Night Road(109)

She could almost hear them laughing …

Mia would have been on my side in this.

Strangely, that sentence brought back Mia as brightly as if she’d just sailed through the door, saying, hey Madre, and laughing. And not the Mia of static memories, but Mia herself, with her megawatt smile and crazy fashion sense and her insecurities.

Mia would be on Lexi’s side in this. The thought of her daughter’s opinion shamed Jude to the depths of her soul. Mother had appealed to the worst in Jude—you told her no, of course. Lexi had appealed to the best in her.

You used to be the best mother in the world.

The words brought memories surging forward, and Jude was too exhausted, too depleted to hold them at bay any longer. She thought of Mia as she’d been in senior year—a quiet, thoughtful eighteen-year-old girl who had no idea how beautiful she’d become, who’d fallen in love for the first time and had her heart broken by a boy. A girl who loved without boundaries and found joy in simple things—an old stuffed rabbit, a Disney movie, a hug from her mother.

At that, Jude felt something break inside of her, like muscle tearing away from bone.

Hola, Madre, how was your day?

They’d thought they were fluent, both of her kids, after a year of Spanish. It used to crack Jude up, and they’d known it.

She sat there a long time, remembering Mia for the first time in years—really remembering her—and in finding the memories of her daughter, she reclaimed a lost piece of herself. And she was ashamed of who she had let herself become.

*

Jude had no idea how long she sat there.

Finally she looked down at her watch, surprised to see that it was time to pick up Grace from day care. In the old days, she would have forgotten her granddaughter on a day like this. She would have spent hours in the closet, perhaps even fallen asleep. Now she went downstairs, found her car keys, and drove over to the Silly Bear, where she parked out front, right on time.

“Hey, Nana,” Grace said wanly when Jude showed up, and it struck Jude suddenly, sharply, what Lexi had said: she’s afraid of you.

On the short drive to Zach’s house, Jude watched Grace in the rearview mirror.

She looked so much like Mia, but for once, it wasn’t the physical similarities that hurt Jude; it was the differences. Mia and Zach had laughed and chattered constantly, exploring their world like a pair of miniature Magellans, confident and happy … and secure in the knowledge that they were loved.

Jude parked the car and helped her granddaughter out of her car seat. Grace scrambled out of the car and bounded up to the house.

“You want to play a game?” Jude said, coming up beside her.

Grace looked up at her in obvious surprise. “You wanna play with me?”

“Sure.”

“Goody!” Grace ran into the house and back to her bedroom. She emerged a few moments later, holding a brightly colored Chutes and Ladders box. “You ready?”

Jude followed Grace to the table.

“You seemed quiet today at day care,” Jude said, moving her game piece forward.

Grace shrugged.

“How come?”

Grace shrugged again. “Jake’s mom brought treats.”

“And you didn’t get any?”

“I got some.” Grace stared down at the board.

“Oh.” Jude said, getting it. “His mom brought treats.”

“Everyone’s mom brings stuff sometimes.”

Jude sat back in her chair. How could this possibly surprise her? For eighteen years, she’d been the mom who brought treats. She’d been the party mom, the field trip mom, the constant presence. But she’d never done any of that for her granddaughter. “I could bring cupcakes sometime.”

“Okay,” Grace said, not looking up.

Again, Jude understood. “It’s not the same as a mom, is it?”

“Are you gonna play?”

“Sure,” Jude said. For the next hour, she concentrated on moving through the multicolored squares. She kept up a steady stream of conversation, and by the second game Grace had started to talk to her.

But she knew Lexi was right: Grace was not a happy little girl. Most of her talk was directed to the small mirror on her wrist, her imaginary friend. And why did children create imaginary playmates? You didn’t need to be a shrink to answer that question. It was because they felt too alone and had no real friends.

Jude was watching Grace so closely she didn’t hear the front door open.

Zach walked into the cabin, tossing his heavy backpack onto the coffee table.

“Daddy!” Grace’s face lit up as she ran into Zach’s arms. He scooped her up and kissed her all over her face, until she giggled and told him to stop.

Miles came in behind him, smiling.

Jude stared at the two of them—the husband she’d loved for so long and practically abandoned and the boy she’d nurtured like a rare flower for so much of his life and then turned away from. She saw the marks that grief had left on their skin, in their eyes, even in their posture, and she knew the part she had played in all of this. She had been the mud that kept them mired in grief. On their own, they might have healed.

You used to be the best mother in the world.

Jude stood up. “I need to talk to you two.”

Zach frowned. “Gracie, why don’t you get your coloring book and crayons? I love watching you color.”