The Face In The Mirror

T h e
F a ce
in
th e
M irror
is a work of fiction. Any names, characters,
places, and occurrences are purely a product of my creativity, or they’re used in
a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, locales,
companies, businesses, or events are coincidental.

No part of this book shall be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any
means, without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief
quotations represented in articles of review.

Feel Like Makin’ Love – Oct 2013
(Book 3 of the Rock and Roll Trilogy)
When I Look to the Sky – April 2013

(Book 2 of the Rock and Roll Trilogy)
Whose Bed Have Your Boots Been Under - December 2012
Rock and Roll Never Forgets - August 2012

I sat in a pew in the front row of the chapel saying my prayers, dreading the
encounters I knew were about to take place. I was alone; the funeral director
gave me time with her before the others began to arrive. I needed this time
alone with her. It would be the last time…

I sat there in the quiet and looked at the casket. A spray of lavender roses
lay atop the closed end, and the room was full of flowers. It was a sickening
smell - all those floral scents mixed together were about to make me gag. There
was low light in the room to cast a soft glow – I know they do that to make it
peaceful, but it didn’t bring me any kind of peace. I was a mess and I just
wanted to scream, ‘Will someone please turn the friggin’ lights on!’

I hadn’t been to the casket yet. I didn’t have the courage or the energy to go
there. The past four days were a blur and I just felt too numb to move.
Where is Midgey? I need her so I can get this over with.

I turned as I heard people begin to enter, knowing I could no longer stop
the inevitable.
Here goes
, and as I had the thought, I heard one of my mom’s
favorite things in my head. She loved the Beatles, and as I saw the girls I
worked with approaching, I heard the song in my head,
“I get by with a little help
from my friends…”

I really just wanted to go home, crawl in my bed and pull the covers over my
head and sleep – for days. I knew they meant well, they were there for me, so I
put a smile on my face to greet them and thank them for coming.

So much had taken place in the past year that I really wondered how much
more the Lord thought I was able to handle. I hear He doesn’t give us more
than we can, but enough already! I feel kinda numb.

My Granny Ella, on my mother’s side, whom I adored more than words
can express, went to bed one night last October, and never woke up. Poppa
Webster passed away when I was only a child, and Granny had been alone for
thirty years. But really, she was never alone for long - I was there with her every
chance I had, all of us were, but as we got older it was mostly just me. I learned
so much from her - lessons, memories… I would sleep with her and we would
talk and giggle half the night.

“Renie,” she would say - she never called me Renee, my given name “Don’t tell the others, but I love you the best because you share your heart with
me. The others only give me pieces of themselves and their time, but not you.
When you’re here with me, I get all of you, you’re never somewhere else - at
least it doesn’t seem that way.”

She was eighty-seven and they said she died in her sleep of “natural
causes.” I pray it was that way, no hurt, no pain, no suffering. I pray that she
just fell asleep, that her heart was just tired and she just didn’t wake up the next
morning. She’d never taken more than a Bayer aspirin, and the only time she’d
ever been to the hospital was to have her children.

The house had been paid off years ago, and she left it to the four of us
grandkids. The others didn’t want it, but I did. It held so much for me. I didn’t
have the money available to give my cousins their share, so we had it appraised,
and I refinanced it to give the others their share. I moved in right away, and I’d
been living there for six months. It was finally feeling like
my
home. I didn’t
want Granny ‘gone’; I just wanted it to feel like my home, too.

Two months after Granny passed, just after the holidays, my mom called
and asked me to meet her for lunch. I didn’t really want to. I had so much to
do that day, but she never asked, so I went. We planned to meet at Mazio’s, a
quaint, small Italian restaurant that she loved but my dad hated. I arrived and
the hostess led me to a booth in the back corner.

