Love Beyond The Rite

Chapter 4

As I climbed the steps, the faint tinkling of wind chimes caught my attention. I paused, taking a deep breath to calm my racing heart. The gentle sound seemed to wrap around me, soothing my frazzled nerves.

With a sense of quiet resolve, I pushed open the creaky doors and stepped inside. The familiar scent of old wood and worn leather enveloped me, offering a sense of comfort and familiarity.

"Mom! I'm home..." I called out, pushing the door shut behind me. But there was no response. I walked towards her bedroom door, my heart sinking with every step. The sound of the oxygen machine hummed in the background, mixed with her labored wheezing.

I slowly opened the door, and my eyes fell upon her frail form. Her once-luminous skin now looked pale and translucent, her hair thin and wispy. The oxygen tube snaked from her nose, and her chest rose and fell with each labored breath.

I felt a pang of sadness wash over me. My mother, once full of life and energy, now lay before me, fragile and vulnerable. I took a step closer, my eyes locked on hers, hoping to spark some recognition.

Her eyes flung open, and she grasped my arm. "My sweet girl. Welcome home," she wheezed, her voice barely above a whisper.

She took a moment to examine me, her gaze lingering on my face and arms. Worry etched across her face. "Ember, are you sick? Why are you so tiny?"

Embarrassment flooded my face as I hesitated, unsure how to explain my weight loss. I hadn't wanted to worry her, but now, confronted with her concern, I felt a lump form in my throat.

"Ember, tell me," she urged, her weak grip on my arm tightening. "What's wrong?"

I took a deep breath, trying to find the words. "It's just...I've been going through a tough time, Mom," I stammered.

Her expression softened, and she pulled me into a gentle hug. "You're safe now, sweetie. You're home."

Mom requested I go to the guest room and let the in house hospice nurse know that I have arrived on my way to my bedroom.

I give a little knock. A small elderly woman opens the door, she looks like she should be retiring soon.

“Oh hello! you must be the famous Emmy I keep hearing about” she exclaimed.

I nodded, smiling, as the nurse's eyes twinkled with warmth. "That's me," I replied, feeling a sense of familiarity.

"Well, Emmy, I'm Agnes, the in-house hospice nurse," she said, her voice gentle. "I've been taking care of your mom for a while now."

I nodded, taking in the kind face before me. "It's nice to meet you, Agnes."

Agnes glanced at the clock on the wall, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Are you hungry? I'm about to make dinner for your mom. I'll make extra for you too."

Her warm smile and kind tone made me feel like I couldn't say no. "Sure," I replied, feeling a pang of gratitude.

Agnes chuckled, her eyes twinkling. "Good. I was worried you might be starving. Your mom's been telling me all about you."

I smiled, feeling a sense of comfort wash over me.

I excused myself to bring my suitcase to my bedroom, Agnes's words still echoing in my mind. As I stopped just outside the door, a mix of emotions swirled inside me. Mom had to have emptied it out by now. It's been years since I've been back, even for a visit.

Taking a deep breath, I pushed open the door, and a wave of nostalgia washed over me. The familiar scent of old wood and worn carpet enveloped me, transporting me back to my childhood. The room looked exactly as I remembered it – the same patchwork quilt, the same hand-painted wall mural of a sunset, and the same worn teddy bear perched on the bed.

I stepped inside, my eyes scanning every inch of the room. It was as if time had stood still, waiting for me to return. I felt a lump form in my throat as I approached the bed, running my fingers over the intricate patterns on the quilt.

Memories flooded my mind. I remembered making this quilt with the Troyler girls during my 6th-grade summer. Mrs. Troyler would invite me over to learn skills alongside her daughters while I waited for Elijah to finish his chores.

It was a sanctuary, a refuge from the darkness at home. Mrs. Troyers warmth and kindness provided a solace I desperately needed. I think she enjoyed sharing their simple, traditional way of life with me, as an outsider.

As I ran my fingers over the intricate patterns, I felt a deep connection to that summer, to the Troyer family, and to the peace they offered me.

My eyes darted to the painting on the wall, and I lifted it to reveal the hole still etched in the plaster. A painful memory resurfaced – one of my dad's drunken rages, when a hit meant for me had narrowly missed its mark.

I had ducked just in time, but Elijah, who had been in my room with the door closed, had been the target of my dad's anger. I breathed a silent thanks that Elijah had escaped unscathed.

The next morning, my dad had no recollection of the incident, and I had kept quiet, relieved that we wouldn't face repercussions.

My phone pinged and interrupted my thoughts.

