Taz
“Where do you want to start?”
It had been Kathleen who suggested getting my mother involved in sorting through Nicky’s things.
She and I talked a few times since she grilled me in the school parking lot. The most recent was this past week over coffee at her and Brent’s place. This time it was me who broached the subject of Rafe. I told her everything starting from the first time I met him at my parents’ house. I didn’t leave anything out, and I felt relieved once I laid it all on the table. Everything that happened before I walked into my sister’s hospital room, and everything after.
Kathleen had listened quietly—for which I was grateful—until I finally admitted my feelings for him were still strong, as well as utterly impossible. That’s when she spoke up, and she wasn’t shy about telling me I was an idiot for thinking I could ignore my feelings. Then and now. She further suggested I work on fixing my relationship with my parents before I hop in the sack with Rafe, a notion I reminded her would require two willing parties, to which she rolled her eyes.
I felt a lot lighter. I’d missed that, having someone to gab with about everything or nothing. Someone who knows your past and your present, who can listen patiently, but isn’t afraid to give it to you straight when you need it. Amid the minefields I walk daily, with the kids, Rafe, and my parents, Kathleen’s brand of honesty is a welcome relief.
When we were younger I used to share everything with her, but that stopped nine years ago, when I’d found myself falling fast for my sister’s boyfriend. Shame, I suppose. It’s not exactly the kind of information you’d proudly want to broadcast. Back then I never even explained why I ended up beelining it out of Eminence with barely a goodbye, but she knows now.
In fact, I’ve shared more about myself in my recent talk with Kathleen than I have with anyone in the past decade.
Still, I wasn’t automatically on board when she proposed I ask Mom for her help. It was her comment that all it takes to move forward is for someone to take a step in the right direction. Her point hit home.
“I think the closet?” I answer Mom who nods.
“We’ll need some garbage bags.”
“There’s a box in the pantry.”
While she goes to grab bags, I pour us some coffee to take up. This is a task I’ve been avoiding for weeks, and I’m more than a little apprehensive about tackling it with my mother, with whom I’ve barely exchanged a civilized word in a long time. However, if there is any common ground between us, it would be our love for Nicky and our grief at her loss. Maybe doing this together will remind us of that.
We silently walk up the stairs to the master bedroom, where Mom drops the garbage bags on the bed and immediately heads for the walk-in closet.
“She always dressed well,” Mom mumbles, as she pulls the first handful of hangers off the rail.
I bite my lip, trying hard not to hear her remark as veiled criticism. Reminding myself I may not be able to control what comes out of her mouth, but I can control my response to it.
“She does…did,” I agree, and it’s clear from the surprise on Mom’s face she didn’t expect that.
My acquiescence seems to have taken the wind from her sails because the next ten minutes we work almost in silence, emptying out the closet and piling everything on the bed.
“Before we start sorting things for garbage or Goodwill, we should probably see if there’s anything we want to keep,” Mom points out. “Maybe a few things for Sofie.”
I nod and immediately reach for a pretty, colorful, silk scarf. “She might like this. They’re her colors.”
In turn Mom pulls out a sequined cocktail dress I’ve never seen before. “This one too. Sofie loved it when Nicky wore it two years ago for our fortieth wedding anniversary.”
“It’s pretty,” I manage, my voice laced with regret.
I missed their anniversary, like I missed a lot of significant family events over the years. My sister’s wedding, the births of my niece and nephew, Christmases, birthdays, I wasn’t here for any of them. It would be easy to put that burden on my mother’s shoulders, but it doesn’t belong there. It belongs with me.
The realization has me sink on the edge of the bed, my knees suddenly weak. In the end, it doesn’t matter who or what caused the breach; I’m the one who ran to the other side of the world and stayed there. I’m the one who created a divide that was impossible for anyone to cross. Except me.
God, all these years I’ve felt so justified in my choices, so righteous in my self-imposed martyrdom, I never considered I was the one preventing any chance of healing. Me.
I drop my head between my knees, fighting off the sudden wave of nausea.
“Natasha?” Concern is evident in my mother’s voice. “Are you okay? Do you need a break?”
