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Authors: Julie Carobini

BOOK: Sweet Waters
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Camille stands beside me now, her new friend Katie tucked into her hip, and together we look to the bride—our mother. It's an odd sensation, sending off one's mother to begin a new life, especially when my only hope for love has just vanished like sunlight into the dark.
“Mom's happy.”
At Camille's wistful comment, I give her a squeeze. Camille never knew her birth parents, so I've been happy to share mine with her all these years. Mom's new husband, Derrick, eight years her junior, plants a sloppy wet one on her lips, right here in front of everyone. I cringe. Camille giggles. Melanie, aka Mel, our middle sister, joins our triangle.
“Well, now my lunch is ruined. What say we sneak out of here and hit PF Changs? What I wouldn't do for a dirty martini with a side of calamari.”
It's just like Mel to make an impossible suggestion like that. Maybe it's the relief of another big event done, but I consider taking her up on it. Well, for a brief second anyway. Restlessness like I've never experienced has gotten beneath me lately, and I can't seem to shake it loose. Whatever the reason for it, if I
were
to take Mel up on her jest-filled offer to get out of here, it just might put my sardonic sister into shock.
Why Daddy's words from the past sink into my heart at this moment, I do not know. “Take the girls home, Tara,” he told me. His voice was nearly a whisper at that point nearly six years ago, and I knew the end would come soon. He'd wanted us to leave the hospital room, to not see him go this way. Mother had gone to find a nurse, so I did as he asked and began to lead the girls from that oppressive room with its gray walls and faded medical diagrams. But as we turned to go, I saw the morning light spill across his nubby blanket for one last time, and he spoke to me again. “Take the girls, and say hello to Otter Bay for me, will you, Princess?”
In that frozen slice of time, the word “home” took on an entirely new meaning.
The memory catches my breath, and I run both palms over my temples to smooth back wisps of hair that have pulled away from my updo. “I can't leave now, Mel. I still need to settle with the caterer, and pay the judge, and make sure the hall and grounds are picked up afterward so they don't try to keep our damage deposit. And there's that table of gifts to take care of over there, although why people just don't ship their gifts in the first place, I'll never know.”
Mel's arms are crossed against the Cavalli suit she purchased from eBay. She rubs the nail of her ring finger. “Kind of uptight today, big sister?”
Camille cuts in. “As usual . . . she's just the saddest thing of my life sometimes.” She giggles when she says this, softening the blow.
But I'd say that Mel's right, and why shouldn't I be? Mom decides to marry a man with seemingly thousands of relatives, and they insist that outdoors would be the perfect venue, which it would be if we lived in, say, California or somewhere west. But this is Missouri, and the spring's just ending. We cut it that close. That and all the work that still needs to be done before turning our home back over to the landlord, has made me more tense than wire strung across two poles.
Anyway, somebody had to take charge, and I'd say by the silly smirks on my mother's and “step” father's faces, the day went over quite well.
Mel drops both arms and scans the crowd, looking bored, impatient. “All I can say is I'm glad I'll be heading out of here in a couple of weeks. Had enough of this small town living, know what I mean?” She swats at a mosquito. “I don't suppose you know what you'll be doing, now that you're out of a job. I've got two interviews lined up, but I'll probably get the first one anyway—shall I ask them to hold the other one for you?”
I ignore her cynicism.
Camille pouts and squeezes Katie tighter before the little girl breaks away. “I don't want you to go, Mel. I'll miss you way too much.”
I link eyes with Camille.
One of Mel's hands finds her narrow waist, and she gives me the evil eye. “What? You don't think that when I get a job in Manhattan I'll throw every possession I have into storage and take the next plane out of here?”
“Maybe you will.”
“Oh, but you think I won't be able to stick it out.”
“I never thought that.” Absentmindedly I comb my fingers through Camille's tangled curls. “I know you can do whatever you set your mind to. I just think that in the end you'll want to be near family. We've always been close—especially since Dad died—I just think you'll miss us all enough to find something closer to home. Besides, Mom will need us.”
“Evidenced by the way she and the new hub were making like a couple of freshies only minutes ago.”
A waft of Mother's “Beautiful Love” perfume makes my nose tickle as the bride approaches. “Girls, thank you, thank you. The energy surrounding us is electric—do you feel it? Oh, of course you do! This entire space has such a vibe to it. I've loved every minute of my wedding day . . . the flowers, the ambiance. Every sunny minute, and I thank you very much.”
Mel's face still looks as if she's swallowed sour candy.
Camille crooks an arm around Mom's neck and pulls her sideways. “I'm so jealous of you. I hope that when I finally fall in love, we'll be as perfect together as you and Derrick are.”
Finally
fall in love? I'm twenty-six. The only one around here who can safely and honestly use the word
finally
in regard to her woeful love life is me.
Mel slides a look at our thirty-eight-year-old stepdaddy. “So when are you and
Dirk
heading off to Maui?”
Mom runs a hand down her chiffon skirt, her princess-cut diamond flashing in the afternoon light. “That's what I've come over here to speak to you girls about. We did talk about Maui, but in the end our hearts have settled on another site for our honeymoon.”
No Maui? The honeymoon was the one part of this entire event where Mom told me I wasn't needed. Please tell me they went through a reputable agency. And did she remember to use her air miles?
Camille leaps up. “The Caribbean! I bet you're going to the tropics, aren't you? I've always wanted to go south.”
Mom pats Camille's back and my cousin settles like a baby going down for a nap. “Not the tropics, Cam. Not this time anyway. We've . . . well, girls, Derrick and I have decided on Italy.”
“Italy!” Our voices squeal in unison.
