Right now she’s quiet. I think she might be asleep, but then she says, “That was my happiest time, right then.”
“Even without Dad?” I ask.
“Yes. You two made me so happy.”
I offer her my bag of popcorn, but she shakes her head. She’s completely stopped eating now. Carolyn can only get her to take sips of water, maybe a bite or two of chocolate pudding on good days. It bothers me, because living people have to eat. It means she’s not really living anymore.
“I think maybe that was my happiest time, too,” I say, watching myself smile up into the camera.
Before visions. Before purpose. Before fires. Before all these choices I’m not ready to make.
“No,” Mom says. “Your happiest times are still to come.”
“How do you know that?”
“I’ve seen it.”
I sit up to look at her. “What do you mean?”
“All my life, I’ve seen glimpses of what’s to come, mostly for myself, like the visions, but sometimes for others as well. I’ve seen your future, or variations of it, anyway.”
“And what do you see?” I ask eagerly.
She smiles. “You go to Stanford.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
“You like it there.”
“So Stanford equals happiness? Great then, I guess I’m all set. Can you tell me the color scheme for my dorm room, because I’m trying to decide between a lavender theme or royal blue.” Yes, I’m being sarcastic, and maybe I shouldn’t, when it seems like she’s trying to tell me something important. But the truth is, I can’t imagine real happiness. Not without her.
“Oh, sweetie.” She sighs. “Do me a favor,” she says. “Look in the top dresser drawer. In the back.”
I find a dusty red velvet box hidden behind her socks. I open it. Nestled inside is a silver charm bracelet, old and a little tarnished. I hold it up.
“What is this?” I’ve never seen her wear it before.
“It’s for you to wear to the cemetery.”
I look at the charms, which seem ordinary enough. A heart. A horse. A couple of what I think must be fake gems. A fish.
“It was mine, a long time ago,” she says. “And now it’s yours.” I swallow. “Aren’t you going to tell me that you’ll always be with me? Isn’t that what people say? You’ll be in my heart, something like that?”
“You are part of me,” she replies. “And I am part of you. So yes, I will be with you.”
“But not a real, conversational part, right?”
She lays her hand on mine. It feels so light, lighter than a hand should be, her skin like the softest white paper. Like she could blow away on the wind.
“You and I have a connection that nothing, not on heaven or earth, or even hell, could ever break. If you want to talk to me, talk to me. I’ll hear you. I might not be able to answer, at least not in a timely manner. . . .”
“Because a day is a thousand years . . .”
She smirks. “Of course. But I will hear you. I will be sending my love to you every moment.”
“How?” I’m unable to push back the tears in my voice.
“In the glory,” she answers. “That’s where we’ll find each other. In the light.” I’m crying again and she wraps her arm around me, kisses the top of my head. “My dear sweet girl. You take on so much. You feel things so deeply. But you will be happy, my darling.
You will shine.”
I nod, wiping at my eyes. I believe her. Then I go ahead and say the next thing that pops into my head.
“Mom, are you ever going to tell me about your purpose?” She pulls back, looks at me thoughtfully. “My purpose is you.” That night she tells me another story, a different version of the one she told Jeffrey and me earlier, about the day of the earthquake. What she didn’t mention before.
That when she saw Dad, when he lifted her out of the rubble that had been her bedroom, when he carried her off to heaven, she recognized him.
“I’d been dreaming about him,” she says.
“What was the dream about?” I’m sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed so I can face her as she talks.
“A kiss,” she confesses.
“A kiss?” I get a twinge of guilt, just hearing the word. Remembering Christian’s lips on mine.
“Yes. In the dream, I kissed him. He was standing on a beach.” Her eyes flick up to the television, the glittering, rolling water. “And I walked up, took his face in my hands, and kissed him. Not a word passed between us. Only a kiss.”
“Whoa,” I breathe. So romantic. “So when you saw him after the earthquake, you recognized him as the guy you kissed.”
“Yes.”
“So what did you do?”
She laughs lightly, almost a giggle. “I immediately developed a huge crush on him. I was sixteen, after all, and he was . . .”
“Hotness personified,” I finish for her, a bit sheepishly, since this is my dad we’re talking about here.
“He was one gorgeous specimen, yes he was.”
“And what happened?”
“He stayed with us for three days, after the earthquake, in Golden Gate Park, and on the last night, I tried to seduce him.”
“And . . .”
“He wouldn’t have it. He rejected me, rather rudely, I thought. And the next morning he was gone. I didn’t see him again for three years.”
“Oh, Mom . . .”
“Don’t feel too sorry for me,” she reminds me with a small smile. “It worked out, in the end. I landed him.”
“But what happened when you saw him again? I bet it was awkward.”
“Oh, by then I’d decided I didn’t want him.”
My mouth drops open. “You didn’t want him? Why not?”
“For a lot of reasons. By then I knew what he was. I knew that he would want to marry me, and even if I didn’t know all that would entail, I knew it would never be a traditional marriage. I didn’t think I wanted to be married. I didn’t want my life to be decided for me. That’s probably the biggest reason of all. So when I saw him again, I let him know in very clear terms that I wasn’t interested.”
“How’d he take that?” I can’t imagine anyone refusing Dad anything.
“He laughed at me. Which didn’t help matters much. But he would not go away. I would feel his presence near me often, although sometimes years would pass where he never showed himself.”