The Milestone Tapes (26 page)

“Mia?” Ginny hesitated outside the door, tapping her knuckles against the panels of white washed wood.

“I’m up!” Mia pushed off the heavy winter weight comforter and dropped her feet on the thick rug beside her bed, stretching and rubbing her eyes.

“May I come in?” Ginny continued, unlike her. In the years since Mia had grown into a teenager, Ginny had respected her privacy in the morning.

“Um, sure.” Mia grabbed the robe draped over the foot of her bed, wrapping it around herself as she saw Ginny twist the knob.

“How you doing sweetness?” Ginny asked, crossing the distance to put her formidable arms around Mia’s thin frame.

“Good?” Mia melted into the hug without really trying, Ginny was so warm.

“You sure?” Ginny pulled back, keeping her hands on Mia’s upper arms, looking at her speculatively.

“Yeah. Is something wrong?” Mia’s voice pitched at the waves of concern rolling off Ginny, thick as smoke.

“Just wondering that’s all.” Ginny glanced over Mia’s shoulder to the wall calendar hung beside her desk. Mia followed her eyes pivoting slowly.

“Oh.” The realization settling over Mia like a heavy fog. Today. November 3rd, the once a year occasion for concern. “I forgot, not forgot, but didn’t know today was ... ” Mia let her voice trail off, sitting back on the edge of her bed with a heavy sigh.

Ginny sat beside her and gathered Mia in her arms again, drumming her hands over Mia’s back in comfort. “Wanna stay home today?”

“Dad wouldn’t like that,” Mia answered quickly, but the thought of staying nestled in her bed was tempting. Gabe had worked hard at creating a life for Mia that wasn’t defined by the death of her mother; he wanted her to have a good childhood, a normal childhood. He didn’t approve of Mia wallowing in misery, and the therapist she’d seen off and on since she was a little girl agreed.

Ginny waved her hands in the air, dismissing Mia’s reserve. “You worry about you, let me worry about him.”

“Okay ... ” Mia relented with a breathy sigh.

“All right, honey. You crawl back in bed or jump in the shower, whatever you want.” Ginny cupped Mia’s cheek fleetingly before standing up slowly, her joints protested with small groans.

“Ginny?” Mia asked, stopping her.

Ginny turned to look at Mia, tilting her head just slightly.

“Thanks,” Mia half smiled, crawling back beneath the shelter of her down comforter, letting her long dark waves wash the crisp pillowcase.

Ginny nodded once before softly shutting the door behind herself.

Jenna had died on a beautiful Fall day. She had held out through Halloween, and even rallied once more to help Mia dress as a princess before Sophia shuffled her out the door to Trick or Treat. She had lived just long enough. The day had been so unlike the average start to November in Port Angeles. The wind blew coolly against the house, but the sun was bleaching the land with a warm glow. Mia had been at her side, holding her hand when the final shaky breath finally released itself from her mother and she looked peaceful. Jenna’s features no longer pinched with pain, no longer crumbled and deflated. She looked relaxed, like she was sleeping deeply.

Mia could remember that with vivid clarity. The way the room had smelt ill, the way her mother looked waxy and faded laying on the fresh sheets with only slivers of light passing through the plantation shutters. She remembered the way her aunt had gathered her in her arms, holding her, rocking her, whispering promises and words of comfort. The way her father had crawled inward on himself. The way Ginny had tended to Mia, after Aunt Sophia had gone back to her home, only Ginny remained.

Mia remembered the funeral, the way the church had overflowed with friends of her mother’s and father’s, people she’d never met, never heard mentioned. She could still smell of flowers, death flowers; not the pretty ones that flourished in the small tended gardens around her home, but the ones that spilt over her mother’s lacquered casket, fluted blooms of white and deep purple. The glossy wood pews were hard and unrelenting beneath her, another pinch of discomfort. She could taste the butter cookies that overflowed from the silver platters dotted around the receiving room. Mia had greedily shoved them in her mouth when no one was looking, pressing the stale, pitted yellow cookies to the roof until they turned into a soggy mush of saliva and sugary dough, leaving her mouth feeling raw and coated. She could remember the strange rattling in her chest, and the way her whole body vibrated with soundless sobs as they lowered her mother into the ground under a shower of white roses. The way people would touch her shoulder in comfort or whisper their condolences; all the nameless, faceless people.

She remembered the blanket of blackness that had swallowed her father whole for months and months and the visceral fear she had had that he’d never surface.

But he had, and slowly their lives began to heal, their world began to spin again. And now, nine years later, she could hear her father’s soft voice reasoning the virtues of not wallowing to Ginny on the other side of her wall.

“She shouldn’t skip school, Ginny.”

“If she wants a day, she should take it. That’s all. It ain’t much, whatever she misses she can make up.”

“It’s not about what she’s missing, Ginny. It’s about her not ... giving in. It’s not good for her.”

“It’s one day, Gabe, and she’s sixteen. She hasn’t missed a single day of school all year.”

“Right, just make sure she gets her work done today, okay? Have her ask Sarah to bring her school work; she can’t afford to get behind. She’s going to be applying to colleges in the next couple of weeks. Her grades matter. I’ll be home late, I’m going to Seattle for a client meeting,” Gabe sighed in defeat. He should have known better; Ginny, with her reason, was a dangerous thing.

