A Life Without Flowers (A Life Without Water Book 2)

by Marci Bolden

  Part of her wanted to slink to the room her aunt used as a studio, the one where she’d be sleeping, and hide until she could leave again. But that’s what Caroline did. Caroline hid inside herself and avoided confrontation. Carol couldn’t run away anymore. She was here to face the ongoing issues, and that couldn’t be done from the shadows.

  “Hello?” she called out.

  “We’re in here, sweetheart,” Ellen answered from the back of the house.

  Carol found the pair in the kitchen. This time Ellen was standing at the stove and Judith was getting plates from the cabinet. Ellen glanced over her shoulder, as if verifying Judith was behaving.

  The smile Judith offered couldn’t have been more fake, but Carol silently applauded her mother’s effort. The cycle they usually found themselves in wouldn’t have allowed for Judith to give even that much. At least not until she felt she had given enough cold shoulder to drive her point home. Whatever she thought her point had been.

  “I’m sorry we fought earlier, Mom,” Carol offered.

  A smugness, as if Carol’s apology meant she was saying she was wrong, caused Judith’s smile to appear more sincere…and cocky. “Apology accepted.”

  But none returned. Not that Carol had expected an apology. Judith never had been good at admitting when she was wrong. Ellen opened her mouth, as if intending to set her sister straight, but Carol waved her hand dismissively. She hadn’t been met with the anticipated animosity. That was going to have to be enough. Besides, even if Judith had said the words, she wouldn’t have meant them.

  “I’m sorry to you, too,” Carol said to her aunt. “We were having a lovely walk.”

  “There will be time for more walks. Help set the table.”

  Carol took the hand-painted ceramic plates, likely her aunt’s handywork, from the counter and added them, as well as napkins and silverware, to the table. As she did, her mother busied herself with fixing three glasses of ice water. Her aunt carried a bowl filled with what were obviously store-bought noodles and chunks of beef covered in rich-smelling gravy.

  Her aunt was a wonderful cook but had never gone the extra mile like Judith. Ellen’s life had always been fun but chaotic. Judith was the one who spent hours in the kitchen every day, planning meals and making homemade bread and noodles. For some reason, Carol had expected Judith to naturally take over cooking responsibilities, but they’d settled on a rotation with two nights designated to leftovers.

  She had to give her mom credit. Though the noodles were premade and the gravy likely came from a jar, she didn’t point out either. Then again, maybe she was still too focused on her anger at her daughter to point out what she certainly perceived as her sister’s laziness in the kitchen.

  “This looks so good,” Carol offered.

  “Thank you,” Ellen said.

  Judith didn’t say a word as she grabbed the spoon and added a scoop to her plate. She selected a slice of bread and focused on spreading the top with butter. Then she took her time spreading a pink cloth napkin across her lap and taking a sip of water.

  Her silence was so pointed and intentional, Carol wanted to scream but was determined to resist the bait her mother was dangling in her face. Instead, she asked her aunt about the painted plates as she served herself. Ellen smiled and started talking about blending and brushes and something else that Carol tried to focus on.

  However, her mother’s bitterness was louder than Ellen’s excitement. Like a moth to a burning building, Carol couldn’t help glancing across the table at her mother’s stiff posture. Nor could she stop the tension growing in her jaw. She was being drawn in. The urge to respond grew every second. She hated how the temptation to engage always consumed her, but damned if she could stop the need to react.

  Finally, she focused on the cold front coming from the other side of the table. “You’re going to throw your back out if you don’t relax, Mother.”

  Judith lifted her face, narrowed her eyes, and flexed her jaw. The battle was on.

  “Perhaps I could relax if I hadn’t just learned my daughter is insane.”

  “What do you mean, you just learned?” Carol asked with a forced smile. “I’ve been crazy my entire life, thanks to you.”

  Judith threw her hands up. “Here we go. Poor Caroline was handed everything—”

  “Everything that you decided to give me. Nothing I asked for, nothing I wanted.”

  “Nothing you wanted?”

  God, she hated when her mother started repeating what she said, as if she couldn’t believe the words coming from Carol’s mouth.

  “We gave you the best clothes, the best piano teacher—”

  “I never wanted to play piano! How many times did I tell you that?”

  “Oh, every time your poor father had to physically drag you to a lesson.”

  Carol scoffed. “My poor father? Let me tell you something about my poor father—”

  Judith’s smirk turned into an evil scowl. “You’re as spoiled now as you were as a child. The difference is, I don’t have to tolerate you anymore.”

  The words hit their target, as they usually did. A poisoned arrow to Carol’s heart. But, as always, she was ready to shoot her own. “You never tolerated me, Mom. You were too busy trying to keep up appearances for your precious social status to even pay attention to me.”

  Ellen slammed her fists on the table. “Enough! Both of you. I don’t know why I bother with either of you. You are both making me crazy!” She shoved her chair back as she stood and stormed from the room, leaving Carol with a cloud of shame hovering over her.

  Carol looked at her mother, not the least bit surprised that Judith wasn’t at all humbled. She was furious, and the glare on her face made it clear she blamed Carol for the entire scene.

