Nothing More Beautiful (48 page)

“Are you still fighting with Vince?” she
asked, as I pulled out of the hospital parking lot.

“No, we’re not fighting, mom. We’re
through.” I hoped my tone ended the conversation there. It
didn’t.

I desperately tried to ignore her intense
gaze, but she had a knack for perseverance, and I finally broke,
glancing over at her. “Whatever it is that caused the rift, just
remember there’s no gap big enough that love can’t bridge. You just
have to take the chance to build it.”

“That’s very wise, but I think that in this
case you’re wrong.”

“You’re still young, darling, and you regard
love as something wholly pure, but it’s not. There are mistakes
with love just like everything else in life.” Her eyes shifted to
the floor. “You have to remember that love has its good days and
its bad days. It’s a give and take.” I could sense she was driving
at something, but I didn’t know what.

“What are you saying? That I should go
crawling back to Vince?”

“In love, you’re both on your knees. You’re
both crawling, Maci.” There was still something inside her, on the
edge of her tongue, afraid to come out. “I know this because I
cheated on your father.”

I almost slammed on the brakes in reaction.
“What? On dad? Why? When?”

“Before you and Donny were born,” she
answered with deep regret in her voice. She stared out the window,
or maybe at her own reflection. “I used to ask myself that question
a hundred times a day. A part of me wanted to know if I was only
with your father because he was the only man who paid much
attention to me. Another part of me said I was foolish and young
and not really in love. But God only knows the real reasons
why . . . I got lost in a moment, a moment
without love or connection. But your father, he built the bridge
and crossed it on his knees with forgiveness and trust, and I met
him on my knees with remorse and grief—grief that I had caused him
so much pain . . . 

“What I’m trying to say is that you don’t
look for love in a man’s eyes; you look for it in his heart, you
understand?”

Devastation and shock controlled me. I could
barely focus on her point. A storm of mixed emotions swamped
me—drowned me. How could my own mother have cheated? I knew their
love. I remembered their connection—their affection for each
other—it had been real, solid, unbreakable.

“Maci?” she prompted me after a long
silence.

“I don’t get it. How did dad ever forgive
you? How did you ever forgive yourself?”

“Because we broke down our insecurities,”
she said. “You can only know true love when you face each other
with bared souls, and you can only bare your soul after you’ve
broken down the walls you’ve made to keep from being hurt.”

“I never knew you could be so
philosophical.” I could tell she didn’t appreciate my sarcasm.
“What do you want me to say, mom? You tell me you had an affair and
then go on to give me relationship advice?”

“You’re right. I made a mistake in my
life—I’m human, like you, like Vince. Look, all I’m saying is that
just because you were hurt, doesn’t mean it’s over. Just because
there was a wrong done, doesn’t mean it’s over. I’m not saying to
forget whatever happened. I’m saying to forgive it, to give it one
big push before you decide it’s truly the end. Your father made the
same kind of push and we had two kids and twenty blissful years
together before he died.”

I turned into her driveway and parked the
car. “Vince and I aren’t you and dad, mom. You can talk about
building bridges all you want, but sometimes the gap is from the
Earth to the moon.”

“Darling, one day you’ll understand what I’m
saying . . . I just hope it’s not too late when
you do.”

“Sure,” I said, nodding, disregarding her
fairy-tale advice. “Whatever you say, mom.” I opened my door and
walked around the car in case she needed any assistance. Still
processing her confession, and conflicted about whether I should be
mad about her affair, I studied her face as she slowly swung
herself out of the car. A small part of me wanted to drop her off
and leave, fuming. Another, larger part of me fell into silence,
the shock of her tale overwhelming my brain. How could I be mad at
something she did that seemed to have so little bearing on her life
now, since she and my father had worked through it and come out
together? And she looked so frail—it was hard to be angry with
someone so feeble, especially my own mother, who had given me
everything I could have asked for in life—from childhood until
now.