I shake my head, unable to speak, and keeping my eyes on the floor between my feet. I hear Mom move, then I hear the faucet turn on and off in the adjoining bathroom. Next thing I know, the heavy dreadlocks are lifted from my neck and something cold and damp is pressed against my skin.
I barely recall the last time my mother touched me with care. I reach back and cover her hand on my neck as my eyes burn.
“In through the nose and out through the mouth.” Doing as she softly instructs, I manage to battle back both tears and nausea, finally lifting my head. “Better?” she asks, and I give her a small smile in response. She flashes a hint of one back before disappearing into the bathroom to discard the wet washcloth.
As if nothing happened, we return focus to the task of sorting through the piles of clothes, but it feels like the air is lighter.
With everything on the bed packed in the dozen or so bags lining the wall, Mom disappears back into the closet, coming out with a garment bag. Her turn to sink down on the edge of the mattress, the bag crushed in her arms.
“It’s her wedding dress.”
I sit down beside her, my eyes automatically drawn to the large frame hanging over the dresser. Even though I wasn’t there for the event, I’ve seen enough pictures to know my sister was gorgeous on her wedding day. Still, none of them showed her radiance like the enlarged image on the wall, dancing by herself in the small orchard out back, her long skirt twirling around her legs.
“She was so beautiful,” I whisper. “Sofie will look just like her when she’s older.”
“I know.”
“We should save the dress for her.”
“Yes, but that’s not all that’s in this bag,” Mom says, standing up and laying the garment bag on the bed, pulling down the zipper. I get a glimpse of a deep turquoise material. “I think you should have this. It matches the beads in your hair.” She pulls out a fifties-style dress with wide straps, a tight bodice, and full skirt. The material is a luxurious Shantung silk with large, dark green, tropical foliage and an occasional deep cherry flower on the turquoise background.
“It’s beautiful.”
It is. It’s absolutely stunning, yet nothing at all I’d imagine my sister ever wearing.
“It’s perfect,” Mom confirms, her eyes meeting mine, but I don’t see any of the anger and resentment I’m used to seeing there, only sadness. “And it’s yours.”
“Mom, I don’t think—“ I start, but she shakes her head and I snap my mouth shut.
“It was always yours; she had it made for you to wear on her wedding day.”
Rafe
The last thing I expect to find is Sarah and Ed’s car in front of the house.
I’ve been out most of the day at a local dude ranch west of town, for my quarterly visit. Nothing too exciting, just routine exams of the horses and the small herd of cattle, and administering necessary vaccinations. It still takes up a whole day and the rest of the week I’m scheduled to visit the other farms in the area raising livestock.
My normal routine would be to stop at the clinic to update the ranch’s files, but fueled by a sudden sense of urgency I aim straight for the house.
The first thing I hear when I walk in is the loud slamming of a door upstairs. Both the living room and kitchen are empty, so I take the stairs two a time. The door to the master is open and I can just see Sarah zipping up the garment bag I know holds Nicky’s wedding dress. Overcome with a surge of anger, I burst into the room.
“What are you doing?”
Startled, her head snaps around, and I notice guilt behind the shine of tears in her eyes. “Rafe,” she mutters.
“What did you say to her this time?” I pelt another question at her, but don’t wait around for the answer. I turn on my heel and head down the hallway to the spare bedroom, only vaguely registering the large number of garbage bags against the wall.
“Taz?” I knock on the door and call her name again. There’s no answer so I turn the knob and stick my head around the corner.
At first it looks like the room is empty, until I hear a soft rustle on the other side of the bed. When I walk into the room, I see her. She’s sitting with her back to the wall between the window and the bed, her knees drawn up to her chest and her face buried between them.
“Leave me alone.”
Ignoring her soft plea, I slide down on the floor beside her, lifting an arm around her and tucking her close. It takes only a minute for her rigid body to relax into mine and a hand comes up to my chest, fisting the material of my shirt. Belatedly I realize I probably reek of sweat, cow, horse, and manure, but it hardly seems to matter.
It would seem I’m unable to keep my distance when I know she’s hurting. I sit there quietly, listening to my mother-in-law’s soft footfalls going down the stairs, while absorbing Taz’s grief until I feel her silent tears soaking my shirt to the skin.
