Uncharted (Unexpected Book 3) (17 page)

Part II

Five years later

Two months ago she gave me the news and I still can’t wrap my head around what has happened. She’s dead. Gone. She reached her final destination and left me—alone.

The falling rain washes down the piles of dirt, dragging it back into the six-foot hole where soon the wooden box will be set to rest. The priest continues blabbing about the happy moments we shared, and how God decided to take another angel to his side.

I agree with the angel part—he took one of the best. Our guardian angel. But about the former—the happy moments—I don’t remember seeing her happy. Nope, there’s not one image in my mind where she’s smiling. There weren’t many hugs or kisses either. Those carry germs.

Why did you leave?

I stare at the oak-colored casket with the carved crucifixes along the side. Mae grips my arm as she cries non-stop.

Not one answer comes out of that wooden box. I don’t understand. For years she worked hard to protect Maeve. Fragile, beautiful Mae. Their first born, who at a young age, had been diagnosed with Cystic Fibrosis.

In the end, Mae’s the one who’s burying the pillar of the house. Mom.

“She’s taking with her the happy moments,” the priest continues.

Honestly, I don’t know if Mom was ever happy. My oldest memories of her go back to when I was three and she called me her doll. She handed out special hugs back then, but one day, even the hugs became a commodity in the Walker household.

“You shouldn’t be here.” I pat Mae’s hand. “Mom’s going to have a fit.”

“Yeah, well, she can’t lecture me now, can she?” Mae says that in a rebellious and defiant sobbing tone that only Maeve Walker can pull off.

“Do you recall teaching me how to play the piano, Mommy?”
I chat with her inside my head, as if she’s part of the spectators and not inside that box.
“Then braiding my hair. And you taught me so much, Mommy. Including to never give up and to keep fighting for the ones we love.”

Stupid stage four cancer.

When Mae and I finally made her go to the doctor, they told her that she had colon cancer—stage four—and that it had spread all over her body. Just when we were close, God took her away from me. Three months. That’s all the doctor offered. She only lasted two.

My fingers fidget with the umbrella’s handle. I wish the priest would hurry with that long and boring speech. Mom would’ve hated all the unnecessary words he spits.
In, out and get on with your life
was her philosophy. The irony of life: her funeral is everything she would’ve hated.

“I hate the rain.” I can’t help but chuckle at what Mae says, while also making sure she’s covered properly. “Pree, stop. I’m not your kid.”

“Everything has shifted, Mae,” I whisper. Mae nods.

It’s as if the constellations moved a few degrees and my world has lost its balance again.

“Ana.” Robbie, my fiancé, touches my arm lightly. “It’s time to place the roses.”

I scan around. Our friends, family, and some of her former coworkers watch Mae and me intently. Mom would be so disappointed in me for not looking like a classy lady who can handle herself even when her mother has died. I nudge my sister and we walk to where the casket stands and place the pink roses Robbie hands us.

“I’m sorry, Mommy, for everything.”

My relationship with Mom during my teenage years sucked. But it transformed into a close, tender, and loving one right after that concert. The night she realized that her other daughter was as vulnerable as Maeve. I wasn’t Mae, but I was her sidekick. It was a great mother and daughter relationship—not perfect. We bumped heads often. Our last big fight was right before we found out she was about to die. The one I’d never forget. I bailed Mae out of the house and took her to Hawaii. The doctor gave her the green light and prescribed some medication to numb her during the flight—a way to diminish her anxiety, because those metal things can fall anytime without warning. Mae made it to the warm beach. That thousand-volt smile she wore for the entire trip was worth every penny I spent, and it was worth facing Mom’s rage.

Sorry your funeral isn’t too fancy.
I hope Mom’s listening.
With Dad’s expenses and that trip, it was hard to come up with the cost. I went for classy-poor instead of Empress-chic as you deserved.

I kiss the tip of my fingers and touch the casket. My mommy died. She was the one I counted on to stay longer than anyone. We had so much more to do. The wedding, babies, and so many more milestones. My time with her was coming, but it never did. Now I’m left with her responsibilities and I have no idea how to keep our house alive.

“I’ll miss you, Mommy,” I whisper, and the wind whispers back.
I’m always with you, Pree.

Tears stream down my cheeks as they lower the casket. These past three weeks have been hard on everyone, but especially Mae. My heart shrinks as it appears she has lost her biggest cheerleader. Now we only have to deal with Dad’s illness. I have no idea how we’re going to survive—how I’ll survive once everyone is gone.

