The phone rang in the curtain-drawn hotel room. Swathed in blankets in the blast of the air conditioner, Amanda struggled to wake. A cold room in hot temperatures worked like a drug on her. She’d never slept so hard. Or so late.
“Yes?” Reading the digital clock on the nightstand, she tried to sound lucid. She’d missed the breakfast buffet by a good two hours. Luckily, lunch was right around the corner.
“Still having a good time, dear?” As usual, Katy bypassed hellos.
Of course, Amanda knew it would be her mother. No one else had the hotel number. Katy remained her only link to the outside world.
“I don’t know that I’d call it a good time, but I’m working on
it.” Disappointment had tasted so bitter, for such a long time, she yearned for something fresh. Spending hours each night with her journal and her memories. Reading the Psalms, looking for answers. For her joy.
Instead, as the onion-thin pages rustled like silk, she had found less of an arrow to point the way than snapshots of realization.
Scrawls in her diary had stained her fingers as she relived the moments, wondering where, and how, they’d gone so wrong.
Mark’s distance when she lost the baby. His refusal to acknowledge her grief.
Her inability to reach out to him, an unwillingness to scream out for help.
The countless hours of church work, Mark ministering to others while her heart withered and died.
But she’d never asked him to please stay home.
Victim versus victor, no longer so clear, smeared into muted blue. The color of regret.
They’d missed each other all along. And now, she missed him so much she ached, but she still had work to do. More pages to fill, truths to uncover.
She cradled the phone to her chin, twisting the cord around her finger. “I can’t thank you enough, Mom. I plan to pay you back someday.”
“Nonsense. My payment is knowing you’re thinking things through.” Katy never mentioned Mark directly. Just casual remarks about happiness and choices.
“How’s Daddy?” Amanda walked to the window, dragging out the long beige cord. She winced in the sunlight and took in the view below.
Endless water waving at her. Same as yesterday. Time ceased to exist in Mexico. Days floated by, surreal. The past whispered away in each morning’s fresh-drawn beach, white and pure.
“He’s fine. In fact, we’re going to the lake house again this weekend.”
“You’re spending lots of time there.”
“The sun does him good, I think. He’s like you. Sun worshiper.” Katy audibly shuddered. “Plus, getting away helps.”
“Away. With you.” Amanda pulled the tropical curtains aside and tugged the drifty sheers into place for privacy. As if the sky stretching from horizon to horizon would spy on her and judge her in its length.
“Yes,” Katy replied, exhaling smoke. “With me.”
She heard her mother’s smile. “I’m glad for you, Mom. Really.” Standing in front of the mirror, Amanda’s face didn’t match her words. Sad around her mouth. Full blue eyes, blinking slowly. Older. She looked older. Older and alone. She turned away.
“Well, it only took about twenty-five years and a heart attack, but we may get the hang of this marriage thing yet.”
Amanda smiled, bittersweet. “Is that all?”
A deep inhale. “You know Mark is nothing like your father.” Katy sounded the first shot. The unspoken ban on the M-word lifted.
“And is that supposed to be good or bad?” Amanda thought of her father, forever working in his garage, now laid up and taking getaways with his wife. Daddy. Her childhood hero. Her measure of a man, in spite of his shortcomings. Those bad habits landed him in the hospital, almost through death’s door.
Amanda remembered, as a girl, helping her father build a picture frame for one of her mother’s blurry watercolors. It was her first time to direct the saw on her own, and she carefully followed her father’s pencil traces in the wood. Steady and slow.
Even so, the blade knew her inexperience and bit her, cutting into soft flesh and stealing her breath away. Her father cleaned and bandaged it himself, assuring her, “Why, I’ve had worse spots on my eyeball.”
Her tender daddy. Always taking care of her. But no more. She must learn to stand on her own.
“That’s not for me to say,” said Katy. “Have you talked to him? Your husband?”
Amanda ignored the extra inflection. “No. He tried the cell. I turned it off.”
“I still haven’t given him the hotel number, but he’s making me crazy with the calls. Isn’t it a little ridiculous you won’t even talk to the man? What exactly did he do?”
“It’s not so much what he did or didn’t do. I’m in this too. Not talking to him may seem ridiculous to you, but it’s crucial to me.”
Mark’s persuasive ways had convinced her more than once. His gifts for speaking, for influencing, crossed over into his personal life, and she couldn’t risk her heart on emotion for the moment.
“Well, I’m a little tired of playing go-between for the two of you. Have you thought about contacting a lawyer?”
“Mother, I’ve told you-”
“Experience tells me if you wanted to make a go of this marriage you wouldn’t still be in Mexico.”
“If it’s the money, I’ll check out today.” Not that she knew where to go. But she wouldn’t be indebted, or play games out of guilt. She’d sleep in the van if she had to. Lord knew there was plenty of room in there. “I don’t have to stay here.” She picked up keys from atop a pile of well-worn paperbacks. They jingled, sharp in her hand.
The stupid van, a fumbling gift that revealed the truth. Though joined by marriage, they traveled completely different
potter springs --- 209
paths. In spite of their connection when they dated, maybe he didn’t understand her at all. Didn’t know her.
Whatever happened with Courtney merely unveiled one more aspect of the tangle. Like a mirror in the morning, harsh and unwelcome.
Maybe Amanda didn’t know him either.
“Don’t be silly. Of course you can stay, as long as you like. You know, whatever it takes, I’ll help you. I never wanted you to go through the same things I did. And I’m not one to say I told you so.”
“Mother, I’m not silly.” She tossed the keys on the desk and shuffled through the books. Favorites and disposables. “I’m not ridiculous. And no, I don’t want a lawyer.” She thumped the last book down, and it smacked in the quiet room.
“Well, you don’t have to get in a huff about it. I’m just trying to help you sort out your priorities.”
“It’s not a huff. It’s the truth.” She was tired of the facades, of the pretty jabs and parries. “You’ve given me the resources, the freedom, to work on what’s wrong. So I can figure out if there’s a future for us or not. But I can’t do that when all I see, when all I hear in my head, is you.”
“That’s nonsense. I-”
“Mother, you’re wonderful, and I adore you.” She took a deep breath. “And know that I love you. But-I’m sorry for this-please don’t call me. I’ll call you.”
And with that, she gently eased the phone back to the cradle, disconnecting with her last tether to the outside world.