The memories and nightmares since that night never stopped for us. It will never stop for us. We just become numb to it at times. We push it away, deep down inside, to keep living.
But the suffering has stopped for Byron Somers. If Mom’s upset, I know why. I think I am, too. I want to tell her I’m here for her. We can get through it together this time if she’ll just let me in.
I knock on the door.
“Please, Ronnie. Just a little while longer.” Her voice is softer than usual, soaked in desperation. The vulnerability startles me.
I thought she was angry? “Mom?”
“Lynda,” she gasps through a cry.
I open the door and step into the foggy, blue bathroom.
Drip, drop.
Behind the door, my mom’s head turns to see me from just above the claw-foot tub’s high edge. I take an uncertain step across the tile toward her, daring to examine the scene further.
Drip, drop. The faucet leaks into the water, a darkness lingering inside it. I stop, shivering through the dampness at the chilling sight.
The water covers her clothed body up to her neck until she sits up a little more; the white dress shirt see-through and stuck to her pale skin. Her hands cling to the rounded sides as she stares up at me with wide eyes, filled with a lost sadness.
Does she even see me?
I don’t recognize her.
Drip, drop.
I break out of my stupor and kneel, taking her wet, pruned hand in mine. Too cold. What is she doing in there? “Mom?”
She squeezes my hand as I scan her body, from her soaking hair to her feet dressed in white socks, floating just beneath the surface.
It’s like the day after Dad died. She’s losing herself.
Drip.
Losing reality.
Drip, drop.
I’m losing her.
My chest tightens and I squeeze her hand, a quick attempt to bring her back to me. “Ron told me,” I whisper, but it’s more like a hiss.
She swallows hard and nods once before resting her clammy cheek against our folded hands. “It’s over, baby.”
Why does she sound so calm?
I twist the shower knob to the right and roll up my sleeve, plunge my arm into the freezing water, and yank the plug out. A burp releases and I take my arm out, shaking it off before shuffling on my knees against the tile, back to her. I lift her face with my hands to look at me once more. Tears slide down the cracks between her cheeks and her nose.
“Mom,” I whisper. “Why are you wearing all your clothes in the tub?”
She blinks and looks down at them, the water sloshing from side to side, letting go of my hand as she struggles to sit up straight. “Oh, my gosh. I—I can’t believe I did that.”
Her voice is back. It sounds like my mom, but she didn’t even realize what she’d done?
I take a staggering deep breath in as I stand, reaching out for her hand. “Here.” I grab it and tug once gently, then again, hard against the extra weight of her soaked clothes to pull her to her feet.
I let her hand go a little, testing her stability, and she wipes her hands over her face like Ron does. They’ve picked up on each other’s mannerisms, and it’s somehow comforting she’s doing it again before pulling her shirt up over her head as I turn to the sink and grab a large peach towel from the rack.
“I’m sorry, baby. I don’t know what came over me.”
“It’s okay.” I hand her the towel and she takes it quickly, wrapping it around herself in a swift motion.
Back to normal speed… but this isn’t normal. This isn’t like her. It’s not okay.
She shakes her head as she pulls her black dress pants off. “I think sometimes… we put the hard things so far out of our minds, just to survive, and then when you’re reminded of it, it just comes flooding back…”
I nod, and I believe it, because she’s back and I ache for the rational words and comforting explanations only my mother can give me.
And because she’s right. I’m still filled with guilt that hearing Byron’s name didn’t inflict the sharp, recognizable wound to my own chest that it always had for the past six years—and that might be the last time I’ll ever have to hear it.
Maybe this is a good thing. I have to make Mom see it as a good thing. “We won’t have to think about him ever again, Mom. We won’t have to wonder what he’s doing, or if he’ll get out. This is better, this way.”
She nods right away, and I take a deep, shuddering breath. She just needed time to process it.
I open the door and cold air floods the room with a chill. Mom takes in a sharp breath, and a few quick steps out before me, hugging herself in her towel, and stops in the hall.
Ron stands in front of her and pulls her into his embrace. He wraps his arms around her, holding them together at the small of her back, and closes his eyes as I lean against the doorframe, giving them space.
He’s been what she’s needed. A partner to share the highs and lows of life. Someone she can count on to be here for her like I couldn’t after I went back to college the following year to start over.
I couldn’t stay in that rental house with her, never speaking of that night, and pretending like we were really getting on with life any longer. Maybe she was. She seemed like it