He’s on stage five of Alzheimer’s disease, or maybe six. I don’t know anymore. My father has trouble remembering anything that has happened to him or around him. He leaves the house when we’re not watching. He can’t recall his phone number or address. We’ve been lucky that the police have found him every time, but fear that one day we won’t be so lucky. That we’ll lose him and find him dead in a ditch.

Two days ago, when Mae told him Mom had died, he cried so much. He said that the love of his life was gone. Maybe they did love each other in their own strange way. But today we had no idea what to do.

“Where is your Mom, Pria?” he questioned earlier as he looked inside the home-office. “And why are you here so early, honey?”

As I opened my mouth to re-explain to him that Mom died, Maeve shook her head.

Later I agreed with her. Until he dies, we’re going to pretend Mom is somewhere else. As of right now, I officially hate my life. For a moment, I close my eyes and go back to that place inside my mind where I live a different life; I’m someone else having the cookie-cutter special. I fidget with the old guitar pick. My eyes open and I’m ready for another round of this sucky life.

Dad stayed at home during the funeral. Mrs. Crowley, our next-door neighbor, kept a watchful eye on him. He sat on his yellowish recliner and watched his old recordings of
Law and Order.
Those keep him settled for a few hours without him getting agitated about our whereabouts. While I paid for her services, Maeve took Dad away. In the past months my sister has moved from being the one cared for to caring for our parents. Sweet irony.

“That was intense.” I turn around to find my fiancé fixing the knot of his tie. “I’m glad you didn’t pay for a caterer and have a big, fancy reception.” Robbie slips on his jacket. Great, he’s leaving. “The funeral was enough, don’t you think?”

No, but we don’t have the money and you didn’t let me take any from our mutual savings account.
I hold my tongue. My independence stops when it comes to him. Years of savings went into the down payment of a house I can barely afford. Half of my earnings go into my part of the mortgage payment. The other half split between my parents’ medicines and their house. Then there’s the savings account we have to keep for our future. Overall, half of the time I’m broke. My business card reads:

The Image Studio
Ana Walker,
Owner-Director

My salary screams entry level. I don’t have many clients, and some pay me only when they can, like Robbie.

“In this poor economy, you can’t expect net thirty days to be net thirty,” he told me a year ago. “We have employees. Why don’t we move in together and save some money? We can buy a house.”

Sucker. I fell for that and I still receive the checks from his company fifteen to forty days late. Owning my own business isn’t glamorous. My medical insurance sucks. I can’t add my father, and now that Mom has died we don’t have a way to cover all his expenses. The government insurance only covers so much. It can only get better. After all this crap, nothing else can possibly go wrong; unless Mae’s health starts declining. Then I’d consider hanging myself because I can only take so much. I order my inner voice to shut up and grab hold of myself. Mom wouldn’t be happy with my attitude.

“Are you coming home tonight?” His question makes my jaw drop. Can’t he see how my family is crumbling? “You’ve been gone for almost a month and we have a ton of shit to discuss.”

“You could stay.” I stare at Robbie, my eyes pleading for him to make an exception, to stay with me tonight. He remains still, watching, as if he’s waiting for me to release him from the burden of being at my parents’ home. He hates this house, the stench of death. The house smells like a hospital. We have an entire closet of cleaning supplies that Mom stole from her former job. “Maeve and Dad need me.”

My eyes plead to his hazel lights to stay. I remain expectant that he’ll utter the words my heart needs to hear tonight, but he doesn’t.

“I understand they need you, babe.” He finally breaks the silence and shifts those reluctant eyes toward the door. “When do you think you can go back to work full-time? I’ve been covering your part of the expenses for the past two months.”

Work! He’s more concerned about the expenses?

Mae hates him. She calls him Perfect Pete. We started dating during my junior year of college. A few months after, I realized that living in a fantasy world for the rest of my life was as healthy as Mom’s rules. I had to break one and learn to live with the other. We had taken a slow approach and moved in together last year. He proposed right after I got back from Hawaii. I remember the day I called Mae with the news.

“You’re going to be Pria Perfect.”
Her laugh deafened me and it lasted for ages.
“Well, Mrs. Robert Clark Smith. Pria Smith, that’s boring.”

“Ana,”
I reminded her.
“Only you guys call me Pria. That’s such a stupid and ridiculous nickname. Maybe when I marry, I’ll change my name from Cypriana to just Ana Smith.”

