Page 17 of Middle Ground
MEYER
It wasn’tuntil I was five years old that it occurred to me that my mother and I look different. While my friends and classmates all had similar features to their parents, I had none.
My mother likes to think that the reason she found me was an act of God. I think it was the strings of fate being manipulated by the universe. Whatever the case, we both agree that it was some kind of divine intervention, God or otherwise, that led her to me.
Back in 1998, the Fraisier Creek Fire Department was made up of volunteers—mostly still is—which meant there was only one person in the building at the time. The chief was preoccupied listening to his Discman, so he didn’t notice newborn me wailing outside the front door where I had been left.
Mom is the gentlest woman I think I’ll ever have the privilege of knowing. But that day, when she happened to be walking by after her car broke down, she cradled me to herchest and then marched into the fire station to give the chief a piece of her mind.
Children’s Aid wanted to take me to a nearby city to a foster home. Mom reportedly said, “She was left in Fraisier Creek, so Fraisier Creek is where she’ll stay.” And then she did everything in her power to keep me.
Growing up, I didn’t always make things easy. I definitely put her through her paces, but she’s never looked at me with anything short of love.
When her arthritis started flaring up really bad five years ago, I made a promise to myself that I would take care of her like she’s taken care of me. And a few months ago, when it became apparent that she needed more care than Fraisier Creek had to offer, I got her set up in a retirement condo just thirty minutes down the highway.
Now, whenever I’m not at the inn, I’m travelling to Calderville to visit her.
My head throbs as I push through my mother’s front door. I don’t make it a habit to get drunk—especially not off of wine in the loneliness of my own company—but when I do, the hangover is brutal. However, just like Jackson hoped, I remember everything about last night.
Stupidity, thy name is Meyer.
“Honey, I’m home!” I call.
I toe off my shoes and enter the open-concept kitchen. I place the takeout bags on the counter and then I move into the attached living room. It reminds me of the inn a little bit, with all the floral patterns. I know my mother has contributed to some of the inn’s decor over the years.
In the corner, Mom is snuggled in her recliner, a mass market paperback romance in her hand.
“Beatrice Ellison, is that adirtybook you’re reading?”
She nudges her glasses further up her nose. “Mind your own business,” she says. “Besides, they’re not called dirty anymore. They’reopen-door romances.”
I laugh, and then I point toward the kitchen. “I brought Chinese food.”
“With egg rolls?”
I give her an offended look. “Of course. Who do you take me for?”
She grins, placing her book on the side table after dog-earring her page. She sets her folded glasses on top. “The best daughter I’ve ever had,” she replies. “Does this mean you’re done giving me the cold shoulder so we can talk?”
Well, damn. I’ve been so focused on the pounding in my skull, I forgot that I haven’t exactly been on speaking terms with my mother since yesterday.
“Hacking my email, Mother?” I opt to dive right in, picking up our argument from before the meeting. “Really?”
She shrugs. “You need a better password.”
“Well, I donow.” I settle onto the couch opposite her chair. “What exactly was the purpose of that?”
Her sigh is full of weariness. Although she has assured me this is what she wants, I know this transition of power hasn’t been easy on her. I worry she’s having regrets.
“After Cherie’s passing, I knew it would only be a matter of time before Jackson would be looking to get in contact. Since you’ve been running things, those messages would havegone to you. I wanted to get in front of it, find a way to tell you myself.”
“And then you still didn’t tell me. I had to find out from…him.” It’s hard to keep the contempt from my voice, but I manage. I think. “Why?”
“I’m not sure,” she admits. Mom has always been brutally honest about her feelings with me, and this conversation is no different. I can see the shame in her expression. “Pride, mostly. I didn’t want you to know about my struggles. Especially not when you were a child.”
“But I’m not a child anymore.”
“No.” She shakes her head, a wistful smile curling her lips. “No, you most certainly aren’t, my darling girl. I’m sorry I wasn’t honest with you. I should have been a long time ago.”
