Stitches in Time (16 page)

I wasn't sure I agreed. Sometimes ignorance truly is bliss.

“Bye,” I said, then disconnected the call and walked back inside.

Since my mother clearly seemed to be in control of the conversation, I remained silent and sat down.

“O
kay,” she said, placing a fresh mug of coffee on the end table beside me. “So yes, it was Sylvia that I ran to. And I
was
running. But I want you to know, I was never running from you, Isabelle. I was running from myself.”

I took a sip of coffee and waited for her to continue.

“I should have been stronger, I should have stayed and sought help, I should have done a lot of things differently. But I didn't.”

“And Sylvia gave you the help you needed?” I asked.

“No. Nobody can give you that help. You have to want it and then it's a long, tough road back, but you have to do it yourself. Sylvia was the means to set me in the right direction. Within a few days of my arrival, she knew I had a major problem with alcohol. I didn't have to hide it anymore at her place and I guess that's when I hit my bottom. I felt like I'd lost everything. There was nothing more for me to lose. I won't go into the sordid details, but before the week was over she gave me an ultimatum—either I began attending AA meetings, got a sponsor and stayed sober, or I couldn't live with her.”

“As simple as that?” I said.

My mother laughed. “Right. Just that simple. Like the program says, easy does it. Except it's never easy. I did find a meeting, hated every minute I spent there, insisted to myself I didn't have a problem, could stop any time I wanted. All the usual excuses.”

“What happened?”

“After thirty days of sobriety, I began slowing down on the meetings. Thought I had it licked. I didn't need meetings and then I didn't need a sponsor. And within thirty more days, I was right back to square one.”

“Did Sylvia kick you out?”

She shook her head. “No. She stuck with me. Gave me another chance but said it was the final one. She said everybody deserves a second chance . . . but she refused to enable me. And beyond a second chance, she felt that's what she'd be doing.”

I remained silent, but I had a feeling my mother wanted that second chance with me and our relationship.

“And so?” I asked.

“I knew she meant it. Was it easy? Never. But I knew I only had two choices. To continue drinking or to go forward and build a new life for myself.”

“A life that didn't include me.”

She ignored my comment. “I checked myself into a rehab facility. I was there for ninety days and still pretty fragile when I was discharged. I wrote to you, and when you didn't answer, I assumed you just didn't want to bother with me. The few times that I called and your father put you on the phone, I could tell how angry you were. I felt maybe I should go easy and let you come to me if you wanted to. You have no idea how thrilled I was when you called to tell me I was a grandmother. I thought maybe things would improve between us then, but . . . that really didn't happen.” She took a sip of her coffee.

“If you had it to do over, would you do things differently?”

She paused a few moments before answering. “I'm honestly not sure, Isabelle. I know you consider it selfish, but I had to do what was best for me. Because if I wasn't right and in a good place, you wouldn't have been either. Had I stayed, I think my drinking would have continued and only gotten worse. I think that over time, I would have ended up damaging you. I'm not trying to justify what I did . . . but I know now, in my soul, that I left to protect myself and in doing so, I also protected you. Maybe I did do the right thing. You've turned out to be a daughter to be proud of. You're an excellent mother. And although I probably had nothing to do with any of that . . . I love you and couldn't be any prouder.”

The tears that had threatened earlier now stung my eyes and I swiped at them. I had nothing to say. My head felt like a computer on overload, exploding with too much information. I knew it was going to take a while for me to digest all that I'd been told this evening.

“Any more questions?” she asked.

I shook my head. “Not right now. No.”

She slapped the palm of her hand on her thigh and got up. “Okay, then. We're going out.”

“Out?” I looked at my watch and saw it was going on nine. “Where?”

“Get your jacket,” she said. “You'll see.”

On our way out the door she grabbed two scarves from the coatrack.

“Here, you might need this when we get where we're going.”

* * *

My mother drove toward A1A. It reminded me of childhood excursions with her. She'd suddenly announce, “Get a sweater, Isabelle. We're going out.” And she'd surprise me with a trip for ice cream or to the park, where I could play on the swings and slides. I remembered one rainy day when we ended up at the library. I was only about seven; that was the day I got my first library card. It was strange how over the years I hadn't recalled any of these fun events. Maybe that's what anger does: it blots out everything that was good and only allows you to focus on the negative.

My mother pulled into the parking lot at Andy Romano Park. We were going to the beach at night?

“Are you familiar with the sea turtles?” she asked.

I'd read in the newspaper and seen on television something about sea turtles nesting and dropping their eggs on the east coast beaches of Florida.

“Not really,” I said.

“Well, my sponsor in AA is a woman named Charlotte, and she's very involved in this program to protect the sea turtles. I've been to a few of their meetings and it's something I want to be a part of.”

My mother continued to surprise me. She'd been living in Ormond Beach less than two months and during that time she had managed to join a salsa dancing class, yoga, and now a program for sea turtles.

“I'd like you to meet Charlotte. She's here tonight doing her watch and if we're lucky, we'll see a mother turtle coming out of the ocean to make her nest. Come on.”

