House of Cry

by Linda Bleser

  He sat back and took a deep breath. “Have you ever seen a house and known instantly it was meant for you?”

  You have no idea. I nodded, trying not to think of the house where we’d first met … the house that had brought me here in the first place. There seemed to be a greater force at work here.

  “That happened to me recently. I saw this gorgeous old Victorian on a caravan.” He stopped to explain. “A caravan is when a group of real-estate agents look at a series of houses currently on the market.”

  “I see.”

  “So I saw this house, and I just knew I had to have it. It felt like coming home. Like … I don’t know. Like meeting your soul mate. Or soul house, I guess. But what does a single guy need with a three-story, seven-bedroom Victorian?”

  My heart skipped at the word “soul mate.” Had he read my thoughts? And was it my imagination, or had he emphasized the word “single”? Maybe I was reading too much into it. I focused on his words, trying not to be distracted by his lips. My fingers twitched to brush the errant curl that had once again fallen over his forehead.

  “See, I’ve always had this dream of running a bed-and-breakfast. And this place is absolutely perfect. It’s nestled in a secluded grove with winding trails lined with shade trees that lead to a small, private lake. The setting is picturesque. The house, on the other hand, is a bit run down. It needs a little TLC and a whole lot of elbow grease. She’ll be a real beauty when I’m done with her.”

  “So, I’m guessing you bought it?”

  “My offer was accepted an hour ago.” His face lit up like a little boy on Christmas morning.

  “Congratulations.” I raised my cup in a toast. “To following our dreams.”

  “Yes,” he said, tapping his cup against mine with a solid clink. His gaze lingered for a moment, adding an unspoken layer of meaning when he repeated the phrase “To following our dreams.”

  I was struck by an intense feeling of déjà vu, as if we’d said those exact words in this very place before. I blinked and the feeling passed, but not the certainty that I was exactly where I was meant to be. And with the person I was meant to be with.

  *

  Time passed more quickly than seemed possible. We talked about small-town life, books, and movies. We brainstormed ideas for setting up and running a successful bed-and-breakfast. Before I knew it, hours had gone by. I decided to postpone the trip to my father’s house. There was no rush, and I’d promised my mother I’d bring home dinner. I could always visit my father tomorrow … assuming I was still trapped in this offshoot reality. I glanced at Bob, torn between wanting to stay in a world where he looked at me the way he was looking at me right now, or finding my way back to the world where I belonged.

  I reached out and covered his hand with mine. “Good luck with the bed-and-breakfast. It’ll be a lot of work but worth every minute. Every day will be a new adventure.”

  “That’s what I’m hoping,” he said, turning his hand and grasping mine. “I plan on stealing some of your ideas, by the way.”

  “They’re all yours, with my blessing.”

  “I can use all the help I can get. I may have bitten off more than I can chew.” He chuckled softly. “Too bad you’re not looking for a job.”

  “As a matter of fact, I may be available.”

  “Seriously?”

  Oh, why not? Maybe this was just the opportunity the “other” me was looking for. And if I was stuck here forever, what better place to land?

  “Yes, seriously.” I slid my hand from his and rifled through my purse for a scrap of paper. I intended to give him my phone number but realized at the last minute that I had no idea what it was. I stalled for time, digging through my purse while I tried to come up with a solution. Then my fingers brushed against my cell phone.

  I pulled it out, nearly shouting Eureka! I wasn’t out of the woods yet, however. I rolled my eyes. “New contract,” I said, hoping that explained my inability to remember my own phone number. I scrolled through the addresses, hoping, hoping … YES! I stopped on the address marked “Home” and pressed the call button. I repeated the numbers to Bob as they scrolled across the screen.

  He saved the number directly into his own phone, then slipped it back into his pocket. “I’ll be in touch,” he said. He stood and walked me the few blocks back to my car, although I suspected it might be out of his way. My step felt lighter, the colors around us more vivid.

  I unlocked the car, and he held the door for me while I climbed in and strapped on my seat belt. He closed the door and leaned in the window. For a moment I thought he was going to kiss me. It felt so natural, and I was disappointed when he didn’t.

