Calm, Cool, and Adjusted (30 page)

The human in me wants to tell her it
has
ruined her backside, but I refrain because it is well with my soul. “Iced tall soy latte.” I scratch my head. “No, make that a mocha.”

“Whipped cream?”

“No, thanks,” I say, getting in line behind the woman clogging her arteries.

“You know,” I say to her. “I told you that because in Bible study, you said you’d been unable to lose the last ten pounds and you said that you didn’t like to exercise. The body doesn’t digest trans fats. It’s like putting plastic in your system. I was trying to be helpful. Sorry if I offended you.”

This disarms her and she softens her expression for a moment before a call for her Frappuccino reminds her where we are. “Are you a Christian? Or a tree hugger?”

“I suppose I’m both, depending on your definition.”

“You can’t serve two masters.” She says, walking out with her supersized cup o’ calories.

Of course, I could tell her the same thing. She can serve God and the temple he gave her, or her craven desires for drinking her calories. But what’s the use? I leave the coffee shop more depressed than ever. As I’m walking out, Jeff walks in with the blonde from the convertible. This girl is like a bad penny; she shows up everywhere.

“Jeff, hi. Chloe, what a surprise to see you both.”
Together. So soon after you kissed me.
Granted, I’m pining for another man, and I kissed him back. But still. A little loyalty should last at least twenty-four hours. Is that too much to ask?

“Hi, Poppy.” Jeff purposely takes his hand and places it on Chloe’s back. “Guess who’s coming to church?”

I want to ask where the reconciled husband is, but I’ve learned enough to keep my mouth shut for the moment. If people want advice, they’ll ask for it.

I lift up my drink. “Off to Santa Cruz. See you soon.”

“You’re going to call me.” Chloe makes that annoying phone fingers next to her ear like she’s starring on
American Idol
. “To run, when you’re up to it, right?”

I lift up my cast conveniently. “If I’m still in town, most certainly.” I reach for the door and Jeff opens it for me and follows me out to the sun-kissed patio.

“You know, if I were you, Jeff, I wouldn’t get involved with that. First she’s with her husband, then she’s having coffee with a single man on a Sunday morning. Don’t you ever see the Lifetime channel?”

He laughs. “No, what does that mean?”

“The boyfriend is always the one to die.”

“Boyfriend? No, no. You’ve got it all wrong.”

“The husband always has it wrong too. And then . . .” I shape my finger like a gun. “Bam! The boyfriend’s family is fighting for justice in the court scene.”

Jeff lifts his brows. “So where’s this elusive man of yours? The one who has your heart.” He looks around the parking lot as though I’ve made the entire thing up. “If you wanted to be rid of me, you know, you didn’t have to lie. I’m a strong guy.”

“I didn’t say I had
his
heart.”
Maybe I did once, but I sure blew that.

He gives me that lopsided grin and the blue of his eyes just sparkles under the sunlight. “So have dinner with me Wednesday and we’ll talk about it. I think—” He puts his hand to his chest. “I think if you really analyze the situation, you might not be as head-over-heels as you think. I mean, who needs rejection like that?”

Certainly not me. “I’ll think about it. I’ve got to get over the hill before all the beachgoers clog the road.”

“You want to trade cars?”

“You’d let me drive Katie on one of the most dangerous roads in the Valley?”

He drops the keys in my hand. “Now, give me the keys to Granola,” he says about my Subaru.

“I don’t think so.” I hand him back the keys and he grasps my hand.

“I’ll see you for the rehearsal dinner.”

I nod. “Thanks.” I climb into my car, amazed that even after I’ve damaged his ego, he’s committed to our deal.

The traffic to Santa Cruz is a nightmare. Bumper to bumper all the way over, with kids screaming their music from their convertibles and beaters. Surfboards sticking out the tops of vehicles. And it brings back memories of cruising Friday night, honking at the popular boys and giggling wildly if they honked back. Those were the days when you only had to worry if you were worthy of a honk.

“Oh my goodness!” I say aloud as I approach the house. In the daylight, it’s like something out of a movie and I’ve just gone back in time thirty years. It’s perfect. The white clapboard siding has been replaced with new, vinyl siding, and the roof is a bright composite gray. I smile at the front door, which has been painted red, and I know that had to come from Simon. I’m sure he’s listened to my explanation of color more than a few times.

