“Will you even try to have fun? I know it’s been a long time, but try to remember what it felt like.”
“I might. I’ll think about it, Ava. You’re the one should go.” Only the idea of travel appealed to Sylvia, but she could see the reality too acutely. That was one of her problems. She could see the sordid underbelly of a thing and often little else. She was too serious. If she’d had a dime for every time somebody had told her to cheer up, lighten up, stop thinking so much, stop being a downer. She used to love smoking pot for that feeling of letting go, just laughing to hear herself laugh. Those had been nice days, but it had been years, decades since she smoked any. Other people saw a boatload of people dancing, eating from the large and plentiful buffets, watching the roiling waves in the moonlight. Sylvia saw only the desperation, the straining of these same people to have fun, to not go back home exhausted and sad. You shouldn’t have to try that hard for fun. She knew these were mostly excuses. If she left what would Marcus do? He could hardly make it a few days without hearing her voice. How could she help him if she was on an ocean trying not to be miserable? Of course he would be okay.
“Lana needs to mind her own business.”
Ava squeezed more agave into her glass. “She’s your sister. You are her business.” Ava looked around for a spoon and ended up swirling the tea with her finger. “That’s nasty, I know.”
“I didn’t say anything,” Sylvia said, but Ava must have seen it on her face. “I talked to Marcus today.”
“The prisoner? Is that why you won’t go with Lana? Mama you’ve got to stop talking to him. I know you feel bad for him, but you can’t help him.”
“I know you feel more for people than that,” Sylvia said.
“I’m not trying to be mean. I’m thinking more about you than him.”
“How he remembers my number I don’t know. How many phone numbers do you know? I know yours at work, your cell phone, my work number,” Sylvia said.
“Mama don’t change the subject. You need to stop with that prisoner.”
“You don’t get many collect calls anymore.”
“He’s calling you collect! You’re paying to talk to him?”
“Nothing is long-distance anymore. It’s fine.” If Ava knew how expensive it was to talk to Marcus she would have a fit. Thank goodness the phone bill still came in her name. If there is a way to make a buck from even the saddest, poorest people in the world, you better believe some company has been created to do just that. “I’m tired. I should just go on to bed and call it a day.”
“Mama?” Ava searched her mother’s face for something she hadn’t seen or had ignored, some sign she was in pain. “What does he say?”
“Who? Marcus?”
“The prisoner.”
“Stop calling him that. He has a name.”
“You don’t know anything about him but his name. He could be dangerous, Mama.”
“Over the phone.” Sylvia laughed.
“You know what I mean. How do you know you’re not talking to a killer? How, Mama?”
“They don’t let the killers stay in county.” Sylvia sighed. “He wants me to get a message to his girlfriend and daughter.”
“What message? You’re not going to do it are you?” Ava hadn’t realized that her mother had been that lonely but she hadn’t asked.
“That woman might be crazy,” Sylvia hissed through her teeth. She hoped it sounded like a laugh, like seeing Marcus’s girlfriend was the last thing she planned to do in the world. “You have to be careful with people these days.”
“Mama, are you okay?”
“What are you talking about?” Sylvia reached for one of Ava’s magazines. She didn’t bother to flip it open. “JJ’s house is looking good.”
“Mama!”
“I’m just talking to a sad boy, Ava.” Sylvia raised her voice, she hoped she hadn’t shouted. She couldn’t tell sometimes. She started to think that late middle-aged women lose their hearing and they shout to hear themselves. Loss of hearing felt better to believe than the thought that she was disappearing from view, shouting for help before the last of her vanished into thin air. “He doesn’t have anybody,” she said. “I’d want somebody to help my son.”
Ava had never experienced real jealousy for Devon, at least not strong jealousy. They were separated by two and a half years, he a boy; she a girl. They never got labeled the athletic one, the pretty one, or the smart one, the way some people speak of siblings close in age. Still she couldn’t help but imagine that her mother must know a closeness with Devon she could never feel for her, the number two child. Oprah grinned up at Ava from under the brim of a wide hat announcing the arrival of spring and a new body, a new turn of mind. Of course her mother helping Marcus was about Devon. So much of their lives eventually shifted in her brother’s direction. Her mother had her eyes closed, though Ava knew she was not relaxed. She was done with the Marcus subject. “Mama, get some sleep. You’re not listening to a word I say.”
“I heard you, Ava.” Sylvia crossed her legs at the ankles and sloughed off her beat-up shoes. Her daughter’s shoes were lined up in military rows on the upstairs landing, beautiful high heels, boots standing upright and at attention like a small regiment, expensive wooden shapers poking from their tops like in a showroom. She would get better shoes, she promised to remember. She had been a stylish young person, hadn’t she? She could almost remember looking nice. But who can remember? The mind plays tricks, or better said even reasonable people forgot the honest particulars of their pasts. Her feet were alligator feet without the charm. When did it come to all this? There had to be a start to this decline. If she could pinpoint the moment of decay maybe she could reverse it. That was the logic in the sci-fi movie. Get to the source.
“What are you smiling about?” Ava asked.
“I’m not smiling.”
“I saw you.”
“You wouldn’t believe what goes on in my head these days. I’ve got too much going on in there. Right here,” Sylvia said and tapped her temple.
“That’s for sure not it.” Ava smiled at her mother. “Hard to believe so much time has gone by. I hope he hasn’t moved on.”