Love Gently Falling

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Rita woke with the
lovely dream still fresh in her mind. Gracefully gliding across a shimmering ice rink illuminated by a rainbow of light, she'd felt unencumbered and free and weightless…as if she were flying. Getting out of bed, she pulled on a pair of fuzzy socks and, extending her arms, slid across the hardwood floor as if she were really on ice, as if she could spin and leap and execute moves she hadn't attempted in years. She skidded to a fast stop by the window, pausing to open the blinds, allowing the Southern California sunshine to flood into her pale blue bedroom. Not exactly a winter wonderland.

As she gazed down to the pool area, where tall, graceful palms barely moved in the morning breeze, she vaguely wondered if a public ice rink was even located in Beverly Hills. And even if a rink was nearby, would she be bold enough to pay it a visit? Twenty-nine seemed a bit old to reinvent oneself as a figure skater.

Not that she'd ever been much of a skater. Rita chuckled as she threw the comforter back onto her bed. Truth be told, she'd probably spent as much time on her hind end as she'd spent on her skates, but it had been fun. And not a bad way to grow up…back in Chicago. Continuing to slide her feet, she faux-skated out into the great room of the condo. Swaying side to side, she moved smoothly across the hardwood, attempting a couple of awkward moves as she worked her way toward the kitchen. She knew this was silly and wouldn't want her roommates to witness her antics, but Margot would be at work by now, and Aubrey was probably still asleep.

“What on earth are you doing?” Aubrey asked with what sounded like way too much amusement.

Spying her roommate in the shadows of the hallway with a foaming mouth and toothbrush in hand, Rita just shrugged. “Ice skating.”

“Good to know.” Aubrey laughed. “I heard the clunking and got worried that we were having an earthquake.”

“And here I thought I was being so graceful,” Rita said sarcastically. She was well aware that, with her nearly six-foot frame, grace was not her strong suit. And with petite and delicate roommates who lovingly called her Moose sometimes, it was a fact she was mindful of.

As Rita went into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee, she tried to remember how long she'd been sharing accommodations with Margot and Aubrey. It was shortly after she'd landed her job as a stylist at Roberto's…which was almost seven years ago. She'd felt on top of the world back then—being in her early twenties and working for one of the chicest salons, living in an upscale neighborhood with a couple of pretty cool roommates. How much better could it get for the daughter of a Chicago car salesman and a hairdresser?

Margot, the oldest of the roommates, owned this condo unit and hadn't raised the rent once. A corporate attorney, she was as dependable as they came. Aubrey was a year younger than Rita and could be a little unpredictable at times, but she was generous and fun. And since she worked for a fabulous restaurant in the neighborhood, she could always be counted on to bring home something divine at the end of her shift. Rita's contribution was free beauty advice and sample products. All in all, it was a pretty good setup for all three single girls.

And yet, as Rita poured water into the coffeemaker, she felt restless. Maybe it was just the remnants of her ice-skating dream, slowly melting away in the warmth of the California sun. Or maybe it was something else. She sighed as she turned on the small flat-screen in the kitchen, tuning it to the local news, where, according to Vince the weather guy, it was going to be “another unseasonably warm day.” Not a record breaker, but in the high eighties. And to think this was late January!

“So what's up with
ice skating
?” Aubrey asked as she came into the kitchen and opened the fridge.

Rita sheepishly explained her dream. “It felt so real. And it was so awesome to be gliding along like that. Made me want to go ice skating again.” She paused to sneak a cup of coffee from the machine as it brewed.

“Were you a pretty good skater?”

Rita laughed. “Not really. But I enjoyed it. That dream was probably just a subconscious reminder that I've been missing winter.”

“You probably should've gone home for Christmas.” Au­­b
­rey
filled a glass with orange juice. “I hear it's been seriously cold in the Midwest.”

“Yeah. My mom said they had a really pretty white Christmas.” Rita sighed to think of snowflakes tumbling down, ice sculptures, a rink filled with skaters wearing woolly hats and mittens and scarves… “I don't suppose there's an ice rink in Beverly Hills…is there?”

“I don't know about that, but Culver City used to have a good rink. We kids went there sometimes when I was growing up. My sister still lives in Culver. Want me to ask if it's still there?”

“That's okay. I don't really have time for ice skating this week anyway.” Rita glanced at the kitchen clock. “In fact, I should be getting dressed. I have a nine o'clock appointment this morning.” She held her coffee cup toward Aubrey. “What're you doing up this early?”

Aubrey pointed at her teeth. “I lost a crown last weekend. I have a dentist appointment at ten.”

As Rita reached for a banana, the landline phone jangled. Assuming it was a telemarketer, since few of their acquaintances used that particular number, Rita ignored the ringing as she peeled her banana. But after the message beep, it was her father's urgent voice that made her dash to the phone, grabbing up the receiver. “
Dad?
” she asked frantically. “What's going on?”

“Oh, Rita,” Richard said with a smidgen of relief. “I'm so glad I reached you. I tried your other phone number and no answer. And now this one, and I was about to give up and call your work number.” He paused to catch his breath. “Anyway it's about your mother. I don't where, how, to begin, but—”

“What's wrong?” she interrupted. She knew how her dad could go on and on sometimes. “Please, Dad, just cut to the chase and tell me what's happened!”

“Your mother has suffered a stroke.”

“A stroke?” Rita tried to absorb this. “When did this happen?”

“Last night. The doctor said it happened while she was asleep. She must've slept right through it. I didn't know anything was wrong until early this morning.”

“Is Mom
okay
?”

“No, not really. I mean, she's alive, Rita. But she's
not
okay. She's not herself at all.”

“Where is she?”

“Jackson Park Hospital. That's where I am right now. She's in ICU, and they're doing all they can for her—lots of tests and God only knows what else. But she's in a bad way, Rita.”

