“I don’t believe you.”
“You don’t believe me?” Amy’s initial surprise turned quickly to anguish. The disappointment of her mother’s refusal to accept the truth was a weight so heavy. Tears began to well. “You think I made this up?”
“He’s always been such a good boy, Amy, polite, helpful. Why—”
“So you’ll accept him because he was a ‘good boy,’ but because I became difficult, you won’t take my word. Mom, I’m your daughter.”
“He’s away at Bible College studying for the ministry now.”
“Maybe he’s repented—”
“As should you,” her mom shouted.
“Maybe I should …” Amy paused long enough to put the brakes on the torrent of anger threatening, “but I never pretended to be anything I wasn’t. His duplicity made it impossible for me to accept your God on your terms.”
“And so you ran away to LA to get away from me and my God. If you hadn’t, none of the evil that week would have happened. If you had just stayed right here and accepted our beliefs you wouldn’t have been—”
“After all I’ve been through, you still want to judge me?” Amy didn’t want to raise her voice, but she felt an unwelcomed intensity increase the volume. “I’m your daughter no matter what my choices. You gave me life, Mom. You taught me that this incredible gift comes with free will. I may not now nor ever choose the path you want for me, but it’s my path, my choices. I have to live with the consequences. You should be happy I lived through this one.”
Amy saw no point in this going further. She just wanted to hug her mother until the frustration drained away, but she felt it best if her mom took the initiative. She stepped around the bed with the gift extended in her hand and looked into her mother’s eyes. They were moist and tired. Even though she wasn’t quite forty, her skin was drawn from the labors of the farm in the hot sun and frigid winters.
“I am happy your home, Amy,” her mom said with restraint. “We’re all glad you’re home and safe. What that man … what those men did to you is deserving of Hell fire. I just worry about you always. The way you left last time was so hurtful to me and your father. And now you’re going to leave again.”
“Yes, come Monday I’m going back. My home is there now. I have a job and friends. But this time it’s not because I’m running from you, Dad or your church. This time I’m running toward the next chapter in my life.”
“Who knows when we’ll see you again.” Her mom said it like a fact not a question.
“You’ll be seeing plenty of me, Mom. You just wait.”
“Well, time will tell,” she said, took a step back into the hallway, looked away from Amy’s face and to the box still in Amy’s hand.
Amy shoved her disappointment down. Why couldn’t her mother extend to her a hug and see past the expectations she had for her oldest daughter? Why she couldn’t offer the same unconditional love she said her God gave freely, left Amy’s heart broken. But she had learned how to swallow her tears and that after forgiveness comes acceptance. Her mom, just like Tony, might never change.
“Now, what’s this gift?” her mother asked.
“In the kitchen, Mom. Let’s open it in the kitchen with everyone else, okay?”
Amy followed her mother down the hall and through the doorway into the kitchen. Dad still stood by the table with the stack of plates, and Cindy had stepped to the stove to stir the gravy. Her mom stopped on the opposite side of the table from Dad. Amy handed her the bright yellow box. On top of the wrapping paper Amy had scrawled a message. “I love you, Mom.”
“What is it?” Cindy asked as she turned from the stove.
“Go ahead, open it, Mom.”
Her mom shot Amy a glance and cocked her head. She turned her mouth into a subtle smile. “Well, let’s just see,” she said as she ripped the paper free. She opened the box. “Oh! I’ve never spoiled myself with one of these.”
Amy felt a pang of guilt stab like a dull knife. It’s not that they couldn’t afford a tablecloth, but they lived such a frugal life that an old sheet was enough to cover the scratches and dents on the table top.
“What is it?” Cindy asked again.
“Why … it’s a new tablecloth,” her mom said. She pulled it from the box. Amy watched her eyes travel around the room from herself, to their dad and then to Cindy. Then as if she needed to distract herself from a tear that threatened, she handed the still folded white linen to Cindy. “Here, put the old sheet aside today. Now, before dinner gets cold get that table set.”
“It’s beautiful,” Cindy said with a smile aimed at Amy. She shook the cloth to unfurl the folds and, after Amy removed the sheet, draped the table.
Amy glanced around the kitchen to those she loved. Dad headed round the table and set the plates and flatware in place. Cindy pulled some serving dishes from the hutch. Mom had turned her back and faced the counter. She busied herself with a large spoon and dug into the cavity of the turkey to remove the stuffing.
The moment had passed and her mom hadn’t extended Amy that hug—maybe someday. Amy gave a silent sigh and again buried her disappointment. In its place, she let a smile crinkle the freckles on her nose and expose her soon-to-be famous dimples.
“What can I do?”
The End
_____
©
Jearl Rugh 2012
All
Rights Reserved
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