The Face In The Mirror (10 page)

When I hung up, Mitchell was pulling into Two Wrong Fools. He put the
truck in park and did a drum-roll on the steering wheel with his fingers. I
turned in the seat to look at him.

“And the Academy Award for best actress goes to…”
“Bite me,” I said, sarcastically, cutting him off.
“It would be my pleasure! Where?” he grinned, taunting me. “The menu’s

in the glove compartment, what would you like?”
“Same as last time, let’s see how good you are at remembering,” I said in a
smart-ass way.
When he returned to the truck ten minutes later, he handed me the bag,
and in his own smart-ass tone said, “A number six, number eight with shrimp,
and with ‘six you get egg roll’.”

After everything was unloaded, I went to the kitchen to put things away,
and grabbed bowls for our dinner. Presentation had always been important to
me, and eating out of a box was not my thing. A nice plate made a meal look
more appetizing. Even a Lean Cuisine looked better on a plate than in the black
plastic tray it came in, and don’t get me started about chopsticks. I want a
spoon so I get every last bite! Mitchell snuck up behind me, pushed my shirt
aside and bit down on my shoulder.

“Ouch!”
“Fulfilling your wish,” he laughed.
“Nice.”
“Would you rather I…”
“Not now!” I shrieked.
“Oh, good! Later!” he shouted, clapping his hands like a child.

Later, Mitchell was watching TV and I roamed around the condo. I had the
list of things I wanted to accomplish, but something was tugging me toward my
mom’s room. Maybe it was the wedding picture, wondering where she’d had it
tucked away. I wasn’t sure. I just knew my heart was telling me to go in there.

I gingerly pushed the door open. It looked just as it had the last time I’d
been in there. I walked to the dresser and found her perfume bottles on their
pretty crystal tray. Some were fancy, and some were her favorites. I only knew
that I couldn’t imagine doing anything with them. They were pieces of her. I
picked up her favorite, Clinique’s Aromatics Elixir, and sprayed a light mist.

The furniture was new. She’d sold the furniture she’d shared with my dad.
“Too many memories,” she’d said. It was beautiful, but I didn’t want to look at
it. I opened some drawers; not ready to go through them, just curious. There
were pictures on the dresser and chest of drawers of me through the years, but
I noticed few of Derek.
She was mad at him
, I thought.

There was a picture of Mom, Granny and I, and I picked it up and went to
the chaise in the corner. Draped over the end was one of Granny’s crocheted
afghans. I curled up and covered myself with it. It wasn’t cold, but comfort
warmed me. I smelled my mom, felt my granny, and looked at the picture I’d
picked up of the three of us. I closed my eyes trying to remember.

I felt Mitchell sit down on the chaise and opened my eyes. “I couldn’t find
you,” he said.
“I guess I just needed a few minutes alone with my mom.”
“You OK?”
“I am, I just miss her. How long have I been here?”
“Maybe twenty minutes. I came in just in time to wipe the drool from your
chin,” he said with a smile.
I started to get up, but Mitchell took the picture and put it aside, then
scooted down beside me, wrapping me in his arms.
The next thing I knew, it was two in the morning. “Hey, wake up,” I said
softly, “You’re gonna have a stiff…”
“I already do,” he said in a sleepy voice.
“Neck! I was gonna say ‘neck’!” I giggled.
“I’m fine right here, if you are.” He cuddled closer and pulled the afghan
over both of us. Holding me in his arms, we drifted back to sleep.

It was barely light when I woke again. I slipped from Mitchell’s arms and
went to the kitchen. I had coffee brewing and my head in the fridge to get the
cream when I felt him behind me.
“Why’d you leave me alone in there?” he asked in a sleep-gravelly voice.
“You were sound asleep, and I needed five minutes to sort some things in

I stepped into his arms and he pulled me tight for a hug. “And how’d that
work out for you?” he whispered in my ear.
“I’m not sure,” I replied.
“When you’re ready to talk, I’ll listen. What’s on the agenda today?” he
asked.
“Back to the dang office. How ‘bout an omelet?”

It was overcast and breezy so we opened the place up to let some fresh air
in. Why is the sound and smell of the ocean so calming? I thought my mom
had chosen well with this place. The view of the beautiful sunrise every
morning would have been a plus to me. I hoped she had found some kind of
peace in the short time she was here.