“A bad way?” Rita reached for a barstool, easing herself onto it. “What do you mean, Dad? Is she going to make it?”

“I don't know—” Her dad's voice broke, and she could tell he was crying. Rita could only remember him crying once before—when his mother, Grandma Jansen, had passed away. “I really don't know what's going on with her, honey. The doctor said the worst is probably over, but your poor mother can't talk or walk or eat or anything.” He made a choking sob. “It feels like she's already gone.”

“Oh, no!”
Tears filled her eyes. “I've got to come see her, Dad.”

“I know, honey. I thought you'd want to come. Do you need me to send money for airfare or—”

“No, Dad,” she said firmly. “You don't need to do that.” She knew that, thanks to the economy, her parents had been more financially strapped than ever. For that reason she'd been extra frugal with her own earnings. “I have money…my savings,” she reassured him. “I'm fine.”

“All right, then.” He let out a weary sigh. “Call and let us know when you'll get here. I still don't have a cell phone. Can't stand those things. So you can either call your mom's phone, which I'm on right now, although I barely know how to use it. Or, better yet, call your brother.”

“How's Ricky doing?” She knew that her younger brother had been struggling a lot recently, still adjusting to the aftereffects of some serious football injuries he'd sustained while playing college ball last year. Poor guy.

“Oh, Rita, Rick's taking it pretty hard. Your mom's been such a help to him this past year…and now this.”

“I'll be there as soon as I can,” she promised. “And I'll do whatever I can to help.”

“Thanks, honey. I hate interrupting your life like this, but we really do need you.”

“Don't worry, Dad. I'm on my way.”

As Rita hung up, she turned to see Aubrey still in the kitchen. “Oh, Rita,” Aubrey said with worried eyes. “I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but is it your mom?”

Rita nodded as she grabbed a paper napkin to wipe her tears. “It's a—a stroke. It sounds like she's not even conscious. My dad was really upset. He thinks she might not make it.”

Aubrey hurried over, wrapping her arms around Rita. “I'm so sorry. What can I do to help? Want me to go online and book a flight for you?”

“Can you?” Rita asked between sobs. “My credit card is in my wallet, over there on the table.”

“Absolutely. Do you fly into O'Hare?”

Rita nodded then blew her nose. “I need to go pack.”

“And I'll let Margot know,” Aubrey called out. “Want me to contact your work, too?”

“No, that's okay, I'll call the salon,” Rita hurried to her room to get dressed, make plans, and let her tears flow freely.

Thanks to Aubrey's unexpectedly efficient help, Rita was on her way to LAX by noon.

“That was really nice of you to give me a ride,” she told Aubrey's current boyfriend, Maxwell. “I told Aubrey I could get the shuttle, but she wouldn't hear of it.”

“Hey, it's no problem,” he assured her. “I was heading out to Westchester for a job anyway.” Maxwell was a plumber, something Margot had mercilessly teased Aubrey about. But as he carefully navigated his way down Santa Monica Boulevard, Rita began to see him in a different light. Maxwell seemed like a genuinely nice guy. She suspected there was more to him than his faded jeans, sleeveless T-shirt, multiple tattoos, and well-worn work boots. And she knew he was trying to get her to relax and think positively.

“I know it seems dark to you right now,” he said as he drove down the San Diego Freeway. “But medical technology is really amazing these days. I had an aunt who had a stroke a few years ago and she completely recovered. It just takes time and work.”

“I'm sure you're right.” She nervously fingered her electronically generated boarding pass.

“Your mom will probably need a physical therapist and a speech therapist. Does she have good insurance?”

“I think she does.” They continued discussing all the ins and outs of stroke recovery, and by the time Maxwell took the LAX terminal exit, Rita felt unexpectedly encouraged. She also felt that Aubrey had surprisingly good taste in boyfriends—something Rita couldn't necessarily claim for herself. The last guy she'd dated had turned out to be a complete jerk.

She thanked Maxwell once again as he pulled up to the Jet Blue entrance. “Not just for the ride,” she said as he helped her with her bags. “But the encouragement, too. It means a lot to me. You've been great. Really great.”

“I'll keep your mom and you and your family in my prayers,” he told her as he closed the back of his van.

She tried not to look surprised by this. Why wouldn't a nice guy like Maxwell be inclined to pray? “And I'll keep Aubrey posted about how it goes,” she promised as she wheeled her bag onto the sidewalk and waved. “Thanks again!”

Once inside the bustling terminal, she began to feel overwhelmed again. But with no time to waste, she hurried through the various stages of getting to her gate. With every step Rita felt more and more like she was in a hazy dream. Not the sweet, happy dream she'd experienced this morning. This was more of a chilly, unsettling dream, where everything was fuzzy and blurry. By the time she reached her gate, her flight was already boarding, but she took a minute to call her brother's phone, leaving him a message regarding her flight schedule. “It'll probably be close to nine by the time I get my bags, and I'll just take the train from O'Hare to the hospital,” she explained. “I know it'll be late at night by the time I get to Jackson Park. But I don't mind. I just want to be with Mom. And I do not want you or Dad coming to pick me up.
Understand?
”

Rita had no idea how Aubrey had managed to secure her a seat on a nonstop flight at such short notice, but she appreciated it. And the seat wasn't half bad either. Still, it was hard to sit patiently for four hours. And one could only pray for so long without feeling redundant and pathetic, not to mention not very faithful. Naturally, she'd been too worried and hurried to pick up anything to read. Plus the battery in her Kindle was dead. Left to the in-flight magazines and her own thoughts, she tried to remember the last time she'd been home. When had she last seen her mother…and her family? She felt dismayed to realize it had been a full three years. No wonder she missed snow and winter so much!