I clamber out of the car as fast as I’m able with my awkward gait and race to the porch. The door is ajar and inside, the drywall is up and a painter—at least I assume he’s a painter; he’s in whites with paint splatter all over him—is standing there. He looks over the plans and, finally, at me.

“Did you want imperfect smooth or elephant hide?”

“Pardon me?”

“The wall texture.”

“What’s better?”

“Imperfect smooth is more popular now. It’s that old-world look.”

“Yeah,” I nod. “I think that’s good. Have you seen Simon?”

“Nah. Been here all morning getting everything prepped.” The painter shakes his head. “He hasn’t been here.”

I walk out to the back porch and look to the spot where I had Simon in my grip last time, and I ponder the previous day in his sister’s salon. I’m probably just anxious over this because he’s leaving, and he doesn’t believe that I’m truthful. This is probably just pre-wedding jitters I feel for Morgan. I’m just worried I’ll be alone. The truth is I’ve been alone a long time emotionally. This is nothing new and Simon’s leaving will change nothing.

I walk down to the beach and watch the waves roll in and the kids chasing them and running back in. I can’t recount the hours I spent doing just that before my mother’s death. I smile at the memory.

“One of these times, the waves are going to get tired of being taunted, and they’ll catch you by surprise,” my mother warned me.

I retaliated by sticking my tongue out at the wave and running even closer to the cresting water. Then, just as my mother prophesied, the wave encapsulated me and took me down into its undertow. I remember water everywhere, like being in an agitation cycle, and not knowing which way was up and which was down, just tumbling violently while bits of sand hit me in the process like tiny darts. I thought I’d never see the sky again, or breathe the air, as I fumbled and flailed, unable to do anything against the power of the water. I was nothing more than a piece of seaweed against the force.

Until my mother pulled me upright and stood me up. I was still in the water to my knees and wanted to run. “No,” she said. “Wait until the wave goes back out. You’ll just get stuck in it again. You can’t fight the undertow.”

I looked up at her, so fearful of the water, but knowing I couldn’t let go of her hand or I might go under again. I clung to her leg with my free hand.

“Just wait,” she said reassuringly. “It will be gone soon.”

As the wave dissipated, I pulled my feet from the wet sand, which had buried them above the ankles, and my mother calmly walked us to our blanket and surrounded me with a towel. “Let’s eat a sandwich. I’ll bet you’re starving. I made your favorite.”

I nodded, trying so desperately not to cry, but angrily staring at the waves as though they had betrayed me.

“You’re crying. Poppy. That’s what the waves do. They come in, and they have such force you can’t play with them and not be ready. Don’t be mad at the waves or scared of them. Just know that’s what waves do, and I’m here to protect you because that’s what mommies do.”

She fed me an almond butter sandwich and made me go right back out into the waves. She stayed with me, and held my hand, but she wouldn’t let me go home. Not until I’d faced the Pacific again and prevailed.

As I gaze out into the depths of the ocean now, I have tears again, remembering those words.
That’s what mommies do.
I use the back of my hand to wipe away the tears and I listen to the laughter from the children below. It’s not what all mommies do. Not when mommies have more pain of their own than they can handle. Not when a tidal wave of full force captures them and won’t let go. She didn’t cling to His hand, though she told me not to let go.

Why did you let go?

“You promised me!” I rage at the sky, though I know how ridiculous my words are now. Decades late, and more useless than driftwood on the beach. I sink to the ground, cross my legs, and watch the surf go in and out again. The children playing chicken with the waves, and their mothers hovering closely nearby.

I never told my mother I loved her before she died. I was so angry—livid, actually—that she’d allowed herself to get sick.
Disgusted
might be the proper word. “I loved you more than life itself,” I whisper. “I loved you and Aura more than anything. We never talked about her death, but I loved her, too, Mom! I was her mommy too!”

I wipe away the tears, remember when life in our home ceased to be alive, when the prevailing emotion was sadness and grief. Life changed when my sister Aura died from SIDS. Suddenly, my mother went from being a good mommy to being a failure—in her mind anyway.

