Читать книгу One Mountain Away - Emilie Richards - Страница 15

Chapter Ten

First Day Journal: April 30

Each day at the park is like a human lifetime. Early in the morning everything sparkles with promise. Dew glistens on blades of grass; the sidewalks are empty pages sneakered feet have yet to write on. The air is still, as if a puff of breath from an angel’s lips is needed to set the day in motion.

As morning progresses, the park begins to waken. Birds sing on branches, and young lovers walk hand in hand. On benches like mine, coffee’s consumed, newspapers unfolded, cell phones pulled from pockets for casual conversations. Two mothers push strollers and chat. The sun peeks through the leafy canopy.

By afternoon balls whiz through the air and children shout commands. On the playground, mothers keep careful eyes on preschoolers who beg to swing higher. The climbing dome becomes a spaceship, the monkey bars an obstacle course over teeming pools of barracuda. The sun beats down on baseball caps and the open pages of books.

When evening comes, stragglers take their time departing, as if sorry to move on to other things. Some scoop up trash and toss it in bins. Others scuff feet in newly planted grass, as if making sure to leave their mark. Darkness is kept at bay by strategically placed lights.

In this way only is a day at the park different from a lifetime. No one and nothing can keep our darkness at bay, no matter how hard we try. I learned this in the hospital from a woman named Gwen, a powerful and uninvited lesson that haunts every step I take.

It’s morning now, and I’ve been waiting an hour. Maddie isn’t here, although she often comes to the park on Saturdays. I wonder how many friends she has. Are other children frightened of her seizures? Do they shun her to avoid the possibility of witnessing one?

Edna is here with her mother, who is typing on her laptop from a bench closer to the jungle gym. Her mother’s name is Samantha, and I came here for days before I realized exactly who she was. I knew her when she was a teenager. That this eluded me so long is a surprise, because Samantha is striking enough that even more than a decade later, I should have known her immediately.

In fairness to me, the girl I knew always carried herself as if she was spoiling for a fight. The woman smiles and moves with extraordinary grace. She laughs easily and clearly adores her daughter. She doesn’t seem to be watching Edna and her friends, but I know from watching her that she’s always aware. The transformation is so complete that I wonder what brought it about.

I wonder, too, about Samantha’s mother, Georgia Ferguson, once the Covenant Academy headmistress, where Taylor and Samantha, even Jeremy, Maddie’s father, went to school.

At the end of an hour Samantha gets up and approaches me. There’s no place to go without drawing attention, so I look away. She stops in front of me until I’m forced to glance up.

“She’s not coming today,” she says.

I don’t pretend not to understand. Instead, I thank her, and she nods and motions for Edna, who reluctantly follows her up the hill.

I wonder how long she’s known that I come here to watch my granddaughter. I wonder why she, of all people, cares enough not to expose that secret to my daughter. She hasn’t told Taylor, or I’m sure I would know. Although we haven’t spoken in years, Taylor would find and confront me.

My visit to the park has ended in disappointment, but I think I’ve discovered a friend, even though I don’t deserve her.