Saturday, December 24
The cloudless sky and brisk weather created ideal driving conditions. But that perfection vanished when Angelica arrived in her old hometown across the river.
The once-bustling factories sat abandoned and in ruins.
In her mind, the town’s inhabitants were as imprisoned as the gnarled tree branches weaving through the skeletal remains of the fractured windowpanes.
Lacking activity and life, the town mimicked a black-and-white photo of a crumbling ghost town. Only tumbleweed was missing.
Setting that aside, if it were a redeeming quality, the residents are fiercely loyal—cult-like—when it comes to protecting their own. They’d circle like a wagon train if someone were in distress.
Along with the dark pallor of her surroundings, she did not relish the visit with the woman who tested her patience.
Mothers can do that to you. Her mother, however, had her own share of heartaches.
While her daughter lay in a coma, her husband suffered a heart attack and passed away.
The widow not only had to grieve her husband’s loss but also faced the possibility of losing her only child.
Angelica stepped over the cracked sidewalk as her mother greeted her at the front door.
“Who knows when I would see you again if the Lord didn’t decide to be born, Allegra Angelica?” her mother whined.
She rolled her eyes, took off her coat, and hung it on a wall rack with pegs near the front door.
“Merry Christmas to you, too, Mom. I was here four weeks ago, not four months ago,” Angelica said, exasperated.
“You turned down my offer to move in with me. I’m doing the best I can. How are you feeling?”
“Old and alone, that’s how.”
Angelica entered the drafty kitchen, carrying two wrapped gifts, and set them down.
“Mom, do you want to move in with me? I have two bedrooms, so I have space for you. You’d love Arbortown. It’s beautiful and peaceful.”
“Why would I want to move to Canada?”
“I don’t live in Canada.”
“Close enough. I would’ve settled there instead of here if I had wanted to live on the Arctic Circle.
No, thank you. Are you hungry?” her mother asked.
Without missing a beat, she pulled a plate of sandwiches, wrapped in plastic, from the refrigerator.
“Mangiare, mangiare … You look skinny. Aren’t you eating any dinners, Allegra Angelica? ”
Her mother would never let her help in the kitchen or anywhere, so she sank into a chair. Leaning on the table, she cringed at hearing the awful name again. Despite legally changing her name and asking her mother to call her Angelica, her requests went unheeded.
Sadly, each visit followed the same pattern.
Her mother was lonely and refused to consider relocating.
Angelica wasn’t coming back to this town, even if her mother was lonely.
Blankville didn’t offer her a future, and the days she spent here were filled with painful memories she preferred not to relive.
“Come on, Mom. I’m not emaciated. I eat every night. I even had dinner with Nicky last night.”
Bowls of macaroni and antipasto salad landed on the table. As her mother returned to her chair, her smile lit up for the first time. “Hmm, eating out with Nicky, are you?” she said
“Nicky took me to Eaux Bleues in the capital.”
“Fancy schmancy,” Mrs. Maricelli said with a twinkling eye-roll. “Did you have a nice time?”
“The food was good. Not like yours, but okay.”
The gray-haired woman peered at her daughter with suspicion. “That’s not what I meant, Allegra Angelica. You know that. How’s Nicky?”
Like all mothers, hers was hopeful, trying to marry off her only child, her late-in-life daughter.
Angelica chewed her nail, mumbling, “He’s the same old self.”
“Nicky’s a good man, honest and hardworking. You can’t go wrong with him. I’d be proud to have him as my son-in-law. So, when are you finally getting back together with him?”
Mentioning Nicky was a mistake. She should know better. She glanced at the teapot-shaped clock on the wall amid equally old, yellowing floral wallpaper, and wished it were time to leave.
“We’re just friends,” she explained, hoping to clear up any misconceptions about their relationship.
“You seem more than friends to me. I understand you wanted your space after the accident, but it’s time for you to come back and settle down. Nicky misses you. If you know what I mean.”
Let’s hear it for subtlety. Angelica was getting pressure from all sides. And how did her mother know what Nicky was thinking? She wasn’t asking. It was better to let the topic die a quick death.
Not to be stifled or ignored, the lady of the house counseled, doling out motherly wisdom and napkins. “You don’t have to love a man to marry him.”
Angelica’s voice jumped several octaves. “What! What are you talking about? Of course, you’re supposed to marry someone you’re in love with.”
