The bills had piled up everywhere: pink ones and blue ones and eventually red ones. Some were from hospitals or doctors. Some came from the little plastic cards. They all wanted money as my father struggled to find another job.
Maybe he was a little too honest in the interviews. They were always sympathetic with his situation, but he was never picked. My father took odd jobs, but it just wasn’t enough money. The bank ordered us to leave the house by the end of May. We could no longer pay for our pretty, little cottage and my garden. I was losing both my mother and my home.
I had cried for days and refused to come out of my room, losing my temper more than once, smashing doll china like the Mad Hatter destroying high tea. The meltdowns became farther apart as I slowly came to acceptance. With every breath, I felt the fear and uncertainty of our future. With every breath, I felt a hard, ridged coat form over my heart.
My father looked for us a new place to live and place to take care of my mother. The treatments had stopped working months ago. It was time to just keep her from feeling pain. He found a hospital west of Fort Worth in a town called Arlis that took charity hospice cases. My father wanted us to live there too. I hated the idea of moving. I hated leaving my home. I hated the bank; it was cruel, like the evil queen who attacked Snow White.
As we packed the house for the move, my father handed over two small boxes. He struggled to look me in the eye as he said choose only the things that were most important to me. I stared back, wanting to scream in his face. His sad eyes had stopped every word from flowing out of my mouth. Instead of yelling, I bit down on my lip until I tasted blood. I bit down hard, feeling the coat squeeze around my heart. I needed that coat to block out how dark I felt inside. It would keep the tears away. I may have only been eight, but I felt the reality of the outside world like someone twice my age. No more daydreams up in the trees. It was time to be strong. I needed it and my father needed it too.
Without a word, I had followed my father’s instructions and only packed items I needed for the trip. All the jeweled dresses and crowns stayed in the closet; this Arlis town was no place for a laughing princess.
“Hey Pumpkin, can you get those blankets and pillows out? We can stretch those out in your room tonight.”
“Ok,” I muttered, snapping back to reality. My tongue traced the familiar cut that still remained on my bottom lip. I watched my father pile the remaining items up in the living room. The creases on his forehead seemed ingrained on his skin. Today had been hard on him too. We were leaving with only few boxes and a little money, which only existed because we sold everything in our house.
I got the blankets from the garage and laid them out on the carpet in my room. My little white bed had sold this afternoon. The new owner seemed like a nice little girl holding her mother’s hand. Maybe she would love it as much as me.
I wrapped up in the blanket while my head rested against the pillow. Digger bounced out from some hiding place deep in the house. His little tongue licked my nose and eyes. I pulled him close in a bear hug. It would be my last night with Digger. He was staying with Mr. Wilson. My father had rented a room at an extended stay motel in stupid Arlis. I had begged my father to let me take Digger, but the stupid motel said no pets.
I squeezed the little dog tighter as my father walked into my bedroom. He sat down on the floor next to me. “You ok, Pumpkin?”
“Can’t we just sneak him in the room?”
“I’m sorry, but it’s better for him to stay with the Wilsons than the motel taking him away.”
“I know.” My throat hurt on the words as the tears burned in my eyes. The coat around my heart got thicker, and I cried no tears for Digger.
“It will be ok. You’ll like Arlis,” my father said, as he tried to pull together a smile.
“How do you know? You’ve never been there!” I snapped back. In the weak moment, I struggled to contain my anger. I hurt too much tonight.
“Alexandra! You need to change your attitude about this!” I felt myself cringe; he never got upset with me. I didn’t want to make this worse for him.
“I’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t mean that. I know you’re right. It will be good there.” The words didn’t calm the storm I felt inside, but it made my father’s face relax a little. I said the words he needed to hear. I said the words to comfort my father.
I blocked out his voice as he continued to talk about that stupid town and that stupid motel and that stupid hospital. I bit my lip until I tasted the salty blood in my mouth. I squeezed my eyes shut, begging the darkness to carry me away.
By the time I woke the next morning, my father had the old SUV loaded with our belongings. The back had boxes packed to the ceiling. The Wilsons stood outside talking to my father. I saw Mr. Wilson pat my father on the shoulder as they nodded about something I couldn’t hear. I carried Digger over to his new home. Mrs. Wilson smiled down as I handed over the ball of fur.
“We promise to take good care of him,” she said, trying to reassure me. I muttered thanks and climbed in the truck. I saw the tears in my father’s eyes as we backed out of the driveway. Mine were completely dry as I pressed my nose against the glass to look one last time. The coat around my heart got even tighter, seeing our little cottage with the garden fade into the distance.
Chapter 5
When I was eight…
From the hospital room window, I peeked through the closed curtain and watched three children on the red and yellow playground. They seemed happy. A boy joined in for a game of tag. He chased a girl around the green hedges.
“You should go down there, Alex.” I heard a faint voice come from the bed. My mother was in a deep sleep most of the time. I preferred it when she was out because I knew she didn’t feel the pain. Those wishes came laced with selfishness. I liked to sit in silence. It was easier than a forced conversation with a dying person even if she was my mother. I really didn’t know what to say anymore. The days just seemed better when her skeleton face didn’t speak. Shame filled my chest. I stopped the terrible thoughts and buried them with a crooked smile.
“It’s ok, Mom. Do you want me to get you a drink?” I left the window to sit in the chair next to her bed. Her skeleton hand patted my arm. I felt a shutter and focused on her bald head instead.
“Maybe a little sip.” She looked so pale, and I saw the strain on her face as she tried to speak. “I worry about you, honey.”
“Why?”
“You should be doing something, I don’t know,” her voice cracked. A faint cough interrupted and then she continued, “Fun. You’re like a little grownup, now. I miss my little Alex in the trees.”
“I’m, ok. Really. Besides, you were right. It was dangerous climbing up in the trees.” Fleeting images of our garden flashed through my mind. I wondered if my mother understood the trees were gone from our lives forever.
I pulled the blanket up around her shoulders and kissed her cheek. My throat fought back a gag. Her skin used to smell like the roses in our backyard. Now her skin stunk like moldy bread.
“Mom, I’ll see if…” My words trailed off as I watched her eyelids close. I sighed with relief and settled back in the window sill. Silence.