My Mother's Chamomile by Finkbeiner Susie

Author:Finkbeiner, Susie [Finkbeiner, Susie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: WhiteFire Publishing
Published: 2014-02-08T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Two

Olga

Papers spread all over our dinette. Clive shuffled through them, sighing and pinching the top of his nose. His pencil moved across scratch paper as he scribbled notes. Working numbers on the calculator, he used the eraser on his pencil to punch in the buttons. All the while, he kept his head bowed a little. I hadn’t noticed how many liver spots had popped up on his scalp before.

“What can I get you, Clive?” I asked. He’d barely eaten any supper. “You want me to warm up something for you? I got a good piece of roast from the other night.”

“I’m not hungry.” His lips curved up, but he didn’t look happy. The way the eyelids drooped over his blue eyes told me I was right. “Thanks, though, sugar.”

“Honey, you haven’t eaten a decent meal in a handful of days. You got me all kinds of worried about you.”

“You know, I got plenty of reserves stored up right around my middle. I’m not going to starve any time soon.” He took in a deep breath and let it out in one big puff. “You never worry so much about me unless you got something else upsetting you.”

“Now, don’t you go changing the subject.” Turning my back to him, I took in a breath that made my head spin. I hated to keep a secret from him. “I wish you’d eat something.”

“Olga, don’t worry about me.”

“Maybe I’ll get a good bedtime snack into you, then.”

I went about wiping counters I’d already scrubbed. Anything to keep me from thinking about Gretchen. All I wanted to do was tell Clive.

“You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he said.

Still, after all those years with him, words like that made my heart flutter. More than anything else, because I knew he meant it. That night, though, the heartache of Gretchen’s news thudded harder, drowning out both the pitter and the patter.

“Oh, I’m all turned upside-down over how to bill these people.” Scratching the pencil across the paper, he marked out all kinds of figures. “I just don’t feel right draining them. They lost both their kids. I don’t know how I can charge them.”

Sweat beaded on his forehead. He used a napkin to wipe it off.

“Are you hot, Clive?” I asked. “You want me to turn up the air conditioner?”

“It’s a hard thing, losing a child.” He shoved the papers into a file and folded it closed. “I don’t know what’s worse, losing them all at once like that or little by little.”

“I don’t know.”

“I’ve seen both. It’s one thing I can’t figure out.”

“They’re both bad, Clive.”

“That’s the truth.”

The living room window filled up with sunset. The round sun had dropped so fast. Like it had some place to be. Across the street, the corn glowed red.

“Would you look at that,” I whispered. “The corn’s blushing.”

“I’ll bet you anything Gretchen’s sitting on her porch with a cup of tea right about now,” Clive said, turning in his seat to see the sky. “She’s always loved the sunset.

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