Not My Mother

by Miranda Smith

  Des rushes in. She stomps around, her head twitching from left to right like some Amazonian bird. Finally, she spots us. I remain seated, allowing Carmen to fill her in on the details.

  “You have got to be kidding me,” Des says, her mouth open and long. “You’ve got to be freaking kidding me!”

  “Lower your voice,” Carmen says.

  I’m not particularly bothered by Des’ reaction. She’s simply expressing the unrest and shock I feel inside.

  “She’s been there two nights. Two nights. After you sort this out with Eileen, we’re going to sue the hell out of that honky-tonk police department.”

  “One thing at a time,” Carmen says. “There’s not a ton of violence in the county jail, but unfortunately these things do happen.”

  “Marion Sams?” There is a nurse dressed in blue scrubs standing behind me. Behind her, a uniformed officer. “I can take you back now.”

  I pass Ava to Des and follow the woman, snaking through the corridors of the massive hospital. We stop outside a room where another police officer is stationed, drinking from a Styrofoam cup. Beside him is a doctor reading a clipboard. He looks up and offers a weak smile.

  “Marion Sams?” I nod, holding my breath as I wait for him to speak. “Your mother received three wounds. Two to her stomach, a third to her neck. It’s the last blow that’s done the most damage. She lost a lot of blood, but paramedics reached her in time. All things considered, she’s lucky. We’re about to take her into surgery to assess the damage.”

  I try my hardest to hang on to the doctor’s every word, and yet the sentences float away like untethered balloons. In what world is a stabbing victim lucky?

  “Surgery?”

  “The blade they used was man-made, so it wasn’t a clean cut. We have to make sure those arteries are intact, otherwise we run into more risks.”

  “What does that mean?” Maybe on any other day I could follow along, but right now I need him to spell it out for me.

  “She has a chance of pulling through, but there’s no guarantee. We’ll have to monitor her recovery in phases.”

  I look at the closed door, afraid to see the mangled woman on the other side.

  “She might not make it?”

  “We’re doing everything we can. We’re aiming for more surgery tomorrow morning. You can go in for a visit, but she’s heavily sedated. She won’t be able to respond.”

  I nod, shaking the doctor’s hand before he scurries away. The police officer standing by the door barely acknowledges me as I push the handle and walk inside.

  The blinds aren’t completely shut, cloaking half the room in dark grays and blues. The whirring of machines fills my ears. They are monitoring her breathing, her heart rate, her brain function. Mom is lying on a gurney, her head tilted back with a tube down her throat. There is a thick bandage wrapped around her neck.

  Her arms, riddled with IVs, are resting beside her. There aren’t any handcuffs linking her to the bed. That’s the type of thing you see in the movies. This is real life, yet it feels so bizarre. Mom’s not going anywhere. Not again. She might never leave this hospital, an idea that makes me want to double over with dread.

  I reach for her hand, then think better of it. She already appears so fragile. I’m not sure if she can handle anything else, even my touch. Yesterday, she seemed so scared. She refused to speak with me, and now I might never get to talk to her again.

  And yet, beneath my confusion and sorrow, there’s a thick layer of resentment. I have questions that need to be answered, and the police and the media and Carmen can’t provide them. Only Mom can. I’m afraid of being robbed of any opportunity to understand why she did what she did.

  Alone with her, I cry. I realize I haven’t cried at all since the arrest. I’ve been too preoccupied, trying to rationalize her actions without jumping to conclusions. Trying to remain strong for Ava. Mom taught me that strength. She molded me into the woman I am today, and I’ve yet to fully accept that same woman is a fraud. She may have done monstrous things, but I’m not ready to let her go.

  As the last sobs trickle out, I look at her. I try to picture her happy face at the birthday party, not this one clinging to life.

  “I don’t know who you are,” I say, knowing she won’t be able to hear me. “But I need you here. I need you to pull through for me. For Ava. Please don’t leave us.”

