Night Road(108)

She turned her back on the view. Jude was standing by the massive fireplace now, with its roaring fire on this summer day, and still she looked cold.

Lexi remembered how beautiful and confident Jude used to be, how much Lexi had ached for a mother like her. “You remember the first time we met?” Lexi said quietly, not moving closer. “It was the first day of freshman year. I just went up to Mia and asked if I could sit with her. She told me it was social suicide, and I said—”

“Don’t…”

“You don’t want to remember. I get it. Do you think I do? I can feel her sitting here; I can hear her laughing, saying, ‘Madre, can you make us something to eat?’ and you laughing, saying, ‘I live to serve you, Mia.’ I was so jealous of the kind of family you were. The kind of mother you were. I used to dream that I could belong here, but you know that. It’s why you wanted Zach to go to USC. You wanted him away from me.” Lexi sighed. “Maybe you were right. What would I do if Grace fell in love at seventeen? Who knows? It’s so young. I see that now. Too young.” She moved toward Jude, who flinched at her approach. “You used to be the best mother in the world.”

“So?” Jude said dully.

“So … you should know how I feel about Grace. Why I need to see her. You, of all people, should understand.”

Jude drew in a sharp breath and crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Go, Lexi. Now.”

“I can’t afford a social worker to supervise my visits with Grace. But I could see her if you would supervise me.”

“Get out of my house.”

Lexi closed the distance between them. She could feel the animosity in Jude, but there was also sadness in her, and it was to the sadness that Lexi spoke. “You love Grace. I know you do. You’re like me—you don’t know how to go forward or backward, maybe, but you remember how love feels. I’m her mother. Regardless of what I’ve done, she needs to know I love her. If she doesn’t know that…” Lexi’s voice finally broke. “I won’t hurt Grace. I swear it. And I’ll stay away from Zach. Just let me get to know my daughter. I’m begging you.”

Lexi tried to think of more to say, but nothing came to her. The silence between them grew heavy, and finally Lexi shrugged and walked to the front door, where the green sweater was a sharp reminder of her best friend. Pausing, she glanced back at the great room. Jude hadn’t moved.

“Mia would have been on my side in this,” Lexi said.

Jude finally looked at her. “Thanks to you, we’ll never know, will we?”

*

Jude stood there, freezing cold, staring at the closed door, at the blur of green beside it, trying not to feel anything at all. At some point, she became aware that the phone was ringing. Walking woodenly into the kitchen, she picked up the cordless handset and answered. “Hello?”

“The phone rang and rang,” her mother said.

Jude sighed. “Did it?”

“Are you having another one of your bad days? I could—”

“Lexi was just here,” she said, surprised to hear the words spoken aloud. She didn’t really want to talk about this with her mother—hell, she didn’t want to talk about anything with her mother—but right now, she couldn’t hold back. Her nerves felt as if they were poking out of her body.

“The girl who was driving the car that night?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. My. That takes some nerve.”

“That’s what I told her.” Jude sagged against the wall, feeling depleted by the whole thing. “She wants me to supervise visitations so she can see Grace.”

“You told her no, of course. That’s what I would do.”

It took a moment for her mother’s words to sink in. When they did, Jude straightened. “That’s what you would do?”

“Of course.”

Jude pulled away from the wall and walked over to the window. Looking out, she saw her mangled, untended garden. It was a heady mix of bright color and dying black leaves. That’s what I would do.

“You can’t let that girl hurt you again,” her mother said.

Mia would be on my side in this.

Her mother was still talking, saying something about grief, maybe, as if she knew what Jude were feeling right now, but Jude wasn’t really listening. She started moving toward the stairs, drifting like a woman caught in a rip current. Before she knew it, she was at Mia’s bedroom door, reaching for the knob, opening it for the first time in years. She went to the closet, opened it, and stepped inside. A light came on automatically, and there it was, just as she’d left it. The box marked Mia.

A fine layer of dust attested to how long she’d been away. It had taken her years to find the strength to pack up these belongings. And once she’d done it, there had been no strength left to remember them.

“Good-bye, Mother,” she said, and hung up the phone, dropping it to the carpeted floor. She sank to her knees and opened the flaps. The mementos of Mia’s short life lay carefully arranged within. Yearbooks. Trophies for soccer and volleyball. An old pink tutu that had once fit a six-year-old. USC sweats. Barbie dolls with no clothes and a pair of scuffed white baby shoes. Everything except the journal, which she’d never found.

She pulled each item out, smelling them, holding them to her face. Although she’d cried for years and years, it felt as if these tears were new somehow, hotter; they burned her eyes and her cheeks. At the bottom of the box lay a framed picture of Mia and Zach and Lexi, their arms hung negligently around one another. The smiles on their faces were bright and shiny.