Page 38 of Dreams of Falling
“Like how I almost killed you?”
She shook her head. “I’ll never forget how much a part of my life you will always be.”
My throat stung, and I turned away, heading down the front-porch steps.
She called, “That tap dance is something I’ll never forget, though. Never.”
I faced her, angry and hurt until I recognized her expression. It was the same one she and Bennett had worn the night of the talent show, standing and applauding next to Ceecee. It wasn’t mocking or sarcastic. It seemed more like pride.
I almost told her then about the dream I’d had for the last two nights. A dream in which I was in Mabry’s childhood bedroom for a sleepover, but when I awoke, I discovered that she had grown up and moved away, and when I looked in the mirror, I was still a little girl. But I didn’t tell her. Instead, I said, “Good-bye, Mabry.”
Ellis raised his fist and waved. “Bye, Larkin.”
I smiled at the sweet face that was so much like Bennett’s. “Good-bye, Ellis.”
“See you soon,” Mabry said, closing the door before I could correct her.
fourteen
Ivy
2010
Larkin has brought me a small stereo of some sort. I’m sure it’s not called a stereo anymore but something more modern and techy, but whatever it is, it’s playing music from when I was younger. Larkin called it my playlist, and I heard her telling the nurses to make sure it was always playing during the day. She said she’d been doing research online and found out that music does wonderful things for people with Alzheimer’s and brain injuries.
There’s lots of Rolling Stones and Bob Dylan and the Beatles, and although I don’t understand the science, I think Larkin’s right. Because all of a sudden, my memories aren’t black-and-white anymore. They’re full, brilliant, rainbow-hued, and everything is real again. I see Ellis as he was at nineteen, and I’m happy because he’s alive once more. I think I must be dreaming, because when he kisses me, the taste of honeyed biscuits lingers on my lips.
Larkin’s heart is so big and beautiful. I wish I could take credit for it, but I can’t. She’s always been her own person, whether or not she sees it that way now. I guess, in a way, I can take credit for that. I spent so much of her childhood telling her to stop following me that she was forced to find her own path. Maybe everything I did wasn’t a hugemistake. Larkin was forced to barrel through life with the single purpose of making herself known, but it was never done with a mean spirit. I think she wore blinders through her growing-up years, to block her from everything except what Ceecee told her was true. It’s a good thing, too, or else she might have heard all the people telling her that she wasn’t good enough to try things. Or maybe she did and just did it anyway. Larkin has always been the most strong-willed person I know. And I say that in a kind way.
My daughter is also brilliant. I need to thank Mack for that. I need to thank him for many things, like loving me even when I am at my most unlovable. We’ve both made mistakes, but never because we didn’t love each other. That’s another thing I’ve learned since lying here and trying to make sense of everything. Love and need are sometimes two completely different things.
I don’t think the music’s going to wake me up. But I don’t feel like I’m headed anywhere else any time soon, either. The bonds that are keeping me here are just as sticky as ever. I think I’m supposed to figure out how to let them go, but I haven’t yet. Even more than I love listening to the stereo, I love that Larkin brought it to me. It makes me think that maybe we’re not so very far apart after all.
Larkin takes my hand and raises it to her face, and I’m surprised to feel a wet tear dropping on my skin. I can see it from where I’m positioned up on the ceiling, but I canfeelit. Maybe that means I’m waking up. The thought doesn’t thrill me as much as it should. I’m afraid that if I do, I’ll stop hearing the rumble of Ellis’s car engine, idling as he waits for me at the curb like he used to all those years ago. Because then he’ll be gone all over again. I nearly died from brokenness the first time, and I know I can’t take it again.
“Mama?”
I’m surprised to hear a note of anger in her voice, like I’m about to get a telling-to, and if I could, I’d stand up and clap.
“I hope you can hear me. And I want you to know that I will wait until you wake up so we can finish this conversation. I just want to start now since there’s so much I want to ask you. Yell at you, really. Like why you didn’t want me to work at Gabriel’s. You know howmuch I wanted to. And I could never understand why he kept saying no. It was you all along, afraid that I couldn’t control myself.” She places my hand gently on the bed beside me. “You’re no better than Ceecee, trying to micromanage my life. I’d say that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, but then that would mean I’m just like you both. And I’m not. Because I can tell people to their faces what I’m thinking. It didn’t make me a lot of friends, but at least I’m honest. And it makes me good at what I do.”
She frowns, and I want to tell her to stop, that she’ll get wrinkles. But I can’t.
“I really am good at my job, you know. You’ve never asked, so I guess you thought it was just another stupid hobby of mine or something, but I’m one of the best copywriters at Wax and Crandall. It’s not the novel I always thought I’d write, but it’s something I’m proud of.”
Larkin stands to get a better look at me, gazing down at my face as if she imagined my eyes opening or something. They haven’t.
“Advertising is a funny thing. You have to figure out what you don’t want people to know so you can create something they want to hear. Maybe I should thank you and Ceecee for that. I have to have learned it somewhere.”
She sits again and leans forward, her elbows on the edge of the bed and her chin resting on her hands. “I know about the fire at Carrowmore, and how Ceecee saved you. Bitty told me.”
Larkin takes a deep breath. I hear it shudder like a boat’s sails in strong wind, and I know she’s trying to keep from crying. She’s always hated to cry in front of people. I think I’m one of the only people who’ve ever heard her crying so hard, she has to press her face into the pillow so she can think that nobody can hear her. Even Ceecee. But I knew. Despite everything, I’m still her mama.
“You could have saved me a whole lot of trouble if you’d told me that little tidbit about your childhood. I won’t even get started on the whole Ellis thing. How could you not have told me that you were married to Bennett and Mabry’s uncle? Or that you threw a baby shower for Mabry and that they named the baby after your firsthusband?” She rubs her hands over her face with those beautiful slender hands that are just like mine. “But it’s the fire that makes me angriest. Do you remember all those years when you had the nightmares about fire and you’d wake up screaming? I thought it was my job to figure out why you’d be dreaming about fires so I could help you and make them stop. What a complete waste of time. You must have thought it so funny, all the things I came up with to explain it, hoping that one of them might make you better.”
Larkin stands again, her idle hands worrying themselves as she looks for something useful to do. Even as a girl, she’d always been a busy little bee, and it’s not something she learned in New York. I think I’m mostly to blame.
I want to tell her that I’d never told her about the fire because I didn’t remember it. Not until Mack had his affair. I’d always had a recurring nightmare about watching a house burn and knowing someone important to me was inside, burning with the walls and floors and furniture. But after I found out about Mack, the nightmares changed. It was like the pain and awareness of my own culpability in his infidelity were a key that turned a lock inside my head, waking up a part of my subconscious.
