Unexpected Arrivals(48)
She stopped walking and faced me to take my other hand. “Your mom’s adventure is ending. This time, you can’t be afraid of the dark.”
I stared into her baby-blue eyes. Dottie hurt as much as I did, yet she was determined to get me through this. I couldn’t speak. Everything she said was true. So I gave her a weak nod, and we walked back to the car. The ride home was quiet—neither of us even turned on the radio. Trees and billboards and cars passed by; however, nothing drew my attention away from my confused thoughts. I should’ve been able to prepare for this, but nothing readied a child to lose their only parent.
When we arrived home, she followed me into the house. I didn’t stop in the kitchen for coffee like I normally did. I needed some time alone, time to think. The best place for me to do that was behind the closed door of my bedroom where I was free to release emotion.
“Chelsea?”
I turned suddenly, lost in my thoughts, to acknowledge Dottie. Before I caught a glimpse of her, the sound of glass breaking drew my attention to the clatter. In my haste to steady myself before falling, I reached out to grab the end table and sent the vase flying. My ass hit the floor with a hollow thud, and shooting pain resonated up my arm. With tears welling in my eyes, I jerked my hand to my face to pick out the little shards that had lodged themselves in my skin upon impact. My cheeks were wet as the droplets fell to my palm, mixing into little crimson pools.
“Oh, sweetheart, are you all right?” Dottie asked as she squatted next to me. She took my hand in hers to look at my wounds.
I was fine. My ego was bruised, but the little nicks were superficial. I nodded and looked around at the damage I’d done. The vase broke into several large chunks, and I’d shattered a picture frame that contained the only image of her and her teenage son that I’d ever seen. The edges of the glass created gouges in the photo paper, covering the image of his face in scratches that hadn’t been there before. Carefully brushing the debris away, I held it up.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“Shh, it’s fine. I can get another frame.” But she couldn’t get another picture. There weren’t many of him around, and she kept this one close enough to see regularly. This one was special.
I’d never known her son. All the pictures she had were of him as a child through maybe sixteen or seventeen. I’d asked my mom once what had happened to him, and she told me that was Dottie’s story to tell, and then encouraged me not to ask. It was the only time I remembered seeing my mother sad, as though she grieved the loss, too.
“But the picture’s ruined,” I blubbered, desperate for a tissue to blow my nose.
“Chelsea, yes…I love the photo. However, my memories aren’t contained on that piece of paper. And now there’s another layer of value on it, anyway. Every time I see it, I’ll think of you being here…with fondness.”
I looked into her eyes and chanced the question I’d never dared to ask. “How did you go on after you lost him?”
Dottie let out a long sigh and sat on the ground next to me. She picked up a large piece of broken ceramic and used it as a cup to collect the others. “It was a slow progression. By the time he passed away, he was already gone. I struggled with regret for a lot of years, but I couldn’t change any of it. I made mistakes, and I wasn’t the best mother I could’ve been. I loved him, although looking back, probably not in the right way. Finally, I realized I had to let go in order to keep living.”
The same look I’d seen on my mother’s face the day I asked her about the boy in the pictures showed on Dottie’s face today. Her grief was just below the surface, and I could tell it was a wound that never healed. “I shouldn’t have asked. I’m sorry.”
“Nonsense.” She patted me on the knee and stood. “Let me help you up. You need to get some tweezers and make sure you don’t leave any glass behind.”
I took her offered hand, though I didn’t let her exert any force and pushed myself off the floor. Dottie cupped my face and wiped the tears away with her thumbs.
“You’re going to be okay.”
I let her words sink in like a promise—even though it was one she couldn’t keep.
***
I’d seen the missed call and listened to the voicemail from Carp the night I came back from seeing my mom. However, after the vase and picture frame incident, Dottie had spent an hour picking glass out of my palm because I was unable to keep the tweezers steady. My nerves were shot, and I was exhausted. I wanted nothing more than to close my eyes and chase the day away with sleep.
Then I’d worked three days in a row for the catering company doing different gigs and hadn’t gotten around to it. We’d texted a few times, but Carp had been busy with work since he’d gotten back to New York and a phone call just hadn’t happened. Still, I’d thought of him and wondered how things fared with his plight to win Cora back.
The phone rang three times, and just when I expected the voicemail to pick up, he answered, clearly winded. “Hello?”
“Hey, Carp.” I tried to keep my voice sounding optimistic. It took effort not to let the circumstances with my mom take over.
“Hey, Chelsea. I wondered if we’d ever actually connect.”
“Did I catch you at a bad time?”
“No, I was down the hall in Neil’s office and had to race to get my phone.”