Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
cove
“If I can stop one heart from breaking, I shall not live in vain.”
Emily Dickinson
“Mom?”
“In here, honey. Excuse the mess.”
Mess is an understatement. Anxiety attacks me just looking around the inside of my childhood home. The home I know means more than anything in this world to my mom.
It’s just an ordinary house.
But to Mom and me, it’s our refuge. The home she bought when my father first left us, and the home she’s lived in ever since. It feels different than it did last week without her in it.
From the outside looking in, it’s the typical Mediterranean style you find all over South Florida. The exterior is a warm tan with a rust-colored tile roof. Blue, white, green, and burnt orange small Spanish tiles border parts of the trim, really homing in on the style.
Everything about this place represents my childhood. The memories and special moments my mom gave me when I guarantee her tank was half full. She’s always been selfless and put me before anything else.
I don’t even remember a time when she got her hair done; she always buys the boxed stuff from the supermarket. And she never complained. Never wished for better days. She appreciated what she had, and I’m grateful it was her example I got to admire growing up.
I hate that this is a repercussion of being a single parent and loving her daughter well.
The interior of Mom’s home is what has my heart breaking. I can tell she’s been moving things around between rooms, likely trying to make space and protect what little furniture she already has. Mom has always been one to simplify.
Every spring, for as long as I can remember, spring cleaning was a must in the Davenport household. It’s a tradition even Betsy and I do together—even with Mom’s oldies playlist blasting in the background.
The dining room table, loveseat, and two chairs are all pushed to the side of the living room. Sopping wet towels are littered in piles across the vinyl flooring, giving off a sour mildew smell upon entering. Thankfully, she has the front windows open for some ventilation, but still.
Mom’s been stopping by the house the past week to check on things after work.
After relaying how my meeting with Tom went, we spent the entire weekend doing everything possible to salvage any family heirlooms or childhood memories from being ruined.
Anything of even minor importance was transported in industrial tubs and sent to the storage unit.
At least until we can get the foundation issues and leaks under control.
Mom rounds the corner of the kitchen, just off the laundry room, with a giant smile on her face.
That’s my mama. Camille Davenport.
Beautiful. Kind. Incredibly optimistic. Her long black hair matches mine, twisted at the top of her head, and secured by a large claw clip. Her green scrubs tell me she just got off work, lacking any downtime before she comes home to all of this.
“How was work?” Mom asks, waving me to follow her as she dumps a bucket of dirty mop water into the utility sink. “Have you eaten?”
Her house is in shambles, yet she asks me if I’ve eaten dinner.
Selfless.
“I’m not that hungry. But thank you,” I reply, grabbing the mop and wringing it out while she refills the bucket. Washing powder and hot water: the two simple ingredients for perfectly clean floors.
Not a film line to be seen.
“Cove. Don’t you dare lie because you’re worried about me. I can see it all over your face. You think this is the first time I’ve ever had to mop mildew and dirty water?”
I shake my head. “Mom…it’s not just that, and you know it.”
Her hands find her hips, and I know Mom’s Italian side is about to come out swingin’. “I won’t lie and say this has been easy, honey. I won’t do that to you. I can’t. But what have I always told you since you were a little girl?”
“We persevere,” I whisper, recalling numerous times in my life Mom has reminded me of her life cry. Those two words have seen me through some of the hardest times in my life.
Growing up without a father. Witnessing said sperm donor with another family, living happily. Relationships that ended up being nothing but dead ends. And now this. The worry over Mom’s living situation consumes me.
“We sure do. And we will. I will. I don’t want you losing sleep over me, Cove. It’s not good for you. No sense dwelling on things we can’t change.”
I follow Mom into the living room, abandoning the mop and bucket before she leads us to the back patio.
Out here, it feels like home. The home we had before the hurricane swept through.
A wicker porch swing hangs horizontally to the concrete ceiling, seemingly the only structure still holding strong.
Various green plants surround us; Mom’s favorite thing to do in her free time is garden.
She’s never been one to grow vegetables, but give her some healthy Crotons and Bougainvillea, and she’ll nourish them like you wouldn’t believe.