  “I had a great time,” he said. “Thanks for helping me celebrate.”

  “My pleasure,” I said, not wanting to leave. I started the car before it became awkward.

  He stepped back. “I’ll call. We’ll do it again sometime.”

  “I’d like that.” I put the car in drive and pulled away from the curb, watching him in the rearview mirror. He stood there waving until I turned the corner. I glanced at myself in the rearview mirror and was surprised at the goofy smile on my face.

  Remembering the promise I’d made to my mother, I stopped at the video store. I had no idea what kind of movie she would like to see, but I was in the mood for a light romantic comedy. Besides, the movie wasn’t the point. What mattered was opening up a conversational doorway. I needed to get to know this woman I’d lost so long ago, even if it felt like prying. I picked up a pizza and headed home, anxious to make up for the last twenty motherless years.

  *

  We curled up on the sofa with the pizza and a pitcher of iced tea. The movie had us laughing like schoolgirls. I hadn’t had so much fun in ages. I felt like I was spending the evening with my best friend.

  During a particularly tender scene, my mother pointed out the song playing in the background. “That’s one of my favorite songs,” she said. She glanced toward the piano in the corner. “I love the way you play it.”

  “Me? I don’t …” I stopped myself before saying I didn’t play piano. Obviously I did or my mother wouldn’t have mentioned it. “I don’t play very well,” I amended.

  She gave me an indulgent smile, as if she’d heard that particular argument a hundred times. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You play beautifully. All those years of piano lessons were money well spent.”

  I looked down at my hands, trying to spy the hidden talent lying dormant inside. They looked like my hands, but they’d been to places I’d never gone, done things I’d only dreamed of doing.

  Funny, I’d always wanted to play piano. Why hadn’t I pursued that dream? Maybe it was too close to what I considered my mother’s right-brained creativity. It was as if I’d needed to build a bridge strong enough to distance myself from the chaos I blamed for my mother’s mental destruction.

  In doing so, I’d starved the side of myself that yearned for a creative outlet, to sing soulful lyrics or paint pastel landscapes. Most of all I’d silenced the voice that cried out for expression, avoiding any resemblance to the writer who’d given me life. Was I punishing her by turning my back on what she loved most? Or was I protecting myself?

  I looked around. This life I haunted was the life I could have had, the person I might have become. I still could. It wasn’t too late to gaze into the creative well if I found my way back home. I could even take piano lessons. All I had to do was let go of the legacy I’d assumed for myself. Take off the shackles and become the person I was meant to be.

  Somehow I knew that to do so I’d have to let go of the resentment I’d harbored against my mother all these years. It was time to make peace with the ghost of mothers past and embrace the woman she could have become, the woman sitting beside me right now.

  This cheerful sunshine mother reminded me of Cassie. Odd. I’d always wondered where Cassie had inherited her sunny disposition. We were so different, my sister and I. She was all light, while I’d inhe
rited my mother’s darkness. Or at least that’s what I’d thought. Now, seeing this other side of my mother, I wondered if I’d simply worn her dark cloak of depression as a way of keeping her memory close. It seemed as if I didn’t take after my mother after all. At least not this smiling, bubbly mother. The one I’d chosen as a role model was the total opposite. The mother I knew hadn’t had the chance to become the person she was meant to be. What about me? Could I break the chain as well?

  When the movie ended, I wasn’t ready for the night to end. I’d spent my life yearning for this kind of connection with my mother, and I wasn’t ready to let it go. “You know what I’d like to do?”

  “What’s that, hon?”

  “I’d like to look at home movies. When was the last time we did that?”

  She shook her head. “Gosh, we haven’t watched home movies in ages. Now where did I … ?” She got up and began searching the bookshelf until she found what she was looking for. “Aah, here they are.”

  She slipped in the first CD and rejoined me on the couch. We sat side by side and watched as my life unfolded before me, from swaddled babe to bouncing toddler to gap-toothed adolescent. My mother was there, smiling in the background, helping me ride a bike without training wheels, and slicing birthday cake after birthday cake, as if to make up for a lifetime of birthdays I’d missed.

