Corina stepped back. “Has it sold? ’Cause I’ll get it from Livy.”
“Yes, it sold. The money went to help foster girls who were too old to stay in the system but had no place to go.”
“Mama, that’s fantastic, but why not just write them a check?” The black hole in her middle widened, and Corina struggled not to fall in. “Don’t sell my stuff.” It was as if little by little, Mama was removing all signs of Corina. “We were going to give that dress to my daughter for her debut, remember? And if I didn’t have a daughter, we’d give it to Carlos’s. Then one day, she’d hand it down toherdaughter.”
“Carlos is not going to have a daughter now, is he? Nor a son.” Mama faced Corina, arms folded, back straight. “And are you planning on marrying anytime soon?”
Steam. Could Mama see the steam rising from Corina?
“I thought not,” Mama said. “So I gave up the gown. It was the right thing to do.”
“Mama.” Corina took her mother by the arms, her legs trembling, her heart exploding. “I. Am. Not. Dead. Carlos is gone and it hurtseveryday. But I’m still here. I will get married, I’ll give you and Daddy grandbabies to spoil. We’ll make new memories and—”
“I don’t want new memories.” Mama softened, and the tears flowed. “I want the old ones. The ones where my son was alive.” She waved off any response, turning away. “Just get what you want from your things. There are other gowns.” Mama turned to Ida Mae, her brown eyes soaked with tears. “Can you get Corina’s passport from the safe? And show her where you put her gowns.”
“Come on with me, baby.” Sympathy laced Ida Mae’s soft, low tone.
Corina could do nothing but obey. In silence. At the top of the stairs, Ida Mae paused. “She thinks I put your gowns in the garnet room. But I left them in your old closet. Didn’t feel it was right to move them.”
Corina kissed the old maid’s cheek. “Thank you.” At her bedroom door she asked, “Doesn’t she even come in here?”
“She does.”
“In a house of eighteen rooms, she makes over mine?”
“Go on in. You’ll understand.”
Turning the knob, Corina stepped into the room where she’d slept since she was two. Where she’d giggled with her girlfriends and dreamed her dreams. Where Tommy Barnes serenaded her the night before senior prom.
Gone were the shades of pink and purple. The walls were a burnt orange, and a thick brown carpet covered the ancient hardwood. Pillows populated the corners and wooden chairs replaced her furniture. Indoor palms and ficus gave the room a garden feel, and soft string music drifted from ceiling-mounted speakers.
Pictures of Carlos were tastefully dispersed about the room, and then Corina understood. “She doesn’t want him forgotten.”
“It’s her biggest fear.”
“His room is the same?”
“As the day he left.” Ida Mae dusted her hand over a small wall table. “You live on, Corina. But Carlos will forever be a young, handsome, twenty-five-year-old with nothing to lose and everything to gain.”
Corina crossed the hall and entered his room. It was untouched. Pristine. The curtains were drawn against the sunlight, but Corina could clearly see her brother’s awards, trophies, posters, and pictures. All in the same places they’d been when he left for college, when he left for basic training, when he left this life.
“No one goes in except the cleaning lady once a week,” Ida Mae said as she came in behind her.
Corina sank with sadness into the nearest chair. “Ida Mae, is it ever going to get better?”
“I don’t know, darling, I don’t know.” Ida Mae’s hands smoothed across Corina’s shoulders. “Grief is a . . . well, not our friend.”
“That doesn’t give her the right to treat me as if I’m dead too.”
“She loves you, Corina.”
“She sure has a funny way of showing it.” She glanced up at Ida Mae, who carried tears in her eyes. “This can’t be an easy season for you either.”
“Come now.” Ida Mae wiped her eyes. “Let’s find you a fancy gown for this here premier. Then I’ll make us something scrumptious for dinner.”
Corina took a final survey of Carlos’s room. If she inhaled deep, she could catch a whiff of his hair gel. She smiled.
“Carlos, you use too much of that stuff.”