“What did she say to you?” I finally ask softly, repeating my earlier question to Sarah.
She pulls her head back, and I involuntarily notice how pretty she is, even with her eyes swollen and nose running. “What?”
“Mom; what did she say to upset you?”
“It’s not her. It’s me.”
“I don’t understand.” I brush aside one of her dreads stuck to her tear-streaked cheek.
“I asked her to come,” she explains. I keep a straight face, even though I’m surprised as hell. “To help me go through Nicky’s stuff. I’ve been procrastinating long enough, and I should get it done while I still have time. When I mentioned it to Kathleen this week, she suggested I ask Mom to give me a hand. I thought…well, I’m not sure what I thought, but it actually was a good thing. Cleansing in a way.”
“So this is why you’re sitting on the bedroom floor crying?”
She smirks at my doubtful tone—which I like—but then she sits back creating some distance between us, which I like less. “I’m not crying because of anything she said. Not this time. I’m upset because I’m starting to realize a few things about myself that aren’t particularly flattering.”
I lift my knees and rest my now empty arms on them. “I find that hard to believe.” The words are out before I can check them.
“Believe it,” she immediately replies, apparently oblivious to the meaning behind my statement. “It’s me who has some soul-searching to do.”
“You certainly aren’t the only one,” I admit, realizing I should probably apologize to Sarah for my earlier knee-jerk reaction. “Let me know if you want company. Maybe we can be each other’s sounding board.”
She doesn’t answer, but she gives me a wobbly smile. Before I give into the temptation to kiss those full, smiling lips, I push myself to my feet. Bending down only to kiss the top of her head. “I have an apology to deliver,” I announce, before walking out of her room.
I’m relieved to find Sarah in the kitchen, washing a few mugs by hand in the sink. I reach over her shoulder to pluck the rag from her fingers before turning her in my hold.
“I’m sorry, Mom. I jumped to conclusions I had no business jumping to.”
For a brief moment, I feel her arms tightening around me before she lets go and steps out of my reach. “Forgiven,” she says, before her face scrunches up. “But your stench is inexcusable. For the sake of humanity, go have a shower. I’ll grab the kids from the bus and get them settled.”
I don’t bother arguing and do what she suggests. My thoughts started running the moment the warm water stream starts pelting my back, replaying the past half hour in my mind. Something Taz said keeps nagging at me. “I should get it done while I still have time.”
Still has time? What does that mean?
I rush through my shower while anger starts building in my veins. With a towel around my hips, I slip into the bedroom to grab clean clothes and almost bump into Taz dragging a couple of garbage bags out into the hallway.
Ignoring her sharp intake of breath, I lean into her space.
“What exactly did you mean, you ‘should get it done while you still have time’? Are you going somewhere?”
“What?” She takes a step back, but I simply close the distance.
“Is there something you forgot to tell me?”
Suddenly her hand is in the middle of my chest, burning my skin. I barely notice the force she tries to put behind it. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, but you may wanna back up.”
I take a step back, close my eyes, and suck in air through my nose, trying to calm myself down before I do or say something I’ll regret. Again.
I’m normally a pretty cool and collected guy, but since Nicky ended up in the hospital and her sister showed up, I feel like I’ve been taken on an emotional rollercoaster ride, hanging on by the skin of my teeth.
“Earlier,” I finally trust myself to say, “you mentioned you wanted to get Nicky’s stuff sorted ‘while you still have time.’ Time before what?”
Realization steals over her face and her eyes go big with understanding. Finally.
“Oh. I start my job on Monday.”
“Job?”
She looks a little sheepish when she answers, “I got a position with Shannon County Home Health Care. Shit. I should’ve mentioned something.”
“You think?”
“I’m just picking up a few shifts. Only during school hours,” she quickly adds.
Her hand is still resting on my chest when I lean forward, gently butting my forehead to hers. “We really need to learn to communicate better,” I whisper.
“I know.” Her response is no more than a sigh.
“Fuck. I’m going to kiss you now.”
My mouth is a breath away from hers when the front door slams open and the kids’ voices fill the house.
The next moment Taz is gone, hurrying down the stairs.