The green thumb skipped me, fortunately, leaving me with absolutely zero desire to garden. But I love to visit and see how Mom’s simple caretaking has caused these plants to flourish.
She pulls me close to her on the swing, holding me in her comforting arms. “Cove, my beautiful angel girl. You may be a grown woman, but you’re still my baby. And you’ve got me worrying about you now. I worry enough when you fly. It’s hardly fair you give me another reason to spiral.”
“I just don’t want you to feel like you’re alone in this, Mom. I’m going to figure out a way to get it all fixed. That way, you won’t have to stay with Aunt Lottie for long and can be back in no time.”
Lottie has already reassured me that Mom is doing just fine. I had to ask. I wanted to make sure she wasn’t crying herself to sleep or anything I didn’t know about it.
That would break my fucking heart.
“How could I ever feel alone when I have you, sweet girl? At times, you even smother me,” she teases. “This too shall pass. We’ll figure it out. Until we hear from the contractor, there’s nothing else to do but wait and think positively.”
Despite wanting to visit, there is a real reason I stopped by. One that I know is going to bear bad news, but ultimately, the answers we’ve been waiting for in order to proceed with the restoration.
“The contractor called.”
Mom doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t jolt enough to show even a sliver of anxiety. She remains as calm as always, holding her composure like the classy queen she is. “Okay,” she exhales, eyes falling closed as she rocks us steadily, the moon windchime all I hear around us. “Let’s hear it then.”
I lean my head on her shoulder as I sound off on the fate of her home.
“To replace the roof entirely, replace the septic tank and drain fields, foundation reconstruction, continued mold remediation, and replacing the floors with something more durable and able to withstand the potential of water…we’re looking at one hundred and twenty thousand, give or take. ”
Saying those words out loud sends my stomach to the floor. The worst-case scenario is Mom’s reality. Shitty all the way around. But Mom’s breathing pauses, likely talking herself through next steps without a hint of fear underneath her mask.
I’d like to think being a single parent gave her the stamina to resist anything. Not all heroes wear capes—nothing has ever been more accurate.
“That’s…unfortunate,” she sighs softly. Not one part of her reaction feels angry or bitter. Just sad. “I suppose an older home will come with its troubles. And a hurricane is certainly trouble.”
I need to help her. She’s trying to stay strong for me, but I know on the inside, her heart is breaking. Mom doesn’t have that kind of money lying around. What do they expect her to do? Pull it out of her ass?
“I’m going to figure this out, Mom.” My tone is confident despite the restless worry I feel.
“You most certainly will not,” she tells me. “I’ll make some phone calls first thing tomorrow to the insurance company. The claim has already been filed, but they’re expecting updates. Although I’m sure the contractor has already put that into motion.”
“That still won’t cover it all. There are deductibles and things that you know just as much as I do, insurance will claim preexisting damages, and refuse to pay. We have to prepare for the worst.”
“Cove.” Her hold on me tightens, and I’m instantly hit with a wave of emotions.
“Ever since you became an adult, you’ve helped me.
I know what I need to do. And as much as I want to stay here after everything is said and done, I can’t.
I can’t risk the safety of my livelihood for a home.
Something that, at the end of the day, is only a possession.
No matter how much I love this house and the memories you and I shared together in it, it’s only a house.
Four walls, a failing roof, and a broken floor.
But you, my beautiful girl, are my home. ”
Her words mean everything to me, but if I learned anything from my mother, it’s that accepting defeat simply will not do.
So, I’ll go along with her plan. Support her the best way I know how and continue to work overtime to do my part.
But there’s another option I’ve kept tucked away. Far, far away, knowing if I even consider it, I could potentially watch the life I’ve built for myself fall out from under my feet. No room to fake it or claim to be better.
But at the cost of my mother? The only woman in this world who neglected herself so that I could have a better life?
Well, I’ll do it for her. If it means she gets to keep one piece of independence she has left.
Even if it hurts. Even if it breaks me to my dark and broken soul.
“Alright. Do what you gotta do. Just know that I love you,” I whisper.
“And I love you.”
Time to make a phone call.
“Seriously? Like you didn’t see us walking here.” Betsy darts toward oncoming traffic.