I needed a break from the office so we went through the closet and dresser
in the spare room. “I need to sort through all of these clothes. I don’t want to,
but I think I should go to the closet in her room and get started on that, too. I
don’t want to,” I repeated. “But I feel like I need to get this over with. I’ll call a
consignment shop this week – none of her things will fit Midge or me. Capital
for Convenient Cuisine, right? My mom’s investment in my future.”

I opened the door and I could feel her. All of a sudden hundreds of
memories of her flashed through my mind. It was beautiful, but it was sad, too.
I just needed to get busy so I wouldn’t dwell on the sad part.

Mitchell sat on the chaise, folding the clothes I’d separated to donate,
putting them in bags while I sorted the rest to take somewhere to consign.
When we finished with the clothing, I dumped her purses, handbags, and
clutches on the floor.

“She was bad at tucking money in a purse and forgetting it. Check every
pocket, crevice, and zipper!” I said with a smile. We were both amused after
we’d gone through all of them, finding a total of two hundred and fifty-six
dollars that she’d forgotten about stashed in the bags.

“You should put this away for the business, too” Mitchell said after he’d
counted it.
“Or maybe I’ll take you on a
special
date,” I looked at him with a flirtatious
smile, and felt my cheeks redden. I. Am. Not. A. Flirt!
“Renie, you can take me out for Chicken McNuggets at McDonald’s and
that would be the most special date ever, because you planned it and wanted to
share it with me.”
He sat quietly, finally patting the place beside him on the chaise. I sat
beside him and he put the shirt he was folding aside.
“I’m trying to keep us at a manageable pace, but I’m having a hard time. I
feel myself wanting to make up for all that we’ve missed together. I don’t want
to rush anything, but I feel my heart pulling me closer.”
“I feel it, too,” I said as I curled into his arms.
“I’m ready for us to spend more time together,” he said, and I held my
breath.
“What do you mean?” I asked nervously.
“When we head back, we’ll stop and pick up clothes and I’m staying with
you.”
“I’ve been hoping that you would…”

For the next two weeks we spent the nights together at my house. Mitchell
would go to his house after work. He’d shower and be waiting at my house
when I arrived home. We both worked hard trying to create a routine that
worked with our schedules. It was nice, became very comfortable, and I looked
forward to each new day.

I loved the time we spent together. Renie was allowing me further in each
day. I tried to hesitate, but I just wanted to mend what was broken and move
forward.

When I thought about it, going to the condo with her to help made me
happy. In my mind, it was as though Mona wanted us to do this. The condo
became a refuge for us and we couldn’t wait to go.

I know that Renie found it more peaceful each time we went. We swam,
went for walks and we talked about our dreams. She didn’t talk about ‘our’
future; she talked about ‘the’ future, but she always included, ‘we,’ and ‘us,’
when she did. And nothing on earth could make me happier that those two
words.

We returned to the beach the first week in August with a huge agenda. I
called for pizza on the way and when we arrived at the condo we settled in for
another weekend – together.

As we ate, I went over the to-do list with Mitchell.
“I need to tackle a bigger chunk of this, this weekend. I’ve not been here
enough and I can’t see the end right now. More pleasant distractions have
captured my attention,” I said, and Mitchell looked pleased.

“That office overwhelms me every time I think about it. There are still
drawers to go through and paperwork that needs to be sorted, yet. I saw more
boxes that had yet to be unpacked in the closet.”

We went through more paperwork, continuing Mitchell’s ‘Enron party’. I
wouldn’t tell him, but I find him thinking he’s funny, far funnier than what he
says. It doesn’t matter much though. He was here. With me.

By noon we’d made a huge dent in what I needed to accomplish. Mitchell
ran four bags of trash and shredded paperwork to the dumpster. He joined me
for lunch on the patio. I missed the sunshine, but it was so pleasant that even
the overcast sky didn’t dampen my mood.

When we headed back to the office, Mitchell pulled some of the unpacked
boxes from the corner of the closet. He pulled the tape off, checking the
contents to see what needed our attention first.

