We were walking along a favorite woodland path when I turned to Mom and asked, “Say, I was wondering. What’s your favorite memory?”
Even though she was slightly hunched over and walked with a cane, she was still a spry lady. She also had a wicked sense of humor.
“At my age, too many to mention,” she grinned. Then she winked and added, “But, I’ll tell you this, Jack. Walking in the woods with you is among my all-time favorites.”
Mom always had a way of making me feel good. Wanted. Something that meant a lot to me since I was one of those guys who was quieter and more withdrawn than most. Expressive and outgoing I was not. Not like my other brother Marc, for instance, a successful insurance salesman with friends galore.
I lived by myself in a single bedroom apartment with my cat Ralph near where I worked stocking produce at a local grocery store. A job I liked. I must have, since I’d been hired in high school and now, fifty-three years later, I was still there.
I liked routine. Walking like this with Mom had been a Sunday tradition for us ever since I’d left home and moved into my apartment. We used the time to get caught up. It was when Mom told me she was leaving Dad because, as she put it, “I’m sick of his fooling around and womanizing.” It was when she told me she had earned a BA degree in early childhood education and was going to begin working with at risk preschoolers. It was when she told me she was moving into the Lakeside Senior Living complex. And it was where she told me she had an inoperable brain tumor.
I was on my way back to the car when my phone buzzed. I grimaced. I had a feeling who it was. I looked at the screen. I was right.
I picked up. “Hi, Marc. How’s it going?”
My older brother had strong opinions. One of them was he didn’t agree with me “communicating” as he called it with our dead mother. Especially out in public on my woodland walks with her. Too bad. It worked for me.
“Just fine, little brother,” he said. I waited for a biting retort but none was forthcoming. Instead, Marc asked simply, “Are you still coming for lunch?”
I metaphorically wiped my brow, glad the two of us would not be arguing, especially on this day, the tenth anniversary of our mother’s passing. “Yeah,” I said. “For sure. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
I liked seeing my brother. Plus, Marc was a great cook. His nod to the anniversary of our mother’s death was to prepare her favorite meal, chicken and rice casserole. He’d fix a simple salad to go with it, and he and I would share a glass of her favorite wine. “Still on for 1 pm?” I asked.
“Absolutely. Like always.”
“Sweet. See you then.”
A pause on the other end of the line. Then, “Out communing with Mom?” he asked. Then, without missing a beat, he chuckled.
“Yeah, I was.”
“Thought so.” Another pause, then, “Well, whatever works.”
Interesting, I thought to myself. My older brother must be must be mellowing. Not wanting to break the ice of this delicate détente’ I said, simply. “Exactly.”
He chuckled again, then said, “Okay. See you at one.”
“Sounds good,” I said, glad to have dodged a potentially brotherly bullet. My stomach suddenly growled. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was. “See you then.”
***
With the chicken casserole baking in the oven, Marc went into the dining room and set the table with cream-colored Spode plates accented by an ivy border, his mom’s favorite. He put down a setting for him and one for Jack: a knife and spoon, a dinner fork and a salad fork, linen napkins with wooden napkin rings, just like his mother always liked.
He thought of his mom as he finished setting the table. The divorce so many ago had been hard on everyone. He’d sided with his father, his brother with their mother. It was just the way things went. Their father had remarried only a week after the divorce was final and within a year, he’d died of a massive heart attack. Their mother stayed happily single for the rest of her life. He smiled. She’d been a teacher, a wonderful grandmother to his kids, and when it came right down to it, a really good person.
He wiped an unexpected tear from his eyes. Honestly, he really did miss her.
A sudden urge came over him. He went to the cupboard, took out another plate, and made up a place setting for their mom, right down to the linen napkin and wine glass. When he was done, he poured a glass for her and one for himself. Then he raised it in a toast.
“Here’s to you, Mom. Thanks for everything.”
He took a sip and was turning away when he thought he heard something. What was that?
He turned to the table. Oh, my lord.
“Mom?”
“Hi, son.”
“What are you doing here?”
She smiled. She always did have a nice smile. Open and honest.
“I just wanted to thank you.”
“For what?”
She cast her hand over the table. “For including me,” she said.
Wow! This is crazy.
It was, too. Nevertheless, it was great to see her. He smiled. “I’m glad you could make it.”
She grinned. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
So, this was what Jack was talking about. Communing with Mom. It felt good. He made a snap decision. “In that case, how about Sunday, I’ll join you and Jack on your woodland walk?”
“Your brother would love that.” Then she smiled. “So would I.”
“All right, then,” he said, and sat down next to her. They had a lot to talk about. “It’s a date.”
About the author
Jim lives in a small town in Minnesota. He loves to write! His stories and poems have appeared in over 500 online and print publications. To learn more and to see all of his work, check out his blog at: www.theviewfromlonglake.wordpress.com.
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