Close to hyperventilating, I bend over to catch my breath. I almost can’t believe it. If I wasn’t seeing it for myself, I wouldn’t believe it. And the thing is, it makes sense.
All the old feelings come storming back. I’m still that Pizza Face kid. And he’ll always be a Stanley Cup winning hockey super star.
Two minutes later I hit the gas and the Mercedes’ diesel engine clangs. The car rips down the driveway, kicking up gravel. The tears don’t start until I hit 73 and head into town.
“Can I come in?”
Zelda looks back at me from behind the screen door of her rental. She’s wearing white shorts, a gingham blouse, and a curious frown on her face.
I drove straight here from the farmhouse, then sat in the car for the past half hour hitting the reject button on my phone and crying my eyes out.
Zelda doesn’t answer fast enough to satisfy my bad mood so I let her have it. “Are you serious right now?”
Her eyebrows quirk up. They haven’t been done in a while and are growing bushy. I also note the beginnings of grey at her temple. This is a woman that used to sleep with fake eyelashes on, mind you. And not the cheap do-it-yourself kind. No, I’m talking the luxury salon variety that cost a fortunate.
“I see you’re going full country. That’s commendable.” The minute I say the words, I want to call them back. I’m not here to take shots at her. I’m here for answers.
“I’m sorry. I’m not here to insult you.”
She pushes the door open and I march inside without sparing her a hello. I just can’t right now.
“Would you like anything to drink?” she asks while I plant myself in a red Adirondack chair on her veranda overlooking the lake.
It’s pretty out here. More populated since it’s a stone’s throw from town. A bunch of people are out on the lake canoeing even though the storm on the horizon is rolling in quickly, the sky grey and gloomy. It suits me. My mood is overcast with a chance of more tears.
“I’ll take a Coke One if you have it…or anything diet.”
“I have ginger ale,” my mother replies. And isn’t that just like her. She asks you what you want and then offers you something not even remotely similar.
“I’ll pass. Thank you.”
Zelda sashays outside with a glass of white white in her hand and a smile in her hazel eyes. She takes a seat in the chair next to mine and sips her Chardonnay.
Meanwhile, I can’t help my roaming attention. I’d forgotten how much we look alike. The same kneecaps, the same slim legs and narrow feet. Her toes are perfectly pedicured in coral polish. Mine in red. If I put my feet next to hers I probably couldn’t tell much of a difference aside from the color of the toes.
Jackie looks exactly like my dad and I resemble Zelda. There’s no denying it. It’s my cross to bear.
My phone vibrates, and Jake’s picture appears on screen. It’s the fourth time he’s called so I finally turn it off.
“Aren’t you going to ask why I’m here?”
“No. I’m sure you’ll get around to it.”
If she thinks she’s going to play doctor with me, she is sorely mistaken. “Please don’t psychoanalyze me.”
“I’m not, Carrie. I’ve asked to see you so we could talk at least a hundred times…” She sips her wine. “I’m done trying. You’re not a hurt little kid anymore. You’re an adult. You should start acting like one.”
The top of my head practically explodes. “I should start acting like one? Are you kidding?” I scoff. “You’ve been running around town trying to hide your illicit affair with my father––”
“I wasn’t hiding anything. I was keeping my word to your father. He wanted to break the news to you girls. I owe him that much.”
“Oh, you owe all of us a lot more than that.”
My mother tips her head back, closes her eyes, and takes a deep breath. “I don’t want to fight with you.”
Thing is, I don’t want to fight either.
“Why? Why the sudden change? Why are you here?”
“I made a mistake, Carrie, and I’m trying to repair what I can.”
“You can start by leaving dad alone.”
“I won’t. My relationship with your father is none of your business. Leaving him for Joan wasn’t a mistake. And that’s between your father and me.
“I don’t owe you or your sister an explanation as to why I had to get out of my marriage. Nor do I regret living the life I wanted to live. I got a degree. I built a successful career. I’m proud of those achievements...The mistake I made was leaving you girls behind.”
Between the farmhouse and this, I can’t push any more emotions back down. They rise up and pour out of me. I wipe my damp cheeks with the back of my hand.