  “Clean up dinner,” Judith ordered, “while I console my sister, and then you come and apologize to her for ruining this dinner she worked so hard to make for you.”

  “Sit down,” Carol stated, outright defying her mother.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Sit. Down. Aunt Ellen will be fine. You and I, however, need to settle a few things.”

  Judith remained standing. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’m very upset with you.”

  “Give me a break,” she barked. “You’ve been upset with me for as long as I can remember.”

  “Because your defiance is exhausting.”

  “Where do you think I learned it?”

  Judith seemed to consider the question. “I can be stubborn at times.”

  Carol resisted the urge to snort. Her mother had given an inch, which was more than she usually gave. Ridiculing her for it would be a step in the wrong direction.

  “But you…” Judith straightened her shoulders in the way she did to prove she was right. “You’re traveling around the country with human remains, Carol. What am I supposed to do with that?”

  “Try to understand. Try to be supportive of what I’ve been through.”

  Judith shook her head. “Please clean up dinner.”

  Carol didn’t prevent her mom from leaving this time. She looked at the uneaten meal, wondering why the hell she was so determined to put herself, her mother, and her aunt through this. Maybe it was better left alone, like Ellen had said. Maybe she needed to accept that she would never have the mother-daughter connection with Judith that she’d been looking for all her life.

  Maybe she needed to give up and put her energy into fixing other broken parts of herself. God knew there were plenty of them.

  Four

  The temptation to return to her RV, to get on the road to her next destination, had Carol tossing and turning all night. In the past, she’d always kept her distance from her mother, stayed away so things couldn’t escalate. When they did spend time together, no more than once a year, she’d smile and pretend that her mother wasn’t intentionally cutting her to the bone with her snide comments and hard looks. Then she’d be relieved she’d survived and could go another year or so without go
ing through the ordeal again.

  However, Carol couldn’t think of a time when her broken relationship with her mother was more apparent. She’d always known they were on shaky ground, but having John wake her up from her most recent bout of emotional isolation made her understand how deeply the cracks beneath them ran. If she left Florida without making amends, she likely never would.

  After a restless night on the too-soft couch in Ellen’s studio, Carol rolled to a sitting position and debated if she wanted to go for her morning run. With her mood already dark, the deliberation reminded her of another time she chose to sleep in instead of getting up to exercise.

  The morning Tobias had been hit by a truck.

  He’d tried to wake his wife, but she’d pulled the covers over her head as she rolled away from him. She’d been restless the night before, stressing about a big presentation for work she wasn’t prepared to give. Instead of resting, her brain had been distracted by incomplete slides and points she hadn’t wanted to forget.

  That morning, sleep was more important to her than going for a run before work. She hadn’t opened her eyes. She hadn’t looked at him one last time. She hadn’t even said goodbye to him.

  Tobias had smacked her behind through the plush comforter, told her she was lazy, and then he left. He took their morning run without her.

  And he never came home.

  He’d left their bed, their home, and this world without her.

  She should have been there.

  The familiar guilt and depression filled Carol. Tears burned her dry eyes. Hurt pressed down on her chest until inhaling became difficult. The images she had created filled her mind—Tobias running, a truck speeding through the fog, the sound of metal hitting his body, his bones cracking as he slammed to the ground. Him lying there twisted and broken. She didn’t want to see the scene she’d created play out in her mind, but she couldn’t stop it. Her memories, even those she’d invented, had a way of playing on repeat.

  Biting her lip until she could no longer ignore the self-inflicted pain, she used the sensation to reconnect with the present. The pain would help her ward off the anxiety that was starting to make her heart race. If she didn’t focus on the apprehension, the feeling wouldn’t consume her.

  She’d felt this way a thousand times since losing her husband. Some days the loss punched her gut harder than others. But this gut punch was followed up by a second—an acknowledgement that despite her mother and aunt being so close, she felt as alone in her grief as she had when she’d walked into Tobias’s hospital room and known he’d never recover.

  Instead of seeking reassurance from her family, she crossed the hall to the half-bath. After brushing her teeth, she splashed water on her face and stared at her drawn and pale reflection. The lack of sleep and the stress of fighting with her mother had left dark circles and bags under her eyes. She looked older than she should, more haggard. And broken. She looked so incredibly broken.

  Carol wiped her face and returned to the spare room. Mary Denman wasn’t her birth mother, but she was the closest maternal connection Carol had. The woman had taken her in, loved her unconditionally, and had never failed to be there for her. From the time Tobias had introduced Carol to his family, they had treated her like one of their own.

  So Carol didn’t hesitate to grab her phone and dial Mary’s number, despite the early hour.

  “Hey, baby,” Mary said, her voice clear but concerned. “You okay?”

  Carol swallowed, not wanting to answer until she could force away the sob building in her chest. “I woke up with it again.”

  It didn’t need a name. It was the survivor’s guilt her court-appointed therapist had tried to help her process. It had been the reason she’d needed a court-appointed therapist.

