by T. L. Ingham
in behind her and laid one hand upon her shoulder. “Are you okay?”
She stiffened a bit at his touch. It hurt too much to be close to him, to anyone. Especially Scott. And she didn’t know what to do about it. She only reacted instinctively, as she always had done. Pulling away, she said, “I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine,” Eldon disagreed; with that damnedably calm tone of his. “You haven’t been fine since spring.”
She suddenly spun on him, fire in her eyes, and ice in her tone. “Well, I’m so glad Mr. Eldon Butler that you can get over the death of our daughter so easily! I’m sorry that I’m not as capable at forgetting as you seem to be. As capable of moving on as if nothing ever happened. As if she didn’t even exist!”
Eldon blanched. Apparently, he wasn’t as calm as he would like one to believe. “I haven’t forgotten. I could never forget her existence. She brought a joy to our lives I don’t think we ever had a right to expect. But, the loss of that joy, the loss of her, is not reason enough to stop living ourselves. We have a son, Gilda. A son that very much needs us. And I can’t fail him. I will be there for him. Especially since you‘ve made it so evident you will not.”
Spoken straight out as it was, so boldly, so plainly, she could hardly deny it. She said nothing as Eldon, a look of disappointed etched into his middle-aged features, left the room.
She collapsed back into the chair, laid her head back in her arms on the table and sobbed. Sobbed as she’d never done before, letting out much of the pain and frustration she’d kept bottled up for so long inside. A few hours later she crept to bed, sliding in behind Eldon, wrapping her arm carefully around his waist, hoping he would not pull away, hoping he would not deny her.
But her Eldon, faithful as always, simply took her hand, sliding her arm up higher over her, and kissed her knuckles gently. She squeezed his hand in response. It was something. It was a beginning. It would be a long road she knew, pulling her family back into her loving arms, instead of pushing them away. But she was determined to make the trip, determined to make up for all the lost time. She knew it wouldn’t be easy, but Eldon was right, it was necessary. She finally drifted off into sleep, not as worried about the next day as she had been for such a long time.
When she awoke it was nearly eight o’clock, the sun was already starting to set, and her face was still damp with tears. Her hands actually hurt from clutching the locket so tightly, and it took a few minutes to straighten out her arthritic fingers. Her bladder was screaming for release (that full glass of water before such a long slumber wasn’t helping) and her stomach was growling to beat the band. She had lost a whole day, she realized as she looked at the clock. Not that it really mattered. What was so important that she was going to do that day? Nothing more productive than flipping channels of the TV for eight hours. Slowly stretching and unlinking her bones, she climbed out of the bed, and locket still in one hand, headed for the bathroom.
After a less than nutritious dinner of more toast and coffee (it was the quickest, easiest thing she could think of), she headed back to the living room to search through the albums once more. She wasn’t about to leave that picture in the locket, that was a day she had no intentions of ever reliving again. She would be more careful in choosing this time. She would try harder to remember the events prior to the picture as well as after.
Finally, choosing what she hoped would be a good memory, and replacing the other in the locket, she popped another of the sleeping pills and headed off to bed. The picture paid off, the dream was a good one, the memory happy if not blissful, and she spent another eight hours reliving a part of her life long since forgotten.
The next day was much the same, coffee and toast, perusing the albums, replacing the picture, and then off to bed, though this time, fully rested as she was, it took two of the sleeping pills to get to sleep. She spent the day the same as she had the day before, and before she knew it, it was Monday morning. The urge to call in sick was great; after all she had never done so before. Certainly they would forgive an old lady for being ill? The day was harder to get through than every other day combined, and throughout the day she was questioned about her health, so much so, that she began to wonder if maybe wasn’t coming down sick. Her complexion was a bit off, and she wasn’t feeling all that well, not that she could ever say she’d had a day in the last ten years when she’d felt completely healthy. Nevertheless, she began to think maybe it would be wiser to call in the next day. Upon reaching the house she forced herself to cook a healthier dinner, complete with vegetables, though she regretted the time it took both to make it, as well as to eat it. She was nearly breathless with anticipation by the time she was able to look through the pictures. Still, she was wide awake when it came time for bed, and she found it necessary to take two of the sleeping pills in order to drift off. But, once again she had chosen wisely when it came to the picture, the dream was a joyous one, with no regrets. Still, not exactly blissful, but certainly good.
The next morning she gave in to temptation and called in sick at work. Just as she had suspected, they were quite understanding, telling her to take all the time she needed, no worries, her job would be there waiting for her. A new picture and a couple sleeping pills later, she was drifting off into sleep. This time the dream was interrupted by the insistent ringing of the phone. She was still groggy when she answered, and it took her a moment to realize she was listening to her voice on the answering machine advising the caller on the other end to listen for the beep then leave a message. She almost hung up and let the machine deal with the caller, when responsibility got the best of her.