Sliding the sandwich platter farther across the table, her mother shook her head in disapproval. “Love won’t put food on your table or provide you with shelter. A woman needs financial security, which Nicky will always provide.”
This was archaic. Now it was her daughter’s turn to shake her head.
Her mother continued to offer her sage advice as she poured iced tea. “A woman should marry a man who loves her more than she loves him. That way, he will adore her and never stray. She’ll surely fall in love with her husband then.”
This was worse than archaic—it smacked of a caveman-and-cavewoman mentality. Angelica moaned. “Mom, I have a degree. I don’t need a man to take care of me.”
“You may have an education, but you can’t make a living drawing pictures,” her mother lectured. “You’re not Michelangelo. What you do is more of a hobby.”
Unfortunately, her mother was right about both observations. Angelica would be out of a job when this contract ended, and when she ran low on money, she relied on Nicky as her backup plan. Was that wrong? They have an “understanding.”
“I don’t plan on marrying anyone for money, Mom. That’s ridiculous.”
The senior apparently possessed a bottomless fount of truisms and wise words, which she dispensed over the kitchen table.
“You wouldn’t say that if you were in a food line. Remember where you come from and how far you can go with Nicky. He’s made a name for himself across the state. He’ll give you the world.”
Trying to steer the conversation away from Nicky, Angelica said, “I know you don’t want to move, but this place is old.
The boiler is on its last legs. You need new windows, and who knows what other costly repairs are in store?
If you sell this house, you get to keep all that money and can live with me for free.
” That includes a leaking roof. She tapped her mother on the arm, hoping she was making valid points.
“Plus, my cabin is toasty warm, with a big fireplace. You’d love it, and you’d see me every day.”
“You mean well, but all my friends and family are here. I’m eighty-one and too old to move. This town will always be my home.”
Home in the slums will always be home? Maybe to her mother, but not to Angelica. She shook her head.
As Angelica spooned macaroni salad onto her plate, she asked, “Mom, did you ever find those photo albums with my pictures I’ve been asking about? I feel like I’ve fallen off the face of the earth and didn’t exist.”
Her mother tapped her on the arm and tsk-tsked.
“Of course, you existed. You’re right here.
I checked the basement, but then I remembered I’d lent the albums to Uncle Sal years ago.
He was looking for pictures of Aunt Winnie.
When he died, his kids emptied his house, and the albums were misplaced or thrown out.
He was such a hoarder, you know. I’m sorry. I have no pictures to give you, dear.
“Even if I did, your father wasn’t any good at taking them. He chopped off most people’s heads, so they wouldn’t have been worth having anyway. Why not ask Nicky to take some? I’m sure he’d love to do that for you. Some self-things … whatever they call that… with the two of you in them.”
Angelica rolled her eyes. She wasn’t asking Nicky.
He’d hire a professional photographer. Go the whole nine yards.
She’d cross “find photos” off her to-do list. They’d go the way of her missing memories.
She’s gone without them this long; what’s the difference?
Don’t dwell on what she lost in the past. She’s got better things to do.
After an afternoon of exchanging presents and her mother further praising the virtues of Blankville, which were nonexistent, and of Nicky, which were questionable, she began the fifty-mile trek back north to his dealership.
Her mom will never relocate and will drive her crazy with guilt. And the matchmaking? It’s nonstop, and according to her mother, the sole candidate is Nicholas Ponte. Angelica groaned and turned on the car radio.
A barrage of love songs hit her. Sheesh, is this what Nicky listened to? She curled her lips. Countless people, in grief, expressed that they couldn’t live now that their love interest had left or dumped them.
“… Like the hands on the clock … My heart stopped ticking the moment you left ...”
Without a doubt, love can sometimes hurt. She had been in that place, but she didn’t shrivel up or die. It left her feeling less than happy and alone. No, she has a cat.
Then came the final and ultimate assault on her ears—a ballad that infuriated her.
“... Come what may … I will always forgive him ...”
Her hand shot out and silenced the offender. To clear her mind, Angelica focused on the trees devoid of leaves, noting their emptiness and the brokenness of winter along the highway, using them as a distraction. They didn’t provide any.
* * *
Though he had not shed a tear since childhood, Garrett’s eyes welled up on the brink of tears. “Thanks for coming, Ed.”