It’s a one-two punch as I watch her disappear inside, Reese waving from the porch behind her. She pulls the phone from her ear long enough to shout, “Watch out for pirates. And bring us home a parrot.”
My waving hand turns to a middle finger she matches.
“Thanks for coming, Ree,” I call.
She puts the phone back to her ear and follows Bennie inside.
For the first time in days, it’s just Mom and me, and our aloneness stills the air. It’s been strained between us, talking only about the necessary details of my father’s location she got from her friend Colleen. Reese has easily filled in the quiet gaps with her constant work calls and compulsive need to reorganize based on research she did for people with memory issues while filling the fridge with tumor-shrinking foods.
I’m sad and I’m mad and a million other things I don’t know how to articulate.
She’s lied to me, but she has a tumor.
She’s given away our money, but she has a tumor.
She’s a complete pain in my ass, but she has a tumor.
Abruptly, she hugs me. When she squeezes me too tight, I squeeze back, our bodies saying everything our mouths won’t let us. Decades of us bickering the way only a mother and daughter can, all boiled down to this.
I know she’s fine for now, know the doctor said it’s benign and slow growing, but my arms ache around her. For all the grief she’s caused, I don’t want to let go. Don’t want to lethergo. I’ve hugged her a million times in my life, but for the first time I realize how finite they are. How me in her arms and her in mine won’t happen forever. This tumor might not be killing her, but one day, something will, and the reality of that weighs four million pounds.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” I say into her hair with a slight crack in my voice. “That I didn’t notice.”
“Ah.” She squeezes me tighter. “Those acting lessons I took in the nineties finally paid off.”
I pull away from her and sniff. “Don’t give anything away while I’m gone.”
She chuckles as she pats my back. “Impossible with Reese’s hawk eyes watching me.”
I settle into the driver’s seat and roll the window down.
“Have some fun.” She says it like everything else happening—the whole reason I’m going—doesn’t exist. Like we don’t need money and she doesn’t need surgery.
This trip will be the opposite of fun, but there’s no use arguing. “Sure.”
“And Rue?”
I lift my brows.
“I might like to come down there.”
“Come down there?” That is a terrible idea. Because Nash. Because Bennie. Becauseno.“And do what?”
“Will you relax?” She does something between a huff and a laugh. “Only after you tell Nash.” She gives me a look reminding me Iwillbe telling Nash. “I might like to see your dad one last time.”
She’s being morbidly dramatic but doesn’t care for a response because she’s already strolling toward the house, stopping to smell a rose as she does.
On my way out of town, I pull into the parking lot of Jonathan’s dental practice only to stare at the building. I can’t bring myself to go in and say goodbye. No matter how many times I explained the logic of this plan, he doesn’t agree with it. Even after I told him my mom agreed to the surgery, he said there’s a better way. I don’t want to argue with him; I won’t change his mind. I want to find the gold so we can move on with our lives.
Pointing my car south and with $647.42 to my name, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.
Ten
Instead of dwelling on the fact the tank of gas and burnt cup of coffee-flavored water cost $72.13, almost $20 over the per diem I’ve allocated for myself, I stare out the windshield and watch neat rows of pine trees make way to serene stretches of water. If my mom can act like she doesn’t have a tumor for a decade, I can pretend my diminishing funds don’t have me on the brink of a mental collapse for a few days.
Maybe.
We didn’t get to the coast often growing up, but like a reel being clicked through on an old View-Master, the memories come back as I cross bridge after bridge over marsh grass-lined waterways. With creased lines and faded tones, I can see my sisters and me on the beach, building sandcastles for hours. My dad never went—he hated the sand—but my mom was in all her glory there, dancing and laughing to music on a small radio as her wild hair blew in the salty wind.
