Chapter 16
Chapter Sixtee n
I started the next day later than I’d hoped. My brain was all over the place with what I needed to do. Taking time to get my thoughts together, I planted myself at the coffee shop, where I devoured two coffees and two muffins while I made a list.
This was not a list of all the fun things I’d done, nor of the fun things I planned to do in the near future. This was a list of all the crap things I needed to do to finish with Mother.
At nine o’clock, I made my first phone call.
It rang three times before a woman with a sweet voice, perfect for a hospital reception, answered the phone.
I explained who I was and asked to speak to one of Mother’s doctors.
“Hello. This is Doctor Alberts.”
“Hello, Doctor. My name is Daisy Chayne. I met you yest?—”
“Yes, Daisy, I remember you. How can I help?”
“I . . .” I cleared my throat. “I was just wondering if there was a chance my mother would ever come home again? ”
He moaned. His footsteps sounded like he was in a stairwell. “Daisy, your mother is very sick.”
“Yes, I know that. Is there any likelihood of her leaving the hospital?”
“No. I’m sorry. She will not recover from this.”
“Okay. Thank you. I will come and see you soon.” I hung up the phone and marked a tick next to the first item on my list.
With my pack over my shoulder, I powered up the street toward the mobile home estate. It was just nine-thirty in the morning, and yet the sun was doing its best impersonation of a furnace. Australian sunshine was much more intense than European sunshine. It had something to do with the ozone layer, apparently.
I was hot and sweaty, but I had no intention of using the communal washroom facilities at the caravan park. I’d been in enough of those in my life to steer well clear.
Stepping into her trailer, I tried to tell myself to keep my emotions in check and just do what I had to do. But damn, if my body wouldn’t behave. Starting in what used to be my room, I went through every drawer again—I rummaged through the wardrobe, even checking the clothing pockets. I peered under the bed, prodded the pillows, and flipped the mattress.
I had no idea what I was looking for, or even if there was something to find. But I was on a mission to see if there was anything that would help the police in their investigation. As methodically as I could, I moved from one end of the trailer to the other.
By the time I was satisfied that I’d checked everywhere, the trailer looked like it’d been tossed into the air by a tornado.
I had zero intention of fixing it up.
With that done, I washed my face and dried it with the towel I’d borrowed from my motel, then I strolled up to reception.
Ma and Pa were watching the midday movie when I stepped into the air-conditioned office, and their glances at each other suggested a silent debate over who would serve me. Maybe, with my hair scrambled in all directions and my sweaty armpits, I looked like a serial killer or something.
“Hello, again. I was just wondering if you could tell me if my mother’s account is up to date for site thirty-seven?”
A heavy frown corrugated Pa’s forehead, almost smothering his squinty eyes. “Hmm. Let me just check my books.” His fingers trembled as he tugged a heavy-set ledger toward him. “Oh, ahhh, now let me see.” He flicked over the pages, stopping at one that had a large thirty-seven at the top. The writing was so large, and clearly visible from my side of the counter. A series of dates on the left-hand side confirmed that Mother’s weekly payment stopped about five weeks ago. That would coincide with when she was taken to hospital.
“Well,” Pa croaked. “It appears that . . .”
“I can see she’s behind. I’d like to catch that up and pay for one more week. How much will that be?”
“Oh, ahh.” He tapped some numbers into a calculator. “Well, that’s going to cost nine hundred and thirty dollars.”
“Fine. Is cash okay?”
His eyes brightened. “Cash is king.”
“Good. But I have another request.”
His eyes darkened.
“Mother won’t be coming back. She’s dying.” I didn’t pause for that to sink in. “So, I’d like someone to throw out all her stuff, or donate it to charity. Do you have anyone who does that sort of thing?”
His jaw dropped and he blinked at me like I had the TV remote up my nose .
Ma joined his side. “Did I hear you say Patricia . . . she’s . . .”
“Yes. Mother’s cancer is terminal.”
