Chapter 13 - My Mother Asked Me How Long I Had Chosen To Stay Gone
I went home Sunday.
Three years after my funeral.
My mother's house looked smaller.
Same porch.
Same dent in the mailbox.
I sat in my rental car for eleven minutes.
Laura opened the front door before I moved.
She didn't run.
Neither did I.
I got out.
She stared at my face.
Then at my hands.
Like she needed all of me visible.
“Hi.”
Her mouth moved.
Nothing came out.
I walked to the bottom step.
“Can I come up?”
Laura laughed once and started crying.
“It's your house.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“Not anymore.”
That hurt her.
Necessary.
“Can I?”
She nodded.
I climbed.
She hugged me.
Hard.
I hugged back.
Maybe ten seconds.
Then she pulled away and slapped my arm.
Not face.
Not hard.
“Two years?”
I almost laughed because crying made everything ugly.
“Yes.”
“You had two years.”
“Yes.”
“Phone.”
“Yes.”
“Internet.”
“Yes.”
“A job.”
“Yes.”
“And you let me think—”
She stopped.
I did not rescue her.
“I’m sorry.”
Laura turned away.
“No.”
I froze.
“You don't get to say it once and make me take it.”
Fair.
We went inside.
My photographs were still on the mantel.
No shrine.
She had moved on enough to live.
Not enough to remove me.
The funeral program sat in a drawer.
She showed me because I asked.
RACHEL ELAINE CARTER.
I stared at my own smiling face.
“Vanessa came.”
My head lifted.
“To the funeral?”
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
“Almost nothing.”
“Did she look guilty?”
Laura laughed bitterly.
“I thought she looked devastated.”
“She knew.”
“Yes.”
That hurt my mother more than Voss.
Not the stranger.
The woman standing beside her while knowing her daughter was alive.
“Do you hate her?”
Laura thought.
“Today?”
“Yes.”
“Some.”
Good.
“Me?”
“Yes.”
Also good.
We sat at the kitchen table.
My old blue mug was in the cabinet.
Laura took it down.
Put it between us.
I laughed despite myself.
“Of course.”
“You told Leah about this.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Coffee during an all-night review.”
“So she used it.”
“Yes.”
Laura stared at the words on the mug.
BEST DAUGHTER EVEN WHEN WRONG.
Dad's terrible joke.
She almost smiled.
Then:
“Why didn't you call?”
I looked at my hands.
The answer had grown clearer since the hallway.
“At first, I thought someone would find you through me.”
Laura waited.
“Then I thought you'd be angry.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“Correct.”
“Then…”
I stopped.
“Then being Sarah got easier.”
That hurt her.
I continued.
“Sarah didn't have a funeral to explain.”
“Rachel did.”
“Yes.”
“Sarah didn't have a mother.”
“No.”
“Rachel did.”
I closed my eyes.
“Yes.”
Laura cried quietly.
I did too.
Then she asked:
“Do you want to be my daughter again?”
My chest tightened.
“I never stopped.”
“That isn't what I asked.”
Right.
“Do you want me in your life?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“I don't know yet.”
She nodded.
No demand for daily calls.
No moving home.
Then:
“Do you want your room?”
I looked toward the hallway.
“No.”
Laura's face tightened.
“Hotel?”
“For tonight.”
“That feels awful.”
“I know.”
“Still?”
“Yes.”
She nodded.
I stayed for dinner.
Left at nine.
At the door, Laura said:
“Rachel.”
“Yeah?”
“If Vanessa asks me again…”
I waited.
“I might talk to her.”
My first instinct was to ask why.
Stop her.
Manage.
Instead:
“Okay.”
Laura smiled sadly.
“You hated that answer as a teenager.”
“I still do.”
May you like
She hugged me again.
This time I stayed a little longer.
