emotionless stare. Upon laying eyes on her with suitcase in tow, her mother had done nothing to stop her from leaving. Just let the curtain fall and turned out her light.
Here Louisa was again. No suitcase, but she’d bet a barrage of I-told-you-so finger points still waited for her.
She glanced over her shoulder at Dennis in his little black car curbside.
“Sure you don’t want me to come with you?” he hollered.
“I’m sure. This is something I have to do on my own. And Al won’t be here, he doesn’t know anything about my mum. As far as he’s concerned, I’m from London.”
“Okay, if you’re sure.” He frowned. “You know where to find me if you need me?”
She nodded and pointed to the beach bursting with teens dressed in neon shirts without a care in the world. She envied them in many ways until she remembered her own troubles as a teen and sighed with relief. She was her own woman, finally. “Out there. I want you to catch the most magnificent wave for me.”
“You know it, baby.” He winked. “Good luck. I’ll be thinking of you.”
She slammed the gate behind her and tottered along the cobblestone driveway. The little bungalow on Seaside Drive was sandwiched between two towering Victorian semis that had served as B&Bs for as long as she could remember. Her mother’s home seemed tiny in comparison.
The planters she’d arranged at the green door still sat there but were now packed with blossoming flowers. When she’d left here at eighteen, there had only been plant carcasses abandoned by her mother and left to dry.
She reached the little glass porch her father had built; paint chipping off, and splits all through the concrete base that ran across to the side of the door.
Hesitant, she considered turning back.
Dennis’s car rattled, alerting her that he hadn’t left yet. She called over her shoulder, “Go on, Dennis. I’m a big girl and can take care of myself.”
“I’ll wait ’til she gets to the door, then I’ll zap off.”
She rapped on the door. “Mum.”
Shrill tones of her mother chirping and singing out an old Cher song, “It’s In His Kiss,” grew louder. Her mum swung the door open, her mouth agape.
Louisa gulped. She wanted to ask when she’d had her last drink. The only time her mother sang was when she had swigged a lot of whiskey. After finding the end of the bottle, she would whimper and cry instead.
She looked healthy. Her red, short hair was styled with volume, and her blue eyes glowed with a smile. “Louisa, sweetie, you came home.” She flung her arms around her and squeezed her tight. “You came home.”
“Hi, Mum. You look good.” Unsure of how to respond to the embrace, she patted her on the back then slunk out from under her grasp.
“Come in, come in. Wanna cup of tea? I’ve a pot brewing as we speak. And I’ve got your favorite biscuits in. Shortcakes. I know how much you love my homemade biscuits. Always make a batch in case you come for a visit. They go down well at Coffee ’n Cream. Oh, I serve drinks there. From time to time, I bake those biscuits when the deliveries are late.”
Louisa should have complimented her mother on getting her life together, but being in that house again spiraled her back to when breakfast was a time of fixing coffee to sober her mum up instead of prepping for school, of checking cabinets for hidden bottles to empty before leaving, and of broken mugs and spoiled bread.
“You’re working?” At my favorite hangout?
“I am. I’ve been living clean for a long while. When you left, it made me see what a bad mother I’d been. I wanted so much to be better when you came back.”
“It took me leaving for you to realize that?”
Her mother nudged her right shoulder forward a tad, like half a shrug. “I guess.”
“Then you should have let me go stay with the Bays when they offered.”
Her mother brought her finger to Louisa’s lips and shushed her before scurrying to the kitchen. She returned with
Here Louisa was again. No suitcase, but she’d bet a barrage of I-told-you-so finger points still waited for her.
She glanced over her shoulder at Dennis in his little black car curbside.
“Sure you don’t want me to come with you?” he hollered.
“I’m sure. This is something I have to do on my own. And Al won’t be here, he doesn’t know anything about my mum. As far as he’s concerned, I’m from London.”
“Okay, if you’re sure.” He frowned. “You know where to find me if you need me?”
She nodded and pointed to the beach bursting with teens dressed in neon shirts without a care in the world. She envied them in many ways until she remembered her own troubles as a teen and sighed with relief. She was her own woman, finally. “Out there. I want you to catch the most magnificent wave for me.”
“You know it, baby.” He winked. “Good luck. I’ll be thinking of you.”
She slammed the gate behind her and tottered along the cobblestone driveway. The little bungalow on Seaside Drive was sandwiched between two towering Victorian semis that had served as B&Bs for as long as she could remember. Her mother’s home seemed tiny in comparison.
The planters she’d arranged at the green door still sat there but were now packed with blossoming flowers. When she’d left here at eighteen, there had only been plant carcasses abandoned by her mother and left to dry.
She reached the little glass porch her father had built; paint chipping off, and splits all through the concrete base that ran across to the side of the door.
Hesitant, she considered turning back.
Dennis’s car rattled, alerting her that he hadn’t left yet. She called over her shoulder, “Go on, Dennis. I’m a big girl and can take care of myself.”
“I’ll wait ’til she gets to the door, then I’ll zap off.”
She rapped on the door. “Mum.”
Shrill tones of her mother chirping and singing out an old Cher song, “It’s In His Kiss,” grew louder. Her mum swung the door open, her mouth agape.
Louisa gulped. She wanted to ask when she’d had her last drink. The only time her mother sang was when she had swigged a lot of whiskey. After finding the end of the bottle, she would whimper and cry instead.
She looked healthy. Her red, short hair was styled with volume, and her blue eyes glowed with a smile. “Louisa, sweetie, you came home.” She flung her arms around her and squeezed her tight. “You came home.”
“Hi, Mum. You look good.” Unsure of how to respond to the embrace, she patted her on the back then slunk out from under her grasp.
“Come in, come in. Wanna cup of tea? I’ve a pot brewing as we speak. And I’ve got your favorite biscuits in. Shortcakes. I know how much you love my homemade biscuits. Always make a batch in case you come for a visit. They go down well at Coffee ’n Cream. Oh, I serve drinks there. From time to time, I bake those biscuits when the deliveries are late.”
Louisa should have complimented her mother on getting her life together, but being in that house again spiraled her back to when breakfast was a time of fixing coffee to sober her mum up instead of prepping for school, of checking cabinets for hidden bottles to empty before leaving, and of broken mugs and spoiled bread.
“You’re working?” At my favorite hangout?
“I am. I’ve been living clean for a long while. When you left, it made me see what a bad mother I’d been. I wanted so much to be better when you came back.”
“It took me leaving for you to realize that?”
Her mother nudged her right shoulder forward a tad, like half a shrug. “I guess.”
“Then you should have let me go stay with the Bays when they offered.”
Her mother brought her finger to Louisa’s lips and shushed her before scurrying to the kitchen. She returned with
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