When tears welled in Ma’s eyes, my chest squeezed.
Shit! I should’ve been more considerate.
Mother would have worked her charms on these two and they probably thought she was the sweetest thang ever.
“I’m so sorry.” Ma reached over to pat the back of my hand.
I wanted to say that she didn’t need to be sorry, that Mother meant nothing to me anymore. But I bit it all back. Ma was upset and I felt bad for instigating that.
I cleared my throat. “So, do you know of anyone who can dispose of Mother’s things?”
“No, sorry.” A frown wobbled across her forehead. “It’s usually a loved one who makes those arrangements.”
Damn it. I’d already been through Mother’s things once. I did not want to do it again.
They looked at each other, clearly a bit skeptical about me and my request. Wanting to placate them and regain some of their trust, I said, “Is that your pickup parked outside?”
Pa nodded, but seemed hesitant to do so.
“Okay. How about this? I’ll give you one thousand dollars. That will cover what Mother owes plus another week’s site fee. For another thousand dollars, I will load up the back of your truck and ask that you drive it to the dump with me. I’ll unload it at the dump, so you won’t have to do anything other than drive. How does that sound?”
Again, they blinked at each other, probably wondering how someone could be so callous with their dying mother’s only assets. I didn’t care.
Assuming we’d reached a deal, I offered my hand and Pa shook it.
“Shall I come back tomorrow with the cash? ”
Pa clutched my palm to his. “Sounds like a deal to me.”
I strode from the office, mentally ticking off yet another item on the list.
Back at the caravan, I confirmed for a second time with Detective Flanagan that they didn’t need to go through mother’s things. He didn’t.
So, I found a Nikko pen and wrote in big letters on a sheet of paper: Everything inside FREE . I pinned the door to the caravan open, taped up the notice, and then added HELP YOURSELF to the note. I tossed the pen back inside, and as I paced toward the front entrance, I called a taxi.
I directed the taxi driver to a funeral home that I’d researched through google while eating my apple and cinnamon muffin this morning.
White Lady Funerals was a sterile building that was as clinical as it was quiet. The absence of noise was creepy. They certainly didn’t need any sort of door chime to announce my arrival. My sneakers squeaking on the polished white tiles made enough noise to wake the dead.
A woman popped up from the floor as I reached the counter. What she’d been doing down there was beyond me. Maybe a spot of yoga, or searching for an earring or something. She didn’t offer a reason, and I didn’t ask for one.
The young woman tucked her hair behind her pearl-studded ear and planted a smile on her face that looked practiced. “Hello. How may I help you?”
“I’d like to arrange a funeral for my mother.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“She’s not dead yet.” I guess I could’ve been a tad more tactful, but it was hard when I had zero feeling for the woman who’d brought me into the world.
After a few minutes, I was led to another room which had various displays, and although it had a bit more character than the entrance, it was still creepy .
The woman left me in the room and shut the door behind her. Unsure if this was a ploy to make me comfortable with the surroundings, I strolled to a casket made out of a highly polished cherry-red wood and studded with gleaming gold handles. Inside, the padding was pure white and held in place by fabric buttons made out of the same material.
I tried to picture Mother lying in the casket but couldn’t. She was not pure enough for such an elegant design. Maybe they’d have black ones, with little devil’s pitchforks painted all over it. Probably not. But she definitely wouldn’t have this. This was not her thing.
Then again, I had no idea what her thing was.
And did it really matter? It’s not like she was ever going to see it.
A creaking sound had me turning to a door at the back of the room. In wobbled a man who was as wide as he was tall and with cheeks so chubby, they trembled enough to cause an earthquake. He offered his hand and introduced himself as Colin Neutron.
For the next two hours, he went through all the options available to give a loved one a special send-off—his words, not mine.
I chose cremation over a burial.
I chose a pine box over the mahogany one he continually referred me back to.
I chose oriental lilies as her choice of flower and asked him to add a few daisies to the mix.