She waited out the machine then said, “Hello? Hang on a minute, the machine picked up.”
“Mother?” It was Scott.
“Yes, dear. It’s me.”
“What are you doing home? I thought you’d be at work?”
‘What are you doing calling me when you thought I wasn’t home?’ was the better question, but she didn’t ask it. Instead, she said, “I was feeling a little under the weather, dear, that’s all. Nothing to worry about. What were calling about?”
With Scott there was always a reason for a call, he wasn’t one to call just to check in. Not even when his father was sick. Correction, when his father was dying.
“It’s a business call. I was calling about those investments of Dad’s.” Scott was a stock broker, a very successful stock broker. He had grown up to be everything his father ever could have wished for. He lived a comfortable, if not wealthy, lifestyle in upstate New York. His college education mixed with his own natural intelligence and determination had made him quite successful. And if he was a bit selfish and single-minded it was only because he had been raised virtually as an only child. The fact that she had worked so hard to make up for the lost time after Cynthia’s death may have added to his being a bit spoiled, but there were worse things she supposed. She only wished that he could have spent more time with his parents. But she understood his dedication to his job.
It was that steadfastness that had destroyed his one and only marriage, his wife finding that she would rather spend time with her husband, than spend her husband’s money. Scott never could understand that, and though Gilda never told him so, she understood his ex-wife’s thinking completely.
Scott was childless, which was probably a blessing since any child of his would be virtually ignored by him, and though Gilda supposed there had been other women in his life, none of them had ever led to a serious relationship, or if they had, Eldon and Gilda had never been told about it.
Her son was destined to be a bachelor to the end of his life, she was certain, and though sometimes she worried about the loneliness of his existence, she couldn’t have argued it. After all, she herself had had a family, a husband and two children. And where was she now, if not completely alone? There were no exacts in life, that was for certain. She felt a pang of regret and ignored it, bringing herself back to the current conversation.
“What about them, dear?”
>
“I just wanted to let you know, some of those investments are starting to look a little shaky. I’d advise selling out of a few of them and reinvesting in something a bit more solid.”
“Whatever you think, dear.” She didn’t care one way or another. Eldon hadn’t invested the money in an effort to increase his fortune. He had done it as a gesture of encouragement; to show support for his son’s chosen occupation. Nothing more. Besides, the money was part of Scott’s inheritance, pitiful as it may be in comparison to the money he himself made. Let him invest it however he wanted.
“All right, Mother.” There was a pause, and then, “Are you sure you’re okay?”
Gilda was a bit taken aback by this sudden concern. He hadn’t shown anything more than acceptance at his father’s illness and death.
“Just fine, dear. I think I might have caught a bit of a bug. It’s going around you know, and you never know what you’ll pick up from the children at the library.”
“All right then. I’ll call back in a few days and check up on you.”
She knew his intentions were good, but she also knew deep down that the entire conversation would be forgotten within the next few minutes in the midst of his work. She was more likely to receive a call from her husband in the next few days than she would Scott. But, of course, she didn’t say that.
“All right, dear, I’ll be looking forward to it.”
“Goodbye, Mother.”
“Goodbye, Scott. I love you.”
It was the same as always, a rushed return of the sentiment, then a resounding click as he hung up the phone.
With a sigh, Gilda hung up the phone. She glanced at the clock, only four o’clock. She should have had at least another four hours of uninterrupted dreaming; at least until the phone call had interrupted it. Now, she was wide awake. Making a snap decision; she’d been making a lot of those lately, and not all of them good, she was aware; she snatched up the glass of water and the bottle of sleeping pills. This time she took three and in less than half an hour had drifted back into dreamland, the dream starting all over from the beginning.
By the weekend Gilda was up to four pills at a pop, sleeping the majority of each day, slumbering through countless phone calls, and she hadn’t been to work since Monday. Again, primarily due to her age she suspected, all was forgiven where work was concerned. Not that she much cared. She had more important things to concern herself with. She even neglected the rapidly blinking light of the answering machine, indicating several unheard messages.
By Wednesday of the next week the machine was so filled up she was no longer be able to receive messages, which again, was of no concern to her.
Her proven theory had rapidly turned from trial to marathon to quest. Having relived a good portion of her life in dreams, she was now determined to find that one moment in time when she had known true bliss, When she had really understood what it was to be alive and living, what she was to be completely happy, with no regrets, no worries, only a simple acceptance of the joy that was deservedly hers.
Was there ever a day like that in her past? Was there in anyone’s? She was determined to find out.
She had her routine down pat. She was up to three rounds of sleeping a day, with barely enough time in between to relieve her straining bladder, grab something to eat (nutrition had long since deserted the picture), search out a new picture, and then off to slumber land.
The kitchen was awash with dirty dishes; stacked in the sink, on the countertops, and even littering the small, round table. She had long since run out of cereal bowls; these
