Her Daughter’s Dream

Dawn murmured a weary thank-you and said not to worry. Carolyn tucked a needlepoint pillow under her head and draped a soft, white knitted blanket over her. She brushed a wayward strand of blonde hair back from her daughter’s face. She was perspiring. “Do you have a fever?”

Dawn took her hand. “Relax, Mom. It’s a lot of work carrying around an extra thirty pounds.”

Carolyn took her seat and watched Dawn fall asleep. She snored softly. “I guess she is tired.” After a few minutes, she fidgeted in her chair. She felt night fold tight around them, the glass their only barrier against it. “I guess we could go through the boxes.”

“I don’t want to go through those boxes.” Her mother shook her head. “Not tonight. Besides, Dawn would probably get a kick out of it.” She rubbed her leg as though it ached. “You stood in the doorway just now. Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Stand outside a door, peer around corners, listen in.”

Carolyn felt the words like a slap. “Like a sneaky little mouse, you mean. Like I’m planning to steal a bit of cheese?”

Mom looked shocked. “No.” She shook her head. “Like you don’t belong. Like you’re waiting for an invitation.”

“I was told to stay out.”

“Who told you that?”

Why not tell the truth? Mom never spared her feelings. “You did. You said you never wanted me anywhere near you.”

“That’s a lie!” Her eyes darkened in anger.

Carolyn pressed her lips together. She should have known better than to say anything.

“I suppose Oma told you that!”

Heat flooded Carolyn. “You always blame Oma for everything, but I remember you yelling right into my face, ‘Get out of here… Get away from me.’ Not Oma.”

“When did I ever do such a thing?”

“It’s the earliest memory I have.”

Mom’s expression changed, as though remembering. “When you brought me a bouquet of flowers…”

“Wildflowers. You didn’t want them.”

“You dropped them. They scattered all over the floor. I picked them up. Oma brought me a vase.”

Picked them up? Put them in a vase? “I never went into your room after that.”

Mom looked stricken. “I was sick, Carolyn. Don’t you remember how sick I was?”

Carolyn didn’t want to go back and visit that time. She wanted to close the trapdoor that had sprung open. She didn’t want to look down into the darkness and see what lay hidden there.

“I had tuberculosis. No one but Dad and Oma were allowed in my room, and they had to take precautions. Do you remember any of that?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter.”

“It was a long time ago.”

“I loved you, Carolyn.”

Loved. Past tense. Why talk about the past? Why bring it up at all? Chel told her once that just because you were family didn’t mean you got along. Her father hadn’t liked her. “You just live with it and move on,” Chel said. “Don’t waste energy trying to make them love you.”

Chel. Why was she thinking about Rachel Altman now? Why were her words ringing in Carolyn’s head after all these years? Twice in the last few hours.

Carolyn tried to close that door on the past, but memories kept flooding in. She remembered sitting in the tall grass, plucking petals from a daisy. She loves me; she loves me not; she loves me; she loves me not…

Oma loved her.

Mom and Dad loved Charlie.

Charlie. Oh, Charlie. The pain came up quick, squeezing her heart.

“What are you thinking about, Carolyn?”

“Charlie.” She spoke without thinking. Did the mention of her brother still bring Mom pain? “Sorry.”

Mom appeared calm, pensive. “What about Charlie?”

“He told me you got sick after I was born.”

“Not right away. I let myself get run-down. I knew better. I’d had TB before.”

“When?”

“Your father and I were courting. I thought you knew all this.”

“I guess I don’t know anything.”

“I spent months in Arroyo del Valle Sanatorium. I got better, but the disease is always there, hiding, waiting. When I got sick again after you were born, I thought I was going to die. Oma came so I could come home. Die at home, I thought. I didn’t want to leave your dad in debt. So Oma moved in and… took over everything.” She smiled sadly. “That may be what gave me the incentive to get well-watching Oma take over my family.”

The rain pounded harder, like fists on the roof. “Oma loved me, Mom.”

“Yes. And you loved her. Exclusively. You never came to me. You always went to Oma. That’s why I told her to go home.”

“So I wouldn’t have anyone?”

Mom looked crushed. “You were my little girl, not Oma’s.”

Carolyn’s fingers curled around the seat cushion. She remembered Dad shaking her and telling her to stop crying or else. “I felt so alone.”

“You had me.”

When had that ever been true? “No. I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did!”

Carolyn refused to let it pass this time. “We moved out to the new property! You and Dad worked all the time on the house and gardens.”

“Not all the time.”

“You told me to stay out from underfoot, to go off somewhere and play. I’d wait for Charlie, but when he got home from school, he always grabbed his bicycle and took off.”

“You were right there with me. You picked flowers. You made mud cookies. You flattened down a little private place in the mustard flowers where you played with your rag doll.”

That wasn’t the way Carolyn remembered it. She didn’t want to tell Mom what she did remember. “I think I’ll go to bed.” She got up.

“Carolyn. Please. Can’t we talk about this a little more? I didn’t know you-”

“I’ll see you in the morning.”

“It’ll be cold downstairs.” Mom tried to push herself out of the chair. “I haven’t opened the heating vent to the downstairs yet. It’ll take half an hour to warm up the apartment.”

“Save the energy. I’ll be under the covers anyway.”

Carolyn struggled into her jacket at the back door. She had to get out of the house, away from her mother, away from the past that shoved its way up like a demon coming from Hades.

The cold hit Carolyn in the face. Rain pelted her. She held the rail as she hurried downstairs. The screen door stuck. She yanked twice before it creaked open. She flicked the light switch and stood in the sitting room, heart pounding. A whoosh of cold air hit her. It warmed quickly. Mom had opened the vent. Wrapping her arms around herself, Carolyn turned her face into it.

She heard muted voices. Dawn must have awakened. Carolyn thought about going upstairs again, but that might put a damper on their conversation. Mom and Dawn had always been able to talk. Carolyn knew there was more to Dawn’s cross-country trip than she’d said. She didn’t look well at all. Maybe she’d tell her grandmother what she couldn’t tell her mother.

Carolyn turned on the electric blanket before going into the bathroom. She brushed her teeth, then sat on the side of the bed, brushed and braided her hair. Changing quickly into her pajamas, she pulled on a pair of Mitch’s