“Jenna? Jenna, are you here?” Gabe’s voice boomed through the home, his lightly frenzied tone stirred her.
“The office, Gabe,” Jenna called back. She felt embedded to her chair.
“Honey?” Gabe cracked the door open, light pooled through the as he leaned in. “Why are you sitting here, in the dark. Where’s Mia?” The questions felt raw, and Jenna scrambled looking for the right answers.
“Mia is still with Ginny. They went to the movies,” Jenna addressed. “I was working.”
“In the dark?” Gabe opened the door wider, appraising his wife.
“It just got dark. I had the light on.”
“Are you tired? You sound tired,” worry folded into his tone as he crossed the carpet to her.
“Very,” Jenna agreed heavily, her eyes slid closed.
“You should go to bed, honey,” Gabe offered his hand to Jenna.
“Mia will be home soon. I need to fix dinner.”
“I can do the Mia shift tonight. Go to bed, sleep.”
“Are you sure? You worked all day.”
“Very sure. You’re done for the day, I can tell.”
“She’s going to be sugared up, this is your fair warning, she made apple pie and went to the movies. You’re entering stomachache territory. It could be a very long night,” Jenna warned him seriously.
“Not my first time, I can manage. Get some sleep.” Gabe pulled on Jenna’s arm, towing her from her chair. “Come on, let’s go.”
Jenna paused briefly, taking the box, now full and heavy with her hopes, from her desktop.
“What’s that?” Gabe asked, offering to carry to box for her.
“Mia’s hope chest, my hopes for her.” Jenna handed over the box to Gabe. “Please keep it for her, until after ... ” Jenna’s voice trailed off, realizing that this was it, the handing off process. She was officially giving the future to Gabe, but this was willingly and on her own terms. Her heart cinched around that.
Gabe pressed his lips to Jenna’s forehead, pulling her in close with his free arm. Jenna linked herself to Gabe’s waist, and in tandem, they began walking the short distance to the door. Jenna turned, looking back at the room she had loved so much, with its thick bookcases and plush carpet, refined woodwork, her desk, the room that allowed her to work in peace, to live her dream of being an author, and she closed the door knowing she’d probably never go back to that place, that room.
October
Sophia had flown into Port Angeles early that morning, she came when she got the call. Gabe, as he had promised, let her know when Jenna’s condition turned for the worse, that the time she had been promised was gone.
“I don’t understand,” Sophia murmured to Ginny, sitting at the kitchen table. “I just spoke to her two, three weeks ago, and she was fine, she was fine. What happened? How is this happening?” her voice pitched in protest.
“No one knows for sure, honey, no one knows.” Ginny’s tone was clipped as the hospice nurse walked into the kitchen, filling a cup with ice from the freezer before she turned quietly, leaving the ladies to resume their conversation. “That doctor from the hospital, she was here yesterday, said things like this. They just happen, sometimes fast, sometimes slow.”
Sophia’s head bowed under the weight of Ginny’s words. “Sometimes fast,” she repeated. “How’s Mia?” Sophia asked, looking at her niece, who was stumbling around the back yard, kicking at a small ball. Ginny had bundled her up against the cold autumn wind, laced her neck with a thick scarf and her fingers wrapped in wool mittens. Planters full of rusty mums dotted the patio and pumpkins of every size lay on the steps leading down towards the yard.
“Bad.” Ginny shook her head sadly.
“Gabe?”
“Hasn’t left the room in two days for more than a minute, been by her side the whole time those nurses have been here, round the clock.”
Sophia has desperately wanted to see Jenna, but she was sleeping, as she did most of time now. Off and on frequently, under the caring watch of a nurse sent to the house from Hospice. No one had been surprised to learn Jenna had consulted with them, prearranged everything for this time.
“How long?” Sophia gulped out the question, tears welling in her eyes.
Ginny simply shook her head.
“What can I do?” Sophia asked helplessly.
“Pray,” Ginny suggested, then turning towards the windows, she added, lifting her chin towards the small little girl, “and comfort Mia.”
“Oh Mia.” Sophia lowered her head to the table, tears slipping down her cheeks. She knew what that little girl needed more than anything in the world, and it was the one thing Sophia couldn’t give her.
