“You're the best mom in the world. I try every day to be half the mom you were to me.”
The lines on her face deepened as she smiled. A tear ran through the creases like a labyrinth, traveling down to the pillow beneath her. We sat for a moment in silence. I wished that moment would go still so I wouldn't lose her. And it made me think of how she must have felt in those frantic moments in the parking lot of the motel. How she had to say goodbye in seconds. How she had gained and lost so much in just a few hours. I had a fifty years with her and it wasn't enough.
We didn't know how long she had left. My kids and husband had come to make sure they spent as much time with her as possible. But my children had to go back to college and my husband was busy with work and holding down the home front while I spent every day at the hospital.
“Listen, Summer. There's something I want to ask of you.”
“Of course, mom.”
“Rory and I never finalized our divorce. So when he passed, I got everything. Including the property on the lake.”
“The lake house?”
She nodded. “Last time I was there was when I took you as a baby. I never went back. I could go anywhere in the world but back there. I've had it maintained. Someone watches it for me. But it's going to be yours soon. And I am ready to go back.”
Our home base had always been California, and despite mom's midwestern roots, we had stayed away from her home state. I understood why.
“When you say 'go back' you mean you want to spend the rest of your time there?”
“Yes. It was my favorite place.”
“Whatever you want, mama.”
When we arrived, I was stunned at how large the property was. A beautiful pale yellow house stood tall at the top of a slope that lead to the lake. Several smaller cabins peppered the estate. Down by the docks there was a boathouse. At the top level of the boathouse, there was a circular window, the one that shone on the eve of my mother's wedding to Rory. The one that led her down the road of elation and devastation.
Entering the house was like walking into a perfectly preserved time capsule. Nothing had changed. There was no need to update a place where no one lived. My mother was going back in time. Bobby never aged, and neither did this place; only she was ravaged by the clock.
The nurse wheeled her into the living room. Every room brought one of her stories to my mind so I could only imagine the effect it had on her.
Wandering the living space, I pictured mom and dad dancing in front of the bay windows. Lying on the floor in front of the fireplace. Cooking breakfast on the vintage range.
Once we had settled in, I sent the nurse off to set up in one of the cabins so we could be alone.
“How are you feeling?” I asked mom.
She nodded. “Good.” But I could tell her mind was teeming with thoughts. Memories. Her eyes met something across the room, and I saw what she was peering at: a record player.
I walked over to it. “You brought it back?” I asked, running my finger along its surface.
She shrugged. “After he was gone, I had no need for it. It belonged here.”
“May I?” I asked.
“Please,” she replied.
I knelt down and flipped through the records. Billie Holliday. I paused for a moment. Would it be a way to take her back to those happy moments, or would it be a cruel reminder of what she had lost?
“Go ahead. Play it,” she nudged from her side of the room.
So I did, sliding the record on the pristinely preserved player. Listening for the crackles that instantly took me back to my childhood.
The song commenced.
Mama nodded, a wistful expression on her face. “Mmmhmm,” she uttered, as if she was confirming it was the same song. The melody, voice, or meaning had not changed.
“We danced right there.” She pointed her finger, the joint swollen from age, to the spot where I stood. I looked down at the floor where my father held my mother, and slid off my shoes. I wanted my feet to touch the spot where his did.
“Do you want to dance?” I asked her.
She laughed hoarsely. “How?”
I walked over and wheeled her to the spot. Then I took her hands and stepped side to side as she sat in front of me. She let out a throaty chortle. And then she became quiet. Her eyes grew watery as the shroud of nostalgia enveloped her.
When the song ended, I turned down the volume and wheeled my mother back towards the fireplace.
“You know sometimes I wonder,” she started, “Bobby never got ugly. He never saw a wrinkle. He's still that tall, rugged, handsome boy with that smile and those eyes. But me . . .” she chuckled. “Oh, I've seen better days.”
“I'm sure he'll think you are as beautiful as the day you danced here,” I murmured, holding in my tears.
“Sometimes I wonder if things would have always been so perfect. We never had the chance to get sick of each other, fight over money or plans, or his honey-do list. We always wanted more. We were always stealing away. So many people take that for granted. But maybe that's a small blessing. That everything we had was perfect and frozen in time.”
“Maybe, mama,” I answered.
She glanced towards the window. “Can we go to the dock?” she asked. “The sunsets are beautiful there.”
“Sure,” I replied.
The nurse and I carefully wheeled her down the rugged terrain and locked her wheelchair on a spot that faced a quiet lake and a lush forest. The sky bloomed with swirls of amber and blush. The occasional bird launched out from the gold and champagne-colored water. I could see why it was her favorite place.
I sat beside her with my feet dangling off the dock. I let her have this time, taking in the spot where she used to sneak off in the night. Where she would cool off from the summer heat and spend time with the boy she didn't even know she loved. So much had changed since then, but if you stared out to the horizon, I was certain it looked like nothing had. If she just focused her gaze out there, Bobby was still alive. She was just a girl waiting for him to show up. I think that's why she chose this spot.
The sky had grown dark. And now the browns, oranges and pinks had been traded for jet black sprinkled with twinkling lights. The breeze suddenly began to pick up and I worried she might get too cold.
“Alright mom. We should get you in bed.” I placed my hand on her lap. She didn't respond. “Mom?”
I stood up to take a better look. Her eyes were closed and her expression serene. Not quite a smile, something more permanent. I checked for her pulse and I knew she was gone.
I sobbed as I caressed her thin white hair, once so lush and dark. I thought I would only feel sadness at this moment, but that was before I knew. Before I understood that she had waited her whole life to finally be with dad. And I hoped she would look as beautiful as she did during that last summer they had shared.
There are so many people to be grateful for, and I couldn't possibly remember them all. But here are a few people who had a hand in helping me get Swelter to where it is today:
Meg Botteon, who is never afraid to tell me when something sounds awful, and usually makes me chuckle in the process, but is also one of my biggest cheerleaders.
Tiffany Torres, my “alpha” reader, PA and friend who looks past the typos and run-ons to be my sounding board as I mold new stories and characters.
Angela Bonnie Shockley aka That Formatting Lady, another person who lends her opinions early in the process, but also puts a beautiful bow on the story at the very end.