Surprised to see Paul’s name on my screen I read the text.

“You left your laptop in the car”

No “did you get home? No im sorry?”

I groaned how am I going to get it back?

"Are you still in the area?" I responded, my fingers hovering over the screen.

You'd think I'd be afraid of him after everything, but fear had become a familiar companion. I was so used to being a punching bag, both physically and emotionally, that Paul's presence no longer sent shivers down my spine.

But I needed my laptop for work, and the thought of retrieving it from him filled me with a mix of anxiety and resignation.

"I am in the next town over, staying at a Bed and Breakfast," Paul replied. "Come get it tomorrow."

"Okay, send address," I typed, my heart sinking.

"Ember, dinner's ready, sweetie!" Agnes called from the kitchen, her warm voice a gentle reminder that I wasn't alone.

My stomach growled at the thought of food, a harsh reminder that I hadn't eaten since breakfast - a meager egg with cheese over 10 hours ago. I stood up, shaking off the lingering anxiety and dread that had settled in my chest.

As I walked towards the door, I took a deep breath, letting the familiar scent of cooking food and the sound of Agnes's humming wash over me. It was a small comfort, but it was enough to keep me moving forward.

Walking into the kitchen, Agnes handed me a steaming bowl of beef stew, topped with a flaky biscuit. My stomach growled again, loud enough for her to hear. She chuckled and said, "Perfect timing! Your mom is enjoying her stew in her room. If you'd like to keep her company, I'm sure she'd love that."

I smiled, touched by Agnes's thoughtful gesture, and made my way to my mother's room. As I entered, I saw her sitting up in bed, a bowl of stew in her lap. Her eyes lit up with a warm smile as she saw me.

We sat and talked for what felt like an hour, catching up on everything I'd missed. Mom asked about my job, and I told her about the flexibility of working remotely. She listened intently as I shared stories about my life in Florida, from the sunny days to the occasional rain showers.

As we chatted, I shared my plans for the time being, and Mom listened but I could tell this interaction had made her tired.

“Since I’m going to be staying here, would you mind if I borrowed the car? Mine's in Florida, and Paul won't be joining us now.” I tried to get in before she fell asleep on me.

“Of course, sweetie. Make yourself at home. Everything here will be yours here soon anyway,” she said tiredly.

I felt a jolt of confusion. “What...? Everything? What about Abigail and Chris?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Mom closed her eyes, and I wondered if she'd fallen asleep or was simply ignoring me. But her words lingered, leaving me with more questions than answers.

I think it is time I call my siblings and see what their excuse is for not being here.

I walked over to the wall in the kitchen where a faded yellow phone hung. I picked up the receiver and dialed my sister’s number that was conveniently located on the wall on a taped piece of paper.

After three rings I hear Abigail sigh “mom? It’s late what do you want.”

That was rude.

“Wrong… it’s your favorite little sister wondering where the hell you are.” I said bluntly.

Abigail was 4 years older than me and always had a stick up her butt. She moved to California at 18 in hopes to find a rich man or become famous. She never became famous but married a CEO of some big company. They now have 3 kids who act very entitled.

The simple life was never for her.

“Why would I be there?” She scoffed at me.

“I don’t know maybe because our mother is dying? She does not have many weeks left. Hospice is here Abigail!”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and for a moment, I wondered if Abigail had hung up.

"What's going on?" Abigail asked finally, her voice slightly softer.

"Mom's dying, Abigail. She's got cancer, and it's spread. The doctors say she doesn't have much time left."

"I...I didn't know," Abigail said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I had no idea it was that bad."

"How could you not know?" I asked, feeling a mix of anger and sadness. "We're family, Abigail. We're supposed to be there for each other."

"I know, Ember. I'm sorry. I just...I've been busy with the kids and work. I didn't realize it was that serious."

"Busy?" I repeated, incredulous. "You're always busy, Abigail. But this is Mom we're talking about. Our mother."

"I'll come," Abigail said, her voice firm. "I'll come as soon as I can."

"Good," I said, feeling a small sense of relief. "I need you here."

We hung up, and I sat down at the kitchen table, feeling a mix of emotions. I was glad Abigail was coming, but I couldn't shake the feeling that she was only doing it out of obligation.

Now to call Chris, My younger brother by 3 years.

I look at the paper with the numbers. Chris’s number was directly under mine in order.

I decided to call them from the house phone because they never pick up my calls.

The line rang 5 times and went to a voicemail.

I decided to leave a message. “Chris it’s your sister. Your mother is dying. Get your ass home, now!”

Click.