Free The View From Who I Was by Heather Sappenfield Page A

because you pushed her to suicide? I’ll never forgive myself.”
    â€œMom—”
    She held up her hand. “I’ve thought about this a lot. Any parent of a suicide will forever bear guilt. There’s no way around it. It’s my penance.” She tightened her grip on the steering wheel and peered at the gray sky. “I’m going to be a better mother. I have to hope.”
    All those years, Dad had always been away in Chicago. When he’d come home, he’d secluded himself in his office or his observatory. Mom must have been so lonely. Maybe lonelier than us. Except instead of spinning apart, she’d spun inward, churning tighter, tighter, till she’d turned to stone. A wave passed through Corpse, like that buckling chill on the beach.
    â€œAre you going to divorce Dad?” Corpse said. Little voice.
    Mom shrugged. “Either way, I’ll be a better mom.”
    Corpse remembered Sugeidi saying “Heal her,” and one thing finally made sense. One thing was something. Something to hold onto. Mom’s hand rested on her thigh. Corpse took it and squeezed.
    â€œGood luck,” Corpse said, just like Mom had said it to her that morning.
    Mom barked a laugh and brought the backs of her other fingers to her mouth. Those tears still bulged on her eyes. I had to respect Mom: she didn’t blink.
    We pulled into the garage alongside Corpse’s white Range Rover. Corpse wanted nothing to do with that vehicle, never wanted to drive again. Mom caught her staring at it, and their eyes had a conversation:
    Mom: Your father wants you to have that.
    Corpse: I know.
    Mom’s eyes traveled across the garage ceiling and walls as if she could see all of Chateau Antunes, and Corpse understood that this house was Dad’s idea too. She thought how he’d been gone for so much of her life, and I saw ourself and Mom as women he’d kept locked away. Like possessions. Corpse blinked.
    They trudged from the garage through the mudroom into the kitchen and surprised Dad.
    â€œYou’re home early,” he said. He looked between Mom’s red-rimmed eyes and Corpse. Suspicion took over his face. “How’d it go?”
    Sugeidi appeared in the archway from the hall to our room.
    â€œI just got tired is all,” Corpse said.
    Dad nodded in that not-knowing way, and we all watched him.
    â€œSugeidi, will you make Mom and me smoothies for lunch?” Corpse said.
    â€œ Sí .” She trod toward the fridge.
    â€œCare to join us, Dad?”
    Dad backed toward the hall, nodding. He held up his coffee mug like a toast and left.
    Mom and Corpse exchanged a glance.
    â€œGive me your coat,” Mom said. She took it and stepped into the mudroom.
    â€œ Bueno , Oona,” Sugeidi whispered as she poured berries into the blender. “ Bueno .”
    Mom and Corpse sat at the counter, and Sugeidi served them the smoothies. It was awkward, but also just right.
    â€œWhat else I make for you?” Sugeidi said.
    â€œThat’s all I need,” Corpse said. “Mom?”
    â€œI’m fine.”
    Sugeidi took the blender to the sink, rinsed it, and set it in the drying rack on the counter. She dried her hands and started to walk away.
    â€œSugeidi,” Corpse said.
    â€œ Sí? ”
    â€œHave you eaten? Would you like to join us?”
    Mom stiffened but she said, “Yes. Join us, Sugeidi.”
    Sugeidi faltered, a thing I’d never seen, and she walked to us. “I lunch already,” she said, yet she lingered at the counter.
    â€œHow many of those dresses do you have?” Corpse said.
    Sugeidi looked down at her maid dress. “Three.”
    â€œDon’t you have to wash them a lot?”
    â€œ Es nothing.”
    â€œMom, could Sugeidi wear regular clothes to work?”
    Mom looked hard at Corpse. “You think I make her wear that dress?” Now she did cry.
    Sugeidi studied her hands on the counter.