Rocky Road (31 page)

Ma looked awful—pasty pale and scrawny like a desert
lizard. Her hair was tangled and matted, and her whole body trembled as she held the spatula.

“You’re sick. Let me do that,” I said, reaching for the spatula.

But she wouldn’t let go. Tears streamed down her pale cheeks as she slumped over the stove weakly. “Winnie told me all you did yesterday,” she said. “I feel so proud to be your mama. Ashamed too, for what I put you through. Not right that my young daughter has grown-up headaches on account of crazy me.”

“It’s okay, Ma. Really. And you’re
not
crazy,” I said, hugging her. I begged her to let me finish up, and she finally did, once the eggs were cooked. I scooped them onto the tortillas she had resting on two plates. Then I ladled them with chili sauce, topping it with Tapatío sauce and a handful of cheese.

I set the plates on the counter and poured some juice, and Ma and I ate. I ate, anyway; Ma picked.

Then I described the sights and sounds of the Cinco de Mayo parade, full of marchers and floats and smiling spectators. I told her about Pete’s flashy soda-jerk dance and the line out the door for ice cream, and how Son of Clown saved the day after Lucky got loose. I explained how I got the Channel 13 reporter on our side by telling her about our philosophy that ice cream warms the heart, so much on our side that she’d be doing a special report on the shop next week.

“We struck gold, Ma. Sixteen hundred dollars. Like you would say, that’s not chump change!” My mouth was full of spicy eggs and my heart with gratitude. Because I might have been acting shop manager yesterday, but Ma made this all happen.

Ma took in all I said, her sunken eyes pleased, but she said very little. It seemed like she was caught in a net of sadness, without the strength to untangle herself.

“The
Inside Scoop
was right, Ma. Secondary products do affect the bottom line. We sold out of fudge! And you should’ve seen customers going wild for all your sundae specials,” I added, sipping my juice.

When I finished my eggs, I pushed my plate away and folded my hands on the table. If Ma was going to change, I had to change too. No more avoiding the elephant in the room. Time to speak up.

“Guess what? Mac Kelsh is running things at the shop for us today so I can be with you. Isn’t that nice?”

She nodded. “Mighty decent.”

“Everyone’s pitching in, Ma, because of
you
. You helped so many people, and they believe in you. Now it’s your turn to help yourself. To do something different, even if it’s hard.”

Her eyes grew moist again. “I know where you’re going with this, and it’s a dead end. I’m not tougher than this ugly monster. He just keeps coming back and beating me down.”

This time I wouldn’t let her throw in the towel. I wouldn’t blame her either. I touched the top of her bony shoulder. “It’s not a monster, Ma. It’s a medical condition. But it doesn’t have to rule your life. Doctors have medicine that can help. I mean, it’s probably not like strep throat that gets fixed fast with antibiotics, but if you stick with a plan—just like you did with A Cherry on Top—well, you
will
get it under control.”

I expected to hear the usual excuses and down-with-no-good-doctor lines, but that didn’t happen. The only sound in the kitchen was the refrigerator humming.

Then I spoke the hardest words I ever did say.

“I’m scared, Ma. Scared that unless something changes, you’ll end up like your paw. You’ve got to fight it because Jordan and me—well, we couldn’t take that.”

With that, Ma’s eyes turned into sprinklers, tears shooting down her cheeks so fast, one plopped on her plate. Without a word, she stood up and walked into the bathroom. The faucet water ran for a while—a long while—and then the door opened.

Ma’s hair was combed and her face washed when she came back into the kitchen and looked at me.

“The way you took charge yesterday was amazing, Tess. You made me prouder than a goat with four horns. You’re my inspiration, you hear me? I promise you this: I’m down now, really down, but you and Jordan
won’t
lose me. I’m going back to the doc. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

“I love you, Ma,” I said, and now my eyes were sprinklers too.

She reached for her car keys, her hands still shaking.

“Can I come to the doctor with you?” I asked. “Winnie says family can sometimes help describe symptoms even better than the person who’s sick. And I know Chief wouldn’t mind driving us. He loves cruising in his truck.”

Ma paused for a minute, her face hollow like an empty bowl, her hands still shaking. Then slowly her mouth opened. “That’d be swell. I’d like your company.”

M
a’s first visit back to the doctor turned into repeated visits, as many as two or three a week. And like she said, sticking with a medicine routine was no walk in the park. The first drug the doctor started her on made her a zombie. The second made her sick as a dog. Plenty of the ice cream shop’s profits went into paying for all her medical bills, and at times she looked even worse than before she’d gotten help.

But she’d meant what she said: she’d do whatever it took,
even if that meant trying new drugs and treatments. And she kept that chin-up attitude much better than I could have if it’d been me getting poked and swallowing all those horse pills.

“Way I see it, there’s good news and bad news with this bipolar business,” Ma told me one day at the pharmacy while we waited for a prescription that was supposed to minimize the side effects of the other drug she was taking. “The good news is I’m not necessarily headed for the last roundup in the sky. The bad news is this here’s an alligator I gotta wrestle my whole life. Like it or not, I’ll be taking medicine and making docs rich for years to come. And I have to make lifestyle changes too.”