A swarm of memories streaked through my
head, memories that washed away the rage. The memory of her
comforting me after Todd—my high school sweetheart—broke up with me
before we went off to college, stood out amongst the thousands of
times she had been there. On that night, over a carton of cookie
dough ice cream, she had told me that I would find a man who was
good for me, who would treat me right, and that there were only a
few relationships worth fighting for. She had said I would know
those, not by the pace of my heart, but by the dimples in my smile.
If just the sight of that other person made me smile every time I
saw them, then I’d know there was something worth the pain,
something worth putting myself out there to bare my faults as well
as my strengths.

My cheeks had never known what she meant
until Vince. No other man had made me smile so much at his mere
presence. Clinging to that memory, to those words of support, I
realized I had unreasonably dismissed her advice this time, without
considering the validity of her guidance. I had been too focused on
the ache inside.

I offered her my arm as she grabbed the top
of the doorframe. “58, Maci,” she muttered. It was easy to tell
where I’d inherited my stubbornness. She heaved herself up, her
back bent, her knees shaking.

“Everyone needs help every once in a
while—even us Goodwins,” I said, extending my arm. “You taught me
that.”

“Yes, but I also taught you the importance
of independence, and right now I need to know I still have that.”
She made her way for the side door from the detached garage. I
followed behind her a couple of steps, worried that she might fall.
Inside, I charged for the bathroom as she lumbered into the kitchen
for a glass of water.

With the weight of stress, I hadn’t peed the
entire time at the hospital, and now my bladder threatened to
explode if I waited any longer. Examining the car ride and our
conversation, I decided to apologize for shrugging off her advice
the way I did. It was rude and disrespectful, as she had only
wanted to share her life experience and impart the gift of wisdom.
We didn’t argue like that; it just wasn’t us.

I turned the corner into the kitchen with
the apology on the tip of my tongue ready to be fired, when I found
her on the floor, the glass cup shattered, water pooling near her
outstretched arms. “Mom?” I cried out, rushing to her side,
forgetting the shards. “Mom?”

Panic quickly struck. I fought through it
and pulled out my phone, calling 911. The woman on the end gave me
instructions to place her in the recovery position, so that her
airway remained open. Waiting for the ambulance, I showered her
with tears, begging for her to wake up. I swept away the glass, and
cleaned her hand and arm, barely able to breathe.

By the time the ambulance arrived, her chest
had stopped rising. The EMTs tried to revive her in the back as
they sped for the hospital, but they forced me to ride up
front.

They pronounced her dead when we pulled in
front of the emergency room doors. The world shrank, sounds dulled,
and every part of me went numb. Then it all went black.

MY EYES FELT LIKE BRICKS
weighed them down. I opened them slowly, squinting into a soft
yellow glow. Donny sat in a chair, his head slumped back and to the
left, asleep against the wall. Even with cloudy vision, I could see
his puffy, red-rimmed eyes. “Don—” I rasped. A fit of coughing
broke out as I tried to talk.

He woke instantly, his eyes half-open and
groggy. “You’re awake,” he said, smiling. “You remember what
happened?”

I shook my head. He handed me a small paper
cup of water.

“You fainted. You were out for a couple of
minutes. I got here as soon as I could. Do you remember that?
Remember talking to me?”

“No,” I answered.

He got up and squeezed my hand in his strong
grip. “You were feeling dizzy, so they admitted you, and you fell
asleep not long after that. They told me you might not remember
what happened for a few hours.”

As I gazed at his exhausted face, the reason
for his tears hit me. “Mom died, didn’t she?”

He inhaled a deep breath and nodded. “Yeah,”
he croaked. “Doctors say she had a stroke near her brain stem,
which I guess affected her breathing, and her lungs couldn’t remove
the carbon from her blood. They called it acute—acute something
failure. I can’t recall it right now . . .” He was
holding back a lake of tears as he talked with a lump in his
throat.

“I dreamed about it,” I said after a few
minutes, letting the tears flow, as I looked up at him. “I dreamed
I saw her on the kitchen floor . . . I can’t
believe it was real.” My voice trembled. “How could it be real? She
was only 58?”

“They told me, but I don’t remember now.
Something to do with one of her blood vessels rupturing.” He fought
a sputtering spell to get the words out. He blew his nose, but it
quickly clogged again. He shook his head. “I don’t know.” After a
long pause of silent weeping, he said, “I want you to come stay
with us tonight. I’m not going to argue with you about it either.
I’ll go let the nurse know you’re awake.”

