Free Transits by Jaime Forsythe Page B

to—”
    â€œHe came here. I didn't know what to tell him. I couldn't get hold of you anywhere.”
    Tess smoothed the cord in her hand. “Did you hang up on the an­swering machine this morning?”
    â€œI certainly wasn't speaking into that contraption.” Tess imagined her mother standing in the kitchen, her grey eyes staring out the window.
    â€œHow do you expect me to know what's going on, then?”
    â€œBy being here in the first place.”
    â€œListen, Mom, it's only a bed and a few boxes.”
    Her mother's voice faltered. “I'm sick of all your clutter.”
    â€œWell Mom, it's all taken care of now. I made a mistake. I said I was sorry. I can't do anything else. Goodbye.” The receiver felt cold in her hand.
    Tess grabbed the scissors on the table. She began pruning the geranium she bought that morning. Her mother taught her how to approach a plant. The directions came like a song: turn and cut, turn and cut. The trick was to make it look balanced, like you never touched it. Tess slid the shrub across the table and peered hard at it. She picked up the clippings and threw them in the garbage.
    The couch was the same one her mother had bought years ago. They got it from the Furlongs, an elderly couple they were distantly related to who lived down the street. Their only relatives in the area. They had been over for tea. She remembered Mrs. Furlong taking her mother's hand and saying, “Lily, my dear, all you need is a change. It's amazing what it will do for your spirits.” Her husband Jack added, “Yes girl, we're selling our chesterfield set and it would look lovely in here.” Tess's eyes had followed her mother's dull gaze around the room. Mrs. Furlong patted her mother's arm, knocking tea on the floor. Three perfect pools of brown liquid formed at their feet. Mrs Furlong checked her shoes, “Yes, my dear, a change is all you need.”
    The moving van pulled up in front of the living room window, casting a shadow across the room. The doorbell rang. A young man stood outside with a bed frame under his arm.
    Tess shuffled behind him and grabbed the other end. “Sorry about the mix up.”
    â€œAh, no big deal, it was only a run across town. I didn't even have to go back to the office. Larry called me on my cell and let me know what was happening.” He winked and tapped, with some importance,the phone attached to his belt.
    They laid the frame against the bedroom wall. “Mom was pretty worried.”
    â€œYes, she was a bit stressed out the first time I came by, but that time she was all smiles.”
    Tess's voice was bitter. “She has her moments.”
    â€œAh girl, after fifty they get worried about the slightest thing. Sure, if the postman doesn't show up on time, they're saying novenas until they hear the clink in the mailbox. That's all you can do.”
    Tess laughed.
    After he left, she squatted down by the couch and opened one of the boxes. Botany books, old letters and postcards from her years at U of T stacked up around her feet. She picked up a photo album and noticed that the cellophane was losing its stick. She leafed through the pages of her and Peter's life—awkward grins and gangly limbs.
    A picture fell on the floor, an old black and white photo. It was her mother—vibrant, standing out on a cliff —staring back at her. Her arms reached out to the sides, palms open, and a crooked adoring grin pointed at the photographer, Tess's father.
    The phone rang and broke Tess from her thoughts. She laid the album on the couch and went to answer it.
    Peter sounded tired. “Mom called. She's depressed.”
    â€œWhat? I suppose she thinks I hate her now?”
    â€œSomething like that.”
    â€œOh, God! What am I supposed to do? I'm twenty-three and we're still playing this game!”
    â€œJesus, Tess girl, you know what she's like. Call her.”
    A dog's bark pulsed in the background.