  I watched Parker grow old as well, mugging for the camera, ripping open Christmas presents with childish delight, and making two-fingered horns behind my head at every opportunity. He was a typical brother in this typical family tableau.

  The only thing missing was Cassie.

  My mother’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. “Sometimes I miss having the two of you running through the house like little hooligans and driving me crazy.” She shook her head. “It went by so fast. I can’t believe you’re all grown up.”

  I reached for her hand and squeezed gently. The words I yearned to say were trapped inside me. Instead, I asked the only question that seemed to matter. “Are you happy, Mom?”

  She tilted her head and looked at me quizzically. “Happy? I’m content. Is that the same thing?”

  “I don’t know,” I said honestly. “Maybe it is.”

  She reached for me, and this time I didn’t pull away. We hugged cheek to cheek and heart to heart. I inhaled deeply, breathing in the scent of my mother. I couldn’t bear to spoil the evening by grilling her, despite the questions I needed answers to. Maybe tomorrow, after I talked to my father, I’d be able to pull myself together and do what I had to do. For now I was content to enjoy one enchanted evening in a life that could have been.

  8

  I was surprised to wake up in the same bedroom in which I’d fallen asleep the night before. Yesterday I’d felt as if I’d awakened into a dream world, a fantasy from which I’d return to my real life. Today this dream felt real, and what I thought of as my old life seemed more like a dream. I was afraid if I stayed here too long I wouldn’t know the difference. Or perhaps my old life would simply fade from memory, as dreams tend to do.

  I turned and buried my head beneath the pillow. I felt as if I’d accomplished whatever I’d come here to do. I’d made peace with my mother’s memory. Hadn’t I learned my lesson? By all rights I should be back where I belonged—back in my own world with the sister I loved and the life I’d taken for granted.

  As if to taunt me, the alarm went off, mocking me with its persistent ring. I sat up and glared at the offending clock, willing myself to wake up from this dream within a dream. I finally gave up and turned off the alarm. This wasn’t a wonderful life, and no matter how often the bell rang, no angels would be getting their wings today.

  With a sense of resignation, I climbed out of bed. Not sure what to expect from the day ahead, I tried to find something to wear that would be suitable for any occasion. Ignoring the closet full of ridiculously feminine dresses, I rifled through the dresser drawers looking for something more my style. The best I could come up with was a simple white T-shirt and khaki slacks. I tucked in the T-shirt and pulled the outfit together with a cropped sweater. Pleased with my choice, I turned and let out a cry of surprise when I saw Maya sitting in a chair across from my bed.

  “What are you doing here?”

  She tipped her head and pushed out her lower lip. “You don’t sound happy to see me.”

  “Of course I’m happy to see you. I just didn’t want you to scare my mother.” I could hear the shower running in the other room and tried to imagine what would happen if she came out of the bathroom and found Maya there.

  “She’d likely die of fright.”

  I was getting accustomed to Maya’s unsettling way of answering my unspoken thoughts. I couldn’t help myself. The words just slipped out of my mouth without taking the necessary detour through my brain’s censor: “She’s already dead.”

  Maya stood, unfolding like a creaky extension ladder. She gave me a sly wink. “Maybe you need to rethink the meaning of death?”

  I had no answer to her comment. Death was death. Either you were here or not. Nothing to it. Except that my mother was somewhere in between. Or maybe I was the one trapped in the in-between.

  Speaking of death brought back a vivid memory. “Last night I dreamed I was at my mother’s funeral,” I said, more to myself than to Maya. “It isn’t fair that I’d have to live through that all over again. Wasn’t once enough?”

  Maya just stared at me, her face soft with understanding.

  Bits and pieces of the dream came back to me. It felt so real. My mother had sat up in her coffin and looked straight at me. “You know how it ends, Jennie,” she’d said. “Did I do okay?”