“Renee, you look gorgeous. Have you got a hot date after you leave me?”
she asked.
She always began our time together with a conversation about my dating
and the possibility of a man in my life.
“No, it’s just jeans and a blouse. Besides, been there, done that, not
interested in doing it again anytime soon,” I told her.
“It’s been a long time, love,” she replied.
“What’s up?” I asked, changing the subject. I looked around, wondering
why she chose a booth in the back. Something wasn’t right - I could feel it. The
waitress arrived to take our drink order and when my mom ordered a Bloody
Mary, it only fueled my curiosity.
“I’ll have the same.” After the waitress was gone, I asked her once more,
“What’s going on? You look like hell.” A closer look showed dark, tired circles
under sad eyes.
She looked up with what I knew was a fake smile and said, “How you talk
to your mother.”
“Look Mom, something’s up, so don’t pussy-foot around about it. I can
see all over your face, so spill it,” I said, attempting patience - but not so well.
She sat quietly for a moment. I knew her ways and I could see she was
trying to regroup. The waitress returned with our drinks and I told her we’d
order in a few minutes. Mom took the celery out of her drink and took a big
crunchy bite. I waited and finally, the tears spilled from the corners of her eyes.
“It’s your dad,” she began, but had a hard time finishing her sentence. I
had no idea what to say, what to ask, or what to wonder. My mind raced as I
waited.
“It’s not good,” she finally managed to say.
“Is he sick?” I asked, dreading the answer.
“I wish he was sick, Renee, it would be so much easier.” Her words
sounded more angry than sad now.
“What does that mean? Mom, will you please, please just tell me what the
heck is going on? You’re starting to scare me!”
“He’s gone.”
“Gone? Gone where?” I asked, my bewilderment growing to the point that
I wanted to scream,
‘WILL YOU PLEASE JUST TELL ME!"
“He moved out yesterday, moved in with Roxanne,” she said, and I saw
her bottom lip and then her chin begin to tremble.
“His secretary?” I asked louder than I should have.
“Administrative Assistant,” she corrected me, rolling her eyes in sarcasm,
and the tears came in a rush. “Yes,” she said brokenly.
“What the hell,” I muttered. “I’m in shock.”
“I thought I was, but I knew. Renee,” she cried hopelessly. “I knew, I just
never wanted to admit it. I suspected something, but I ignored it because I
thought if I didn’t acknowledge it, it wasn’t real.”
I reached for the cloth napkin at the place setting that we weren’t using and
unrolled it from the silverware to hand it to her to dry her eyes, blow her nose,
whatever she needed. I was struggling to fight back my own emotions.
“We haven’t slept together in years, Renee,” she blubbered. “He hasn’t
even touched me. I kept thinking he’d see me again; see what he was casting
aside. I fought for a long time, and then finally, I gave up. I knew that I was no
competition for what Roxanne was giving him. She’s young, vibrant, beautiful,
desirable, and it didn’t help that she was throwing herself at him. I was the ‘old
wife’. The one he’d been with so long that there was no excitement left, or so
he thought.”
“Mom, why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”
“Because then I would have
had
to acknowledge what I knew, and I wasn’t
ready. I kept hoping it would stop, just go away. But I guess youth and beauty
won.”
The waitress returned. “Two more and some bread sticks,” I said, unable
to imagine my stomach keeping much more than that down just now.
“Renee, there’s more.”
“Oh for cheeseandrice,” I said using one of my favorite Granny Ella’isms.
We all knew they were her versions of curse words, and they all ran together so
they sounded like something else. It was ‘cheeseandrice,’ not cheese and rice.
There were more, but this one the one most used. How I miss her…
“What more can there be?” I asked, wondering if I really
wanted
to know.
“Roxy - that’s what he calls her - Roxy, is pregnant.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I asked and started to laugh, but it wasn’t
silly, fun laughter; it was unbelievable, nervous, pissed-off-laughter.
“Language,” she said to me.
“Whatever,” I replied smartly. “You thought it, I said it. A baby? Let me
get this straight in my head real quick. So when this baby turns eighteen and
goes off to college, Daddy will be eighty-three. How old is Roxanne? Twentyeight, thirty tops?”
“Twenty-seven.”
“Gold-digger! Friggin’ gold-digger! Mom, I’m so angry! What was he
thinking? He’s a prominent figure here in Jacksonville, his name is on the TV
three or four times a week. He’s a deacon in the church for shit-sake!”
“I just keep thinking of the days ahead. Not their days - mine. Not only has
he cheated on his wife, leaving me disgraced, he’s leaving me for a younger
woman that he got pregnant. The humiliation…” she said in a soft voice that
trailed off into more tears. “He has shattered and devastated me…”
My parents were set; they had no financial worries. My dad was a cutthroat
business-law attorney. My mom practiced family law until migraines forced her
to retire two years ago.
“He’s giving me the house and a hefty lump-sum alimony payment if I
don’t bad mouth him, and don’t contest anything - just take the money and go
away quietly. He wants it quick so they can get married,” she said after an
eternity of silence. I could see the devastation all over her face. She looked
destroyed.
“What about you? What about the humiliation? How much cash is he
gonna fork over for that?” The bread arrived and I grabbed a piece, hoping it
would absorb the acid in my stomach that made me feel like I was going to
throw-up at any moment.
“I’m going to sell the house. I’ve already contacted a realtor and I’m going
to look at a condo on the beach, something smaller. I don’t need that big house
and to be honest, I have no desire to live there. I’ll be fine. I’m at the point
where I just don’t care anymore,” she said, but her face told a different story.
She was broken.
“Derek? Does Derek know?’
She didn’t say anything for a minute. “Derek came with boxes and the
rental truck to help him leave. He didn’t even look at me, just went through the
house with your dad packing his things. I had to leave, because I couldn’t watch
them.”
I closed my eyes, seeing Derek follow my dad around the house. Suddenly,
I realized that he’d done the same his entire life. I was pissed at him – pissed at
the weak, sorry–ass man he’d become. He’d turned his back on our mother. I
just couldn’t believe any of it, but the fact that my brother helped with this was
killing me inside. I couldn’t imagine what I was going to say to him when I saw
him next, or if I even wanted to see him - or my dad.
Finally, we ordered a bite to eat. We picked at our meals, mostly moving
the food around with our forks, but not really eating anything.

