Page 16 of Love and Other Lost Things

With that thought, Jane climbed out of bed—and was hit with a wave of cold air coming from the direction of the drafty window with its peeling paint on the wood frame and latch that didn’t close completely. It was ridiculous that Mom thought she could stay in this big, rambling, old house all alone. It was surprising that she’d want to. It wasn’t just the upkeep. Didn’t Mom want a new start, too?

Jane threw on a cardigan over her T-shirt and pajama pants and headed down the stairs that creaked with each step. At the bottom, she heard voices from down the hall punctuated by the occasional giggle.

Jane entered the kitchen to find Scarlett standing on a step stool in front of the stove. Mom leaned against the counter next to her, holding a bowl with one hand and the handle of a sizzling pan with the other. Scarlett reached into the bowl, scooped some batter with a measuring cup, and carefully drizzled it into the pan. She looked up when Jane stopped in the doorway. “Mommy! Look, I’m making pancakes!”

Jane forced a smile and nodded in acknowledgment. Part of her wanted to run over and snatch Scarlett’s hand away from the hot pan before she burned herself. Scarlett had never learned to cook at home. It opened up too much possibility for chaos and mess. Matteo hated chaos and mess. But the pride on Jane’s daughter’s face stopped her. “I can’t wait to try them. I bet they’ll be delicious.”

Mom reached an arm around Scarlett to give the pan a shake, a smile lighting up her face and smoothing out the hard lines around her mouth. For the first time since Jane arrived home, Mom looked her own age instead of decades older.

A long-buried memory flashed in Jane’s head. Mom pulling a tray of cookies out of the oven, giving Jane that same easy grin. They’d dug in before the gooey discs had even cooled, melted chocolate smearing on their hands and mouths. Then they’d left the dirty bowl in the sink all afternoon while they spread a puzzle out on the coffee table, with no concern for whether they’d be in the way.

Jane had lived for those weekends when Dad took his fishing trips. When it had been just her and Mom at home, and nobody had to hold their breath or tiptoe around him. When Mom’s smile had come readily, and her shoulders hadn’t tightened in fear.

“Can’t he move out?” she’d asked Mom on one of those magical weekends. “Can’t he get one of those apartments in town and we can live here alone?”

Mom had sighed. “No. He doesn’t want to move out.”

“Well, then we can leave.”

“It’s not that easy.”

Something about the sadness in Mom’s eyes had told Jane to stop asking questions like that.

So, late at night, when she was supposed to be sleeping, Jane used to imagine something happening to Dad—an accident on the boat, maybe. There’d be a solemn knock on the front door, and then Mom would swing it open, her face going pale. On the step would stand two officers from the police station, their eyes darting over Mom’s shoulder when they broke the news that Dad would never be coming home.

It had been a shocking, terrible thing to wish for. What ten-year-old relishes the image of their father suffering such a terrible fate?

But then Dad would come home from his trip, and the cloud of fear would settle back over the house. It had become harder and harder for Jane to muster up much guilt over her secret fantasies for it to be just her and Mom, forever.

Jane watched Mom hand Scarlett a spatula and help her flip the pancakes. It looked like Jane had gotten her wish after all. Something had happened to Dad on one of those fishing trips. The police officers went looking for him when he didn’t come home on Sunday night, like he usually did. They’d found him alone in the boat, the fishing rod and cooler of food Mom had packed on the seat next to him. The thermos of chili half-eaten. They suspected he’d died on Friday. A sudden heart attack.

The doctors had told Mom that even if Dad had been in town, just minutes from the hospital, they didn’t know if they could have saved him. Smoking two packs a day for decades had taken a toll. He’d been on medication for his blood pressure and cholesterol for years. Dad’s heart had just given out. They’d assured Mom that he hadn’t suffered.

Jane had to admit she was a tiny bit sorry about that last part.

And now, Mom was finally free.

And Jane…

Somehow, she’d ended up living her own version of Mom’s story. But soon, she’d be free, too.

“After breakfast, maybe Scarlett can open one of her presents. Santa came early!” Mom said in an upbeat tone, for Scarlett’s benefit. And then, quieter, to Jane: “In case you won’t be here for Christmas.”

Jane felt a stab of guilt as Mom’s smile faltered. But Mom knew that Jane was in Linden Falls just long enough to figure out how to leave. It had been the plan from the moment Mom had called to say that Dad had passed. Mom hadn’t protected her when Dad was alive, but this temporary sanctuary would be her parting gift to Jane for the start of her new life.

Scarlett nodded eagerly, clapping her hands, and Jane gave her a sideways smile when Mom wasn’t looking. A little thank you for playing along with the Santa story. That could be their parting gift to Mom: a handful of special moments with her only grandchild before she and Scarlett disappeared into thin air. It wouldn’t make up for the decade Mom had missed. But it was something.

Jane peeked into the living room where Mom had set up a small, plastic, table-top Christmas tree decorated with lights and all the handmade elementary-school art class ornaments Jane had made throughout her childhood. Jane’s gift to Scarlett—the sketch pad and pens—was tucked under the tree in its simple star wrapping paper. Next to it sat a much bigger box encased in sparkly silver paper tied with a giant red bow. Santa’s gift, most likely.

They took their plates into the living room, something they never would have done if Dad were still here. Jane was grateful to focus on the gifts because she wasn’t up for making chit-chat with Mom over the breakfast table. It wasn’t like they could talk about life back in LA—she wouldn’t be going back there and there was no use pretending—or Jane’s plans for the future, since she didn’t have any plans without a thousand holes. And Jane really didn’t want that last fact to become glaringly obvious to Scarlett.

Up to this point, she’d been able to pass this trip off as an adventure, but Jane knew her daughter suspected more than she was letting on. For now, it was Christmas—an early one, anyway—and maybe, for once, Scarlett could just be a kid.

Scarlett looked genuinely happy about the sketch pad and pens, giving Jane a wide smile, and Jane’s heart squeezed. She had so little idea of what would be next for them. But Jane vowed that by this time next year, they’d be settled, safe. Not just physically away from Los Angeles and all the trauma they’d endured, but finally on their way to healing and putting it behind them.

Mom placed her pancakes on the side table and bent over to pick up the large, wrapped box. She pressed a hand to her back as if the effort pained her, and Jane set aside her own plate and jumped up to help. “You have back pain, too?”

Mom shrugged. “I’m getting older.”

---