  For several minutes, I sit alone, taking in the mechanical drone. Taking in the stillness.

  14 Eileen

  Then

  And just like that, everything changed. Jamie was moving to the east coast. She had applied to a university there and was accepted. Part of me wondered if Jamie wanted to leave New Hutton and its memories in the past. Leave behind the bitter girl she was here and start over somewhere, refreshed. She had the resources for that.

  I think her only regret was leaving us behind. She knew she’d miss out on everything happening in our lives, but it was time for her to take control of hers. One of her black coat cousins would be taking over at Buster’s. She promised he’d take care of us, give us the best hours and higher pay.

  On the day she was due to leave, Cliff and I offered to help her pack up her place, hoping to make a few more memories together.

  “I’ve got to drop off some keys down the street,” Jamie said. I can still remember she was wearing denim overalls and high-top sneakers, her hair curly and pulled to the side with a scrunchie. “Want to meet back here in twenty to finish up?”

  “No, just go,” I said. “We can box up the rest of this.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “It will be waiting on the sidewalk by the time you get back,” Cliff said.

  “You guys are too good to me.”

  I let the compliment linger, even though Jamie was the one who deserved thanks. Before I landed the job at Buster’s, I hadn’t known what it felt like to be grounded. To have people I cared about. I’d never missed someone before, the way I would soon miss her. And yet, I’d also never carried that amount of love for someone. Part of me wanted Jamie to stay, but I also wanted her to leave and find the happiness that she couldn’t seem to capture here.

  Cliff and I resumed filling the last of the boxes. All that was left was dishware; everything else was wrapped, sealed and sitting by the front door for Cliff to carry outside.

  “I can’t believe she’s actually leaving,” he said, staring at his own warped reflection in the dish. “It’s going to be weird not having her around.”

  “I know.”

  There was a painful knot in my throat, and I was afraid talking to Cliff about how I felt would untangle it. I was fragile back then, more devastated by Jamie’s departure than I was willing to admit.

  “Maybe we could save enough money to visit her,” Cliff said. He put down the plate and walked closer to me.

  “I’ve never even left the state.”

  “Yeah, well, I haven’t either. All the more reason to plan a trip.”

  “We need to save as much money as we can. Now that Jamie’s gone, there’s no guarantee we’ll keep our jobs at Buster’s. The new manager might—”

  “Stop worrying,” he assured me, pulling me closer to him. “Buster’s is still owned by Jamie’s family. She’ll look after us. Like she always has.”

  As I stood there, worrying, grieving, I knew he was right. I’d been so used to life going wrong. To having to struggle to make it to the end of the month. I’d focused on survival, not splendor. Cliff had grown up the same way, and yet, recent months had changed him.

  “A trip would be nice. I’ve always wanted to visit the city. Go to all the landmarks. Maybe watch a play.”

  “We’ll do all of it,” he said, that glimmer back in his eyes. “Maybe we’ll love it so much we’ll stay there. Find jobs and a place of our own.”

  “That’s ambitious.”

  “Yeah, but we could work for it. No harm in dreaming.” He carried three boxes to the front door and set them on the floor. When he st
ood upright, he gave the room a double take, before looking at me. “What do you think of this place?”

  “I’ve always loved it,” I said.

  Jamie’s apartment was spacious (she was the only person I ever knew who had a two-bedroom loft) and had a security code at the front gate. We’d spent countless nights in this very room. Watching MTV and sports finals. Celebrating New Year’s Eve and Halloween.

  “I wonder if they’ve found a new tenant,” he said. He lifted his head, and his eyes looked hopeful. “Maybe it could be us.”

  “Do you have any idea how much a place like this costs?”

  “It can’t be more than your rent and mine combined. If we’re both living here, we could swing it. I’ll pick up another part-time job if I have to.”

  “You think we’re ready for that?”

  “We have to be. We’re throwing money away on two apartments, especially when we spend every night together. Besides, in time we’ll be thankful for the extra space.”