  I’d answered her as honestly as I could. “Sometimes you made the right choices and sometimes you made the wrong choices. But right or wrong, you did the best you could.”

  That seemed to be exactly what she wanted to hear. She’d climbed out of her coffin and started walking away. Before she reached the door, she’d turned and said. “I guess that’s the best we can hope for.”

  Maya nodded, as if the dream words had come from her own mouth.

  “I’m ready to go home now,” I said, cringing at the whine in my voice.

  “Really? But you just got here.”

  Maya moved to my desk. My desk. What an odd thought. It wasn’t my desk. It belonged to whoever owned this life and all its trappings. Not me. My life was somewhere else. I had to be careful not to lose myself here, where I didn’t belong.

  “You still have things to do,” she said, pulling a book off the shelf and thumbing through it. “You have an appointment with Parker tonight. Oh, and you still wanted to talk to your father, right?”

  I nodded.

  She turned the book around on the desk. It was my high-school yearbook. The page was opened to the picture of a blond pixie with a mile-wide smile.

  “Diane,” I said with a shock of remembrance. My chest swelled with emotion as I studied the familiar face. Diane had been my best friend growing up. We’d been inseparable until my mother died. After that, I’d had too many responsibilities, and we’d grown apart.

  “We’re still friends?”

  Maya nodded.

  I gazed at the picture, racking my brain. It had been so long since I’d seen Diane in my real world. What did I remember about her? Those years were a blur. I didn’t have time for friends after my mother died. I’d pushed away the ones who tried to remain in my life. Maybe on some level I was bitter because I’d had to grow up so fast and miss out on so much of my childhood.

  But Diane had kept coming back. Stubborn, that one. Even when I didn’t return her calls or made excuses to avoid spending time with her, she’d kept coming back. Until …

  I remembered the incident that finally ended our friendship for good. It was six years ago. June 23rd, to be exact. Diane had begged me to be in her wedding. At first I’d resisted, but she’d finally broken me down. I’d bought the dress, gone to the rehearsal dinner, done everything I was suppos
ed to do. But on the day of the wedding, I’d bailed at the last minute. Cassie wasn’t feeling good that morning. I’d justified my absence that way, but the truth was I couldn’t bear being witness to Diane’s happiness. It only reminded me of all the things I’d been cheated of in my own life.

  Missing her wedding was the final straw. I never heard from Diane again. I hadn’t realized until just now how much I missed her. Her absence left a huge void in my life. The saddest part was realizing it was my own fault.

  “What happened … ?” I glanced up, but Maya was gone. For a moment I wondered if she’d really been there to begin with.

  My mother poked her head in the doorway. A towel was wrapped turban style around her wet hair. “Did you say something?”

  “Just talking out loud,” I replied, then added. “I won’t be home for dinner tonight.”

  “Okay, hon,” my mother said, and then disappeared down the hallway.

  Once I was sure she was gone, I sat down with the yearbook, studying it page by page. I was surprised to find my picture included in several groups—groups I hadn’t had time to join. In my memories I’d had to be home to take care of Cassie, to cook dinner, be mother, father, and nursemaid. Yet here I was in the glee club, cheerleading squad, and drama club. My smiling face was frozen in candid pictures at dances and high-school events. I barely recognized this girl who looked like she didn’t have a care in the world. And she didn’t, did she? She’d had the time and freedom to make friends, the chance to grow up normally and discover the person she was meant to be.

  I was jealous of this fantasy version of myself. She was so light and carefree, while I was burdened with years of misery. Every single past regret was another weight holding me down. Maybe that was the lesson I was here to learn. Maybe now I could go back to my real life and put things right.

  Diane had hijacked an entire page at the back of the yearbook. I smiled as I looked at her familiar looping handwriting, decorated with hearts and stars. She wrote about our friendship and promised that we’d be best friends forever. She detailed our plans to go off to the local community college together and be roommates, then take over the world. How different that was from the life I remembered. I hadn’t gone to college; I’d had to work to support Cassie and myself. Diane had gone away to a private school, where she’d met the man she eventually married at the wedding I didn’t attend.