We are never ready to let go of our mothers hand, but her death shapes our hearts one last time. Without her, our love spills out in all directions, falling here and there, in the most unlikely places. Perhaps it is her greatest gift, to leave us aching for each other.
Chapter One
It began as Mary Sullivan, bored with the late August afternoon, wandered into a store so old it was still called a luncheonette. Her eyes scanned the rows of candy bars as she recalled the taste of peanut butter cups, chocolate-covered coconut bars, and cool mint patties, none of which seemed appealing enough to buy. Remembering how many unopened candy bags she had already in her kitchen drawers, she reached for a roll of peppermint Life Savers, too embarrassed to leave the store empty-handed.
Time shifted. Her hand felt for the single dollar bill that had dived to the bottom of her purse like a runaway fish in a pond of boulders. She felt it happening, a current come alive, dominating, controlling everything, even the rhythm of her breath.
The unsuspecting salesgirl smiled at her. Mary's sweaty fingers dug deeper and deeper, until she found a dollar and held it out with the blue and silver roll, toward the young woman.
And then the voice, or remainder of voice, like an unacknowledged phrase left dangling amid bits of childhood verse or prayers, rose up unleashed, triggered by the sight of that deep blue roll of mints, the voice, the vibrant likeness of voice rang out with timeless impact and clarity.
"Think of me whenever you have one," Mary's mother, dead five years now, whispered to her daughter in the luncheonette.
Her mother's voice brought on an outpouring of tears so generous that not even Mary could have sopped them up with her handy packet of pocket tissues. She sniffled and she shook. She had been taught to prepare for such circumstances. To carry a comb or brush, aspirin, spare change. Her mother was, it seemed, item by item, contained and portable in her purse, warning by warning, truth by holy, heavenly truth, inescapable, uncapturable, absent, lingering....
"I miss my mother," she confessed to the young woman, sounding like a lost child who accidentally wandered down the wrong aisle on a shopping trip, or took the wrong hand in a crowd. "She's dead," Mary added firmly, just in case there was any doubt in the salesclerk's mind, to clarify that her mom had not been one of the fortunate relocators, off to Florida for perpetual sun and all-you-can-eat senior citizen buffets.
"I'm sorry," she said, her clear, blue eyes widening, her long, blond hair looking almost silver in the afternoon light. "How about a Coke?" she offered, the way the police chief might give a grape lollipop to ease the fears of a child inadvertently left behind.
"Oh, no," Mary choked out, appalled enough by her present imposition. "I'm sorry for troubling you. I should go."
"It's okay," the clerk continued, waving a hand for Mary to follow. The young woman's rings glistened on her lengthy fingers, and Mary decided they were Austrian crystal. She had seen a lot of those on the Home Shopping channel, but always resisted the temptation to buy one.
"The store's slow this afternoon. I'll get two Cokes and we can sit at the counter," she continued, making her way toward the glasses. She seemed so sincere, Mary couldn't help but relax.
Mary tagged after her, for the moment a non-grown-up, pulling tissues out of her handy packet, feeling some relief as she blew her nose, feeling even more juvenile as she climbed upon the slow-spinning counter stool. She watched the girl scoop pre-crushed ice into old-fashioned Coke glasses. The refreshing rattle of the chips deepened her thirst, reminding her how much she preferred carbonated beverages to her own home-brewed, sugar-free, lemon tea.
"Thank you," Mary said with sincerity, grateful now for such hospitality, for the move from the rickety wooden step stool to the swivel seats at the counter where plate-size chocolate chip cookies were kept under glass, and potato chip bags hung in simple symmetry from an old metal display. "You're very kind," Mary added, having been around teen boys and a husband who would have eagerly accepted her declination at face value and gone off to play ball or rent a movie, relieved they didn't have to cope with her.
"Chocolate or cherry?" she asked....