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The next morning, bright sunbeams streamed through the lace curtains on my window, and upon opening my eyes I realized I was actually anticipating the new day. After hashing out a lifetime of painful memories with Mom last night, I’d gone upstairs and collapsed, drained. I slept like a rock. This morning I felt more rested than I had in months, obviously a result of making peace with a very uncomfortable part of my past.
It felt like a weight was lifted off my shoulders, and I honestly believed a miracle took place last night. I would have never believed that Mom and I could bridge the lifelong chasm between us; but somehow we were doing it.
I rolled out of bed, pulled on jeans and my old Seattle Mariners sweatshirt, flipped my hair into a messy bun, and headed straight for the coffeepot. I couldn’t function properly without my morning java, and in spite of the wonderful thing that took place last night, I still needed caffeine.
When I glanced at the clock on the stove, I was surprised that Mom was still asleep. It was nearly eight thirty, and she never slept past seven. It was probably good for her. She needed as much rest as she could get. Deciding not to wake her, I grabbed my mug and headed out to the porch swing. It was a rare sunny day, not a common occurrence in Woodridge; I was going to soak up the vitamin D while it lasted.
I was desperate to read more Max and Maggie letters, but didn’t want Mom to catch me with them. I’d left the box upstairs beneath my bed, and my fingers practically itched to hold them. I was so engrossed in their love story, and I couldn’t wait to find out the end, but I knew I had to be patient. With her home it would be much more difficult to squeeze in private letter reading time. I would just have to do it at night before I went to sleep.
I sipped my coffee and thought about the things I needed to accomplish. I’d promised Reena that today was the day I would begin the new book, but I was still waiting for an idea to strike. Normally, I had no less than ten storylines bouncing around in my head, but lately, I couldn’t seem to focus on anything other than my own troubles. My real-life issues were taking up too much space in my brain to leave any room for fiction. Nevertheless, it was my job, and I had a contractual obligation to produce. So I picked up the fresh notebook I’d purchased yesterday and my favorite pen and hoped for lightning to strike.
As I listened to the sound of the waves crashing in the distance, a thought began to swirl around in my head. Write your story. I tried to ignore it, but it wouldn’t let up. Write your story. It was something I’d never before considered, and I nearly dismissed it altogether, but instead I decided to listen. In all my years as a writer, I’d never written anything that even remotely resembled my own life. I’d never wanted to. Lately, though, I had been so consumed with reality that focusing on fictional characters seemed impossible; I wondered if I could somehow combine fact and fiction.
Maybe the reason I wasn’t bombarded by story ideas was because I was supposed to write my reality. The things that had happened to me over the last few weeks haunted me to the point where I couldn’t think of anything else. I’d been frustrated by this fact, angry that it was interfering with my work. But what if I used it to help me come to terms with my life? Writing had always been therapy for me, mostly because it allowed me to escape my reality and make a new one. But what if I wrote this book to help me deal with my reality instead of trying to escape it? The thoughts circled around and around in my head like a hamster on a wheel.
Like a slow, rolling boil, a plot began to form. Characters and storylines paraded through my head, screaming at me to listen to them. I jotted ideas onto the paper in front of me, not dismissing anything that presented itself. This was vastly different from my normal writing method, but I was intrigued enough to go along for the ride.
With sudden clarity, I knew I was on the right path. Of course, I wouldn’t exactly write my story; it wouldn’t be autobiographical. I certainly wouldn’t make it completely true, and a lot of things I would work through differently or leave out entirely. But I could use some of the problems I’d dealt with in the book. My characters and I could work through it all together. The idea began to solidify and my brain and my pen took off. This was a totally new approach for me, but I had a feeling it could very well become my best work to date. It would be relatable and relevant, two things that made a book great.
I began writing like a madwoman. The ideas flowed out of my head and through my hand in a steady stream. I felt as if I’d turned on a faucet. Glancing at the clock on my cell phone, I was astonished to find I’d been writing for over two hours. It felt like I’d only just begun.
I took a sip of my coffee, which was now ice cold, and closed my notebook with a feeling of satisfaction. This was going to be a story unlike any other I’d written, but somehow I knew it would work. I breathed a sigh of relief that I could finally let Reena know I was back on track.
I was just about to go inside to check on Mom when I saw June walking toward the fence between our yards. I smiled at her and gave a little wave.
“Morning, June.”
“Good morning, dear. It looks like you’ve been hard at work.” June nodded toward my notebook.
“Yes, I’m hot on the trail of my new book. It’s one of the best feelings in the world.” I beamed, hugging my notebook close to my chest. It was the truth, and I was happy to be doing what I loved once again.
