Page 83 of Envy

I nod, but inside, my mind is racing. We haven’t talked about God since we left Cain’s Weeping. We never talk about my stepfather, and neither one of us go to church. I didn’t know she still thought this way. I certainly don’t. But I keep my face neutral and wait for her to continue.

“I love you. But I didn’t do my job as a mother. I didn’t protect you from anything.” Her eyes fill with tears and my heart starts to pound so loudly I can hear it.

She closes her eyes and tries to take a deep breath. She can’t, and she starts to cough. I grab the glass of water again and bring it to her lips.

This time, she doesn’t protest and takes a few sips.

I put it down, and as soon as I sit down again, she starts talking.

“You were such a possessive baby. You wouldn’t let your daddy hold my hand. Every time he did, you’d come to me.” She smiles—her eyes unfocused. “God, how I miss those days when all you wanted was to eat and sleep and play.”

She lifts her fingers, wiggles them and I take her hand. She sighs in pleasure. My heart shrinks to feel how frail and small her hand is now.

“And you had the wildest imagination. Oh, my Lord. The things you could conjure in that little head of yours. I was sure you’d be a writer or an actor or something when you grew up. I was the same way. Always daydreaming about what I wished the world looked like. It’s why I loved to read. It’s why I wanted you to love to read. I was an only child. My parents had never been married. I was an orphan by the time I was sixteen. I was desperate for a family. I married your father when I was eighteen. Far too young, but gosh I wanted what everyone else had. I got lucky the first time. Your father was such gentleman. So kind, so funny, and very responsible. We lived in the loveliest neighborhood. Filled with families just like us.”

Her eyes mist over.

“And then, he died, and it was just us. I didn’t have another living relative but you. Seeing all of the other young mothers with husbands to carry groceries and mow the yard. I saw what everyone else had, and I was so envious. I prayed for God to send me what I wanted.

“When I met him …” She never says my stepfather’s name. “I thought it was God answering my prayers. And it led me into the darkest pit of hell. Too late, I learned that the grass is never greener. You and I as we were had been more than enough.” She pauses and looks me hard in the eyes as if she’s trying to make me see what she can’t say.

“After Ellie died … the way she died shattered something in me. If I couldn’t keep my baby alive, what good was I? I retreated, and I almost let him kill you.” Her voice drops to a whisper. I lean in to try and hear her.

A single tear runs down her cheek. I touch it with my thumb and swipe it off her cheek. “Thank you. Will you please hold my other hand?”

I grab her other hand and she links our fingers.

She closes her eyes and leans back, so her head rests on the headboard. Her lip twitches and she exhales.

“Are you in pain?” I ask quietly.

“Not the kind that any medicine can cure,” she says with a small grimace.

“When I saw your friend appear out of the woods into our garden, I knew it was a sign. I’d been carrying that letter in my pocket, ready to mail since the day the Fergusons left. I knew that despite what he was doing to you then and what he had done to me already, we would be okay. That God hadn’t forgotten us. And I was right.” She smiles to herself, her eyes opening just a little. “Look at you now.

“Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. I’ve only lived this long, had these years with you, because you gave up everything for me. But, now I want you to stop.”

Her words steal the air from my lungs.

“You want me to let you die?” I ask, incredulous and hurt. “You can’t mean that.”

“I do.” Her voice is as sharp as the crack of a whip. “If it means that you’ll finally start living.”

“I’m living. Look at my life. What do you mean? We have everything.” I sweep my hand around my palatial-sized bedroom to make my point.

“Is this everything to you? These walls?” she asks, shaking her head incredulously and the sadness in her eyes makes me feel like shit. “I don’t believe that. You’ve achieved so much. I’m proud of you.” She squeezes my hand. “But I wonder what you would have done if I hadn’t gotten sick.” She drops her eyes and looks at her lap. “I’m so sorry—” Her voice breaks.

“Mama, don’t be sorry. I would do it all over again. I would. I wanted you to be here. I didn’t want you to have to clean floors forever,” I say.

“What’s wrong with cleaning floors?” Her voice has regained its composure, and her eyes are still glassy, but she’s annoyed.

“Nothing. It was just all the other moms—”

“Cleaning floors put a roof over our head. Sent you to school. It was enough!” She says vehemently.

“I want more than enough!” I declare.

“You have got to learn the lesson I didn’t until it was too late.” She pulls her hands out of mine and sticks her finger in my face, her expression furious. “Looking at what everyone else is doing should not be how you pick your path. Listen to your heart. What does it love? What does it need? Envy isn’t a sin; it’s a vice. One that will never allow you to be happy.”

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