Like a fresh wave, the truth finally hits me.

It was the guilt!

I stand up again, watching a pelican race along the crest of a wave. “I blamed you, Mom. I blamed you for not taking care of yourself, but it was because you couldn’t take care of Aura!” I feel the tears come again. “I never knew,” I say to the sky. “But you were a good mommy.”

That’s why she told me I was strong when she was sick. She thought Aura needed her more than I did.

“Poppy, are you looking for me?” I shield my eyes from the sun and turn to see Simon like the angel of light he is right now.

“Oh, Simon.” I fall into his barrel chest and breathe in his familiar scent. He doesn’t know what to do with his arms, but I don’t care. I wrap my own around him and hug him with the passion I feel. “Simon.”

He doesn’t hug back, but I don’t care because I am finally free. I understand with amazing clarity. I’ve put into health all that my mother put into destroying her body from guilt. I had my own guilt that I couldn’t save her and this has been about proving to her I could do it.

“Simon.” I look up into his eyes, which soften, even though I can tell he’s working hard to keep his expression from changing. “I let life go by without telling people what I really felt for them, how I hurt for them. I was so angry at my mother when she died that I never told her how much I loved her. I never told her that I loved her more than life itself or that she was a good mother.”

“Poppy? What are you talking about?”

“Granted, maybe I was too young to know all those things. We never talked about my sister’s death. I never told her I loved my sister, and I knew it wasn’t her fault, but I never told her, Simon.”

“Poppy, what sister?”

“My sister, Aura.” I try to talk over the sobs. “She was a cranky little baby, who I tried to mother when her screams drove my mother crazy. But she died, Simon. SIDS, they called it, but she was never healthy, I don’t think. Her death broke my mother, and I think I always blamed her for not taking care of herself after that, and for letting the diabetes get her. But now I know, Simon. I know that she couldn’t help it.”

Simon’s arms finally come around me, and again I breathe in deeply and relish his familiar and warm scent.

“She once told me that mommies take care of their babies. I never thought of what that meant to her. It meant
guilt
, Simon. It meant that she didn’t care for Aura like she should have. Which of course was a lie.” I wipe my face again. “It didn’t mean that she’d given up on me. Only that she couldn’t deal with the guilt.” I look up at the sky. “All these years, I’ve been so angry. Why didn’t I know?”

Simon’s arms come around me tighter, and I bask in his warmth, allowing the decades of tears to fall. “She knew, Poppy. I promise you, she knew.”

I pull away from him and meet his deep brown eyes. When he looks away, I lift his chin and force his gaze to mine. “So you see, you might have to go to Hawaii alone and do what you need to do to be a good son. But I can’t let you go now without telling you that I love you. I’ve joked with you and kept you at arm’s length because I wasn’t able to face what I really felt. I think I must have loved you years ago.”

“Poppy.” He shakes his head. “Don’t say this now. You’re not in the right place to say this now and I’m not in the right place to hear it.”

I nod, and sniffle. “I am, Simon. I am.”

Simon takes a golf handkerchief from his pocket and wipes my tears away, softly patting my cheeks. “Let’s get you home.”

“No.” I stop him by grabbing his arm. “I don’t want to go home, Simon. I want to have this out right here and now at the beach. It only seems appropriate. I want to know what changed between the other night on that very same beach down there and right now.” I point to the dusty ground. “If you don’t love me, why did you spend a fortune to fix up my house without even asking me? Why did you stand up to my father that day in the office?”

Simon sucks in a jagged breath, but he doesn’t answer me. He twirls me around in his arms so I’m facing the children on the beach. I want to turn around and beat his chest until I get an answer, but I’m so comfortable in his arms as I think about what really happened to my mother, I can’t bear to hear what he might say. For now, his being here is just enough.

chapter 23

Miles run: 0

Blocks walked with Simon: 2

Desperation scale: 0

W
e walk back to the house after staring at the ocean for an hour. Simon’s back is hunched over, and I can tell he’s hurting. I almost feel it myself, as I can see exactly where his spine is curved strangely. Instinctively, I put my hand there. “I have my table in the car. We’ll adjust you when we get back to the house.”

Simon nods as though he really hasn’t heard what I’ve said.