  In time. One day. All these phrases served as confirmation Cliff wanted a future with me. He wanted to build a better one together. I’d never had that type of reassurance before. I’d never had someone place so much faith in me.

  For a brief moment, I felt like a bride on her wedding day, like a giddy girl in the old movies being carried over the threshold into forever. Each day, I was getting closer to being that perfect person I wanted to be. And I enjoyed imagining it. Going new places. Making new memories. Raising a family—a real family—with a man like Cliff by my side.

  He must have been fantasizing too, because when I opened my eyes again, he smiled.

  “You make me so happy, Sarah Paxton.”

  I wanted to say the same, but the moment passed. I looked down at the floor. Cliff walked to the last stack of boxes and pushed them into the hallway.

  “I can carry one—”

  “Don’t even think about it,” he cut me off, blocking me with his shoulder. He lifted all three boxes with one squat.

  “Be careful going down the stairs,” I warned him.

  Outside, Jamie pulled up to the sidewalk just as we were exiting the building.

  “Last load?” she shouted, blocking the sun with her hand. We nodded.

  “I’m going to ask her about it,” Cliff said, still holding the boxes.

  “About what?”

  “Who’s renting her old place. Maybe it could really be ours.”

  I smiled, knowing that even if it wasn’t possible to rent a nicer apartment now, Cliff wanted that, and at some point, we would get it. My eyes darted left, then right, following Cliff as he walked across the street. For a brief second, I looked behind me. At Jamie’s old home. Possibly my new one, and my heart felt like it might burst with sadness and joy all at once.

  “Cliff!” Jamie shouted. “Wait!”

  A dark SUV barreled down the one-way road. It came out of nowhere, this dark mass of metal and shine. Cliff, his face blocked by the boxes, couldn’t see. The car slammed into him. His body somersaulting into the air, the belongings he’d been carrying spilling into the street. Everything happened in slow motion, an excruciating scene that would not end. And I couldn’t stop watching.

  After the hit, we were all still. Had it really happened?

  I ran to him. As I got closer, I heard the squealing tires as the SUV continued its mad dash down the street. In that moment, I didn’t care. I only wanted to be near Cliff. Make sure he was okay.

  But he wasn’t. You could tell just by looking at him. You could tell by the blood oozing out of his nose, trickling down his left ear. And his limbs—well, no one’s body should be bent in that way. Especially not my boyfriend’s, who, only moments ago, had been speaking about our future.

  A future that would never happen.

  15 Marion

  Now

  It’s the middle of the night when I wake up. I had a dream. It wasn’t traumatic enough to be considered a nightmare, but it wasn’t good, either. One of those annoying tricks of the mind that transports you to the past, and for a few moments upon waking, you think you’re in a different time.

  In the dream, Evan and I were at our old apartment, the one we shared before I bought this condo. The dining room table was covered with his books and papers; my clothes had a light dusting of flour from the restaurant. I sat on his lap, laced my fingers behind his neck and kissed his lips.

  That’s all I remember.

  I once read dreams, even the winding, epic ones, last only a few seconds. I don’t see how that can be true when, even as I’m awake, I’m still trapped in the vision.

  It’s no wonder Evan is oozing his way into my subconscious. With everything that has happened in the past few days, it’s understandable why I’d want to revert back to a time when life was simpler. Happier. Before I had to start making decisions that could adversely affect those around me. It must be my mind’s way of preventing me from worrying about Mom. It’s a form of protection.

  I think back to the events that led us to this point. Evan and I began dating when I moved back home after I graduated college. I’d known him most of my life, the way all North Bay natives know each other. His father owned one of the leisure boating companies, taking tourists out along the coast. He was working for his dad while I had plans to reinvent The Shack. We were both part of a younger generation, trying to pay our respects to the one before us.

