The Girl He Left Behind by Beatrice MacNeil

Author:Beatrice MacNeil
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Canada
Published: 2020-03-18T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

A Mile of Grief

WILLOW RETURNED TO WORK A COUPLE OF weeks after her mother’s death. On her first day back, she decided to walk the mile to work, even though a naked Monday morning sky predicted inclement weather. Willow faced the new day in a grey dress and oxfords from her closet. Passing the full-length mirror, she looked at herself briefly and thought she resembled a strip of pleated fog. She planned to go on a shopping trip on the weekend. She wanted to introduce colour back into her life—a touch of green, soft yellows, sky blues to brighten her days. She and Kathleen had gone over colour charts. They both chose the same colours.

“Grief can rob you of so much, Willow. Don’t let it near your rainbow. You are a beautiful woman. Keep colour in your life!”

It didn’t surprise Willow how many of Dr. Millhouse’s patients offered their condolences while awaiting diagnosis of their ailments. But their sympathy didn’t stop there. Many of them thought that talking about their own dead relatives might somehow help Willow. They dug up their own dead and reanimated them in trivial rambles.

“My grandfather loved the fall,” declared one. “He danced with the scarecrows, my dear, before he retired them to the barn. He died a terrible death under his tractor. They found an arm and a leg in the potato patch. He is dancing with the angels now. There are no seasons in heaven.”

“My mother dropped dead in church,” said an elderly woman. “Some people believe she saw a vision and fainted. But it was dead she was, stone dead on her knees. People believe if you die in church the gates of heaven are left open for you—no passport required at the gate.”

“Your mother and father were the salt of the earth,” many others said.

It was their way of connecting their pain and misery with hers—a gentle competition and something to be grateful for if the body died in one piece. It didn’t help Willow one bit, but she still thanked the elderly people for their words of sympathy.

She was relieved each day when the clock struck twelve and the office was empty. She made tea to take upstairs to Kathleen. She had a special treat for her today: inside the round tin can was her favourite chocolate cake with boiled frosting.

Kathleen Millhouse was propped up in bed and smiled up at Willow when she entered the room. She lived between pillows these days, positioned on each side of her thin body. Except for her soft-spoken voice, you would have thought you were looking down upon a corpse with a welcoming smile on its lips. Her hands were folded in a criss-cross of cold flesh. A head of coal-black waves rolled out over the pillows.

Her misty eyes, as round as quarters, studied Willow’s face. Willow knew what she sought. Kathleen’s body was dying slowly, but her mind had yet to surrender to the illness of multiple sclerosis. She was in her early fifties.

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