Red Writing Hood: Secrets

A sharp pain made her open her eyes and she gasped. In an instant, a young woman was by her side.

“Alright Mom?”

“Yes, thank you sweetheart. These old bones give me twinges now and again.”

“Well, you are 80 years old…well, tomorrow actually but close enough, “she said with a grin. “I hope I’m in as good shape as you are when I’m 80.”

She moved to the side of the room and pulled open the blinds. Soft afternoon sunlight filled the room. She moved about, absently straightening pillows on the window seat and knick-knacks on the dresser. She waited patiently while her mother struggled from bed. She knew from experience to never offer assistance before her mother requested it.

Amy slowly eased her legs to the side of the bed, reached for her cane and stood. She wasn’t ready to get up but disliked having anyone stare at her while she was in bed. She knew if she’d asked, her daughter would have left but then she would have received those “looks”. Her daughter seemed to think she walked on water and was indestructible.

How wrong she was.

She moved slowly but purposely to the old armoire and retrieved her robe. The cashmere softness surrounded her weary bones and cushioned her soul. It had been an impulsive and extravagant gift from her daughter and son-in-law last year for her birthday. At the time she protested the wastefulness of spending so much on a gift for an old woman who would most likely drop dead any day but now it was part of her daily uniform. She once joked that her children could pry it from her “cold dead hands” before she’d let either of them wear it.

“I’ll just freshen up and then come down, alright Clara?”

“Sure Mom. I think Anna needs some help with the appetizers for tonight. Emily and John should be here soon to help with set up so I should try to get some things organized…” Clara started walking out of the room, her mind already on the numerous tasks needing completion before the birthday party tonight.

Amy watched her go with world weary eyes. Her delicately shaped fingers brushed lightly across the surface of a large antique wooden box sitting on the dresser. She traced the well known grooves and edges, the wood warming to her touch. It was such an innocuous box, simple in design, almost utilitarian looking. Who would have guessed the secrets such a simple piece could hold? Amy smiled faintly. Certainly not her children.

She looked at herself in the mirror, absently brushing a stray lock of silver hair behind her ear. Time had been kind to her exterior appearance. The fine webs of lines around her eyes were what you would expect on the face of a 50 year old woman. Her skin was like porcelain and there were no age spots to be seen. Besides the silver color of her hair, there was very little to suggest she was as old as she was. On the inside it was a different story. Her body knew how old she was and regularly reminded her of it.

She dressed quickly and went downstairs. She knew she was not expected to do anything but sit in her chair in the corner of the room and look approvingly on the effort her children were putting into this party. She forgave them their indulgences this time. There was so little of it left for her.

***

The party that evening was a rousing success. Clara played the dual role of Hostess and Nurse as she equally divided her attentions between the guests and her mother. Amy was glad Clara was there. She was such a quiet woman most of the time; she needed excuses to be brought out of her shell. For some reason, party planning broke through the usually timid exterior. It was eerily like Jekyll and Hyde.

At midnight everyone toasted the birthday girl with wishes for many more years ahead. Amy smiled tightly at the speeches. It had been a long evening and she was tired of acting like she cared anymore. She could feel her heart skipping and fluttering like a tiny bird was trapped in her chest, a sure sign she needed to get to bed.

Graciously thanking her guests she headed upstairs, leaving Clara and her other children to take care of the goodbyes. Her large four poster bed sat invitingly, the bedcovers turned back and her cashmere robe lay at the foot. For a moment, paralyzing grief locked her in place. Her husband had purchased the bed as a gift for their 40^th wedding anniversary. He’d only been able to enjoy it for a few months before a stroke took him away. Solitary tears trickled down her cheeks and again, Amy felt the overwhelming feelings of regret struggle to break free. With a practiced hand she pushed it back down.

She was settled in bed and waiting when Clara came to check on her. She considered pretending she was already asleep but knew she couldn’t put off the discussion she had to have with her youngest child. Clara was the most like her, personality-wise, though she never thought so. In Clara’s mind she was the polar opposite to her seemingly confident, take-charge mother.

A soft sound directed her attention to the door. Clara stood in the opening, her slight frame softened by the dimly lit hall.

“Hey Mom. Not asleep yet? It’s been a long day, you need your rest.”

“My afternoon nap must have given me a little extra zip today, “Amy smiled. “I wanted to talk to you. Sit down.” She patted the bed beside her. Clara looked at her mother quizzically and gently placed herself on the bed.

“You know I love you very, very much, right? I love you because you are bright, cheerful, sympathetic, sweet…I could go on forever. But mostly I love you because I see me in you.”

Clara laughed shortly, “You think I am like you? Mother, I am the least like you of all your kids. I’m a wall-flower, I’m shy, and I’m timid. I have issues ordering a pizza over the phone, for goodness sakes, I get so anxious about the entire experience. How could you ever think I was anything like you?”

“Could you go and get that box off my dresser?”

Clara retrieved the box and watched as Amy unlatched the necklace around her neck. The pendant was a small brass key. She had seen her mother wear that necklace for as long as she could remember. She couldn’t even think of a time when she wasn’t wearing it. Clara had always believed the key was just a fancy decoration. Clearly, it served a different purpose.

Amy unlocked the box with the small key but didn’t open it.

“Did I ever tell you about my first job after I finished college?”

“Of course. That was where you got your chance to run a whole department. You were the youngest Manager they’d ever had. That experience is what made you the person you are today. A strong, confident, powerful woman, “Clara paused and looked at her mother. “Nothing at all like me.”

“That’s partly true. But not the whole truth. Open up the box and take out the newspaper articles on top.”

Clara reached into the box and pulled out half a dozen newspaper clippings. They were creased from being folded up and yellowing at the edges. She began to scan the headings and read through the articles.

“Tragedy at Sinco Corp…coma…murder unsolved…Record breaking year…” Clara looked up at her mother. “What does this have to do with you? Besides the fact you were the one responsible for the record breaking year.”

Amy took a deep breath.

“Because I was the one responsible for the other events as well.”

The clippings fell unnoticed to the floor.

***

Mwah ha ha haaaa! You all thought “Yes, I get to know what happened!!!” Sorry, not yet. This post was getting too long so I’ll do a continuation at a later date. Stay tuned.

This post is part of the Red Writing Hood weekly meme. This week’s assignment:

1. Describe your 80th birthday party.

So technically it’s not my 80^th birthday but whatev. I was inspired by the piece I wrote last week and by the comments wanting to know more. Who knows, this could grow into an actual novel.Critique happily welcomed!