Folly Beach - Dorothea Benton Frank [23]
“Maybe. I’ll have to think that one over. You know, after a death you’re not supposed to make any changes for one year.”
“And do what? Starve in the meanwhile? That’s a load of nonsense.”
“Good point,” I said and knew she was right.
Meanwhile, while I considered my almost nonexistent options, I set up paper cups of oatmeal with raisins and honey for them to microwave. When Sara, Russ, and Alice got up, there would be something warm to put in their stomachs. I wondered if Aunt Daisy would even want me there. It suddenly occurred to me that this was a good time to clean the freezer, since I was going to be leaving.
“Hey, Patti?”
“Yeah?”
“You might want to look in my freezer and in the pantry to see if there’s any food you want. I know there are about a dozen containers of chicken stock and there’s pesto, too. And while you’re in there see if there’s any breakfast sausage. Russ loves sausage, you know.”
“All men do,” she said.
Over the next hour, I cooked sausage in the microwave on paper towels and buttered toast while Sara, Russ, and Alice drifted in, took a cup of coffee, and drifted back to their rooms to have a shower. No one was happy about the snow or particularly enthusiastic about the oatmeal. But we did manage to make three pounds of the sausage disappear, picked up from the griddle on the back of the stove with our fingers, stuck between slices of toast like a sandwich, and held in paper napkins. We were in post-traumatic tailgate mode. Plus the plates were gone.
“I’ll bet you a buck that our flight’s gonna be canceled,” Russ said, watching the snow falling through the kitchen window.
“I’ll call the airline,” Alice said.
“Oh, man!” Sara said, looking out the window. “I am so screwed.”
“Maybe not,” I said. “You’re probably flying a big plane that goes on to Tokyo or somewhere. They usually take off no matter what the weather is.”
“Maybe we can get a flight on a bigger jet to Atlanta or Charlotte and then drive back to Charleston,” Russ said to Alice.
“I’m on hold,” Alice said.
There wasn’t a lot of snow on the ground then, maybe an inch or so, and over the next hour of fierce packing and frantic checking with the pathological liars who worked for the airlines, who finally picked up and said everything was on time and running even slightly ahead of schedule, it was decided that Mark would drive them all to the airport in Newark before the tri-state area turned completely white. If they had a problem they would call us and we would rescue them. And if a rescue was necessary, we would all reconvene at Patti and Mark’s so at least we could have a meal at a table and follow the news about the weather on a blooming television.
“I wish I didn’t have to leave you now, Mom,” Sara said. “It’s too soon!”
“Darling, there isn’t much you can do anyway. And we can talk on the phone all you want with my unlimited weekend minutes!”
“I’m glad you still have a sense of humor. I’m just thinking maybe I can get a job as a bartender. They’re supposed to make bank.”
“Give it a try,” I said. We had talked, Sara and I. She knew the Gravy Train had not just pulled into the station, but it had jumped the tracks and rolled down the cliff, never to return. “Our new reality sucks.”
“Yeah, it does but I just feel bad about leaving you now. I mean, there are probably other shoes to fall, you know?”
“Drop. Shoes to drop.” My lovely daughter was known for mixing metaphors. “You don’t worry about me, sweetheart. As things unfold, I’ll keep you posted.”
“Promise?”
“Cross my heart,” I said and made an X with my finger over the spot where my terrified and very insecure heart was lodged. I loved my children so very much and it was so hard to send them back to their lives. A part of me felt like if I could just hang on to them that things might go back to normal. The rest of me knew better. Our family was irrevocably changed now and it was hard to see a future that was anything but unnerving. At least for me.