“I don’t know how many, but the church was quite full of people. You might want to speak to the priest at the church. Would you like me to give you his number?”
“I have his number, thanks.”
“Well, do you need me to help you here with anything in particular? I can call for a skip if you’d like?”
“I’ll have a browse around now and then make arrangements for a skip tomorrow. I don’t want to inconvenience you in anyway.”
He smiled and gave me a gentle pat on the back. “I wouldn’t be inconvenienced in the slightest. You just let me know when you need anything at all, and I’ll be happy to help.”
“Thank you.”
He nodded and began walking off. Then I remembered. “Mr Diaz?” He stopped and looked at me. “Are there any motels nearby?” I’d driven past one, but it was on the outskirts of Gosnells.
“Yes, it’s called the Manor Motel, and it’s about a ten-minute drive, just passed the grocery store and onto Roe street, beside the Chinese restaurant with the dragon pictures on the windows."
“Manor Motel, I’ll look that up. Thank you again.” I climbed up the two step porch and opened the screen door that wasn’t there when I’d been living here. I watched Mr Diaz until he was out of sight, and then stuck the key in. I hated that I was trembling. This house didn’t stand for anything good. It was my childhood nightmare.
I opened the door and was hit with a vague sandalwood scent. The first thing I noticed was the carpet below my feet, and I thought that was quite odd because it was supposed to be tiles. Then again, upon looking around the living room, I realized everything about this home was different. There were two leather sofas against a wall, a glass coffee table with sandalwood wax cubes prepped beside a wax burner; where the TV had once been had been replaced with a tall and wide bookshelf, and it was packed tightly with books on religion, gardening, and self-help. On the walls were framed photos; one of an ocean and the sun setting, and another of a wooden bridge with a quote that read, Life is a journey.
Had I entered the Twilight Zone? Was this not Joanne Nolan’s home? As I walked throughout the house and into the kitchen, I found old bills on the counter that read her name. Jeez, I’d never seen the kitchen so clean in my life. Aside from accumulating dust and an empty coffee mug in the sink, it was spotless. When I began climbing the staircase, I had to tell myself to breathe and keep the images of him throwing me down them at bay.
Her bedroom was new as well. The queen sized bed was a chestnut brown, as well as the good quality dresser and tallboy. My heart tugged when I saw that her bed’s quilt was ruffled and unmade. She hadn’t made her bed the day she died. Yet it was probably something she always did when I took into account how spotless and organized the house was. I left the room and went into mine. I already knew before I walked in that it was probably changed as well, and it was. Everything was gone and replaced with packed boxes. She’d used the space as a storage room. Any sign that a terrified child who often wet her mattress on the floor had lived here was gone.
I suddenly felt overwhelmed by all this change. My legs were wobbly and my eyes stung from exhaustion. None of this made any damn sense. I hurried back down the stairs and collapsed onto the black leather couch, unsure of how to cope with it all.
Pulling out my phone, I dialed the priest’s number. “I’m sorry to bother you like this, but just how well did you know my mom?”
“I knew her very well.”
“But being here, at this house… it’s nothing at all like I remember. Everything… is different.” I closed my eyes tightly and shook my head. “This doesn’t make any sense. My mother was an alcoholic. This house was in shambles. I don’t…I just don’t understand. Please help me understand.” I must have sounded so pathetic begging a priest I’d never met at a Church I’d never gone in to help me understand my mother – a woman who I was meant to know everything about.
“Your mother was troubled, but she’d made tremendous progress. There’s a lot I can tell you, but I’ll give you the basics.” What he then continued on to explain had left me shocked and unable to speak. Four years ago my mother had joined the Catholic community and sought help for her alcoholism. She was checked into a rehab, funded solely on the generosity of her friends, and though she relapsed a couple times upon leaving, she’d been sober twenty-eight months last week. She volunteered at the church, got a job as a cashier in a bookstore, and relied upon the support of the church community to help distract her from her addiction and personal troubles.
Like my father.
“He’d taken off on her again right before she checked into rehab, but six months after she had left rehab and was on the sober wagon, he returned and tempted her back to the drink. She relapsed and instantly knew he was the toxic influence in her life. She filed for divorce and retained a restraining order. He didn’t go down without a fight and had constantly found a way to get to her, but I stopped hearing about him about two summers ago, so I assumed she’d been done with him once and for all.”
When I didn’t respond to this explanation, the Father continued. “She had come so far and was loved by many, but there was one woman who was affected the worst by her passing. Rita Martinez had been the significant change in Joanne’s life. They were very close. Rita did everything for her. Bought her things, furniture and the like, and took care of the funeral costs. She had actually intended to clear out the house, but we knew the responsibility was owed to you. You’re her daughter after all. Perhaps you should meet with Rita yourself. I can call her and arrange that for you if you like. She can give you much more information than me about your mother and the changes she had made in her life the previous four years.”
“Okay,” was my one worded reply. Nothing else could be said. This news hadn’t entirely sunk in at all. Actually, it was still on the surface trying to find a way to penetrate into my brain, but it was like digging into an ice block.
“I hope I’ve been some help. I’ll leave you to it, then. God bless, Sara.”
I hung up before he did. What.The.Fuck.
When I had somehow found the use of my legs, I decided I wasn’t going to stick around this place any longer. I needed time to think, maybe even consider pushing the responsibility onto this Rita who was apparently significant to my mother.
Why wasn’t I significant? What made this woman more special than her own daughter? Ugh, no, I needed not to think about this.
I plugged the name of the motel into the GPS when I got back to the car, and then I took the route down the opposite street to Lucinda’s house. Adrenaline pumped through my veins as I slowed down in front of it. The place looked the same, and the blinds were pulled up, broadcasting to whoever walked by the living room and its occupants.
When I saw a toddler waddling from a coffee table to a couch, my heart leaped out of my chest in shock and confusion. A lightning bolt of thoughts ran through me. Was this Lucinda’s grand child? Oh, God, did he have a child? But then I saw a couple walk into a living room to join the baby and settle on the couch. It then dawned on me that Lucinda no longer lived there.
*****
So much change. Too much change. I just wanted to sleep this whole day off.