beginning to
cough. Michael reached for the glass of water on the tray next to
her, placing it to dry her lips. She swallowed hard. The water line
hadn’t moved.
“I tried, for the record,” Mark said,
lifting his hands up in the air, drawing attention away from the
painful vision of her swallowing essentially air. “Ben’s going to
try to convince you, too. Just so you’re prepared.”
“You Jones boys don’t scare me,” Ann said as
she adjusted her legs in her bed and looked back down at Michael
who had once again placed his hand on her foot. “I will be
there.”
Delaney glanced out the window of the third
floor room to avoid eye contact with her mother. Her eyes scanned
the ledge, stopping at a light brown teddy bear that had a pink bow
tied around its neck. Her mind flashed to the tattered teddy bear
she remembered from her childhood. The muffled voices of her family
filled the background as she tuned out the conversation, focusing
her eyes on the bear. She stood up, feeling her legs buckle
underneath her, as she walked over to the ledge to feel the satin
bow slip between her fingers. The bow was wound tight around its
neck as if it were strangling the teddy bear. The satin. The
pink. She hadn’t recognized the resemblance before, but this
teddy bear had the same hued pink, satin fabric of her mask. Her
mind shot back to her bag in Mark’s truck, the mask buried deep
inside. She felt a rush of warmth run through her body.
“Who sent that?” Michael asked as Delaney
stood holding the teddy bear in her hands.
“I don’t know. It was just here,” Ann
replied, dismissing the teddy bear and turning back to talk with
Mark. Delaney set the bear back on the ledge as her chest
tightened. She needed air.
“I’ll be right back,” she muttered as she
stumbled out into the hallway of the hospital, allowing the heavy
door of Room 547 to shut behind her with a click. She inhaled the
sterile air of the hospital and leaned against the wall next to the
door, closing her eyes as the sketch of her mother’s waves blowing
in the wind appeared. Her rich, long strands blew across her back
as she sat in the driver’s seat of the old car. Delaney had
remembered clutching the teddy bear next to her in the passenger
seat.
***
According to her mother, Delaney had been
born, unwillingly, in the unpopulated town of Amberg on a dairy
farm. She grew up knowing nothing of farming and its particular
demands, not by her own choice, but by the hands of the
uncompromising Ann. On Delaney’s third birthday, her mother had
packed her only daughter’s handful of clothes, with tags still
intact, into a worn, leather child’s suitcase and put Delaney,
clutching her sole toy - a light-brown stuffed bear with a pink bow
tied around its neck - into the passenger seat of the family’s ‘79
Impala. With a small handbag of her own, filled with one change of
clothes, Ann had taped a freshly-printed picture of Delaney’s dad
on the dash. He had stood, half-leaning against the rusted Ford, in
a cowboy hat and red flannel tucked neatly into his jeans. The
nearby wheat field and an old wheelbarrow had completed the
landscape of the portrait.
With one last glimpse of the faded red barn
and single silo glowing in the sunset, Ann had driven down the dirt
path, through the small town of Amberg, passed the old grain store
turned coffee shop she had once adored, and onto the concrete of
I-43 headed south. Her dark brown waves had gathered loosely on her
neck as it fluttered in the fresh breeze of the open driver’s side
window. She had stared straight ahead, not once looking in the
rearview mirror. She would never set eyes on the sixty-year-old
farm she was raised on again or the town of Amberg or her few close
friends from childhood. She had smiled down on Delaney in the
passenger seat, reassuring her young daughter with a slight pat on
her knee.
Four hours later, Ann and Delaney Jones had
arrived at the two-story colonial house in the
cough. Michael reached for the glass of water on the tray next to
her, placing it to dry her lips. She swallowed hard. The water line
hadn’t moved.
“I tried, for the record,” Mark said,
lifting his hands up in the air, drawing attention away from the
painful vision of her swallowing essentially air. “Ben’s going to
try to convince you, too. Just so you’re prepared.”
“You Jones boys don’t scare me,” Ann said as
she adjusted her legs in her bed and looked back down at Michael
who had once again placed his hand on her foot. “I will be
there.”
Delaney glanced out the window of the third
floor room to avoid eye contact with her mother. Her eyes scanned
the ledge, stopping at a light brown teddy bear that had a pink bow
tied around its neck. Her mind flashed to the tattered teddy bear
she remembered from her childhood. The muffled voices of her family
filled the background as she tuned out the conversation, focusing
her eyes on the bear. She stood up, feeling her legs buckle
underneath her, as she walked over to the ledge to feel the satin
bow slip between her fingers. The bow was wound tight around its
neck as if it were strangling the teddy bear. The satin. The
pink. She hadn’t recognized the resemblance before, but this
teddy bear had the same hued pink, satin fabric of her mask. Her
mind shot back to her bag in Mark’s truck, the mask buried deep
inside. She felt a rush of warmth run through her body.
“Who sent that?” Michael asked as Delaney
stood holding the teddy bear in her hands.
“I don’t know. It was just here,” Ann
replied, dismissing the teddy bear and turning back to talk with
Mark. Delaney set the bear back on the ledge as her chest
tightened. She needed air.
“I’ll be right back,” she muttered as she
stumbled out into the hallway of the hospital, allowing the heavy
door of Room 547 to shut behind her with a click. She inhaled the
sterile air of the hospital and leaned against the wall next to the
door, closing her eyes as the sketch of her mother’s waves blowing
in the wind appeared. Her rich, long strands blew across her back
as she sat in the driver’s seat of the old car. Delaney had
remembered clutching the teddy bear next to her in the passenger
seat.
***
According to her mother, Delaney had been
born, unwillingly, in the unpopulated town of Amberg on a dairy
farm. She grew up knowing nothing of farming and its particular
demands, not by her own choice, but by the hands of the
uncompromising Ann. On Delaney’s third birthday, her mother had
packed her only daughter’s handful of clothes, with tags still
intact, into a worn, leather child’s suitcase and put Delaney,
clutching her sole toy - a light-brown stuffed bear with a pink bow
tied around its neck - into the passenger seat of the family’s ‘79
Impala. With a small handbag of her own, filled with one change of
clothes, Ann had taped a freshly-printed picture of Delaney’s dad
on the dash. He had stood, half-leaning against the rusted Ford, in
a cowboy hat and red flannel tucked neatly into his jeans. The
nearby wheat field and an old wheelbarrow had completed the
landscape of the portrait.
With one last glimpse of the faded red barn
and single silo glowing in the sunset, Ann had driven down the dirt
path, through the small town of Amberg, passed the old grain store
turned coffee shop she had once adored, and onto the concrete of
I-43 headed south. Her dark brown waves had gathered loosely on her
neck as it fluttered in the fresh breeze of the open driver’s side
window. She had stared straight ahead, not once looking in the
rearview mirror. She would never set eyes on the sixty-year-old
farm she was raised on again or the town of Amberg or her few close
friends from childhood. She had smiled down on Delaney in the
passenger seat, reassuring her young daughter with a slight pat on
her knee.
Four hours later, Ann and Delaney Jones had
arrived at the two-story colonial house in the
Similar Books