“Like what?”

“Being more aware of what makes my moods seesaw up and down. Having a regular sleep routine. Using relaxation techniques and exercising. And I gotta start psychotherapy. That means talking to a trouble expert and coming up with ways to better handle life’s whammies.”

“That
is
a lot, but you can do it,” I told Ma, and I said I would help track her mood swings. “I see them coming, Ma, especially when you’re under the gun, stressed.”

She smiled. “RSSA members tell me you’ve got a good head on your shoulders. Makes sense for me to listen to you.”

Even with her born-again mental outlook, Ma wasn’t up to running the ice cream shop yet. Chief had taken over as acting shop manager because I had school, and he and Mac Kelsh organized work shifts with the help of RSSA members. Pitching in, Mac said, was what respectable retailers in the same
business region did for each other, but Gabby and I thought he went above and beyond when it came to Ma. He visited her at our apartment after his work shift ended every single day, even when she was stuck in bed and acting grouchy. He brought her flowers, coffee, and donuts (Barley’s, of course). And he told her jokes only retailers would find funny.

State Street merchants feared that business would die again after Cinco de Mayo, but they were wrong. The RSSA continued with clever promotions and advertising, and State Street kept hopping with customers. Especially at A Cherry on Top. Not only did the warm weather get Schenectadites in the mood for ice cream, but Channel 13’s special business report brought in peanut butter fans wanting to try the Jordan Peanut Butter Party in a Cup. (Wisely, we made peanut butter the featured flavor for June.)

For me, the most satisfying news came when the
Daily Gazette
ranked our fudge number one in the Capital District. Reading that review brought tears to my eyes, as if my own child had won a beauty contest.

After a few weeks of filling in at the shop, the other RSSA members had their own flourishing businesses to tend to, and we needed more counter help, so Ma hired two waitresses from Little Miss Muffet’s, Franny and Jillian.

Ma’s progress had setbacks. Sometimes she seemed like she was on the mend, full of energy like her old sassy self. But then she’d fall deep into a valley, and that hollow look would return to her face. But eventually the doctor found a drug that balanced her mood swings most of the time. And then one morning in late
June she tucked the
Inside Scoop
inside her pocketbook and headed back to A Cherry on Top full-time.

As summer marched on, Ma kept coming home late on Wednesday nights. She had her shop-closing routine down now, so I knew that wasn’t it. I wondered what was going on.

After making me swear silence on a stack of peanut brittle, Winnie let me in on the secret. Ma and Mac Kelsh had dates on Wednesday nights! That was Mac’s night off from Barley’s, and the two of them got a bite to eat and took walks in Central Park. One week they even attended a sign-language class, Winnie said.

“Why doesn’t Ma just tell me she’s going out with Mac?” I asked Winnie.

“She will when she’s ready, and when she feels sure
you’re
ready,” she said. “For now she’s taking life one day at a time and trying hard to stay healthy. Be happy for her. Mac’s a good influence.”

I finished sewing the last patch for the piano-bench quilt just in time for Winnie’s birthday. Ma and I decided to throw a little party for her at A Cherry on Top.

When she walked in the door, Ma, Franny, Jillian, and I sang “Happy Birthday.” Then Ma fixed up a round of “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough” Mocha-Fudge Frappes, and we all sat together in the dining area.

As Winnie sipped her frappe, I gave her my present.

“Precious, this is precious,” she said, gazing at the cushion, her fingertips touching each patch.

The nurse cap made her sigh. The yawning Winnie Bear
made her giggle. The Gladys Knight and the Pips patch made her break out in song. And the “Down with Exercise” frowny face made her smile and declare, “My sentiments exactly!”

A tear rolled down her cheek when she saw the last patch: Colonel Elston Lincoln, with “Semper Fi” embroidered on his pocket.

Winnie rubbed the embroidered letters with her shiny purple fingernail. “Six more months until Elston comes back to the States on leave. This will be the first thing I show him,” she said.

Just as we all started getting watery eyes too, Mac arrived, smelling like mouthwash and wearing his
STORE MANAGER KELSH, HERE TO SERVE YOU
name tag smartly above his shirt pocket. He made a big fuss about Ma’s hair looking nice, and it did. (I’d run a rinse through it last night to get rid of the gray.) And he gave Ma a box of nicotine gum to help her quit smoking again since she was back up to a pack a day of Winstons.

Right when Ma was paying attention, I walked straight up to Mac and gave him a high five. “Glad you could make it!” I said.

“I couldn’t miss the birthday of my favorite mariachi,” he said, winking at Winnie.

Then Ma tapped a spoon against a glass. “Attention, please. We’re celebrating the birthday of a true friend and one terrific lady. And while we’re all gathered, there’s another lass present who also deserves special recognition.”

I looked up, and Ma was smiling back at me. Then she
pointed over to the menu board behind the counter, which was covered with a sheet.

“As you know, Tess, we’ve got sundaes named in tribute to all kinds of movers and shakers. Today, A Cherry on Top announces a new special, named after the smartest, sweetest gal I know.”

With that, Ma charged the counter, yanked off the sheet, and shouted, “Voilà!”