  After a particularly bad day, Carol had taken a tire iron to the road where Tobias had landed after being slammed by an oversize pickup truck. Someone witnessed her violent breakdown and called the police. She’d been arrested, but her attorney managed to get the charges dropped with Carol’s agreement to attend three months of grief counseling.

  Three months hadn’t been long enough, but she hadn’t gone back. By then, she’d managed to work her way into the void that had always provided empty comfort. The disconnection she’d managed to slip into gave her the ability to watch her life from the outside but never fully engage. She was safe in that dark place.

  Facing John had yanked her from her detached state, and she was determined not to sink back there, despite how the old coping mechanism was calling to her. The quiet solitude of numbness was beckoning her back. She could put up walls the way her mother had taught her to. She could turn off her emotions, walk away from all this struggle and pain, and simply…exist. She could exist. Peacefully. Without confrontation. Without the hurt.

  However, she’d come to realize that existing wasn’t the same as living.

  Tobias would want her to live. Living was filled with challenges and conflict. And her mother.

  “I’m sorry,” Mary said. “I know how hard that is for you. Where are you?”

  Carol scanned the room. The colorful paintings that usually caught her attention were mere hangings on a wall. “I’m visiting my mom.”

  “Oh.” The short sound was a mixture of sympathy and understanding. Mary was more than aware of the prickly relationship Carol had with Judith. “How are things going?”

  Tears hit Carol as she laughed wryly. “Guess.”

  “Honey—”

  The tone—half warning, half pleading—was one Carol recognized. Mary was going to try to talk her into giving up, into putting her mental health and inner peace first. She didn’t expect Mary to understand why she couldn’t do that. Mary saw this situation from her maternal point of view. She didn’t want to see Carol hurt.

  “I have to do this, Mary. I have to leave here knowing I did my best to fix this.”

  “Can it be fixed?”

  Carol debated before answering, “I don’t know. She’s my mom. I have to try.”

  Mary didn’t disagree. “Don’t break yourself trying, Carol. You’ve come a long way in your recovery.”

  Recovery was code for coming to terms with being a widow. They hadn’t consciously agreed on the term. The word had evolved in a way they’d both silently accepted and understood without ever defining. Recovery might indicate healing from an addiction or an injury to most, but for Carol recovery meant learning to live without the other half of her soul.

  “I know,” Carol said softly.

  “I commend you for trying, baby, but don’t let anyone undo the progress you’ve made. Including your mother.”

  Carol gave in to a hint of a smile. Mary would never say a bad word about Judith, but the clip she used when she said “your mother” made her feelings clear. “I wanted to make things right, but as soon as I’m around her… God, she gets under my skin.”

  “She always has. What’s going on?”

  Leaning back on the couch, Carol frowned. “She pokes me. I poke back. Then things blow up, and I apologize because she’s incapable even when she should. And then we start all over again.”

  “Something triggered this setback. Something bigger than poking. What happened?”

  The wound Judith had inflicted the night before started to throb. “We were bickering, and she told me that I’m spoiled and she doesn’t have to tolerate me anymore.”

  Mary was quiet, and Carol suspected she was considering her response. “Now that you aren’t a child, you have the power to push back when she makes you feel less than you are. That’s not you being spoiled. That’s you standing up to her. You’re allowed to stand up for yourself.”

  “I’m not standing up for myself as much as simply sinking to her level and lashing out. I let her goad me into behaving like a spoiled child, and then she can feel better about herself because I’ve proven her right.”

  “Recognizing the pattern is the first step to breaking it.”

  Carol grinned at the st
atement. “That sounded incredibly clinical.”

  “Fine. Old habits are hard to break. How’s that?” Mary’s soft laughter filtered through the phone.

  The light moment didn’t last. The cloud of depression hovering over Carol was too thick to be so easily dismissed. “I want to break it,” she said. “I do, but I can’t do this alone. She has to meet me halfway.”

  “Have you told her that?”

  “No.”

  “Well, you have to,” Mary said. “You can’t expect her to read your mind, and you know damn well she’s not going to take the first step. If you want to make this better, you have to do all the work until she reciprocates.”

  “I know.”

  “I wish I could give you a hug.”

  Carol’s smile returned. Mary’s hugs were the best. Getting a hug from Mary was like being wrapped in a warm blanket fresh from the dryer on a chilly morning. Very few things brought that kind of comfort to Carol these days. “I wish you could too.” Sitting forward, she rested her forehead against her hand. “I wish a lot of things, you know.”

  “I know,” Mary said.

  Neither had to go down the list. She wished Katie were still alive. She wished she and Tobias could’ve had a family. She wished her husband hadn’t gone for a run that day or that she’d been with him. She wished she could go back in time to when things felt right. And good. And she had love and happiness and hope in her heart.

  They didn’t have to go down the list. They’d done so many times before.

  “When will you come see me?” Mary asked, distracting her.

  “Soon. I won’t be here much longer. I had planned to travel up the East Coast, but I don’t have a schedule. I can head your way if you want.”

  “You know I want you here. I’m worried about you.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. But I am doing better than I was six months ago. I promise.”

  Again, there was a long silence. “We’re coming up on a year soon. That’s going to be hard for both of us. I have Elijah to get me through.”