Sophia walked towards the sliding glass door and slipped outside. Her stocking feet froze instantly as she padded across the grass and the mid autumn wind whipped around her violently, she wished she’d remembered her coat.
“Mia?” She wandered towards her niece, not wanting to startle her.
“Aunt Sophia!” Mia crossed the yard, meeting Sophia half way. Her lower lip poked out, trembling with hidden tears.
“Oh, baby.” Sophia opened her arms wide and Mia threw herself inside them. Sophia knelt in the soggy grass, letting the dampness soak the knees of her jeans, holding Mia close while the little girl heaved heavy sobs against her chest. “It’s okay, baby, it’s okay,” Sophia murmured, clutching the Mia close.
“I ... I ... I ... want my momma,” Mia wailed against the wool of Sophia’s sweater
“Shh, it’s okay, I know,” Sophia soothed, smoothing her hair, rubbing her back, rocking her.
“I want my mommy, I want to see my mommy!” Mia struggled against Sophia, pushing away, defiant with grief. Sophia held her tighter. “Let me see my mommy!”
“Honey.” Sophia didn’t know what to say, but she knew, she remembered, that feeling of longing, the innocent belief that if you could just see them, you could heal them.
“Please, please,” Mia begged, breaking Sophia’s heart in new ways. Her nose was cherry red from tears and the Pacific winds.
“We can’t see your mommy right now, baby, she’s sleeping, and she needs to rest.” Sophia put her hands on Mia’s shoulders, meeting her eyes, trying to break through the will of a seven year old who wasn’t alone in her frustration and grief.
“I miss my mom.” Mia calmed, self-soothing; only the slightest hiccupping remained.
“I know you do baby, I miss your mom, too. But she wouldn’t want you to be sad, she wouldn’t want you to cry.” Sophia sat down on the grass, pulling Mia onto her lap, tucking her head under her chin, rocking her slowly. It was cold out and the spreading wetness wasn’t helping, but Sophia paid no attention to the distracting numbness.
“Can I see her later, when she wakes up?” Mia pressed, needing something, some reassurances.
“We’ll see what your daddy says, okay?” Sophia owed her honesty; it was truly Gabe’s decision.
Mia nodded in her chest, sniffing.
“Are you hungry? You must have been out here forever, you’re freezing.” Sophia felt the little girl’s timid shivers.
“Sure, I guess.” Mia shrugged lithely.
“That’s a start. Let’s see what we can scrounge up.” Sophia planted Mia on her feet and offered her a hand. She felt relief bubble up inside her chest when Mia took it.
Ginny was propped against the opening of the door, watching with watery eyes.
“Can I make you lunch?” she asked, stepping aside to let them in.
“I should go get changed.” Sophia gestured to her ruined clothes “but Mia is hungry.”
Ginny easily slid her arm around Mia’s thin shoulders, guiding her towards the kitchen while Sophia disappeared into the guest room to change.
The room was familiar to Sophia now, having spent almost the entire summer there. Jenna had done a lovely job making this room a haven a place that embodied the comforts of home. Soft pastels floated around, sunny yellow walls, paisley bedd
ing, crisp white plantation shutters, leaded glass windows looking out to the green forest. It felt safe and comfortable, well lived in.
Sophia striped off her sodden jeans, tossing them carelessly aside into a heap by the bathroom, exchanging them for a fresh pair. Slipping into them, Sophia sank to the ground. Maybe it was the travel catching up to her or maybe it was world that was crashing down, but she gave herself up to it. Burying her face in her hands, she silently sobbed, hard painful jags. She cried for Mia, for Gabe and selfishly, for herself. She cried for the time she had lost being angry, for the time she’d never have to make it right. She cried for her sister, for the pain Jenna must feel and for the heartbreak Jenna’s family was enduring. Sophia balled her hands into fists, shoving them hard into her eyes, wanting the scream out, rage, but knowing on the other side of door was a vulnerable little girl who needed strength and reassurance.
A soft tap at door brought her back, pulling her from the swirl of misery she was giving up to.
“Sophia? Can I come in?” Gabe’s broken voice questioned from the other side.
“Of course.” Sophia smudged the back of her hand against her eyes, pulling herself together.
“Hey, sorry to interrupt you. Ginny said you were changing.” Gabe stared hard at the carpet, his hands clasped behind his back.
