The Milestone Tapes (22 page)

Jenna looked at Ginny, who was busying herself, placing the packaged items in the fridge.

“Ginny?” Jenna asked curiously.

“Just a place for you to keep things for Mia, for when she’s older.” the implication dripped from her cryptic message. A house for the tapes, a place for her hopes.

“Thank you, it’s perfect.” Jenna wandered over, wrapping Ginny up in a big hug, kissing her on the cheek. Ginny was a blessing of the best sort.

Ginny waved her away. “It’s nothing. Just came across it up at the Neah Bay reservation, and thought you’d get some use out of it.”

“It was very thoughtful of you, and you know I will.” she pulled Ginny in again, and this time Ginny hugged her back.

“Ginny?” Mia interrupted.

“Yes, baby girl?” Ginny asked over Jenna’s shoulder.

“What time does the movie start?” Mia asked, still stroking the wooden box, running a curious finger over the swimming fish.

“The theater doesn’t open till ‘round three, honey. But, if you’re up for it, I’ve got some apple trees in my yard gettin’ ready to drop fruit. We could go pick some and make a pie?” Ginny winked at Jenna, knowing the promise would enchant Mia.

“Really?” Mia asked. “Can I eat the whole thing by myself?”

Ginny’s laughter filled the vast kitchen, bouncing off the walls. “Think you can?”

“Yes, ma’am!” Mia flashed a toothy grin, running to gather her shoes and coat by the front door.

“Ginny, please don’t let her eat the whole thing,” Jenna pleaded, imagining the tummy ache that accompanied the gluttony.

“Jenna, really, that girl couldn’t eat the whole pie no matter what I said,” Ginny laughed, and patted Jenna’s shoulder lightly as she passed by.

“Oh, wait!” Jenna called after them, an afterthought. She hurried to the entryway, unsnapping her wallet, pulling out a handful of bills. “This should cover everything.” She smiled, handing the money to Ginny.

“Thanks,” Ginny replied, slipping the bills into her coat pocket.

“Bye, Mia, love you!” Jenna called from the open door, balancing against the frame as Mia sprinted towards the passenger side of Ginny’s truck.

“Love you more, Momma!” Mia called back, throwing her a quick kiss before climbing into the cab. Ginny waved and slipped into the truck, off to start their adventure.

Jenna watched as the truck rumbled out of the driveway, waving until they were long gone from sight. Turning away, she quietly closed the door, locking it behind herself.

There was no more putting off the inevitable. No lingering false hope. No reason to not start now, aside from the fact that she didn’t want to. But that small fact wasn’t enough to stop her; its feeble threads didn’t convince her to wait a moment longer.

Jenna gathered the box Ginny had brought in her arms, turning off the lights in the kitchen as she made her way down the hall to her office. She thought of Mia’s wonder over the box, the excitement of knowing that it was a mother’s, her own mother’s, responsibility to fill that chest with her hopes for her child, her baby, her Mia. Jenna lingered on her greatest hope of all, that when the time came for the box to find its way back to Mia, her wonder would hold.

Jenna snapped the blinds closed. The room darkened and depressed, a small Tiffany lamp glowed from the corner of her desk, a beacon. It reminded Jenna of her first three years here, in this home, in Port Angeles. She remembered sitting here, the small sliver of light casting a glow over her workspace, a baby monitor resting beside it. She would write, create perfect worlds, knowing the whole while that her life was better than any book she’d ever written. She remembered the way she would press the monitor to her ear, listening to Mia’s hushed, dreamy breath on the other end and the way that inspired her to work harder, secure her future.

She pulled the slim tape recorder from the desk drawer. The man at the office supply store had promised this was the latest and greatest model. She popped the deck over and slipped the little cassette inside.

Jenna willed her fingers with much determination to press the record button. She couldn’t allow herself to think about how silly she felt speaking these paramount words to only herself and a small tape recorder in the dark of her office, years and years before they’d even harbor an inkling of truth. Or how heartbreaking it felt to know that eventually she would be finished recording and the silence left behind would speak volumes itself.

