke at thirty-seven and knew that the time had come for the hard decisions she’d been meaning to make for years. She loved her career and she’d fought hard for it; she was finally enjoying the pinch of success she had been slaving for, having just returned from an East Coast tour. Gabe’s senior level with his company meant something different. He still oversaw, but his days in the trenches were behind him, leaving Gabe with more time on his hands than he’d had in what felt like eons. He still worked projects, but his ability to delegate was as deep as it was wide. If there was ever a time to create the life they had wanted for their baby, it was now.
Convincing Gabe to leave Seattle behind had been more of a challenge than Jenna had anticipated. Gabe loved the culture and the steady hum of life in the city. It was from all of that around him that he drew the inspiration for his work. Jenna’s life was to create a world which could be real but was not, and Gabe’s was to add to the world visually in ways he felt it was lacking. She could work anywhere, but he was unsure how he would fit in small town America.
Gabe had fussed and put forth a valiant effort of pleas trying to sell her on staying. Gabe rallied endlessly for what benefits the city could offer a child; the culture was right, the weekend trips were doable, the schools were better than most. He took her to large Victorian brownstones and promised her any one she wanted, he could give her space and a home right there. He made a point of taking her to the most versed shows, the cleanest parks, the culturally diverse districts and shops. But Jenna wouldn’t be budged. What it boiled down to in the end was that Gabe honestly believed doing his work outside the confines of Seattle and mainstream industry at large was an impossibility, and it all felt so foreign.
To be fair, they had always been city folk. Having met fresh from college, shortly after they had independently descended on the big city, they didn’t know small town life or even if they could really adjust to it. Jenna had been born in Chicago, and lived her entire life in the expansive suburbs, but never isolated from mainstream industry. Gabe was a rarity, a Las Vegas native who lived his whole life a stone’s throw from the strip, not even on the outskirts or in a pretty suburb like Henderson. City life was engrained in them and as natural as breathing.
Having converged on Seattle for different reasons, Jenna because of her love for all things artistic in nature and Gabe simply because of a job offering, they had gotten to know each other during strolls at Pikes Place Market, sipping Starbucks coffee from the famed original storefront. They’d never owned more than one car, never mowed a lawn or hosted a party with the simple intent of getting to know their neighbors. City life offered the ability to be local or be lost, and it was comforting to them. Leaving it behind was the corner of bitter and sweet, painful though done for the right reasons.
Being classically Jenna, she met this challenge on with her particular style. She offered Gabe a job: build her a home. Jenna had saved away some of her royalties and wanted to give this home as a gift, not only to herself, but to Gabe and their future. Design it, execute it, live in it with her and their baby. She knew that appealing to him on his level, in his element, would be most favorable. And it had been. But, of course, there was a compromise involved. Gabe would leave the city proper, but he needed to be able to access his firm easily and he was set on not wanting to leave Washington State. Jenna willingly agreed to those terms. The Olympic Peninsula offered life by the mile. Jenna knew that moving to a town where her baby would feel the Pacific Ocean and sand beneath bare feet, see the snowcapped mountains from any room in their home, hike the Hoh rainforest and marvel at the amount of the green, and in equal measure, take in the culture of the big city, would be a beautiful balance.
As summer set in, Jenna and Gabe drove the coast each weekend, visiting the multitude of port and harbor towns. Once they had reached Port Angeles, they stopped driving. The town wasn’t small but was quaint in its own right. The main street was lined with locally owned specialty stores and boutiques offering antiquities, arts, practicalities and necessities. The plots of land still available for developing offered spectacular views of the Port and the Olympic National Park. All of that appealed to Jenna. Gabe took comfort in the ease of access to both the ferries and the small airport which boasted several charter flights in and out of Sea Tac daily, either of which could deposit him in the heart of Seattle within an hour on the occasion he needed to be there.
Gabe and Jenna coupled to create a true family home. Jenna would sit up at night in their tiny pre-war apartment and make her plans. Design magazines would clutter the tables and surfaces, and design boards were taped to the walls, tacked with fabric samples and paint colors. They made trips to the wild coast of Rialto Beach and gathered stones of various shapes and colors, which Jenna laid by hand in all the bathrooms. Together, they had spent weekends ordering stained glass from local artists, evaluating the particulars of exotic woods, mulling over paint samples and all the other trivial yet defining bits that would equal their home. It was an exhausting labor of love.
The completion signified a dream realized and two more years of their lives. The Chamberland home stood high above Port Angeles, slopping downward to the water’s edge, nestled primarily on a large plot of land rimmed with lush gardens, and beyond them, the natural forest. Thick craftsman pillars dotted the wraparound porch, and leaded glass windows were in abundance, set neatly into the shaker, ocean blue siding. The home was wide and long. The ceiling was crafted of peaked glass, letting the sky inside. The rear wall, which faced the Port
, was a series of glass panels that could be folded inward, opening seamlessly. The kitchen was central, just as Jenna wanted, with plenty of cabinet space, thick soap stone counters and double butcher block islands.
Jenna had, of course, celebrated Gabe and his brilliance over the years as he worked various mediums into visual, practical works of art, beautiful buildings that touched the sky. They had toasted to his ability many times over, but never before had she so viscerally understood his gift as the moment when she first stood in the kitchen of her finished home.
Jenna sighed deeply and rolled over, curving herself around her husband in an effort to stay just that warm and safe for a minute longer. Today would be a long day for them both, she could feel that settle into her bones and tears prick her eyes as everything piled upon her in one fell swoop. The looming charter flight to Seattle, the meeting, the final decisions they would make and then the last flight home. But none of that felt as daunting or exhausting as what would await their return: Mia.
Mia, her miracle baby. Once life was settled and they had officially moved in, they had agreed to start trying. Jenna had been creeping ever closer to 40 and knew getting pregnant wouldn’t be easy, that those days were long gone. She knew that by having waited past her peak, it could be years before the blessing of a baby would grace them. But life worked in mysterious ways. As the house began to wind itself down, Jenna and Gabe started to have fun with trying. They would often open a bottle of wine on the bare floors of their new home, giggling and feeling adventurous, and, feeling every bit as though they were teenagers again, they made love. They never believed or dreamed it would be so simple. But it was. Within a few short weeks of pitching her birth control, Jenna discovered, much to her joy, she was pregnant.
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