Her mother was huddled in the middle of the bed, looking small and child-like. A light blue blanket covered her, pillows propped her head up. The curtain was drawn, casting the room in shadows. With relief, she saw Bob wasn’t in the room.
The room was small and sparse of furnishings. Though Lola’s room was small too, her mother had unselfishly given her the slightly larger one of the two. The walls were painted a pale green. There was a bed and a dresser in the room, some framed photographs.
“Mom?” There was a catch to her voice, a waver in that one syllable word. Lola cleared her throat and made her way to the bed. She looked down at her mother, wondering at what precise moment their roles had reversed.
She kept hoping her mom would come back to her, that she’d suddenly wake up and be who Lola knew her to be. Maybe the strong woman Lola remembered hadn’t really ever been; maybe she was a figment of Lola’s imagination.
Why did she keep trying to catch a glimpse of that person? She supposed, on some level, she couldn’t give up on her mom.
Lana patted the bed. “Sit down. I want to talk to you.”
She silently shook her head. There was no way she would sit in the spot Bob slept, no way.
Lola pretended not to see her mother’s hurt look and instead focused on a framed photograph above the bed. It was a picture of her, taken when she was seven. Lola was missing her two front teeth and her eyes sparkled with happiness. Her skin had a healthy glow. She wore a purple dress and had a red headband in her auburn hair.
Had I ever been so innocent?
She turned away. “Where’s Bob?”
Her mother folded over an edge of the blanket, head down. “Out with friends.”
‘Out with friends’ meant he was drinking at the bar. When he drank at the bar, he came home late and missed work. Bob also went from mean to really mean. All it took was a wrong look or word and he got scary real fast. Lola’s stomach turned queasy and it was harder to take a breath.
“I thought…I thought maybe we could hang out tonight.” Eyes full of hope fixed on Lola, waiting.
Lola’s chest tightened. She wanted to. She so wanted her mother back, if only for one evening. Lola was desperate for her old mom. This new mom she didn’t know and didn’t like.
Her lips parted and she almost said yes; was on the verge of it, but the urge to confront her mom was stronger. She had to try to get her mom to see reason.
“Mom, please leave him. We can leave tonight, while he’s gone. We’ll be okay without him, I promise. You’ll be okay. Please.” Lola regretted the words as soon as she saw her mother’s face.
Lana’s face closed up and she retreated into herself.
She backed away, feeling sad even though she knew better than to. What was the point?
Lola stopped near the door, pretending she hadn’t just said that. “I can’t hang out tonight. I have to work. Remember?”
Her eyes dropped, another little sliver of life seemed to slip from her, dimming her. “Oh. That’s right. I thought you had Thursdays off usually.”
I do. Lola closed her eyes, torn. I want you back, Mom, I want you back. But you’re not her anymore. I don’t know you.
She took a deep breath and opened her eyes. “I’m sorry, Mom.” I’m sorry our lives are the way they are. I’m sorry you’re not strong enough. I’m sorry you don’t love me enough. I’m sorry I’m not enough.
Lola walked out the door, wanting to escape her mother’s pain and sadness, wanting to escape the house, Bob, her life. Her mother’s disappointment was like a heavy weight in the air and it was stifling.
She couldn’t stay there, she couldn’t be there. Part of her wanted to leave, to run away and never return. Some fledgling sense of loyalty wouldn’t allow her to leave her mother, but that didn’t mean she wanted to be around her either. It hurt too much. And she was so angry with her. She hated what she had become almost as much as she hated Bob.
***
The outside air was refreshing after the stale interior of the house. The sun was lowering in the sky, turning the horizon into pretty shades of pink and orange.
Images of her mother haunted Lola as she walked down the streets of Morgan Creek. The tinkle of her laughter, the sparkle in her blue eyes. The way she used to hold Lola close and whisper she loved her.
She almost turned back. Lola yearned to rush into her mother’s arms and be held. To hold her mother like she used to. She couldn’t. Her mother was tainted by Bob’s touch and scent. It wasn’t her anymore. Lola had to keep reminding herself of that.
Tears flowed down her cheeks, warm against her cool flesh.
Not for the first time she ached for her father. Benjamin Murphy had died of a brain aneurism when he was twenty-eight and she was four. All he was to her was a photograph of a young man whose chin and nose she’d inherited; someone whose memory her mother’s eyes and voice softened over. A distant memory almost completely faded from her mind. Someone, who if he still lived, would have made Lola’s life so very different from the way it was.