What She Left for Me (16 page)

“A raincoat would serve you better,” Stanley answered.

“Mercy, yes. A raincoat would have been divine.” Water dripped from Taffy’s face and outfit. Her hair, usually styled in soft curls, was drooping sadly in white-gray rings.

“What’s going on out here?” It was Eleanor and she looked none too pleased at the ruckus. Standing at the front door, she bore the expression of an irritated mother about to scold her children. “It sounds like you have a circus going on out here.”

“We were putting in a birdbath fountain,” Taffy offered soberly. Then she smiled. “But it turned into a birdbath hurricane instead.” Jana laughed at this. It was the first time she’d felt like laughing—really laughing—in some time.

“It’s more like a people bath,” Stanley said with an impish grin.

Taffy began laughing all over again at Stanley’s wit, which only served to make Stanley chuckle. Jana couldn’t help but be amused with the older couple, but her mother was clearly unhappy.

“This is ridiculous.” Eleanor came down the steps, careful to stay to the far side and avoid even a hint of mist from the malfunctioning fountain. She went to the faucet and turned off the water without a word. Straightening, she eyed Taffy and Stanley in complete disgust.

“Taffy, you must get inside and change out of those clothes. You’re drenched, and if you aren’t careful, you’ll come down with pneumonia.”

“Now, now, Eleanor, pneumonia isn’t caused by cold water,” Taffy said with a shake of her head. “I read in my ladies’ magazine that it’s either bacterial or viral, and that—”

“I don’t want to hear it!” Eleanor interrupted. “Stanley, go home. Go home and get dried off. Taffy needs to change too, but I’m sure she won’t do that so long as you are here. I honestly don’t know what’s wrong with either of you. You’re much too old to be messing around with putting together a birdbath. What if you’d gotten seriously injured?”

Stanley looked much like a forlorn child at the suggestion that their fun should end. Jana hated the way her mother was treating the two grown adults. It wasn’t right for her to belittle them and treat them with such a lack of dignity.

“Mother, they have a right to do what they choose. You act as though they have one foot in the grave already, when both of them show more spirit and enthusiasm for living than either you or me.”

“They may not have one foot in the grave,” Eleanor countered, “but neither are they children. Yet they insist on acting like children. Always giggling and teasing each other. You’d think we were witnessing some sort of junior high school crush rather than two octogenarian neighbors busy with a yard task.”

“You’re just jealous. No one has ever giggled and teased with you, so you don’t want anyone else to have fun. Honestly, Mother, you need to cool it.”

Eleanor’s expression hardened at this. Without another word she went into the house, surprising the trio in the yard.

“Well, I suppose I should get on home. I’ll be back tomorrow, and we can try to figure out what’s wrong,” Stanley said. “And while I think you look pretty good in wet clothes or dry, you’d best go change and warm up.”

“Oh, pshaw,” Taffy protested. “Eleanor worries about the silliest things. I’ll have a talk with her and calm her.”

Jana seriously doubted that a simple talk would take care of the matter. She’d seen the expression on her mother’s face; she had been truly offended by Jana’s comment.

“I’m the one who’d better talk with her,” Jana said, coming up the walkway. “It’s obvious she didn’t appreciate my taking your side in the matter.”

“I didn’t know sides needed to be chosen,” Taffy said, smiling. “We’re family. We’re all on the same side.”

“I seriously doubt that, Taffy,” Jana said, her heart suddenly feeling very heavy.

“Well, it probably is best that we wait to finish this. Maybe tomorrow you can help us, Jana.”

“I’d love to. I think it’s a very cute birdbath.” She gazed at the faux marble creation. “If I recall, Mother will be tied up most of the morning in one of her business meetings. That might be the perfect time.”

“Great,” Stanley said, finally having retrieved all of his tools. “I’ll be over after breakfast.”

Taffy blotted some of the water from her blouse and nodded. “Wonderful. I’m so excited about this. With Jana’s help, we’re sure to master the thing.”

Later that evening, Jana’s conscience would not let her be. Maybe it was the fact that she’d learned from the doctor that morning that her baby was due in mid-December that caused her nurturing emotions to run high. But whatever it was, she knew she had to try to make things right with her mother. Jana simply had too much anger in her life. Anger at Rob. Anger at Kerry. Anger at herself . . . and worse still, at God.

Jana sat on the porch and contemplated what she could do.
I can continue to be angry,
she thought.
It’s simple enough. I have justification to be angry.
Surely no one would say she had no right to be upset, given everything that had happened. But did having a right to something necessarily mean that it was a good thing to do?

She rocked back and forth, wishing for an easy answer.
I wish I could figure out why Mother is the way she is. I don’t understand why she lived with Aunt Taffy. I don’t understand what happened to my father and why I’ve never had any contact with him. And I especially don’t understand why she’s always put me at arm’s length.

“You appear to be quite reflective,” Taffy said as she stepped up from the walkway.

“I am, I suppose.” Jana wondered if Taffy might give her answers.

“Is your mother still making marmalade?”

“Last time I looked in on her. She hasn’t said a word to me, however. I wish I knew what I could do to make things better.” Jana shook her head. “Why did Mother come to live with you?”

Taffy considered the question for a moment. “That’s really Eleanor’s story to tell. I feel it would betray a trust to share it with you. However, I will say this much. Her life was far from ideal and many things went wrong. She was a deeply wounded person when she came to me.”

“So that’s her excuse for the attitude she puts off?”

“Mercy, child, isn’t that enough? We’re all dealing with the wounds we’ve been given. Some folks just don’t know how to let the wounds heal.”

“My psych prof in college would say it’s all about the baggage we’re carrying around.”

