Page 4 of I Can't Even

I sagged back against the seat. Sophie was right. Who was I kidding? I was exhausted.

“That bad?” I asked.

My older sister handed me her purse. “Lipstick and a comb in there.”

“Okay.” I could take a hint.

I flipped down the visor and stifled a small shriek. My curly brown hair, I did not get the honey-colored tresses of my sisters, was a frizzy mess while remnants of my mascara were flaked all over my face. I had bags under my eyes big enough to replace the carryon I’d used for luggage and the beginnings of chapped lips. Lovely.

“What did Babs say when you told her I was on my way?”

Sophie bit her lip. She gave me a sideways glance and my eyes widened in surprise.

“You didn’t tell her I was coming? Why not?”

“Em and I thought about it, but...”

“You were afraid I’d flake?” I finished for her.

Sophie did not immediately confirm or deny. I tried to comb my curls down but with the Pacific morning mist at full blast so was my hair. Giving up, I found a hair band in Soph’s purse and braided my hair into one thick plait that I let dangle over one shoulder. I waited for Sophie to answer.

“Well...” She shrugged. “After your last visit...”

“Visit?” I asked. “You make it sound like it wasn’t the equivalent of falling into a hell mouth.”

“The Christmas of twenty-seventeen,” she said. “Em and I have dramatic reenactments every holiday.”

I sighed.

“Lipstick,” Sophie reminded me. “And don’t worry. I’m sure Em will tell her you’re on your way. Mom will be thrilled to see you, you’ll see.”

I dropped the comb into her bag and fished out her lipstick. Like a sacred commandment, Babs believed that no woman should ever leave the house without her hair and make-up done. Woe be to the woman who showed up at Bab’s house without her face on.

Being a tree climbing, freewheeling tomboy, this might have been the rule that about broke me during my formative years. More battles had been fought in our front room over my wild mane and lack of make-up than any other subject save one. Liam Mahony, the hot boy next door, had trumped all other arguments combined. And it was my relationship with Liam that had finally driven me away from home without a backward glance.

I swiped the coral lipstick over my lips and pressed them together. I hadn’t worn lipstick regularly in years, being more of a cherry ChapStick sort of gal. Funny how old habits don’t die, however. I grabbed a tissue out of the pack in Soph’s purse to blot my lips just as Babs had taught us. I knew I still looked exhausted, but perhaps the tamed hair and lipstick would be enough to appease the old cranky pants.

We left the center of town and wound our way up the hill into the residential section. Midcentury modern was what the hip kids were calling it now, but back in its heyday, the fifties, it was just considered modern. The houses on the street where I grew up were all about squared edges and big windows, the better to appreciate the view of the ocean, and the yards were small, tidy, and fenced. A few stucco houses with red tile roofs and some rectangular gray ultra-modern houses peppered the neighborhood but for the most part, Gull’s Harbor clung to its Brady Bunch split levels with a tenacious grip.

Soph parked in front of our childhood home and I felt a clutching sensation in my chest. The house looked exactly as I remembered it; rough cut stone on the bottom with pale yellow on the wood above, the roof peaked over the double front doors which were painted white like the trim. Rectangular planters loaded with succulents lined the short walkway to the door, and I took a deep breath realizing I was now going to have to make that walk and face the dragon within.

I climbed out of the car and glanced behind me, down the hill, over several rooftops and the center of town until I could see the blue of the ocean all the way to the horizon. I took another deep breath of the briny sea air and held it in my lungs.

Whenever life seemed to be too much, I took comfort in the constancy of the sea. It was here before me and it would be here long after I departed this earth. For some reason that awareness always helped me get my perspectacles on and focused. There were things in the world so much bigger than me and my petty problems.

“All right?” Soph grabbed my bag and joined me on the walkway.

“Yeah, I’m good,” I said.

The front door wasn’t locked so I gave it a gentle rap with my knuckles before walking in. “Hello?” I called.

No one answered as we walked through the small entryway and turned left into the great room that boasted floor-to-ceiling windows with the same spectacular view I had been taking in from the walkway outside.

“Who’s there?” Babs sounded grumpy.

“It’s me, Julia.” I stepped fully into the large living room, giving my mother a small smile. She was seated on her favorite burgundy velvet divan, which had always reminded me of a throne. It was placed on the far side of the room and gave her an optimal view of the goings on in the house and outside. She had a pretty aqua afghan draped over her legs and an untouched breakfast tray on the coffee table beside her.

Her hair, styled in a pixie cut and dyed the color of champagne, was expertly arranged and her make-up was perfection. No one would ever guess she was sixty-four years old. Her pale blue eyes raked me from head to toe and her lip curled up on the right side just the teensiest bit so it was sort of like smile, you know, if she was paralyzed down one side and giving it her best effort. She wasn’t and it wasn’t.

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