Blue Runaways by Jann Everard

Author:Jann Everard [Everard, Jann]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Canadian short stories, literary fiction, women's fiction, female author, Canadian fiction, Canada, British Columbia, Iceland, Bali, Italy, winter camping
Publisher: Stonehewer Books
Published: 2024-03-12T00:00:00+00:00

Relative Grief

I open the door after the third staccato buzz. With a waft of mothballs, dust, and horse manure, Edna steps too close to me. It makes me squirm, but I resist stepping back. At eighty, Edna has avoided cancer, arthritis, diabetes, and heart disease but suffers sight loss from advanced glaucoma. She peers into my face from six inches away as she kicks off her rubber boots. Clods of mud hit my wall.

“Anna?” Her voice is rough and querulous.

“No Edna, it’s Alexa,” I reply.

“I knew that,” she blusters and pushes past me into the hall. I take her overnight bag. It’s the first time I’ve seen my mother-in-law since Jackson’s funeral. His clear blue eyes and square jaw hide in her brittle skin. I’d forgotten the resemblance, hadn’t prepared myself to be slammed by the memory. I’ve made it through a year and all the milestones of grief that a year can bring, but suddenly I want to keen again.

It takes effort to swallow, to reassert myself against the rising tide of throat-tightening longing for those eyes. That jaw. The sound of my unwilling saliva as it is pushed down my throat is so loud that I’m sure even Edna hears it. “I’ll take your coat,” I finally say, and we play a gentle tug-of-war before Edna lets it go. Her eyes dart about as if looking for something. “I’ll just hang it here on the newel post, so you know where it is.” Her expression dares me to reach for her handbag. She clutches it to her belly.

Edna doesn’t ask how I am. She has the country tendency toward breviloquence. The upside is that she doesn’t intrude on my life here in the city. We’ve talked three, maybe four times since Jackson died.

“When’s your appointment?” I try to sound interested.

“Tomorrow at eight. I’ll take a cab to the station after. I’ll be out of your…” She searches visibly for the next word. House? Hair? I don’t prompt her, so the sentence is left hanging.

“I can take you to the station.”

“Nonsense,” she answers, as her lips roll inward and disappear.

I position myself on the sofa and pat the seat cushion next to me to provide an audible clue. “Shall we sit?”

She sits. A pouter pigeon barely perched.

I watch the dust motes and try not to mark the silence with measures of time: finger taps, knee bounces, or sighs.

Then Edna announces, loud and belligerent, “I used to live here, you know. I kept a nice house. The kids never had to be ashamed to invite a friend over.”

She didn’t live here. Ever. Jackson and I purchased the townhouse new. Open concept, with pot lights and a linear gas fireplace, it could never be mistaken for something other than a modern build.

I try to keep my tone gentle. “Do you mean that Jackson used to live here?”

“No.” The word comes out on a puff of impatience. “I know what I’m saying. I used to own this house.”

My gaze flits around the room as I search for explanations.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.