Page 98 of Persephone's Curse
“Like I’ve forgotten an important meeting and someone isjustabout to call me and tell me I’m in deep shit for it,” she explained. “Or like I’ve left the stove on.”
Our mother was still sad and lifeless, drifting in and out of rooms with a strange, vacant expression on her face, pausing like she had momentarily forgotten where she was or what she was doing.
Our father, on the other hand, was absolutely fine. He had made carrot cake that afternoon becauseEveryone seems a bit glum around here lately, huh? Must be that time of year. What do they call it, honey? SAD. Right. Anyway. It’s potentially a little burnt. But I am almost positive it’s still edible.
We ate the carrot cake if only to appease him, to not cause him any more worry. It was mostly tasteless in our mouths.
“When can I see that new painting you’ve been hiding away in the attic, Clara?” Dad asked, trying so desperately to start a conversation with any of the women in the room.
“Oh,” Clara said. “I destroyed it.”
“You—what?”
“Yeah. I realized it didn’t fit my vision. It wasn’t serving me. As an artist, you know. So I destroyed it.”
“It wasn’t serving you…” Dad repeated slowly. “I really don’t know what to say to that one. Honey?”
He turned to Mom, who took a deep breath, as if willing herself to be present, to engage.
“Sweetheart, I think that’s wonderful,” she said finally.
“You think it’s wonderful that Clara destroyed her painting?” Dad asked.
“Clara has always known what she wants,” Mom said.
Dad did not know how to respond to that, so he resumed eating and let it go.
I tried to slip out that night for another long, solo walk, but Mom was waiting for me, already dressed in her coat and winter boots, standing on the front porch staring up at the sky.
“Oh,” I said. “Are you going somewhere?”
“I’m going with you,” she said, lowering her face to look at me, smiling and tucking me underneath her arm.
“How did you know I was going out?”
“Because you’re always where you’re supposed to be,” she replied. “And tonight I just knew you were supposed to be with me.”
“Where should we go?”
“You lead the way. I’d follow you anywhere.”
It was too late for any museums, we’d already had dinner anddessert, and I wasn’t about to take my mother to Dark Magic, so an aimless walk around the block it was (my favorite). She kept her arm looped through mine and we didn’t talk for the first ten minutes or so. It was cold but manageably so, as in, my face didn’t feel like it was going to freeze solid.
I still wasn’t used to the feeling of getting farther away from the tear, how much better I felt even half a mile away from it.
“So strange,” Mom said, as if reading my mind. “I’ve had such a terrible headache all day, and now I feel perfectly fine.”
“Maybe you just needed some fresh air.”
“Some fresh air, some ibuprofen, and some you time. The perfect combination.” She let me go and stretched her arms over her head, taking a deep breath. “Short school week for you girls, huh? I know you must be happy about that.”
“It is? Why?”
“Christmas, silly. Aunt Bea is driving down on Wednesday. It’s supposed to snow again, too. They’re predicting lots and lots.”
“I completely forgot about Christmas,” I admitted.
“Well, it’s that time of year. Yesterday I couldn’t find my favorite hair pin, the whole morning I spent looking for it.”