“I can’t imagine coming up with all of those stories in my head. It’s an amazing talent you have, young lady.” She shook her head in amazement.
“Thanks, but it’s such a part of who I am, I never really view it as anything spectacular.” I shrugged.
“Don’t sell yourself short, my dear. It certainly is spectacular. How is your mother?”
“She’s doing well, all things considered. I’m glad I’m here to help her.”
“I’ll bet she’s glad, too.” June paused, seeming to contemplate her next words.
“I hate to bother you with another thing, but I have a doctor’s appointment this afternoon and I don’t want Bridget to have to go with me. She hates waiting for me, and I can’t say I blame her. She has the day off from school, and sitting at the doctor’s office isn’t how she wants to spend it.” June’s brow furrowed as she continued on. “Usually, I try to schedule my appointments around when her father is home, but this time it just didn’t work out. He’s been so busy lately with fishing season. I was wondering if you might be able to come over and sit with her. If it’s too much trouble, just say so, dear.”
“I don’t see why that would be a problem at all. I’ll make sure Mom is settled, and then head over around lunchtime, if that works. It’s not like I’ll be far away if she needs me, and I’d love to spend the afternoon with Bridget.”
“That’s wonderful news. Bridget will be ecstatic. You know, she likes you so much and she’s not one who’s usually comfortable around new people. There’s just something about you that she trusts, I guess.” June had the same strange look on her face that I’d seen the other day when I asked if Bridget could come to the beach with me.
I got the distinct feeling that she was attempting to come to terms with something, but was having a difficult time. I sensed a definite internal struggle in the woman, but I had no idea why. Maybe she was just worried about leaving Bridget alone with me.
I wanted to ask her what was troubling her, but as quickly as I noticed the look, it was gone. She continued chatting. “And in exchange for watching Bridget, I’m happy to give you a break and come over and sit with your mom whenever you need to get away. All you have to do is ask.”
“Thanks, June. I may take you up on that at some point. I’m going to go inside and check on her. I’ll come over around noon so you can leave for your appointment.” I waved good-bye to her and went in the house.
June exuded genuine kindness. It practically floated like a cloud above her head and made me wish I could follow her around and soak it in. I was really glad I’d met her and Bridget.
Happily, I found Mom sitting at the kitchen table sipping hot tea. There was an empty plate in front of her, so I assumed she’d eaten something, which was progress. Her appetite was lacking lately, and Dr. Riddles had warned us both that she needed proper nutrition in order to heal from the surgery. I suspected that worry was a factor in her lackluster desire for food. She was nervous about starting the chemo in a couple of weeks, and she wasn’t the only one.
I’d heard horror stories of the terrible things people went through during chemotherapy. I hoped I had the patience and the strength to help her get through it. I knew the process would either make our fledgling relationship stronger, or destroy it altogether.
“Morning, Mom.” I leaned down and kissed the top of her head. She smiled up at me. “Did you sleep well?” I carried my coffee mug to the sink, rinsed it, and loaded it into the dishwasher.
“I slept like a rock, better than I’ve slept in months.” She gathered her dishes and carried them to the sink. I grabbed them from her, rinsed them, and then placed them into the dishwasher as well. “You looked like you were pretty engrossed in something out on the porch swing, so I didn’t want to interrupt you when I woke up. Was it work?”
“It was. With everything that’s happened in my life lately, I’ve had a hard time beginning the new book I should have started months ago. My agent told me in no uncertain terms that vacation time is over, and I’m happy to say that I made some progress this morning. I know exactly what I’m going to do with the story.” I smiled and the excitement I’d felt earlier grew a little more.
“That’s good, honey. I’ve read everything you’ve ever written. I’m not sure if I ever told you that or not. You’re quite a gifted writer. It’s no wonder you top all the best-seller lists.” Mom patted me on the arm.
“I didn’t know you’d ever read any of my books.” I was startled at her revelation. I’d had no idea she’d kept up on my career or read my work.
“Well, I have. And I’m glad you’re back to doing what you love. It’s your gift, you know.” Mom cleared her throat, obviously uncomfortable talking so intimately with me, but determined to do so anyhow.
She continued. “It’s been a rough few months for you, hasn’t it? I’ve been so focused on myself that I never even bothered to ask you how you’re handling everything. Do you want to talk about it?”
“Um... well... I don’t know.... It might help....” I went to the table and sat down; she followed. Never in my life had I talked to my mother about personal things, and my stomach fluttered at the thought of revealing my intimate thoughts. But at the same time, I was curious to know what a mother-daughter heart-to-heart conversation felt like. I supposed I was about to find out.