“It’s okay, I was just finishing up. Is everything okay?” Sophia stood up slowly and reached out to touch his arm, which was just beyond her reach.
“Jenna’s the same. Asleep.” He seemed to relax a little, losing up, he ran his hands over his face, and Sophia saw for the first time the look of wear that crossed him. His eyes were rimmed with red, blurry and bloodshot; days’ worth of growth spread across his cheeks and chin and fanned out down his long neck. His hair was a mess, disarranged and oily, his clothing was wrinkled and creased, Sophia wondered idly when the last time he showered and changed was.
“Can I see her soon?” Sophia asked, running her fingers through her hair.
“When she’s awake,” Gabe mumbled, not promising if or when that would be.
“Mia really wants to see her, Gabe,” Sophia implored, begging him.
“I know that.” Gabe looked down again, wiping the palms of his hands across the front of his pants. He was so far from the composed, funny, dedicated man she spent time with this summer; he was scared and lost, just as Jenna had promised he would be. “But she can’t, not like this.” Gabe took long strides past Sophia towards the small sitting area off the rear of the room.
Sophia followed after him, watching him sink into the overstuffed wing chair, burying his face in his hands.
“Gabe, she needs to see her mother. She’s scared and confused.” Sophia sat in the chair beside him, resting her hands on her knees.
“It would make things worse, Jenna’s not ... Jenna’s not Jenna anymore,” Gabe whimpered more to himself than to Sophia.
“Mia needs to see her mother, Jenna is still her mother.” Sophia spoke calmly. She remembered how this moment felt, being the scared little girl on the other side of the door.
“I know she’s still her mother, Jesus Christ, I’m just fucking protecting her. Isn’t better for Mia to remember Jenna as vibrant, not some shell, lying there totally out of it? Do you know her bones are breaking? For no reason. The cancer’s just eaten them whole, and sometimes they just snap. Mia shouldn’t ... she’s just a kid.” Gabe glared at Sophia.
“Maybe, but maybe not.” Sophia held her hands up in surrender. She didn’t want to upset him more, she just wanted him to see both sides of the issue.
“I’m sorry, that was out of line.” Gabe’s anger evaporated, and he looked faded again.
“When was the last you slept, Gabe?”
“I sleep. When Jenna does, in the chair beside the bed.” He grated his fingers over his face again, leaving white streaks of pressure, letting his head fall backwards.
“That’s not sleeping. You need to take care of yourself. I’m here now, so let me help. Why don’t you go to sleep? I’ll sit with Jenna, and if anything happens, I’ll come get you.” Sophia gestured to the wide bedside, soft and inviting with its swirly down bedding and perfectly pilled sheets.
“I can’t,” Gabe sighed.
“You have too. You have to take care of yourself, for Jenna and for Mia.” Sophia stood up and walked to the bed. Pulling the bedding back, she patted the mattress, as she did for her boys when luring them to nap. “Just for an hour, and I promise, if anything changes, I’ll run right here, promise.”
“One hour?” Gabe looked at the bed, supple and tempting, a longing flashed in his eyes.
“I won’t wake you up if nothing is wrong, you need your sleep,” Sophia cautioned.
“But you will wake me if something’s wrong,” Gabe amended.
“Of course I will,” Sophia agreed naturally. “I’m going to go sit with Jenna, she’ll never be alone, I promise.” Sophia made her way towards the door quietly, closing it silently behind herself.
“Aunt Sophia?” Mia asked, as Sophia crossed the kitchen on her way to the master bedroom.
“Yes, honey?” Sophia paused, walking over to kiss Mia on the top of her head, running her fingers through the tangling curls.
“Is Daddy okay?” Worry scrunched her face, making her look like she was about to cry.
“Oh, honey, he’s all right. He’s just sad and tired, that’s all,” Sophia tried to explain.
“Is he mad at me? He looked angry.” Mia pushed a small pile of peas around with the tip of her fork.
“No, baby, not at all, not even a little. He loves you so much.” Sophia hugged Mia close, pulling her into her chest, resting her cheek on the little girl’s head.
“I don’t want him to be mad at me.” Mia took a jagged breath.
