42. Marnie
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Marnie
Mom cuts my hair. An hour into our visit, she says, “You have wicked dead ends, sweetie. Let me take care of that for you,” and, perhaps needing her attention, I can’t resist. She gets her kit from the car. We scoot a chair out from the kitchen table, and she makes the sunlight flicker when she flips out her signature leopard-print cape. It’s just like the old days.
She fingers Grady’s braid loose, fanning my locks and scrutinizing them. “So, what happened to the Sullivan you were supposed to marry?”
“We didn’t work out.” It’s an obvious answer, but it spills out. “Ashe couldn’t handle hard times well.”
“Huh, better you found that out before you walked down the aisle.” She unsheathes her expensive tools, arranging her combs and scissors on the table. “What have I always said? Men can’t be trusted. They never do what they say they’ll do.”
“That’s not always true,” I say gently. “Grady’s not like that. If you stick around, you’ll see.”
Old Mom would’ve jumped into a whirlwind defense of her long-held beliefs about men, highlighting proof, particularly centered around my deadbeat father. I barely remember him. As a teenager, I wanted to argue against her, to ask why, then, did we know so many happy couples in Seagrove, men who loved their wives and stayed. Why did that rule seem to apply only to her? And why did she keep finding men if she truly believed it?
But often, I didn’t have the energy to argue, not that she would’ve heard me. When Mom got ideas in her head, she rarely, if ever, shifted them. So, I kept quiet, managing our household peace like it was my job—school, chores, and keeping Mom calm.
She moves to the front of the chair, eyeing me. “Always so pretty, Marnie. You’ve only gotten prettier, you know?”
A weak smile pushes out, though it makes me feel awkward. “Thanks.”
She kneels before me, straightening the cape and resting her hands on my knees. “I’m so sorry, Marnie. I should’ve said it then, that night. But I was so ashamed. I knew I didn’t deserve your forgiveness, even if you gave it to me. Finding out about the play and that you couldn’t tell me about it—which I understand now, but I couldn’t take it then. I induced a manic episode with pills and booze, creating the perfect storm that rained all over you. You didn’t deserve what I put you through… not that night. Not all the years before. It was unfair, you managing my condition while I just went wherever it took me. God—I’m sorry. I never gave you a chance to be a kid.”
She shuts her eyes to the tears springing in them. Mom cries?
“I never should’ve left,” she goes on, “Never should’ve run from you and what I caused. I never wanted to be without you. I knew you’d be okay—you were always okay. I also knew that I needed to be okay without you?—”
I bolt from my seat, the chair scraping out from under me. “You’re my mother. How could you ever think I’d be okay without you? I was fifteen.”
Mom steps back, nodding as tears spit from her eyes. “You’re right.”
I scoff and decide not to be nice. “I don’t want to hear I’m right. I know I’m right. I want you to explain how you could do that to me. How you could leave me. How you could wake up every morning after and decide not to come back again.”
I keep my voice low for Tilly, sleeping on the couch nearby, but inside, I’m screaming the words. My arms fold over the cape, awaiting her answer.
Her arms wave off her hips as she shakes her head. “I hated myself, Marnie. That day and every day after for what I did to you. I convinced myself you were better off without me, and I was too cowardly to set anything right. Mel kept tabs on you. I wrote the letters, hoping for another chance, but you didn’t answer. I assumed you didn’t want me back, and I didn’t blame you after the burden I’d been. When I finally got my disorder under control, I decided it was too late.”
Too late. My arms fall to my sides—that’s how I felt about her when her letters came. “But you kept sending the letters.”
“I never lost hope,” she cries, taking a small step forward. “Send me away tonight, and I’ll still send them. I’ll always send them, just in case.”
“Why now? Why? ”
“Mel told me about the accident. I thought that if there were ever a time you might let me back into your life, it’d be when yours had gone so wrong. Not that I wanted it to go wrong… It’s just… I hoped you’d need me—and that’s selfish, I know, and dumb because you’re so much stronger than me. Maybe it sounds crazy, but I felt that you needed me.”
I nod weakly. That day replays in my head, a montage of all the times I wanted her there. “I did need you.”
“I’m here, now.”
“I can’t forgive you, Mom.”
She swipes her wet cheeks with her fingers. “I understand.”
“I might, though. Someday.”
A smile breaks through her distress. “That’s good enough for me.”
“But here’s what’s going to happen,” I say, stealing Grady’s words. “You can stay here temporarily, but you must find your own place if you plan to stay.”
“Of course.”
“I want time with Tilly—just me and her.”
“Absolutely.”