“What happened with you and Jonathan? You never said specifically, only that you were no longer together.” Mom reached across the table and grabbed my hand. It was just the impetus I needed to begin.
“A couple of months ago, I found out I was pregnant. Jonathan and I were so happy. I actually thought I couldn’t have children because I’d never conceived, even though we hadn’t done anything to prevent it. So it was a surprise, but a good one. I thought things were fine, but then I found a note in his pocket from one of his students. He’d been having an affair for months, apparently, and I was completely oblivious.” I stopped and took a deep breath. My heart raced as I relived the event, trying not to cry. I wasn’t sure how many details to divulge.
“Oh, honey....” Mom squeezed my hand and I continued.
“So I kicked him out. I knew I could never trust him again. Don’t get me wrong, our marriage wasn’t perfect, but I thought I could trust him. When I found out he was cheating, it was the end for me. A couple of days later, I started cramping. It hurt so badly. Then I started to bleed... and I... I knew.... I lost... I knew I lost the baby.” I couldn’t hold back the tears anymore, and they began to fall.
She gathered me into her arms and let me cry. It was excruciating to think of my baby, and the grief that filled me up inside began to pour out. I’d held it in for so long, and it felt good to unburden myself. Having Mom’s comforting arms around me was exactly what I needed. I felt safe, protected, and not alone.
“Sweetie, I’m so sorry that happened to you. I’ve never lost a baby, so I can’t say that I understand, but I do know what grief feels like. I wish I had some words of wisdom to give you, but I don’t. All I can say is I’m here, if you need someone to listen. Or hold you when you need it.” Mom wiped the tears from my face with her trembling hands.
“Thanks. It feels good to talk about it. I can’t believe I’m saying that, but it’s true. Holding it in hurts so much. It feels toxic. I think about the baby every single day. I’d probably be showing by now if I was still pregnant... maybe feeling the baby move... I’ve lost so much.” I couldn’t bring myself to say any more, so I stopped. “I guess some things just weren’t meant to be.”
“You’re so young, Hope. You’re not even thirty years old yet. You have no idea what the future has in store for you. Don’t give up on your happy ending.” Mom hugged me again.
“I don’t know. Jonathan and I would never have lasted even if none of the rest happened. I never loved him how he needed to be loved, and we both knew it from the beginning. If I’m honest, it was all just as much my fault as it was his. I never gave him my heart. I couldn’t—” I didn’t continue.
Mom looked confused at my abrupt stop, but didn’t push me. Instead, she stood up from the table to finish loading the dishwasher, allowing me to regain control.
I’d just revealed a lot to Mom, but I wasn’t ready to tell her about Sam. She didn’t know that we were once involved. She knew him. He had been our neighbor for years, but I never told her we were in love. I was emotionally depleted from talking about my miscarriage and impending divorce, and I didn’t have enough energy to begin that story, so I changed the subject completely.
“Do you think you’ll be all right alone here this afternoon, Mom?”
“I think so. Is there something you need to do? I know that taking care of me has consumed your time lately. I’m sorry about that.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Believe it or not, there’s no place else I’d rather be.” I chuckled to myself as I said the words I never thought I’d say. “It’s just that June, from next door, has a doctor’s appointment and I said I’d go over and sit with Bridget so she could go. There’s no school today, so they had a bit of a conflict. I’ll just be next door if you need anything.”
Mom’s forehead crinkled a bit and her mouth turned upside down into a slight frown. It was a strange reaction. She seemed to measure her words before she spoke. “I wasn’t aware that you knew Bridget and June.”
“We’ve been talking a bit here and there. June is a sweetheart, and Bridget is a fantastic little girl. I really like spending time with her. She reminds me of someone, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.”
“Yes, they’re both very nice.” Mom looked concerned, but all she said was, “Just be careful, Hope.”
“Be careful? With what, Mom? Babysitting Bridget? I think I can handle it.” I laughed at her strange behavior.
“Not with babysitting. Just... I worry about you... that’s all.” Mom turned her back to me. I could tell she wanted to say something more, but she didn’t. I decided not to push the issue because when I glanced at the clock I saw it was time to go.
“I’ll be less than a hundred feet away. What could possibly go wrong? Call me if you need anything at all.” I grabbed my phone and walked next door, ignoring the worried expression on my mother’s face as I left. She must have been out of sorts because of her illness. That would explain her odd behavior and peculiar warnings.
When I arrived, June called me around to the backyard. I entered the house through the back door, which led directly into the kitchen. June hugged me and thanked me profusely for helping her out of a jam. After she left, I closed the door and asked Bridget how she wanted to spend the afternoon.
“Can you bake?” Bridget asked quietly.
