Page 79 of The Burning
Estelle closed her eyes, her long lashes brushed against high cheekbones. “I wonder the same thing sometimes, but I remember the man I fell in love with. The man who loved fiercely, who laughed at my silly jokes, took me places I had never dreamed I’d be.”
It was hard to imagine my dad laughing and even harder to imagine Estelle joking or having a sense of humor at all. It made me sad to realize time and time again that I didn’t know this woman even though she’d been in my life for years now.
“It’s not only about the vacations or the comfortable lifestyle, though it may seem that way,” she said, her voice just above a whisper. “I know the man I fell in love with is in there, even if he shows up less and less often than he used to. I choose to believe that, whether it’s naïve or hopeful, or just plain stupid.”
I never thought about her perspective or imagined for a second that she might also be in pain while living with my father. I had judged her and thought she’d done this to herself, knowing what she was getting into, but how could she have? Why hadn’t I given her the benefit of the doubt or shown her even a bit of compassion since I’d met her? Was it because of my mother, my father, my undealt-with trauma of loss, all which weren’t her fault?
“I don’t know what to say . . .” I explained to her. “I’m kind of surprised by all of this.”
She nodded in agreement. “It’s understandable and you don’t need to feel pressured to say anything. You and I have hardly had a meaningful conversation since we met, so I’m sure this is as overwhelming for you as it is for me.”
The swing below us rocked gently and I allowed myself to press my back against the familiar wood. I wondered if Estelle had even used it since she’d moved in, so I decided to ask her. “Have you ever sat out here? I don’t know if you know this, but this is sort of my comfort spot. Has been since I was a kid. My mom’s, too . . .”
I hadn’t meant it as a reminder of what was my mom’s and what wasn’t, so I hoped she didn’t take it that way.
“You know,” she began, joining me in leaning into the swing and letting her feet lift off the ground. “I haven’t. I knew it was your mother’s from the photos I’d found and from your father when he’d had too much—” She stopped midsentence and I wanted—no, needed—her to continue. It was unlikely we would ever be in this position again with one another.
“Please keep going,” I practically begged, assuring, “I won’t tell my dad anything you say or anything. I’m not that kind of person.”
She seemed a little afraid and fumbled her words at the beginning, but nevertheless, she continued, “I’ve found your father out here talking to the wind more times than I’d like to admit. Mostly, I just stand at the door and listen to him talking to a ghost, but sometimes I can’t stand it and go back inside, pour some wine, and try like hell to forget about it.”
“Ghosts? Like soldiers he’s lost?”
She shook her head and leaned forward a bit, rubbing her palms against her jeans. “Your mother.”
The breath from my lungs evaporated and the swing felt increasingly unsteady. I repeated her words. “My mother?”
Nodding, Estelle went back to staring ahead. “He talks to her more and more these days. Sometimes out of longing, sometimes desperation and intoxication. I’ve never mentioned this, not even to him. I know this puts you in an uncomfortable situation and I’m crossing a line here, but please don’t repeat this. It just feels nice to tell someone, anyone . . . even his daughter.”
I shook my head, both to promise her and to try to make sense of what I was hearing.
“I can’t imagine what my father would possibly have to say to my mother. I’m surprised that he would even care or remember that she loved this swing.”
“He remembers more than you think, Karina. He just won’t say it. and I’ve come to terms with her presence even though she’s gone. I do hope that, as the years pass, your dad, your brother, and you, will make more space for me, in your lives and in your hearts.”
“I’m sorry I’ve been such a bratty teenager.”
She smiled. “You have no idea how badly I’ve wanted an angry teenage daughter.”
“Really?”
She nodded again, this time with more excitement.
“When I first met your dad and he said he had two teenagers, I had this whole different picture of our life in my head.” She covered her mouth with her hand and laughed lightly at what she was saying. “I remember being so excited when he told me he had kids—not afraid one bit. I thought your brother would probably be closer to your father, but I would still try and bond with him over sports or cook all of his favorite foods. Butyou. . .” She pointed at me and shook her finger. She looked more alive than I had ever, ever seen her. She was almost a different person altogether. “I had this whole fantasy in my head where I got to actually be somewhat of a mother to you. I couldn’t wait to get our nails done together, to go prom-dress shopping, to talk about boys—I certainly had a lot of experience to share—and to support you through your first breakup. With every month that went by, I told myself that you just needed a little more time. I knew you must miss your mom more than I could imagine, so I kept waiting for the day to come, when we could build a bond, but that’s not how it works. I just wished it did.”
I could feel my perspective changing as she continued, her eyes blinking away tears.
“I thought about all these scenarios, but not once did I think it would be like this, where I barely see or know you, and your brother and your dad are always at each other’s throats.”
I could see something in her, something sad and hopeless, but stillalive. In my head she had always been a villain, she was the reason my mom left us, and all she was doing was trying to fill a huge gap in our lives that could never be filled. No matter how many elaborate dinners she stuffed us with, she just didn’t belong. No one did—because our dad deserved to be miserable and alone there in his big house.
It was so quiet outside that it seemed like even the crickets had stopped their song to listen to us.
“I’m sorry your mom isn’t around now to see the woman you’ve become, and I know I’ll never replace her and that’s not what I’m trying to do,” said Estelle. “I just wanted to tell you how I feel because I never have and I’m so sorry for that. I do care about you so much, Karina.”
I was sorry, too, that my mom needed to leave her family to find her peace. I couldn’t forget that my dad, not Estelle, was responsible for that.
“You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted to get it off my chest. Go take care of your brother and I’ll take care of your dad,” she said, standing up from the swing.
