Page 51 of Keeping It
Smiling, she puts it on a table across from my bed. “Whatch ya’ reading?” she asks, seating herself next to me.
“I really don’t feel like talking right now, mama. I know you don’t care what novel I’m reading right now, and it’s just your opening introduction to today’s pep talk. I’m going to be okay. I promise.”
She sighs, and the guilt hits me square in the chest. She’s worried about me and only wants to help. Logically, I know she’s just being a good mom. “A month tomorrow, darling. Since you’ve needed the crutches. Dr. Taylor says you’re as good as healed. It’s not getting any better. When do you want to try on your old life again, honey?”
There it is. The annoying pep talk. “You don’t want me here anymore?”
Mama looks thoughtful for a second, her gaze reaching away from me. “I don’t,” she deadpans.
“What?” My tone is shrill, the worn paperback that smells like an old friend falls to my lap.
She shrugs. “It’s the only way to get you out of here and back to your life. Daddy told me you don’t want to fly. Caroline, I love you, but you’re an adult now and Mays pick themselves up by their bootstraps and get on with it.” Her hand shakes between us, but she decides to lay her hand on my calf, in the end. “People are…talking,” she adds. “You say you don’t care, but you still live here so you must, in some way, care what your friends think.”
Do I love flying? Yes. Will I always love it? Probably. Do I want to fly? No. A million times no. Who knows how long I’ll feel that way. What if that happens again? I was told a dozen times how lucky I was that Shell Island existed, that otherwise I would have never made it out alive.
Leaning my head back against the wall I contemplate the way this conversation is going to go. “Fine. If you want me out, I’ll go back home.”
An annoyed noise escapes her. “Did you hear anything else I said?”
“Yes, yes. I need to go on with my life and pretend I didn’t almost die. Check. Thanks, mama. That tidbit was su-per helpful. Not like that’s something I’d do if I could, or anything.” I groan, and face my mother. Living in this house makes me feel like a teenager.
She squeezes my calf. Hard. “I know you may not be healed all the way,” she says, her gaze dipping to the center of my chest. “You march on anyways. There’s a party,” she says, turning away.
“I cancelled my housewarming party the first time Malena visited me in the hospital. There’s no party I have to attend.”
“It’s not for you, darling,” she quips, a sparkle in her eye. “The world has moved on without you in it.” The thought slices me, but I can handle the truth. Especially when it hurts. That’s when it means the most. “The B&B is opening for business this weekend. The whole town is invited. It’s going to be a great time. I’m helping cater, though it’s so big June Bug from the Italian restaurant is also providing food and drinks. It’s in three days, figured if you had a few you could get yourself ready.” She leans over and picks up a limp, dingy strand of my hair. “Or at the very least wash your hair.”
Firstly, I’m irritated. Why didn’t Shirley mention this when she stopped by yesterday? Why didn’t Malena text me. Or call me. It’s a one-two gut punch to know I’m not that important anymore. How come no one told me he was going to open it as a B&B? I’ve been swallowed whole by the accident and my decisions following it. “Oh, please. I haven’t left the house in weeks and you think the best way to reintroduce myself into society is by going to a party where every single person I’ve ever known will be in attendance? No pressure.” I cross my arms, and turn to the side. The blue walls comfort me even if they haunt me at night. “No one even told me,” I say, sniffling once. Mama stays silent. “I don’t even have a thing to wear, anyways. I’d need something prettier than a sundress if I’m rising from the dead.” I shuffle my feet, but her hand stays firmly on my leg. “It would be awful. I’d have to make small talk and heaven knows I’d have to relive the accident at least a hundred times.”
When the silence between us grows to be too much, she whispers, “And?”
I meet her worried gaze. “And he’ll be there,” I say, bottom lip trembling.
She pats me a few times. “And you have to get used to that. It’s always easier to tear off the bandage quick. You know that.”
“Does he even ask about me?” I ask, voice low, offending every drop of pride I have left.
Mama stands, moves to the table and begins fixing my tea. The light shining in the window showcases the thick silver streaking through her hair. It reminds me how much time has passed us by. How much time we have left. The finite seconds that leave before we have barely welcomed them.
She sighs as she stirs, the tinging of the brass spoon on the inside of the mug. “Caroline, this isn’t a game of telephone. You aren’t sixteen. Go talk to the man. I know he’s respecting your wishes by staying away, but who knows what’s running through his mind. You’re healed,” she says, her eyes narrow, “You’re have to move on. This is it. The moment that you can define, or let the accident define. It’s your decision, honey.” She offers me the warm cup without averting her gaze. I can’t help but shrink back into myself a touch as I accept the cup. She’s using her firm voice. The one that let me know how much trouble I was in as a child.
She’s right.
Shirley said the same thing. Malena did, too. Daddy just looks at me with sad eyes and I know he’s thinking what everyone else is.Will Caroline recover?
I nod my head, and she leaves, closing the door behind her. It wasn’t just about recovering from the accident. This recovery was something deeper. Something far more painful than broken ribs and a burned body. Over the rim of my mug, I eye my open closet door. The tea, sweetened to perfection, sears down my throat. Maybe I’m not ready to fly, but I am ready for this. I have to reclaim a slice of my life back. It’s time. Standing, I walk to my closet. I’ll pack my things and go back to my hangar. I touch the fabric on one side of the wall. All sundresses I haven’t so much as looked at in half a year. I’ll relieve my daddy of the airport duties. My hand stops on one, particular piece of clothing. I’ll go to this party and face down my demons.
And I’ll wear the white dress.
****
As soon as I step out of my Daddy’s truck, I’m convinced this is an awful idea. The whole town is here. Cars are lining either side of the road and we have to walk about a half a mile to the main entrance of the Homer property. When we are finally standing in front of the new white picket fence, Daddy pats me on the shoulder and heads toward the gaggle of catering tents off by the water in search of mama.
People are mulling about as far as the eye can see, the lush green grass is manicured to perfection on all sides of the large house. Ladies are wearing their bright dresses, and men have donned their fanciest khaki shorts and polo shirts. The scent of Chanel No. 5 hits the salty breeze like a Bronze Bay calling card. It’s one of the only fragrances carried at the general store so almost everyone wears it. I’m so busy trying to avoid eye contact that I missed the large sign hanging above the tree-lined drive. Easy Days Inn & Bar. It’s wrought iron with a sun setting behind the words.
The whole thing looks like a completely different place—something out of a storybook, a venture that doesn’t look suited for a town so small. So much work has been done it’s hard to tell what hasn’t been touched.
“Caroline May!”