“
It is not my intention to hurt you, but I’m not thrilled about the person you’ve become and who you’ll be once you marry that guy.”

Mae’s important to me, but her opinion didn’t matter. Mom approved of my relationship from the beginning and looked forward to my nuptials with Robbie ever since I finished college. She had hoped I’d marry at twenty-two and have my first child at twenty-four. Grandchildren. She wanted them bad. Freaking Robbie took his sweet time. Now Mom’s never going to meet her grandchildren.

“Monday, Robbie. Mae and I need to figure out what we’re going to do. She can’t take care of Dad all day.” I scratch my head, wondering if I should remind him that his company hasn’t paid me in the past two months. “Talk to your accounts payable department. They owe me two checks.”

“Max?” One word with so many meanings. Why would he ask about our dog?

I bought Max last year, after I read that Without A Compass was taking a break. That guy I met back in college wasn’t as crazy as I thought. Jacob Decker, better known around the world as JC Decker, became a famous musician. The hot front man, who every woman in the world fantasizes having their clothes ripped by.
Twinkle-eyes
he called me, and some nights I too, fantasize about him, but in a “together forever” kind of scenario. There’s an old song of his, “My Twinkle Eyes”, which I like to think is mine. Our little connection was that Golden Retriever named Max—if I couldn’t have Jace and the upgraded family package, I could at least have the dog—and the guitar pick he gave me after spending a week with him.

Jacob is my escape when I’m about to give up. A girl can always dream and take a famous-celebrity timeout from the shithole reality that her life has become once in a while.

“Is he all right?” I choke on the question, as I can’t take another hit.

“Yeah, but he misses you and I can’t do all the shit you do with him, babe.” He stares at the ceiling, as if inspecting it for termites or waiting for it to fall on top of him so he doesn’t have to be around any longer. “Your mother isn’t here. Why can’t you bring him over?”

I rub my eyes, count to five, and then glance back at him. Insensitive much? I can’t bring the dog. Maeve is allergic.

“Are you kidding, Robbie? My sister is allergic.” I mumble between clenched teeth with a rage I have trouble keeping inside. “Max can’t be here. Give me until Monday and I should be back home by then.”

“The wedding…” His voice trails and he’s staring at his black polished shoes with the obvious desire to disappear if he clicks the heels together. The moment he mentions the wedding, my first thought is he’s joking, or confirming my sister’s suspicions. He only cares about himself. But he surprises me. “I don’t think we should right now.”

Relief washes over some of the tension, because I’m definitely on board
that
train. Right now isn’t the time for us to think about a white dress, rehearsal dinners, churches, maid of honors, and whatever else it includes. In fact, my parents never had a wedding account for me.

“Yeah, that’s sensible, Rob.”

I twist the two-carat, emerald-cut diamond he had given me as I’d said, “Yes, I think marriage is the next best step.”

In my dreams, it was a lanky dork with cheesy lines who proposed while playing some song he composed for me. At night, under a blanket of stars that brighten the most important day of our lives. The fantasy ends right here. For starters, the boy no longer exists. The times I have seen his image, he’s been drool-worthy gorgeous, with a bad-boy attitude that screams “
I don’t give a shit
.” There are usually one or two women perched to his side. Either he’s a player or he’s hiding that life he wanted. Hot, skinny wife, six children, two dogs, and whatever else it included. Jace never did call and I tried never to dwell on it again , or the ghost pains will come back, reminding me that he played me, and most of all what happened—or almost happened—to me when I tried to reach out to him.

“I mean, we haven’t picked a date.” We agreed to give it some time, and now I can’t think of any kind of celebration after losing Mom. Before, it wasn’t fair to Mae that I would marry and she wouldn’t. Secretly I held some hope that one day my sister would go outside the house and meet a great guy who’d love her. The kind, bubbly girl who fights every day to stay alive. Once I learned Mom was sick, I tried to organize something fast so she’d be with me, but with all the expenses, I had to fight against it. “Maybe we can talk about this next year?”

“Ana, you’re nice and reliable. Smart. And you’re my parents’ idea of a great wife for my future career.” He scratches the back of his head and finally looks at me. “But you have a lot going on. Plus, your family isn’t exactly healthy. Cancer, CF, Alzheimer’s, and whatever else you come up with. So, for the future my parents and I envision, I believe it’s best for the two of us, Ana, if we part. You of all people should understand.”

What people? And no, I don’t.