I thought that all would be well from this point on, with only one restful day remaining to Myrtle and Jaquinn’s trip. I was wrong—apparently when this woman is involved, little is restful.
The day started out promising—according to my sentry Shahidi, who was watching, Myrtle and Jaquinn slept in while Darron went to mass, and then they met with him and Sara for lunch. The rest of the afternoon they spent in a local park, one of Darron’s favorites, and returned to his apartment for a relaxed evening watching movies and enjoying one another’s company.
I knew that this was their plan, and so I had not intended to hover. I was surprised, then, when Shahidi sent an urgent message for me to go to them immediately.
The moment I arrived, I felt the thick tension in the air. The television was still going, but no one was paying any attention to it, because Darron’s phone was ringing, and its screen read “Mama”.
Darron muted the television and looked at Myrtle. “If I don’t pick up, she’ll keep calling. I’ll keep it short. You want me to go in the hall?”
Myrtle looked at Jaquinn, who put an arm around her. Myrtle shrugged and grabbed the remote, turning the sound back on. “It’s your apartment, dude,” she said.
Darron sighed, exchanged a glance with Sara, and answered the phone. “Hey, Mama. You okay?”
I went to Myrtle, who was shivering. She kept telling herself that this was not a big deal, that Abby was miles away, that she couldn’t hurt her. She didn’t want to listen to Darron’s conversation, but she couldn’t help but hear.
“Okay, I’m glad you’re good, but now’s not a good time to talk,” Darron was saying. “Can I call you back tomorrow?”
I wrapped my wings around Myrtle, even as Jaquinn tightened his grip on her. Some of her tension eased.
Darron sat up straighter at something Abby was saying. “Yes, Mama, she is here,” he said, and Myrtle tensed again.
But then Darron stood up and walked away into the kitchen, where he could still be heard, but not seen. “Mama, I told you I’m not going to do that. She doesn’t want to talk to you, and I respect her wishes. You should, too.”
Myrtle closed her eyes. Her brother’s defense of her was more of a relief than Jaquinn’s protection or my support.
“I know, Mama,” Darron said, and his voice was soft, sympathetic. “But we’ve talked about this. You know how Myrtle feels. You said you understood that.”
It had occurred to Myrtle, though she had tried not to think of it, that Darron would tell Abby of her visit. She had accepted her brother’s reassurances, however, that Abby would play no part in her time with him.
For a long time Darron was silent, listening. I listened, too, as much as I could without leaving Myrtle, and could hear a low woman’s voice, weeping.
How sharp must be Abby’s pain! It is bad enough for a mother to be separated from her child; to know that the separation is one’s own fault, to remember the pain caused to that beloved child—how much worse that must be!
I did not intend for my compassion to influence Myrtle, but I could tell that she felt it. She turned her face into Jaquinn’s shoulder, the old anger rising to combat the sympathy that she did not want to feel.
“I get it, Mama, I do. But I don’t appreciate you trying to get me to take sides. I won’t do it. No, that’s exactly what you’re doing, and it’s manipulative and I resent that.”
I was impressed with the calm, firm way that Darron spoke to his mother—his voice was not unkind, but he would give no ground. Myrtle was impressed, too, and grateful.
“I forgive you. And I promise, if and when Murry wants to hear what you have to say, I’ll pass it along. But she’s not ready.”
That last sentence crashed down on Myrtle like a heavy weight, and she suddenly got up and followed Darron into the kitchen. “Give me the phone,” she demanded.
Darron stared at her. Alarmed, I flew after her and wrapped my wings around her, doing what I could to soothe the anger and indignation and fear and pain rolling like a storm through her.
As Darron slowly placed the phone in Myrtle’s hand, I said into her ear, “Be strong, Myrtle. Strong enough to be kind. You heard the way Darron did it—just that way. Healing is what you want, not hurt.”
She took a deep breath and put the phone to her ear. “Say your bit,” she said, “and then I’ll say mine.”
For a long moment, there was only silence—Abby was as surprised as Darron. But then she cleared her throat. “I just want to say I’m sorry,” she said. “I couldn’t it let it be assumed, and I owed it to you to say it to you, not through someone else. I’d say it to your face if you’d let me—I will, someday, I hope. But—I’m sorry.” Her hoarse voice broke, but she kept on. “I’m sorry, baby. For everything.”
Myrtle was standing stiff and straight, her hand clenched around the phone. She listened to her mother’s uneven breathing, and slowly she calmed. Slowly the anger sank deep down inside her, and mixed with that faint, borrowed compassion, it hardened into a weight that still hurt, but one that she could bear. This was how she thought of it, at least.
“Okay,” she said after a very long moment. “This is my bit. I’m still mad at you, but I know that not all of it was your fault, and I’m not as mad as I used to be. Maybe I’ll forgive you someday. But I’ll never trust you again. We’ll never be friends. You hurt me too much for that, and you hurt Dad and Darron too much for that.”
The words broke my heart, but I could see the truth in them. I wrapped my wings around Myrtle again, giving her all the love and support that I could.
“Don’t call me,” Myrtle said. “If we’re gonna talk it’ll be on my terms. You got that?”
“Yes,” Abby said, her voice steadier than I expected. “Yes, I’ve said what I needed to say. You have a right to stay mad.”
“You’re damn right I do,” Myrtle said, her anger flaring up again. She took a deep breath, then said, her own voice sounding hoarse, “Darron says you’re doing good.”
Abby laughed softly, a sound that conveyed both deep pain and a sudden happiness. “Yeah, baby, I’m good. You?”
Myrtle closed her eyes. “I’m doing great,” she said, almost defiant. “I got a great job and a great man and I’m doing great.” Then, because her eyes were filling and her throat was closing, she hung up the phone, flung it at Darron, and fled into Jaquinn’s arms.
He held her for the rest of the night, while her pain and anger settled down into something like peace. Despite the difficulty of the exchange, Myrtle was relieved, because this was the worst of it, she knew. After this, she told herself, it would be easier, and it will be.
I am proud of her, and I think her mother was, too. Though both of us might have hoped for a happy reunion, for full forgiveness and a restoration of family, sometimes a hurt is too great to heal completely. Human bodies bear scars for this reason, and sometimes a scar makes the body stronger in a way. But even as they are a visible reminder of the wound, a scar is also a reminder of the fact that this wound has healed, and tonight’s conversation has done a great deal to further that healing.
I watched over Myrtle and Jaquinn until they fell asleep in one another’s arms. I checked on Darron, who was feeling hope for the future, for his family, and who also was proud of his sister. And then I sought out Abby, alone in her small house, and stayed with her until it was time for me to return to heaven. I did what I could to show her that her daughter did feel compassion for her, that there is hope—because if Myrtle could not tell her these things, I certainly could.
All three pieces of this broken family sleep well tonight.