She had no notes, no frame of reference really, and no way of knowing exactly what her daughter would need to hear when she finally, in time, came about pressing play. All she had was a list, a list of milestones and a corresponding blank tape for each.

The fear and utter sadness of that enveloped her like a inferno, burning her, buckling her heart and breaking her in a million ways that would remain unseen as so many of her other breaks did. She would never really know if she got it right, of course. She’d never know. And, if she were being honest now, hadn’t that realization been the driving force behind the recordings to begin with?

Hadn’t that knowledge pinged her so many months ago, while the quiet of the morning and darkness of her home gave the illusion of peace and rightness and did nothing more than make her think? Hadn’t that understanding set in motion the pit stop?

But even more than that, wasn’t the unknown what she’d been fighting all along? Trying to somehow rally against what the doctors told her was inevitable, trying to be the exception and not the rule? Jenna knew that she did fight hard, every moment with umpteen doctors, every drug, every needle or pill or hope. The fighting had never been the problem, it was simply what she was fighting against, that thing, so bound and determined to win, so ugly, growing over her heart.

She was left with the unknown. All the things that couldn’t possibly be known. It was no longer a question of science, medicine and time; now it was a matter of fate, faith and the natural unfolding of things. Jenna had resolved that, although everything now about life after would be unknown, she would plan and prepare and hedge her bets like a mother would. She would bet on her daughter, and leave behind her voice.

She knew her little girl now. She knew the determined expression that would cross her face when they worked together side by side rolling out dough in the expansive kitchen she had designed for family time and togetherness. She knew the jubilant smile that would never fail Mia’s face when she huddled over her English homework, letting her unique brand of creativity roll off her in waves, limited only by what she could spell at seven years old. She knew the telltale face of a fib or half-truth, Mia’s mouth dropping open just enough as she tried not to smile and tried harder to convey honesty. She knew the way Mia’s lips would tremble as she departed the bus when the kids had been less than kind, running for the security of home and the comfort of her Mom, running to the place that would nurture and welcome her budding individualism rather than shy away from it.

Jenna knew Mia better than herself in every single way possible; she was her mother. From the very beginning, her baby girl had been the epitome of a miracle in Jenna’s eyes and remained steadfast in that role forever after. Mia was Jenna’s sole reason for the death match that spanned out behind them, defining holidays and birthdays, along every other ordinary day. Mia was reason and logic, hope and heartbreak, she was her dream personified. The prose of that would have made Jenna laugh, had the thoughts and feeling ambushed her in a normal life. But in her life, their life as a family with their singular child, the emotional wrought was highlighted, it hung from their only child. Jenna knew she could never, even if words flooded her, speak enough of her baby.

But who would Mia be when these tapes became relevant?

Suddenly the unknown crept in again, playing around, twisting two, five or a million different landscapes. Landscapes Jenna, physically, would be absent for. Would Mia be analytical and thoughtful, living a life of logic and reason, a breathing echo of her father? Would her love of words bloom into a love of numbers? Or would she hold fast, stay to true to her dreamy and creative nature, more like Jenna?

Would some of these tapes be left unheard in their little plastic casings because they didn’t pertain to Mia? And if they didn’t pertain, why not? But, if they did and Jenna failed to push the worry and what if aside, then what? What if Mia carried the responsibility, all the joys and all the burdens of life alone? The stark thought of that was enough to cripple Jenna.

And it was then, with the scenes of cobbler dough atop flour-covered counters, piles of homework, tears and laughter spinning webs in her head, she pushed her finger down on the record button and began ...

“Mia … I love you.”

~ * * * ~

Placing the final tape in the hope chest, Jenna turned off the lamp, allowing her head to loll back. She was emotionally exhausted. She had climbed all the landmarks of motherhood in the short expanse of one afternoon. She wiped the tears that slipped onto her cheeks away with the back of her hand; she had tried to hard not to cry when she was recording and, at times, failed miserably.