I got out of the car, wrapped the scarf around my neck, and felt the Atlantic wind on my face as I followed my mother to the sand. I saw a handful of people walking around; most of them seemed to be carrying a red light.

“There's Charlotte,” she said. I saw a woman raise her hand in greeting and walk toward us.

She gave my mother a hug and in a hushed tone said, “I'm so glad you could make it; this must be Isabelle.”

Silly, I know, but it made me feel good that my mother had told her about me and she knew who I was.

“Yes,” I said as I extended my hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Same here,” she said. “And I think you're in luck. You just might get to see a mama turtle make her nest here tonight.”

“What's with the red lights?” I asked.

“Sea turtles gravitate toward light, and light pollution from the beach area is a death sentence for them when the baby turtles hatch from their shells. They will automatically go toward the water because of the reflection of the night sky and moon, but if there are bright lights along the beach from houses and businesses, they get confused and wander onto A1A.”

“Oh, my gosh,” I said. “That's terrible.”

Charlotte nodded. “It is. A lot has been done the past few years to prevent this, but we have to keep our light to a minimum on the beach, so we carry special flashlights with a red light. This enables us to see the mother turtles and babies when they hatch, but it doesn't disorient them. Are you planning to stay awhile and patrol with us?”

I looked at my mother.

“It's up to Isabelle,” she said softly.

“Yes. Definitely.” I felt like I was about to embark on a unique experience.

And it was.

We joined the others walking the beach, staying quiet and keeping an eye on the ocean. Any conversation I heard was soft and limited. I had lost track of time as I walked beside my mother and allowed myself to absorb the night sky, the water, and the energy that surrounded me. My mind wandered to the information she had shared with me, and I felt like I was in a state of suspended animation—unsure whether to let go and move forward or to grip the hurt tighter and hold on.

I wasn't sure how long we had been walking the beach when my mother touched my arm and pointed as she increased her pace.

“I think we have a female coming to nest,” she whispered, and we both followed Charlotte, who was in the lead.

We joined the small semicircle of volunteers, our eyes glued to the huge sea turtle emerging from the water a short distance away. She made her way up the sand, leaving large tracks behind her that resembled those of a small truck. When she finally found what she thought was a good spot, she got to work. Using her front flippers, she began to dig out what my mother whispered was a body pit. I was intrigued with the amount of work that the preparation took. After some time she began using her hind flippers to dig.

My mother leaned toward my ear and whispered, “She's digging the egg cavity now to deposit her eggs,” and I nodded, totally captivated with what I was witnessing.

We then watched as she deposited her eggs and proceeded to work just as hard using her hind flippers to cover the nest with sand. The entire process lasted a few hours, but it was as if time stood still as I stood there entranced by all of it.

The female sea turtle then headed back to the shore and into the ocean while the other volunteers got to work putting poles into the ground, attaching survey tape and sectioning off the nest area for protection.

The three of us walked away from the area and I shook my head.

“That was utterly amazing,” I said. “When will the mother be back to take care of the eggs?”

“Oh, she won't,” Charlotte said. “Her job is finished. She drops the eggs and the hatchlings have to fend for themselves.”

I felt an ache in my heart. “Oh. She'll never come back to check on them?” I wasn't liking the end to this amazing process.

Charlotte shook her head. “No, but she will eventually come back to this exact beach to nest again. Studies show that it has to do with the magnetic field of the earth—that's how they always return to the same beach to nest.”

I nodded and mumbled, “Hmm,” as I realized there seemed to be a connection between the mother sea turtle and my own mother. No, she hadn't dumped me before I was born. And yes, she had been with me for fifteen years of my life. But like the mother sea turtle, when she left, she left me with the feeling she had never looked back—until now.

And like the sea turtle mother, my mother was now working at building a nest.

B
y the time I had arrived home it was after three, and I had fallen into bed fully dressed.

My alarm went off at six and I groaned as I reached over to silence it. The emotional impact of the night before washed over me. My first thought was to call Yarrow and fake a sickness, but then I remembered she was doing me a favor the following day by doing the deliveries herself so I could drive to Atlanta with Chadwick.

Forcing myself out of bed, I stripped out of my clothes and headed to the shower. I didn't bother to take the time to blow-dry or style my hair, and applying makeup was out of the question. I just wanted to fulfill my duty with the delivery of coffee and muffins and return to my cozy bed.

Yarrow looked up when I walked into the tea shop.

“Tough night?” she said.

“You could say that,” I told her, then grabbed the basket and headed out.

When I returned to the tea shop a few hours later to drop off the empty basket, Yarrow was busy with customers. I gave her a nod and walked across the garden to Koi House.

I must have gotten a second wind because I made myself a cup of tea and dialed Petra's number.

“Holy shit,” she said, after I related the events of the night before. “That was some night you had.”

“Yup, it was. In more ways than one. Did you know that my mother was an alcoholic? Had your mother ever said anything to you?”

“No. I had no idea, but you know . . . I do seem to remember there was a time shortly before your mother left that my mother was worried about her. She was backing out of lunches and plans they had made. But I don't think my mother considered she was drinking. She was concerned that maybe your mom was ill.”

I let out a sarcastic chuckle. “Hmm, well, I guess she was. Some people feel that alcoholism is a disease.”