“Well, I’m not Betty Crocker, but I do all right. What do you have in mind?”
“Grandma June does so much for me. I thought maybe it would be nice to bake her some cookies. Can we do that?”
“I think that’s a great idea, Bridget. Let’s be sure you have all the ingredients.” She was so sweet and thoughtful. I grabbed her hand and she led me to the pantry.
The kitchen was immaculate, but that was really no surprise considering the amount of time June spent there. I had to admit it was a bit jarring to be back inside this room I remembered so well. I’d spent a large chunk of my teenage years here with Sam, and very little had changed. When Bridget’s family bought the house, they certainly hadn’t done many renovations in this room. The kitchen had the exact same wallpaper as it had ten years ago. The crystal chandelier I’d always admired still hung on the ceiling above the large antique table, which I could have sworn was the same one Sam’s parents had.
I tried to ignore the pain as I thought about all the time I’d spent here with Sam, hanging out in his room, studying, and having dinner with his parents. I tried to push the memories aside; I didn’t want to upset Bridget. She was so excited to spend the afternoon with me, so I plastered a smile on my face and helped her look for cookie ingredients.
We spread everything out on the counter and started mixing the dough. I told Bridget she could do it all and I would be her assistant. She giggled and I could tell she was excited about the idea. I soon discovered that she was quite a good little baker, and I guessed that June had given her a lesson or two. She placed the dollops of cookie dough on the tray, and I popped it in the oven for her. She began placing dough on another tray, but we both stopped when we heard a vehicle pull into the driveway.
Glancing at the clock, I saw that it was just over an hour since June left. “It sounds like your grandma’s home already. I didn’t expect her back so soon.”
The front door opened and closed, and I called out, “We’re in the kitchen, June.” I helped Bridget begin the second tray of cookies while we waited for June to find us.
I reached down and closed the bag of flour, and as I did, a white cloud of it escaped the bag and collected on my nose. I sneezed and Bridget and I burst out laughing. She grabbed a towel and attempted to help me wipe my face.
We were both giggling as we heard footsteps enter the kitchen. I glanced up, a smile on my face, expecting to see June. What I saw instead stopped me dead in my tracks. I grabbed the counter as my knees practically buckled beneath me, the shock nearly too much to digest.
“Daddy! You’re home! I didn’t think you’d be back until tomorrow!” Bridget dropped the spoon of cookie dough and ran, catapulting herself into the arms of the large man who’d entered the room.
The blood drained from my head, and for a moment, everything went black. I told myself not to pass out, and it was nothing short of willpower that kept me on my feet. I blinked my blurry eyes twice, certain I must be hallucinating.
“Sam?” His name escaped my lips before I could pull it back, and my hands flew to my mouth to stifle the sound, but it was too late.
I was trapped, staring in disbelief not at an apparition but the flesh-and-blood man I’d thought I’d never see again. There was no escape, nothing at all I could do. I looked helplessly into the eyes of my first love, somehow beginning to understand that Sam was Bridget’s father.
I looked at the two of them standing side by side, and in that instant, I realized why I’d felt so connected to Bridget. With her white-blonde hair and baby-blue eyes, she was the spitting image of Sam. They had the same mannerisms, the same knowing expression, and they even stood the same way, staring at me with identical confused looks on their faces. Somehow I must have known, somewhere deep inside of me, that she was his daughter.
“Hope? Is that you?” Sam finally spoke, and when he did, I was transported back in time. His voice was achingly familiar, even after all these years. And it hurt immensely to hear him say my name.
“Daddy, do you know Hope?” Bridget, obviously confused by the tension that filled the room, looked back and forth between Sam and me.
“Yes, we know each other very well.” Sam spoke to Bridget, but never took his penetrating eyes off me.
It was too much. My brain churned furiously, trying to take it all in. There wasn’t enough oxygen in the room, and I was fighting for air. I had to get out of there. Bridget looked at me with a worried expression, and the only thing that kept me from collapsing into a puddle on the kitchen floor was her sweet little face.
“Bridget, I’m not feeling well. I need to go now that your... daddy... is home.” It was all I could do to get the words out before I ran from the kitchen.
“Hope! Come back!” Sam called to me as I sprinted out the front door, but I didn’t turn around. Instead, I ran as if the devil himself were chasing me.
The tears began to fall, like large splattering raindrops down my cheeks. I fumbled with the doorknob and burst into my house, running right past Mom and her startled expression. I didn’t stop; I couldn’t. I kept running until I was upstairs in my room, where I slammed the door behind me and collapsed on my bed, my body shaking violently as bottled-up grief and pain came pouring out.