The clock on the wall let her know that Mia would be home soon, the day had slipped into evening. She should go make dinner, she should go turn on the lights, she should do a lot of things, but her body refused to move. She wanted to rest for a while longer. It was a surreal thing, to travel to the future, to a different time where different things were important, to have conversations with her child about parenting, love, sex, marriage, heartbreak, college and then watch that same child come bouncing through the door, a tiny seven year old with slick, buttery fingers and sugar coursing through her veins. She wasn’t sure how to reconcile the two realities into the run of only a few hours.

Headlights cut across the slats of the plantation blinds. Jenna logically willed herself to move, but still she couldn’t. She closed her eyes, willing away any interruption; she wanted to just be for awhile longer.

“Jenna? Jenna, are you here?” Gabe’s voice boomed through the home, his lightly frenzied tone stirred her.

“The office, Gabe,” Jenna called back. She felt embedded to her chair.

“Honey?” Gabe cracked the door open, light pooled through the as he leaned in. “Why are you sitting here, in the dark. Where’s Mia?” The questions felt raw, and Jenna scrambled looking for the right answers.

“Mia is still with Ginny. They went to the movies,” Jenna addressed. “I was working.”

“In the dark?” Gabe opened the door wider, appraising his wife.

“It just got dark. I had the light on.”

“Are you tired? You sound tired,” worry folded into his tone as he crossed the carpet to her.

“Very,” Jenna agreed heavily, her eyes slid closed.

“You should go to bed, honey,” Gabe offered his hand to Jenna.

“Mia will be home soon. I need to fix dinner.”

“I can do the Mia shift tonight. Go to bed, sleep.”

“Are you sure? You worked all day.”

“Very sure. You’re done for the day, I can tell.”

“She’s going to be sugared up, this is your fair warning, she made apple pie and went to the movies. You’re entering stomachache territory. It could be a very long night,” Jenna warned him seriously.

“Not my first time, I can manage. Get some sleep.” Gabe pulled on Jenna’s arm, towing her from her chair. “Come on, let’s go.”

Jenna paused briefly, taking the box, now full and heavy with her hopes, from her desktop.

“What’s that?” Gabe asked, offering to carry to box for her.

“Mia’s hope chest, my hopes for her.” Jenna handed over the box to Gabe. “Please keep it for her, until after ... ” Jenna’s voice trailed off, realizing that this was it, the handing off process. She was officially giving the future to Gabe, but this was willingly and on her own terms. Her heart cinched around that.

Gabe pressed his lips to Jenna’s forehead, pulling her in close with his free arm. Jenna linked herself to Gabe’s waist, and in tandem, they began walking the short distance to the door. Jenna turned, looking back at the room she had loved so much, with its thick bookcases and plush carpet, refined woodwork, her desk, the room that allowed her to work in peace, to live her dream of being an author, and she closed the door knowing she’d probably never go back to that place, that room.

Sophia had flown into Port Angeles early that morning, she came when she got the call. Gabe, as he had promised, let her know when Jenna’s condition turned for the worse, that the time she had been promised was gone.

“I don’t understand,” Sophia murmured to Ginny, sitting at the kitchen table. “I just spoke to her two, three weeks ago, and she was fine, she was fine. What happened? How is this happening?” her voice pitched in protest.

“No one knows for sure, honey, no one knows.” Ginny’s tone was clipped as the hospice nurse walked into the kitchen, filling a cup with ice from the freezer before she turned quietly, leaving the ladies to resume their conversation. “That doctor from the hospital, she was here yesterday, said things like this. They just happen, sometimes fast, sometimes slow.”

Sophia’s head bowed under the weight of Ginny’s words. “Sometimes fast,” she repeated. “How’s Mia?” Sophia asked, looking at her niece, who was stumbling around the back yard, kicking at a small ball. Ginny had bundled her up against the cold autumn wind, laced her neck with a thick scarf and her fingers wrapped in wool mittens. Planters full of rusty mums dotted the patio and pumpkins of every size lay on the steps leading down towards the yard.