When I told him there would be no need for a service as there wouldn’t be any guests, he stopped short, his pen tapping against his pockmarked chin. “No guests?”
“Correct. Mother made it her mission to burn friends.”
He lowered his eyes. I guessed there was no appropriate response to that.
At the end, I handed over my credit card and requested a receipt for the four thousand three hundred dollars, detailing exactly what I’d purchased.
The next day, I returned to Mother’s trailer.
The vultures had been.
But as they’d picked their way through her things, taking what they wanted, they’d done a mighty fine job of messing the trailer up even more.
I went to the office, and after handing over the cash, Pa gave me the keys to his truck. By positioning it right outside the open door to Mother’s trailer, I was able to toss things straight from the top step into the tray.
I was a woman on a mission—grabbing things and throwing them like I was deleting another bullshit memory from my past.
Inch by inch, the rooms were emptied. I didn’t look at what I was throwing out. Just grabbed and tossed. Some people took stuff from the back of the truck before it’d even settled. I didn’t care. None of it meant anything to me.
It took three days to reduce Mother’s home to an empty shell. Pa and I made five trips to the dump, which was a three-hour round trip. He turned out to be quite chatty when his wife wasn’t around, and I was surprised by how much I enjoyed his company. At the end, I paid him extra. Not specifically for all his help, but because he was so nice about it and didn’t ask me any probing questions.
After our last trip to the dump, just as the sun kissed the horizon, Pa found me inside Mother’s empty van, sitting at the table where I’d eaten breakfast alone way too many times.
He knocked once. “Permission to enter?” He held up two bottles of Corona. “I hope you like beer. It’s all I got.”
I laughed. “Absolutely.”
He sat with me, and as if we’d choreographed it, we pushed our slivers of lime into the bottles and clinked our beers together. Neither of us made a toast. It wasn’t really an occasion to celebrate.
I loved that he was happy to sit in silence with me. It was such a refreshing change.
I swigged my beer and smiled at him. “Thank you for your help.”
He flicked his hand. “You did all the hard work.”
I lowered the bottle to the table and shifted in my seat, angling toward him. “Did you know my mother?”
His ever-present frown deepened. “Know her?” He sighed. “Well, based on the clinical and somewhat angry way you packed up her things, I’d say the woman we met was not the woman you know.”
I nodded at him, offering a smile that I hoped he recognized as sincere. “You’re a very wise man.”
His eyes brightened. “That’s what I keep telling my wife.”
We burst out laughing and it was so nice.
I pushed the keys to Mother’s van across the table to him. “You’re welcome to do whatever you want with it.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Give it away. I’m sure some poor soul will love it. Or demolish it. It’s your choice.”
“Thanks, Daisy.” He wrapped his hands around the beer, and I could tell he was stewing over something. He must have had a squillion questions he’d like answered. But I kinda liked that he didn’t know the real Patricia Chayne.
I placed my beer on the table and stood with my hand out. “It’s been a pleasure.”
He shook my hand. “I hope you find peace.”
I nodded. “Don’t worry. I will.”
I strode out the door and up the street without looking back, heading toward my motel. It was the end of another long day, and the sun was disappearing into the horizon, shooting spears of golden light into the low-hanging clouds. It was like the world was agreeing that this very moment signified the end of an era in my life.
An era that had consumed me with hatred and anger.
An era that had given me the wrong impression of what family was like.
An era that had convinced me that there was no such thing as love.
A few feet ahead of me, a kookaburra sitting on a crooked fence post started laughing. I stopped to watch. It was loud and bold. And free.
I began laughing with it. The big, fat bird was another sign.
With Mother out of my life, I could look forward to a fabulous future.
I’d have joy and laughter, and dare I say it—I’d have love.
Because deep down in my heart, I knew that love was possible. I also knew that, despite decades of disbelief, I was in love. With Roman.
And maybe, just maybe, he felt the same way about me.