Taffy nodded. “I believe that’s true. Remember Dickens’s
A Christmas Carol
and old Mr. Scrooge? His friend Marley showed him the chains and weights he was dragging around—the burdens he’d made for himself in life. He warned Scrooge that he had an equally long and heavy chain when he passed away.”

“But Scrooge didn’t believe him.”

“No. He had to learn for himself in another way. Just as your mother must learn.”

“I wish I understood. I feel that if I knew the truth about the past, I wouldn’t be so . . . well . . . so lost.”

“You needn’t be lost anyway. What’s happened to your faith in God?” Taffy questioned.

It was Jana’s turn to stiffen, just as she’d often watched her mother do. “God allowed my husband to run off with another woman. I don’t think God much cares about me and what’s happening in my life. I’m beginning to seriously wonder if God isn’t more like some universal overseer—He doesn’t actually care, but He knows He has the job and can’t get out of it.”

“So you don’t believe God is invested in His creation?”

“Look around you. There are wars and murders, kidnappings, drug abuse, and families being torn apart. People are dying for want of love and someone to care. Children are abused and neglected and murdered. Do you realize how many abortions are performed yearly? People are throwing away their children, and then we wonder why the ones they choose to keep rise up and murder them in their sleep. No one respects life.”

“And you think God can’t possibly care because He’s not stopping the slaughter.”

“Well, do you think He cares? Can you prove to me that He cares?”

“Certainly. It’s all there in the Bible. But equally importantly, it’s here with me—with you. God may allow for many things, Jana, but it doesn’t mean He’s stopped caring. If your child grows up to ignore the things you teach him or her—if she becomes rebellious and hideous in nature—will you love her any less? Will you walk away and cease to be interested in her well-being?”

Jana knew in her heart that she could never turn away from her baby, no matter what that child grew up to do. “I suppose not.”

“Don’t throw God out simply because you’re hurting. Don’t discredit His care . . . that He’s still there for you to turn to. He told us we’d have trouble in this world, but He also promised us a Comforter—the Holy Spirit. You don’t have to bear this misery alone, and you don’t have to let it ruin your life and that of your child.”

Jana said nothing but allowed the words to sink in. She wanted desperately to believe there was hope.

Taffy went inside without another word. She seemed to understand Jana’s need to contemplate the matter more thoroughly. Taffy always knew things like that. Perhaps it was her many years on earth or her multifaceted experiences that gave her clarity and understanding. Whatever it was, something about the woman and her advice rang true.

After about an hour, Jana got up and went inside. She noted that it was nearly nine o’clock. Summer days, with the long hours of sunlight, always made her lose track of the time. She often found herself well into the evening, not even realizing how late it truly was.

She heard her mother still working in the kitchen and decided to speak to her. Jana knew her mother would probably reject any kindness, but Jana wanted her to understand that she hadn’t intentionally hurt her that afternoon.

“Smells good in here,” Jana said, breathing in the heady scent of oranges.

“Orange marmalade is one of Taffy’s favorites.”

Jana smiled. The conversation had opened in a peaceable fashion. “Where did you learn to cook? Marmalade seems like a complicated thing.”

“I took a few classes, but mostly I’m self-taught.”

There,
Jana thought.
That wasn’t so hard, was it? You’ve actually shared a piece of your life with me that I never knew.
“I’m not much of a cook,” Jana admitted. “I need to learn. Maybe you . . . could . . . well . . . show me sometime?” It came out more of a question than a statement.

But at least I asked. She can reject me, but at least I asked.
That alone made Jana feel better.

Eleanor looked at her for a moment, as if surprised. “I suppose I could.”

Jana decided to leave well enough alone on that particular matter. “Look, Mom, I’m sorry I upset you earlier today. I didn’t intend to. I know you thought I was ganging up against you, but it really wasn’t that way.”

Eleanor went back to work. “What way was it, then?”

Jana took a deep breath. “I just felt bad for Aunt Taffy and Stanley. They were having a good time, and you came out and treated them like children. Would you like it if I treated you that way?”

“You’d have no call to treat me that way. I don’t catch myself up in such stupidity. If I did, I would hope that you would stop me.”

“But whether or not it was stupid was only your opinion. I’m an adult, and I didn’t see it as the fiasco you did. I saw two elderly people having fun.”

“I saw an accident waiting to happen. The sidewalk and stairs were slick with water. Either Taffy or Stanley could have fallen. Did you think about that?”

Jana bit her lip to keep from blurting out a snide comment.
I have to try to reach her. I have to try.
“Mom, you’re always so negative. I wish I could understand it, but it seems to me if there’s a positive way or a negative way to look at things, you choose—and I do mean choose—to go with the negative.”

“It’s not that way at all. It’s a matter of seeing a smart and sensible way or an irresponsible way to deal with things. In that case, I always choose the sensible way,” she said very matter-of-factly.

“But you hurt Aunt Taffy’s feelings. Stanley’s too.”

“And you hurt mine. So let’s call it even and be done with it.”

Jana looked hard at her mother. She wanted so much to use Taffy’s words and tell her it hadn’t been a contest. Instead, she changed the subject. “But don’t you want to be happy?”

Eleanor finished pouring the last of the marmalade into a jar and turned. “Being happy isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Being on a constant emotional roller coaster is exhausting.”

“So you’d prefer to be miserable.”

“I’d rather be even keeled. I’d rather there not be any highs or lows.”

“But to never enjoy the highs—the positives.”

“Not if doing so means you have to experience the lows and negatives. You think me negative—you think me a sour old woman even though I’m only forty-eight. But what I am is a realist. I know what the world is all about. I know what is required of me, and I do it.”

“But that’s not living. That’s just existing . . . just getting through.”