Derrick slides both hands around Mom's waist and rests his pointy chin on her shoulder. His goofy puppy-dog face peers at us, draped by a wispy tendril of Mom's hair. “You tell them, Marilee?”
Mom pats his hand, but her smile's not nearly as large as before. “Working on it, darling.”
He smacks his lips against her cheek and, in one fluid movement, takes her hand and twirls her into his embrace. “Take a good look at her, ladies. This time next week your mother'll have a daypack strapped to her back and hiking boots hugging those lovely ankles of hers. And I can't wait to see it.”
I can't fight the frown. “Mom?”
For once, Camille stands still.
Mom's eyes plead with Mel.
Mel,
of all people. “Derrick has planned this all by himself. We're actually going to be traveling throughout much of Europe. We'll spend a few nights in Sicily, and then . . .”
“And after a few days of luxury, we'll be off on an adventure through Germany, Switzerland, France, Italy, Spain, and if she's a good girl, Hungary.”
Derrick's smile is almost as big as the sudden knot in my chest. I cock my chin. “How is all that possible?”
He pats the jacket of his tux. “I've got the Eurail passes right here, for safekeeping. I'll take good care of her, and don't worry. A year'll seem like nothing.”
The voice gasping aloud is mine. “A year?”
Mom's eyes finally find mine. “It's a chance of a lifetime, Tara. Your old mom's going to recapture her youth.” She chuckles softly. “I promise to write.”
“You're kidding. Right? Mom, you wouldn't leave your family for a whole year.”
Mom's hazel eyes sparkle like golden sapphire, and I find myself fixated on them. “I know it sounds silly, but when Derrick approached me with this idea, I don't know. I felt . . . I felt . . . oh, what am I trying to say?”
Mel cuts in. “Like a kid again?”
Mom glances at her, then back to me. “Well, not quite a child, but like a carefree girl. You may not remember this, but I was once very much that way . . .” She draws in a deep breath and continues. “I'm going to miss you girls so much, but something inside of me says that this is right. For all of us.” She turns her attention to Camille. “Would you make me a Facebook page, darling? I thought it would be fun to post pictures from our adventures . . . when I find the time.”
Camille straightens, her face animated much like a teen at the mall, instead of a young woman who's still mulling her options. “Of course! I'll teach you everything you need to know. You can do all kinds of things with it—set up groups, post messages and videos . . .”
Mom laughs. “Have fun with it, Camille. Just teach me to use it, and the project is yours.”
Camille pecks Mom's cheek, squeezes her tight, then dashes off toward a flock of girlfriends flirting with the DJ.
Mel looks more amused than bothered by Mom's announcement, yet before she can express herself, our Uncle Joe trots over and pulls her onto the dance floor. I ignore her eye roll as Uncle puts on his disco moves to “Play That Funky Music.”
Mother takes a quiet step toward me and reaches for my hand. “Tara, I'm depending on you to watch over the girls for me while I'm gone.”
When haven't I?
“My things are already at Derrick's, and I hope you won't mind, but you'll need to call back the rental agency. Tell them you'll be needing something smaller, now that there'll just be the two of you. Tara dear, you are always so responsible with the rent and your sisters, but I need you to promise me something else.”
All I can do is nod.
“Don't let bitterness guide you, Tara. Forgive and move on, and you'll be set free. Make a point to
love
your life, dear one.”
Trent. Now why did she have to bring him into this? He was supposed to be here today, but it would have been pretty awkward considering how much I long to key his car.
Okay, not really. I'd never do anything so . . . so rash. Anyway, this isn't about my ex-fiancé. It's about my mother abandoning me and the rest of our family. And it's about how at peace she looks doing it.
Weddings often bring on tears, but not usually after the vows have already been said and the customary chicken dance long over. So I fight back mine, and straighten my shoulders in an attempt to lure air into my lungs. Derrick pulls Mom toward a group of friends who are set to leave, and she squeezes my hand before turning away from me.
Mel joins me again and purses her lips before letting out a long, low sigh. “What was that you were saying about Mom needing us?”
Camille returns, throwing herself into my arms. “What am I going to do without Mom for a whole year?”
I haven't the slightest. Trent left me for good yesterday—I gulp back that sting of bitterness—and now Mom's running away with her young husband for a year of dusty hostels and mosquito bites. They say that things happen in threes, and maybe the cursed
they
are on to something. For the past two weeks, in between filling Ball jars with homemade bath soap dubbed “Marilee and Derrick's Green Tea & Me Scrub” to give as wedding favors, I've been cleaning out my office at the auto parts store where I've hung my sweater since I graduated high school. Poor Woody, my boss and the owner of the company, died of a heart attack while out picking up a pack of stamps. His sons, Ed and Phil, sold the place quick as they could, and the new owners have brought in their own staff. Thankfully they gave me a nice severance package, but I'm still bothered over how easy it was for Woody's sons to forget everything their father built.
I hang on to Camille and glance across the lawn, vaguely aware that Mom left her bridal bouquet, teeming with mini-roses, on a chair near the DJ. Someone really should gather everyone around before all the single women have gone. Little Katie wanders over and reaches for the blossoms, the image sending my mind even further away to my vaguely recognizable past.
I'm five or so, and my father guides my hand into clear, cool water to touch the tentacles of a green sea anemone that's stuck to the side of a craggy rock. “Go ahead, Tara. Just be gentle. It won't bite.” I brush my fingers across the swaying limbs of the flower-like creature, their softness tickling me. Apparently believing I'm lunch, the anemone attempts to adhere itself to my fingertips and I pull back, laughing as I tumble bottom-first into a shallow basin of sea water. Joy and laughter and fearlessness wash over me.

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