“He’s not honey, so don’t you worry about that. Okay?” Sophia gave Mia another tender squeeze and released her. “I have to go sit with your Momma for a bit. Would you like me to ask Ginny to put on a video for you?”
“Can I come with you?” Mia’s eyes widened with hope.
“No, baby, not right now. Your Momma is asleep; I’m just going to sit by the bed.”
“She’s always asleep.” Mia face fell, her hopes dashed.
“It seems that way, huh?” Sophia nodded in agreement.
“When she’s awake, can I see her? Did you ask Daddy?” Hope bubbled up again.
“Let’s wait and see, okay sweetheart?” Sophia kissed Mia’s head again, waved lightly to Ginny, and then she padded towards the bedroom.
The smell hit her first, pulling her back to being ten years old again, in the small bungalow in Chicago. She was there again, holding her mother’s wasted hand, singing softly in the dark room while her mother lay motionless in her death bed. It assaulted now; every step closer to the room, the smell of sickness and dying hung stale in the air.
The room was dark, nearly blacked out, all of the shutters pulled tight keeping the outside out, only small spots of light glowed from lamps dotted about the room. The hospice nurse sat quietly in the reading nook, a light shining down on a small booklet. A crosswords pamphlet rested on her lap and a pencil was squeezed between her fingers. She smiled politely and nodded towards Sophia.
Sophia sat softly beside the bed where Jenna lay. Her sister, so full of life just weeks ago, burrowing her toes in the black granite sand, fixing dinner in the kitchen, playing on the floor with all the children squirming over her, worrying about Christmas shopping, and the loading the trunk of her car with pumpkins, so full of life.
Jenna was withered now. Gabe had been right, she was a shell. Her breathing came fast, in shallow gulps of air, labored and pressing, the rise and fall of her ribs keeping an uneven time. Her skin had faded, sallower in the low light, and it looked yellow and waxy. A fine skim of sweat beaded her brow. Her lips were chapped, paled to a bone white, and her hair looked greasy, secured from her face by a wide band of cloth. Beside the bed sat a crystal bowl full of icy, melting an
d pooling. Sophia picked up a small sliver, running it gently over Jenna’s lips.
“That’s good for her, the ice thing.” The hospice nurse quietly approached the bed, running her hand over Jenna’s wrist, measuring the life in her thready pulse.
“What else can I do?” Sophia blinked back tears. There had to be something more, something other than running ice over her lips.
“When she’s asleep? You can rub her feet and her hands, it keeps the circulation going.” The nurse suggested, placing a thin hand of Jenna’s clammy forehead.
Sophia moved to the foot of the bed, pulling back the covers. Jenna’s feet were a pale, lifeless blue even in the diminished light, only a hint of the fading polish ghosted across the thin beds of her nails. Sophia started rubbing slow, smooth circles on the balls of each foot, humming a peaceful tune, working towards her toes.
“Can I paint her nails?” Sophia asked the nurse who had again roosted herself under the low light.
“Sure,” the nurse nodded once before lowering her eyes.
Sophia crept towards the master bathroom and plucked a glossy pale pink bottle from the cluster on the marble counter. She turned the hourglass shaped bottle over in hands, running her fingers over the embossed print of the brand. It was like her mother would have wanted, it had always been their thing, polishing each others toes and having some of the best conversations. They’d done it for their whole childhood and into the older years before Elizabeth got sick and Jenna left for college, perched on the edge of the bathroom vanity, their feet nestled in their mother’s lap, they’d laugh and joke and share secrets in hushed tones. This was something she could do for Jenna, something only Jenna would understand the importance of.
Sophia wandered back to the bed and sat down at the bottom, raising Jenna’s foot in one hand carefully. She unscrewed the dainty brush and slowly, methodically began dragging slow steady strokes over the nail.
“Jenna,” Sophia began softly, “I want you to know that I love you, and that ... I’m sorry ... sorry we wasted so many years pretending. I wish I could take all of that back now. I always knew you loved me ... and I love you so much. You’re just like Mom; so brave and so strong and so loving. You’re a good mother, Jen, I hope you know that. I look at Mia and see how much you love her and I hope you know that you have nothing to regret, that you lived your life the best you could and that you did really, really well,” Sophia moved from nail to nail without thinking, lost in her own mind, saying all the things she’d held back.
The Milestone Tapes Page 17