“Wow, so she hasn't had liquor for all these years? You really have to give her credit.”

When I remained silent, Petra said, “How did the two of you leave everything? Any change in your relationship?”

“I honestly don't know. I just don't know what to think. I mean, sure, it's easy now for her to tell me her side of the story, but my father isn't here to debate it or tell a different version.”

There was a pause on the line before Petra said, “Isabelle, listen. I don't want to get you mad . . . and I know you adored your father . . . but did you ever think that maybe he told you what
he
wanted you to think?”

“Are you saying he lied to me?”

“No, that isn't what I'm saying. But many times we're told something because the person telling us truly thinks it's the truth and that's the way it happened. But don't forget . . . all of us have defense mechanisms. I think drinking was your mother's way of coping, but she told you she left to protect you. Maybe your father did the same thing. He wanted to shield you from your mother. Maybe he thought you'd be better off without her in your life.”

“But it wasn't up to
him
to make that decision.”

“Exactly,” Petra said, and I heard the sadness in her voice.

* * *

My mind had been racing all afternoon with thoughts of my parents, myself, and where I was headed. I'd spoken to Chadwick briefly, explained it had been a late night, and promised to give him all the details when he picked me up the next morning. Another thing I loved about him: he gave me room to breathe and didn't press me for answers.

I curled up on the sofa with a cup of tea and realized that my father had been the opposite of that. Especially with my mother. A kid doesn't pay much attention to those things, but as an adult they suddenly become clear. Looking back, I recalled that my mother could never seem to measure up to my father's standards. Whether it was her cooking, the way she looked, what she wore, what she said. And I now remembered snippets of unkind comments he would make to her. I couldn't help but wonder if that was why I tried extra hard—to avoid those barbs being directed at me. I also wondered if that was why I was drawn to Roger. He never intimidated me or demanded more than I was able to give.

I let out a deep sigh and suddenly came to understand that living in that type of environment—where no matter what you did or said, it was never good enough—must be a living hell. And while it was no excuse to leave your child behind, I was coming to understand the reasons behind my mother's behavior.

Thinking about this made me recall one of my psychology courses in college. I had read that all behavior has a reason. It doesn't always make sense or justify certain actions, but it does make one stop and at least try to figure out why a person acts or behaves the way they do.

* * *

I had skipped both breakfast and lunch and by five I was starved. I didn't feel like preparing a full dinner so I opted for canned soup and a grilled cheese sandwich. I had just finished eating when Haley called.

“Hey, sweetie, how's it going?” As soon as I said the words, a deep sense of loneliness came over me. My daughter had only been gone two days and already I missed her terribly.

“Really good,” she said, and I could hear the happiness in her voice. “Dad and I are having a great time and I adore Gordon. He's so funny and has a super sense of humor. We've been busy getting everything ready for the wedding Friday evening.”

I smiled. When Roger found out that Haley could come in April and stay a week during spring break, he and Gordon set about to plan their wedding while she was there.

“Oh, good. I bet you're enjoying that.”

“I am. I went with them to the park where the ceremony will take place, and it will be so nice. They've hired a company to have it all decorated and you should see the swanky hotel where the reception will be. The room overlooks a lake and it's going to be really cool.”

I smiled again at my daughter's happiness.

“Oh, and guess what? They said I could sit with them at the head table and I get to say something and toast them.”

“I'm impressed,” I said. “I know you'll do a good job. Is it a large group attending?”

“About a hundred people. I can't get over how many friends they have, and they've invited colleagues at the television studio. Somebody is going to film the ceremony and reception for them too.”

“All of it sounds wonderful. And you like their house?”

“I love it. Oh, and I almost forgot . . . they have a new kitten. Her name is Irma and I just adore her. She's so sweet and she's been sleeping with me since I got here.”

It was obvious that my daughter was in her glory.

I laughed again. “I'm so happy for all of you, Haley.”

“Oh, how'd it go last night with Nana? Is everything okay there?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it went okay. We had a long talk . . . and well . . . we'll see what happens.”

“Oh, good. Okay, I need to go. Dad and Gordon are taking me out for dinner. I'll give you a call in a couple days. Love you, Mom.”

“Love you too, and give my best to your dad and Gordon,” I said, before hanging up.

I cleaned up the kitchen, did a little bit of knitting, and by seven I could barely keep my eyes open. I definitely did not function well on only three hours of sleep. So I put on my jammies, grabbed the book I was reading, and headed to bed.

I was having a hard time focusing on the book because my mind kept wandering and I recalled my last dream about Emmalyn. She had said something about unraveling and going back. That sometimes we just had to take something apart and then start all over.

I couldn't help but apply this idea to my mother and me. I was smart enough to know that I couldn't go back. That I could never recapture those lost years with my mother. They were gone. Forever. But if I decided to start over with her—what would I have? Could we possibly build a decent mother-daughter relationship? Would she tire of living here and take off again? Would I be exposing myself to a possible repeat of hurt? All of it was a huge risk. I knew that. And I was pretty sure that was why I had no answers. Because I wasn't entirely sure it was worth taking that risk.