“Sure, sure, no problem, you know I’ll make sure that she gets taken care of what needs care.” Ginny’s voice retreated, probably back to the stove to finish Gabe’s breakfast.

A louder knock startled Mia from her bed. “Mia, honey, can I come in for a minute?”

“Sure dad.” Mia pulled herself up to a sitting position, gathering the end of the blanket to ball in her lap.

“You feeling all right, honey?” Gabe stood in the door frame, leaning heavily against the frame.

“Yeah, sure, just a mental health day.” Mia smiled weakly at him.

“Of course. Mental health.” Gabe nodded in agreement as if he understood entirely what she meant, but she knew he didn’t.

When Gabe had pulled himself out of the depths, he’d reentered life with purpose. He’d signed a contract with a new developer looking to make tract homes in the area, and worked designing the optional floor plans. He left every morning at nine and returned every night at five. He built a new routine and for a while it worked. When Mia turned twelve and ached for independence, he closed his private firm and took a job in Seattle with his old company.

“So ... ” Mia awkwardly pressed, wondering what he needed.

“I have something for you,” Gabe began. “Do you have a minute? I could go get it.”

“Yeah, sure.” Mia nodded.

“Why don’t you meet me in the kitchen? We can discuss this over breakfast,” Gabe offered before turning on the heel of his shoe to leave.

Mia wandered to her closet, pulled on a ratty old sweatshirt over her pajama bottoms and padded into the kitchen. Ginny was sliding a eggy mixture around the large cast iron skillet, sprinkling the top with chopped vegetables and finely shredded cheese. The aroma wafted at Mia, making her stomach tighten with hunger.

“Hungry, honey?” Ginny continued to cook. “There’s some biscuits and jam on the table, the scramble will be ready in a minute.” She gestured to the white bowl on the table; a blue and cream napkin lay at the bottom, nestling plump airy biscuits, still warm, and two small ramekins filled with blackberry jam and softened butter off to the side.

“Thanks.” Mia smiled and slid onto the dark wooden chair to wait, helping herself to a biscuit, smothering it in jam and butter. “This is really good,” Mia offered between healthy bites.

“Made the jam yesterday, blackberries to who wouldn’t have it in my freezer.” Ginny spooned the scramble onto a large platter and crossed the room to the table, setting it carefully down by Mia.

Mia took a small serving on her plate, nibbling carefully, it was delicious.

“Ginny?” Mia asked between bites

“Yes, hon?” Ginny lowered her cup mid sip.

“Do you know what this thing is, what my dad’s getting?” Mia asked, her fork spearing bits of pepper and onion.

Ginny lifted the hand thrown mug that Mia had made for her in fifth grade to lips, taking a small pull of the strong black coffee before continuing. “I could guess, maybe, but don’t know for sure.”

Gabe crossed the distance of the kitchen in just that moment, setting the carved box down beside Mia before taking his place at the table, heaping mounds of egg on his plate and smoothing his napkin across his lap, reaching for a biscuit.

“I remember this box!” Mia wiped her mouth, and reached for the box. Memory dawned on her, pulling her back to the day that Ginny had given it to her, her hope chest. She ran her fingers carefully across the carvings, appraising its beauty.

“Mom filled it with things that might be important to you. I figured now you’re old enough to take care of it—and follow her wishes,” Gabe explained, dousing his eggs with splatters of Tabasco sauce.

Lifting the intricate lid, Mia looked inside. Tapes, ten of them, just like the one she listened to every morning and a thin envelope addressed to Mia in her mother’s neat handwriting.

“I don’t understand ...” Mia trailed off, flipping through the contents carefully.

“Read the letter, it’s all there, honey.” Gabe gestured encouraging her between bites, forking his breakfast into his mouth.

“Okay.” Mia turned the thin white envelope over in her hands, wanting to bury her nose in the paper, to catch any scent her mother may have left behind when, once upon a time, she had touched this paper.

“Seriously, read the letter first, before you do anything else, okay? That’s the way she planned it,” Gabe continued, gesturing to the box and all its treasures.

“Got it.” Mia picked up her plate and carried it to the sink, turning on the faucet. She let rivers of water push the remains of her meal into the drain. “Dad?”

“Yes, honey?” Gabe pushed away from the table, the bottom of his chair scraping noisily against the polished hardwoods.

“Are you coming home for dinner?” Mia placed her plate in the dishwasher and leaned against the counter, waiting.

It was an uncomfortable thing between them, Gabe’s comings and goings, and Mia always thought it was ironic, that in a different world it would be the other way around, that Gabe would be the one asking the questions. After Jenna had died, Gabe had mourned the loss of his wife, his best friend, for years. Outwardly, he had the appearance of an older father carrying on with his life as expected. But inwardly, he was a broken man. Time had put him back together with what was left, but he was no more than a shadow of his former self.

“Mia ...” Gabe sighed with exhaustion at her question. This was nearly the same conversation they had every day, and Gabe couldn’t understand how it failed to root with Mia.

“I know, sorry.” Mia shuffled her feet, looking downwards. She knew Gabe had to work to keep them in their home, had to work to keep their lifestyle as comfortable as it was. But Mia, under it all, knew there was something more that kept him in Seattle long after the sun fell and Mia was in her bed.

“Why don’t you go read the letter, sweetness?” Ginny intercepted the conversation, holding the box out for Mia, an offering.

“Okay, thanks.” Mia shoved off the counter and wove her way around the island to the table.