“Hey, look at this,” he said and sat beside me on the floor. “It looks like a
journal. Your life in your mom’s words.”
He handed me the book and I opened the front cover.
Volume Two
was
inscribed inside. As I skimmed a few pages, I felt tears run down my cheeks.
My life in her handwriting, her loopy script, was so beautiful to me. I handed it
to Mitchell. “Read it out loud,” I told him as I wiped my eyes.

I looked up and saw you, all pretty in your Easter dress… hanging from a
tree branch, shoes off and only one sock on!
“Renee,” I yelled, “get down from there, the boys can see your panties!”
“They’re clean ones,” you yelled back, and I almost wet my own laughing.

“I can see it,” he chuckled, after he’d read the brief entry.
“I don’t remember that.” Suddenly, I had a realization. “Mitchell, I’ve
never seen this book. If this is Volume Two, there has to be a Volume One,
maybe more!” I said, springing to my feet to rummage through the remaining
contents of the box.
We found a ‘five’ and ‘six’ and Mitchell pulled another box from the closet.
It no longer mattered what else we needed to do. We were on a mission to find
the other journals. I had to find all of them. Once we’d gone through all the
boxes, we found a total of six volumes.
“Listen to me a minute,” Mitchell said. “I stacked them in order and
peeked inside the last one to make sure we didn’t need to look further. Volume
Six ends about four years ago. It’s probably not the last one.”
“The drawer in the table by her bed!” I said and quickly turned to leave the
room.
He reached for my hand to stop me. “Let me, Renie.”
I followed him to her bedroom, my heart racing in anticipation. He went to
the table where he’d found our picture and slid the drawer open. There it was.
He removed it and went to the last entry. “This is the last one.”
“How do you know?” I asked.
“Because the date of the last entry is the day she died. I didn’t read it, I just
saw the date.”
He handed it to me and I sat on the edge of the bed caressing the leather
cover, bringing it to my heart. I felt her presence, sensing her smell all around
me like a soft cloud.
“Mitchell,” I said, and burst into tears.
“Renie,” he said softly, wrapping me in a hug. “Will you entertain an idea I
have? I know you’re going to want to read them.”
I nodded, enthusiastically.
“Let’s make a rule. You start with Volume One and read them in order, no
peeking ahead. It’s like a movie or a good book - if you know the end,
somehow the middle gets lost. She was passionate enough about this to write
seven books worth of her thoughts and memories of you. I think you owe it to
her to start at the beginning.”
“We, Mitchell,” I said. “
We
will read them. Together. I don’t think I can do
it without you.”
“Renee Donovan, I believe those are the most romantic, special words
you’ve ever said to me…”

We carried the books to the living room and stacked them on the coffee
table. I glanced out the patio doors to notice a black cloud looming over the
ocean, matching my emotions.

“Looks like a big rain’s coming,” Mitchell said. “I’m guessing you want to
start reading, right?”
“There’s so much to do.” I hesitated. “But yes, I want to read.”
“How ‘bout we take turns reading out loud?” he suggested.
“I’d like that,” I answered.
We curled up on the sofa with Volume One and I began to read.

When the nurse handed you to me, I cried. I thought there couldn’t have
been a more perfect baby, or feeling, in the whole world. Your sweet little
rosebud lips, already pursed in a kiss. The feel of you, soft and warm. The soft
reddish-blonde tuft of hair… the feelings were more than I ever dreamed
possible, and I fell in love with you instantly. I held you for hours. I never
wanted to let you go.

Your father wanted to name you Rowena, but as soon as I saw, you, I saw
‘Renee’. As I murmured the name aloud, it felt soft and feminine as it passed
my lips. He couldn’t sway me. It had to be Renee, and almost as soon as I
said the word, your sweet Granny said ‘Renie’. Renee Ella Ridgeway…

I read a while longer, then looked up at the clock. “It’s five-o’clock
somewhere!”
“Wine, beer or something green?”
“Green?” I giggled as I asked.
“Well, I know it’s your favorite color so I picked up stuff for margaritas
before I came to pick you up. I found the blender when I was putting stuff
away the last visit.”
I don’t know what made me think of it, but suddenly I was singing
‘tequila
makes her clothes fall off…’
“Double shots it is!” Mitchell shouted.
When he returned, I continued reading. The first part of Volume One
appeared to be all the ‘firsts’ – first steps, words, and such.