Sharon Sala - The Way to Yesterday

“I know. I know,” he muttered. “But this won’t be forever and when they’re gone…”

She hugged the thought to herself as she turned back to the task at hand, which would be making breakfast.

“What sounds good this morning?” she asked.

“You,” Daniel muttered. “But I’ll settle for bacon and eggs.”

She grinned and combed her fingers through his hair in a gentle, loving manner.

“And biscuits?”

He rolled his eyes in pretend passion. “Oh yeah.” Then he added. “Better double the recipe. They’re Dad’s favorite, too.”

“What about your mother?” she asked. “If she doesn’t care for them I can make her some—”

He frowned at the nervousness once again in her voice.

“Mary Faith, you do not worry about what my mother likes or dislikes again, do you hear me?”

“Yes, but—”

“No buts, sweetheart. She will be thankful for whatever we serve and you will not suffer her disdain or criticisms again.”

Mary was too moved to answer. Instead, she took a large bowl from the cabinet and began assembling the ingredients for the biscuits. By the time Mike and Phyllis were up, she was dishing up the scrambled eggs and taking the biscuits from the oven.

“Man, oh, man,” Mike said, as he entered the kitchen. “A guy could get used to waking up to food like this.”

Daniel eyed the slight shock in his mother’s eyes and took no small amount of satisfaction in answering.

“I already have,” Daniel said. “Mary is a super cook.” Then he handed the baby to his mother. “Morning, Mom. Here, say hi to your granddaughter and see if you can get a burp out of her while I help Mary get the food to the table.”

Phyllis was torn between jealousy and devotion. It had been years since she’d gone out of her way to fix breakfasts like this, and the comment Mike had made went straight to her conscience. But the smiles of delight on her granddaughter’s face rechanneled her focus. She settled the baby on her shoulder and began patting her back as she took a seat at the breakfast table. As she sat, she watched and she listened, and not for the first time since their arrival, began to wonder if she could have been wrong.

“Mary.”

Mary jumped at the sound of her mother-in-law’s voice, then turned abruptly, almost dropping the load of clean bath towels she was carrying.

“Yes?”

Phyllis sighed. The anxious expression in Mary’s dark eyes was nobody’s fault but her own. She reached for the towels.

“Let me help do that.”

“No, please,” Mary said. “It’s just a load of laundry. I can do it.”

Phyllis frowned. “I’m well aware that you’re capable, girl, but it’s your third load, and frankly, I haven’t seen you sit down since breakfast. Besides that, isn’t your hand still sore?”

Mary glanced down at the bandage on the finger she’d cut yesterday.

“Well, yes, but it’s healing.”

Phyllis took the clean laundry from Mary’s arms.

“We’ll fold them on your bed, okay?”

Reluctantly, Mary followed her into the bedroom. When Phyllis dumped the towels on the bed, Mary took a deep breath and moved to the opposite side. For a few minutes, they worked in silence. It wasn’t until the last washcloth had been folded that Phyllis laid it aside and then sat.

“Mary, there’s something I want to say to you.”

Mary flinched. The last thing she wanted was another confrontation, but with Daniel and his father gone to the insurance agency, she was all alone. She gathered up the stack of clean towels and carried them into the bathroom, then put them away. When she turned around, Phyllis was standing there with the hand towels and washcloths.

“Thank you,” Mary said, and put them into the linen cabinet beside the towels.

Phyllis nodded. “You’re very neat,” she said, eyeing the even rows of linens inside the cabinet.

“Thank you. I suppose it comes from living in foster homes.”

“What do you mean?”

Mary shrugged. “Well, I never knew how long I would be allowed to stay, so always having my things neatly together made it simpler to pack when social services moved me.”

Phyllis frowned. “You never knew your parents, did you?”

“I remember my mother,” Mary said. “At least, I think I do. But I was so small when they took me away.” Then she turned, looking Phyllis square in the face. “She didn’t give me away, you know. She died of cancer.”

Phyllis sighed. “You’ve had a difficult life, haven’t you?”

“From your standpoint, I suppose so. But I never knew anything else.” Then her expression softened. “But now I have Daniel and Hope. They…and you and Mike…are my family now.” Then she took a deep breath, needing to get the rest of this said before she chickened out. “I know you and Mike wanted better for Daniel. But I love him. So much. And I would never do anything to hurt him or make trouble for him. He and Hope are my life.”

Phyllis felt like a heel. “Yes, I can see that,” she said. “I’ve not been fair to you and I’m sorry.” Then she turned away and walked back into the bedroom.

Mary hurried after her. “It’s okay,” she said. “Really.”

Phyllis turned. “No, dear, it’s not okay. I’ve been horrible to you, but given time, I will make it right. I hope you forgive me?”

Mary’s eyes welled. “Oh, Phyllis, thank you,” she cried, and impulsively threw her arms around her mother-in-law’s neck.

Phyllis hesitated briefly, then returned the embrace.

“It’s me who should be thanking you,” she said softly. “You have a generous heart, my dear. Daniel and Hope are lucky to have you.”

Lucky to have you…lucky to have you…lucky…

A car horn blared, followed by a burst of angry curses and then the squealing of tires on pavement.

Mary jerked.

Reality and fantasy were beginning to separate within her mind and all she could think was not yet. Not yet. But no matter how desperately she tried, she couldn’t hold on to the dream. Her head was spinning, her legs weak at the knees.

“Daniel,” she moaned.

But there was no answer, only the smell of old wood and dust. In that instant, she knew it was gone. She opened her eyes.

The antique shop. She was still standing in the antique shop and Mike and Phyllis O’Rourke hadn’t spoken to her since the day of the funeral six years ago.

In that moment, what had been left of her spirit died, too. There was nothing in her life but an emptiness that all the jobs and all the busy work would never fill. The only people who’d ever loved her were dead and she wanted to be with them.

With a shuddering sob, she stared down at the ring on her finger. The engraving—I promise you forever—was a joke. Hating herself and life in general, she tore it off and flung it back into the case. There was no such thing as forever.

“No more,” she muttered. “I can’t do this…I don’t want to do this. Not anymore.”

She turned, only to find the old man staring at her from the end of the counter.

“I don’t want the ring. I put it back,” she muttered, and pointed in the general direction of the case. “I have to go.” But her feet wouldn’t move. She seemed helpless beneath the compassion of his gaze. Her eyes filled with tears. “You don’t understand. They’re dead, you know. They’re all dead but me.”

Then her composure broke and she started to cry.

Love doesn’t die.

Mary stared. Although she’d heard the words, his lips had not moved. When he started toward her, shuffling his tiny little feet on the dusty, planked floor, she wanted to run, but he was blocking her only exit.

“Don’t,” she muttered, although she didn’t quite know why she said it.