I made no attempt to defy him, glad to have
him at my side.

I STOOD IN FRONT
of the
casket, my hair swaying in the warm, gentle breeze. The sun beat
down on my face as the Tuesday afternoon warmed up from an overcast
morning. Donny and his family mourned at my right, Danielle at my
left. Other friends and family members were gathered around as we
put flowers atop the thick oak coffin. My mom’s plot lay beside my
dad’s. Nana and Pop Pop—my mom’s parents—were only a few plots
away.

Both my brother and I gave eulogies at the
church. I endured through the speech, even though my voice locked
up more than once. Only her pastor spoke at the cemetery though. I
buried my eyes into Danielle’s shoulder as the funeral ended.

Distant relatives I’d only met once or twice
came up to me and gave their condolences; I barely recognized their
faces. A bunch of staff members from the middle school where she
worked paid their respects. Old friends attended—people I’d only
heard about through childhood stories.

In the distance, through the sea of faces, I
recognized one I never thought I’d see again and my face lit up for
an instant. Vince laid a bouquet of vibrant mums, lilies, and roses
down by a dozen others. When I first saw him, my stomach knotted
and twisted, but then my mother’s voice entered my head.
He’s a
keeper
. My feet carried me toward him, my mind unsure about the
idea.

But before I could reach him, Donny grabbed
my arm and stopped me. “We need to talk.” He pulled me away from
the crowd. “I wanted to talk about mom’s will.”

“Mom’s will, really? We’re at her funeral,
Donny. Don’t you think it can wait? And since when have you cared
about money and inheritance?”

“Since I talked it over with Evelyn, and
even though we’re supposed to split everything, we decided that you
should take all the money from selling the house.” That came as a
shock. He had two kids to support and a business to run. “We want
you to start up your business again. We want to see Friends Bakery
and Brunch House alive and thriving.” He put up his hands before my
tongue could react. “Look, I know the case against the inspector
isn’t going to end any time soon, and I know you are going through
some hard times—with Vince, the fire, and Danielle moving out. We
want this for you, Maci. You deserve it.”

Tears had never really left my eyes, but
they began streaming once more, a horrible mix of emotion
overwhelming me. It was a terrible price to pay for my dreams to
live on, and I would gladly sacrifice those dreams for ten more
minutes with my mother, but Donny’s sentiment wasn’t lost on me. I
hugged my big brother with all the strength I had.

“It’s what mom would’ve wanted, Maci,” he
said, as if he knew what I was about to say, the words of rejection
on the verge of slipping out. He made me choke them back down. “We
can talk about it more later. I just wanted to tell you that we
made that decision.” He hugged me again, and then returned to the
crowd.

Donny’s news didn’t make me any happier. No,
it was devoured by despair, tainted by the way in which the money
would come. I sat alone on a bench in front of a random tombstone:
I couldn’t read it as the tears blurred my surroundings.

By the time I remembered Vince and my
mission to reach him, the sun had sunk a bit, and people were
heading off to my mother’s church for the post-funeral reception. I
surveyed the cemetery and found no trace of Vince. He was gone, and
the words that had once risen into my mouth, I now swallowed and
hid in the back of my mind.

Despite the warmth on my skin, a deep cold
settled inside me, and chilled me like a winter night. My nose
failed to take in all the scents the flowers provided, that sense
now deadened. The whole world dulled. Listless, my head slumped
into my hands.

The wood creaked and my weight shifted as
someone sat beside me. “Nora was like a second mother to me,”
Danielle said, her words thick with grief. She wrapped an arm
around me. “She was always there when you needed her.” She let out
a heavy breath filled with pain. “You know what she said to me when
I came out?” She didn’t wait for a response. “She said, ‘Danielle,
don’t you ever be afraid to be yourself. I love you like you’re one
of my own, and I will always love you no matter what.’ She gave me
the support and confidence to come out to my
parents . . .” Her voice died after that, her words
already hard to hear as she battled the onslaught of tears.