Bridge to a Distant Star - Carolyn Williford [29]
Maureen’s gaze followed Colleen’s retreating back until she disappeared; then, shoulders slumped, she walked to the window to look at the birdhouse. Leaning heavily against the window, crossing her arms over her chest, Maureen searched for the beloved bright blue.
“Want me to help you wash dishes, Mommy?” Aubrey asked. “I’ll help you.” Mimicking her mother, she cupped small hands around her eyes to peer outside just beneath Maureen. “Hey, whatcha lookin’ at?”
Maureen reached down to twist a soft red curl around her finger. “Just looking for the bluebirds, little one.” She sighed and scanned the backyard again. “I don’t see them anywhere, do you?”
“Nope.” Aubrey pulled her eyebrows together in a puzzled frown. “Do mommy and daddy birds get married?”
“Not like people do.” Maureen smiled down at her. “But maybe God marries them?”
The frown remained. “Will they stay together for always?”
“Yes,” she said very firmly, and nodded emphatically at Aubrey’s concern. “They will.” Maureen reached out to take a dimpled hand. “Now, let’s get you in the bath, shall we?”
“Aren’t we gonna wash the dishes?”
“How about if we just throw them into the bathtub with you?”
Aubrey giggled. “Oh, Mommy, no.”
Later, putting an ear to Colleen’s door, Maureen asked, “Colleen? Are you heading to bed soon? It’s getting late, sweetie.” She could hear books being slammed on top of one another, papers shuffled. To Maureen’s slight pressure, the door cracked open.
“Mom. I’ve got a lot more stuff to do.”
Maureen pushed the door open farther so she could peer in, saw Colleen stuffing tiny headphones and iPod into her desk drawer. Although plainly caught in the act, she gave her mother a mutinous look.
“Apparently not that much. Or you wouldn’t be listening to music, hmm?” To Colleen’s continued unblinking stare, “Just wanted you to know I’m making French toast in the morning, ready at six thirty sharp. So whatever you decide about staying up late, I don’t think you’ll want to miss out on breakfast.”
“Whatever.”
Maureen looked at Colleen a few more seconds, waiting. “Well then. Good night.” She closed the door, feeling the familiar weariness settle over her like she’d pulled a heavy coat over her head and shoulders. A drenched wool coat, she thought to herself. Scratchy and weighing roughly the size of a petulant thirteen-year-old girl. Despite the too-real imagery, Maureen smiled.
Surprisingly, she slept so soundly that she was only vaguely aware of Bill’s climbing into bed with her later, a mumbled exchange of You okay? Sure. Love you. You too. Breakfast felt like an extension of that unsatisfying connection: muttered conversations, hazy encounters with one other, and a dreamlike quality to all she viewed and did. Turned out that only Aubrey enjoyed the French toast; Bill slept in as late as he could, which meant he only had time to grab a breakfast bar in his rush out the door, and Colleen was obviously still on strike. The only accessory she’s lacking is a placard, Maureen observed.
After dropping Colleen off at school and Aubrey at Bill’s folks’, Maureen drove along the shoreline toward the restaurant where the gang had agreed to meet. Her first glimpse of the dark greenish-blue gulf waters prompted her to open the van’s front windows. She wanted to breathe in the salty air. Listen to the sounds of rippled laughter from the beach. Concentrating, Maureen hoped to hear the soothing heartbeat of the waves hitting the shore, the familiar rhythm that calmed her like nothing else.
The seafood restaurant was adjacent to the boardwalk, and as she turned her car into the parking lot, the smell of fish was heavy on the air. Though a majority of boats had left early in the morning and were out fishing for the day—they wouldn’t be back until dinner time, many displaying