  Des was determined to make The Shack more commercial. She aspired to make it a must-stop destination for tourists visiting North Bay, and she thought bringing me in would help make that happen. Des is a mean cook, but she’s the first to admit she’s not a people person. She enjoys making one-on-one connections with locals, but she lacks the kind of personality needed for wider networking.

  Mom had owned The Shack for years alongside Des but couldn’t really help her on this front. She wasn’t a people person either. Of course, now I’m wondering if she dodged those connections because she wanted to remain unrecognizable, in an attempt to hide me and what she’d done.

  For years, The Shack had kept its head above water, but now I needed it to turn a profit, to make it a thriving restaurant, not just one that existed. Mom and Des pulled funds to pay for a massive renovation of the dining room. Gone were the yellowed tiles and flimsy faux steel counters. We purchased new tables and chairs, updated the appliances. The hardest part was convincing Des to tweak the menu.

  Once we’d improved the restaurant’s ambience, I started reaching out to other local businesses. That’s how I got into the hotel crowd, even if it meant kissing ass to people like Holly Dale. It was worth it. Within a few years The Shack earned back the investment from the renovation. Then we started making real money, enough for me to start saving.

  Those early years in North Bay were some of my greatest. I’d gotten a taste of the real world while I was in college. I was able to experience all the things I felt I couldn’t when I was trapped under Mom’s thumb, but it had also made me realize that North Bay was where I was destined to live. I loved the scenery and the people. A big part of that peace came from Evan. Our life together felt easy.

  Things became complicated after Evan’s father died. The two men had had a problematic relationship. Evan admitted to always feeling like he’d simply followed the path laid out for him instead of forging his own way. After his father passed, he was juggling grief with his newfound lack of purpose.

  I was there for him, of course. We’d been together over five years at that point, although neither of us had dealt with anything as traumatic as losing a parent. The Shack had just started turning a profit, and I’d been dabbling with the idea of purchasing a home. Evan assumed ownership of the boat touring business, a career that never fulfilled him.

  After a few weeks, we went to dinner at one of our favorite restaurants overlooking the bay. I hadn’t yet opened my menu when Evan dove into the topic on his mind.

  “What would you say if I told you I wanted to go back to school?”

 
; “School?” It wasn’t a bad idea, per se. Just random. We were both just shy of thirty and had been managing our respective careers for some time. “To do what?”

  “I’m thinking about applying to law schools.” He looked down, his mouth twitching in the right corner, a sure sign he was nervous. He forced a laugh. “Does that sound crazy?”

  It actually made perfect sense. Evan was an intellectual. If anything, running a rental company for obnoxious tourists seemed out of character. I’d seen the way his face lit up over the years hearing Carmen talk about her work. There were more than a few double dates where Carmen and Evan would get lost in their own conversation.

  “I think it’s a great idea,” I said, truthfully.

  “You think? I mean, most people starting law school are almost a decade my junior. I want you to tell me if I’m being too bold.”

  “It’s never too late to start a career. Besides, you’re sharp. Smart outweighs youth, especially in a court room.”

  “It’s a big commitment. It’ll be almost a year before I can start. Another few years of schooling after that.” He cleared his throat. “Would you be willing to wait that long?”

  “I don’t know what else I’d be doing,” I said, with a smile.

  I meant it when I gave Evan my support. I knew he needed to build a life for himself that wasn’t rooted in his father’s shadow, and now was his time to do it. As the months passed, he studied and studied. He aced his exams. Before long, he was applying to regional law schools.

  In the meantime, I’d been hunting for houses. Condos, rather, and I’d finally narrowed it down to three different options. Each had their own amenities, plus they all came with the quintessential North Bay view. One day after work, I came home to present the potential options to Evan. As I spread out the printouts and pictures, I couldn’t ignore the queasy look on his face.

  “Home ownership is scarier than it seems,” I told him, trying to alleviate his stress. “When you consider the amount of money we throw away each year on rent, it really makes sense to buy.”