When I arrived home, I paced, trying to put my thoughts in order to make
some kind of sense of it all. At seven that evening, my phone rang. It was my
dad. I didn’t want to, but I decided to answer it and get it behind me, just get it
over with, but still unsure how I would react hearing his voice.

“Hey baby girl, it’s Daddy.” He didn’t give me a chance to say anything
before he rolled right into what he wanted to say.
“I know you know, and I’m sorry that things worked out like they did.
Your mother is a fine woman, but things happen.”
“Roxy makes me feel young, and the thought of another little one is
exciting. You’ll get over being angry, and your mother will be fine…”
But she wouldn’t.

Four months passed. My mom went through many emotional ups and
downs. The house sold quickly, and she paid cash for a beautiful condo at the
beach. I believed she was OK, beginning a new path. We talked everyday, and it
appeared that she was settling into her new place. She went to lunch with her
girlfriends, and at times she seemed relieved to be alone. But her best friend,
Midge, called one day and painted a much different picture.

I was at work, distracted, and I didn’t give the call the attention I should
have, but I listened.
“We talk almost everyday. I haven’t seen her in a week or so. I’ve been
crazy-busy at work, and that drive to the beach is longer than when she lived
here in town,” I laughed, but I noticed that Midge was more serious about this
conversation than I was. Suddenly, I was alarmed.
“Midge. What’s wrong?” I asked.
“I’m very worried about her, Renee. Her doctor prescribed anti-anxiety and
anti-depressant medications.”
“I know that,” I interrupted, anxiously.
“She’s been drinking, Renee. Too much.”
“Not a good combo,” I said. “I’ll call her.”
But when I finally had a chance, it was too late.

That night I didn’t get home from work until nine. I stayed late finishing
up a contract that was due in a few days. I’m a stickler for details and I wanted
to have a day to look it over before the deadline. I dialed my mom’s number
and it went to her voicemail. I didn’t leave a message. I knew I’d call back in a
little while.

At 9:40, as I was getting ready to call her again, there was a knock at my
door. When I peeked out the peephole I saw Midge with a police officer and
jerked the door open.

“What is it?” I shouted, not knowing what to think, or expect the response
to be.
Midge was crying inconsolably. “She’s gone, Renee,” she sobbed. “I
stopped by to check on her after I’d called several times this evening and she
didn’t answer. I have a key, so I went in and found her unresponsive… I called
911 but it was too late when they arrived.”
“What? What in the hell are you talking about? Gone?” I yelled. The police
officer ushered us inside.
“I’m very sorry for your loss, ma’am. They found an empty bottle of pills,
and an empty bottle of vodka in her bed.”
“No! She wouldn’t do that! Why didn’t she call me? Or you?” I wailed,
falling into Midge’s arms. “Why? Where is she?” I demanded.
“They pronounced her dead at the scene,” the officer said. “The coroner
had her taken to the morgue.”
“Midgey…” I cried.
And now, here I sit waiting, looking at the casket that holds my mom’s
lifeless body, while my family and friends come to pay their respects and
comfort me.
My friends from work approached and I was glad to see them. They sat
with me and visited before sharing the obligatory ‘sorry for your loss’
comments. I looked up and saw my dad and Roxanne as they entered. I hadn’t
seen him since the divorce was final.
He was a big man – solid. He stood 6’6’ and could still make his way
around a basketball court, although not as quickly as he used to. He fit that ‘tall
dark and handsome’ description and could pass for a Tom Selleck lookalike.
Roxanne, however, looked like a short, fat, wobbling weeble that would pop
any time. His audacity to bring her here shocked me. She sat in a chair toward
the back of the room, allowing my dad to come sit with me a moment.
He slipped his arm around my shoulder, easing me closer and whispered in
my ear, “I’m sorry, Renee.”
I couldn’t force words out of my mouth. I saw Midge approaching and
relief washed over me. “Yeah sure, Dad,” I said and rose from my seat. Folding
myself into Midge’s arms, I began to cry. I’d been waiting for her, before I
approached the casket.
“Wayne,” Midge snipped as she led me away.