“If your disorder gets out of control again—if I tell you it’s out of control—you must promise me…” I swallow the lump in my throat and almost can’t say the words, but I need her to know how serious I am. “…you’ll stay and get help and entrust Tilly to me.”
With a deep breath, she nods. “Yes, Marnie. I will. I promise.”
I look for signs of deception, some hint that she’s only saying what I want to hear. But I don’t find any. Instead, she looks relieved.
“Okay,” I say after a short silence, repositioning the chair. I take my place again. “Please, cut my hair, Mom.”
She wipes her cheeks. “It’d be my pleasure.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t read your letters,” I offer as she brushes my long locks.
“Eh, I get it. Why settle for Hallmark when you deserved a mother? Hope you saved them, though. I put money in those when I could.”
I scoff-laugh, rolling my eyes. “I had no idea. Well, reading them now will be like a treasure hunt.”
She takes a deep breath. “Thanks, sweetheart. I don’t deserve a second chance, but I’m grateful for it.”
I melt, nibbling my bottom lip and hoping she means it. She seems different than I remember, and even if she isn’t, I can’t miss a chance to have a family again. “That’s good, Mom, because I’m the queen of second chances.”
“Don’t you worry about a thing. I’ll find Tilly and me a place. It’s not like we can all fit here for long.”
“I won’t have it much longer, anyway. Mercy Pike’s replacing me with her sister, Charity.”
“Geez, I bet Charity’s as generous as a rabid raccoon if Mercy’s any indication.” Mom laughs, rolling her eyes. “I’ll find a place for all three of us if you want. Or help you find your own place. I’m not here to intrude, Marnie. I have money, and Mel’s offered me a job. I promise, you won’t need to take care of us. But Tilly needs a family. She needs her big sister. Maybe you need us, too.”
I smile as she continues her work. Grady fills the emptiness of my losses and loneliness, but Mom’s words cover the small gaps, spreading warmth and joy all through me. Maybe I shouldn’t trust her. Maybe this is only temporary until the next “better place” she races to find. But for now, in this kitchen, with the sun streaming in, her fingers running through my hair, and a sister snoozing on my couch surrounded by happy cats, it’s a chance I’m willing to take.
“I know a place you could go,” I say, thinking of the beautiful swamp and my band of misfits. “You can stay here until we get things sorted.”
“Thanks, honey.” She fluffs my long, wavy locks. “So, what’re we thinking? Just a trim? Long layers? A new look?”
“Um, long layers would be nice.”
“So, let’s play salon like we used to,” she says. “Tell me all the hot goss like my clients do.”
I giggle. It was a game we played when I was little, and I didn’t want to get my haircut. She’d sit me down and tell me outlandish stories from the salon, using funny voices. “What do you want to know?”
“Mel tells me you aren’t at Sunny’s anymore. What happened there?”
I start talking, like she’s switched my lever from a trickle to a waterfall just by being here. I tell her everything—my relationship with Ashe and the Sullivans, the accident, and all that’s happened like a news broadcast. She listens. She gasps. When I tell her I can’t have children, she stops her work and swallows me in a massive embrace.
“It’s not a problem. It’s an opportunity,” she says. “The world is full of people to love and good work for you to do. You will have a full, wonderful life without them or, if you want them, there’s no such thing as can’t . Not for Marnie Strange.”
“Thanks, Mom. That makes me feel better,” I say because it’s true.
“A man worth your time will love you for who you are, not what you can give him,” she adds, waving her scissors. “Dang, those rotten Sullivans.”
“Grady loves me like that.”
“You really like this guy?” When I nod, a warm smile emerges under her fiery hair. “Then, so do I. I promise I won’t be snippy next time. He’s just looking out for you. I respect that.”
“He’s invited us for dinner tonight.”
“Lovely! I can’t wait to get to know him,” she says, spritzing my hair with water. “I hope you’re completely yourself with him… and him with you.”
“Being yourself is the key to true happiness… and true love.”
“That’s been my problem, I think. Your father, Tilly’s, they never really knew me. I hid behind my ravishing smile and beautiful hair,” she laughs. “Not anymore. If I ever date again, it’ll be all me , on my terms, open and honest. Course, that’ll scare most of ‘em away.”
Tilly wanders into the kitchen, rubbing her tired eyes. “Oh, no, haircuts?”
“Yep, you’re next,” Mom says. “We have to look our best for dinner tonight. Everyone used to be crazy over those Tripps. I get it. He’s so handsome.”
“Mom!” Tilly and I groan together, which makes us giggle. Having an ally with Mom might be nice.