She had new lines under her eyes, jowls, and cracks in the corners of her mouth. They were called laugh lines but she hadn’t laughed in forever. Suddenly she flashed on the last time she’d laughed.
Jill had asked for a sandwich, and Linda had run into the kitchen and made her favorite, Muenster cheese and tomato with mayo. Linda had brought the sandwich and a glass of homemade iced tea into the family room, but she’d tripped over the cat and dropped the plate. The sandwich fell open on the rug.
Well done, Mom! Jill had laughed.
Have a nice trip? Mark had laughed, too.
I’ll help! Allie had hurried over to unpeel the bread from the rug, and the cat had licked up the mayonnaise.
That was her secret plan! Jill had said, and they’d all laughed again.
Linda felt a stab of pain at the memory. She eyed the woman in the bathroom mirror, feeling weirdly separate from her. The therapist had talked about de-realization, where you felt like a cardboard cutout of yourself. Linda thought that she didn’t look like herself because she wasn’t herself. She hadn’t been back to the therapist in a while, and the therapist was calling to get her on the schedule, at least to check her meds, one of the messages had said.
Linda didn’t think that she needed therapy because what agonized her wasn’t losing Jill but everything that Jill had gone through, so much suffering every day. The pain that child had endured, the visits to the doctors, the needles, the tests, the struggle of Jill’s life, one that no child should have to endure, for life. For life. Linda knew that her pain was truly for her child, and now that Jill had died, only now could Linda allow herself to experience that pain. Because until now, Linda had been one hundred percent busy being everything that Jill needed, a mom, a nurse, a cheerleader, a therapist, a bestie, and now Linda could just kick out the jams and she finally had.
She blinked, and so did the woman in the mirror. She eyed her reflection, or whoever’s reflection it was, wondering how long she was going to feel this bad. She was sleeping so much these days. She tried to feel better but something kept pushing her back down again. She was too exhausted to live.
Her eyes teared up, and she leaned on the sink for support. She felt so much pain that she wished for another pill, even though they made her so useless. She didn’t know who she was if she wasn’t Jill’s mother. She couldn’t accomplish a single thing. She couldn’t even get out of bed. She barely washed or fed herself.
Tears blurred her vision, and she thought about Allie. She knew that helping Allie was beyond her. Mark would have to take care of Allie, and Linda could leave Allie to him for a little while longer, until she could get past this, or over it, or through it, or magically emerge on the other side, like herself, a mother to at least one daughter, the one left but lost.
“Lin, what are you doing?” Mark asked, appearing in the bathroom behind her in his T-shirt and boxers. He didn’t have his glasses on, and he blinked, squinting against the bright light.
“I woke up.” Linda looked at Mark blankly, trying to remember the last time she had really looked at him. Now he was looking at her like she was crazy.
“You’re naked.”
“I was asleep.”
“But the AC is on. It’s cold.”
“I’m fine.” Linda knew it was a ridiculous thing to say.
“It’s the middle of the night. Why are you up?”
“I woke up,” Linda repeated, since she couldn’t say why she slept or why she woke up anymore. “It’s nighttime, right?”
“Yes. It’s 4:17 A.M.”
Linda thought it was so like him. A precise man, super-reliable, and kind from the day they’d met in college. They had been leaving Wright Hall after Business Accounting. Funny she should remember that and she couldn’t remember so much else.
“Come back to bed.” Mark took her arm, and Linda allowed herself to be led into the bedroom, slipping into the cool darkness.
“How’s Allie? Is she okay?” Linda went to her side of the bed and sat down.
“She’s fine, don’t worry about a thing.”
“You’re taking care of her, right?” Linda needed to make sure, to hear him say it, to tell her.
“Of course.”
“I woke up before but you weren’t there.” Linda got the Valium bottle from the night table, shook one