Sandra Rector's background consists of sales of short stories, along with her husband
P M F Johnson, to such anthologies and magazines as Amazing Stories, Xanadu
II, and Witch Fantastic. On her own, she has recently sold stories to Black
Petals and Pedestal Magazine. In addition, she has sold articles, essays and
opinion pieces to The Washington Post, Cooking Light and East/West Magazine
and has reviewed books for Grolier's Masterplots. She is also an associate
editor of Tales of the Unanticipated, a literary magazine.
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The March day was cold and dreary when
Blossom signed the papers putting her house up for sale. When she had signed all the papers there was to sign,
she returned to her house; a three bedroom colonial on Jefferson Avenue in the Highland Park neighborhood.
There was no way she could continue to keep the house on her wages as a waitress at Chez Tulips. Selling
the house was her only option.
Feeling relieved, she poured herself a cup of cold coffee from a pot she’d made
earlier and sat down at the kitchen table to call her son Albin. Since she would be selling the house he had
grown up in, surely he would want to know. Albin was 23, in the navy in San Diego, and had his own apartment near
the base. She was hesitant about calling him at first. When he finished boot camp, he used to call her almost
every day and if he didn’t call her, she would call him. That all seemed to have changed lately.
Blossom was lonely and depressed after Manny’s funeral and became even more
anxious than usual where Albin was concerned. She called him several times a week for reassurance that he was
okay. She could tell by the tone of his voice that she was calling too often but couldn’t seem to stop herself.
The last time she called, she could hear the resentment in his voice the minute he picked up the phone. He told
her outright to stop calling him so much and that if he needed to talk to her, he would call her. It hurt and
shamed her that her only child felt that way. Sometimes weeks would pass before he called. Once even a month
had gone by. She was distraught about it, but did as he asked.
This time she figured she had a legitimate reason to call. Sitting in the den
in a brown leather recliner, which had been Manny’s favorite chair, she picked up the phone and, not feeling
entirely comfortable, she called him at his apartment near the base. When he didn’t answer, she left a message
asking him to call her back as she had some important news.
He did not call her back that day or the next. The following Sunday around noon,
she hesitated for a moment, not sure that this was the right thing to do but determined to do it anyway, picked
up the phone and dialed his number. This time, to her great relief, he answered the phone in person. Before
she could tell him about the house, he said he had something to tell her.
“Are you sitting down, Ma?” he asked. He sounded tense.
“Yes, I’m sitting down.”
“Ma, I got married.”
Blossom was speechless, sure she had not heard right.
“Ma, are you there?”
| "Blossom was hurt that her only child did not have a
proper wedding and mortified that she had to call him to find out. She wondered what kind of a girl
would go off with a boy she just met in a bar. What was wrong with the both of them? Albin should
have known better. " |
“Yes.” She felt like a deflated balloon. “Married? When? Who is she? I didn’t
even know you were dating anyone.”
“Her name is Lorraine Adams. I admit it was kind of sudden. We eloped to Tijuana,
Mexico a week ago and we were married there. There’s not much to tell. I met her one night at The Cardinal,
a bar near the base. They were having a dance and she was there with her friends.”
“How old is she?” Blossom asked when she could speak. “How long have you known her?
What does she look like? Who are her parents?”
“She’s my age, Ma. I haven’t known her very long. It was a spur of the moment thing.
She’s pretty, Ma, but not in a conventional way. Her father died a few years ago. I haven’t met her mother yet.”
“I’ve put the house up for sale,” she said quickly, not knowing what else to say.
Before he could reply, she heard a woman yell, an audible gasp from Manny, then a door slam.
“Something’s come up,” he said. “I’ll have to call you back.”
He hung up before she could say anything more.
Blossom was hurt that her only child did not have a proper wedding and mortified
that she had to call him to find out. She wondered what kind of a girl would go off with a boy she just met in a
bar. What was wrong with the both of them? Albin should have known better. Then she worried that he hadn’t really
heard her when she told him she was selling the house. She might have called him back except she was too upset
right then to talk to anybody, much less Albin. It would be another month before she heard from him again, a month
when she spent many wide awake nights worrying about him and yet she was afraid to call.
* * *
One month later, the sky was the color
of indigo and from time to time there was a little spattering of showers as Blossom ran errands. Her real
estate agent was having yet another open house today and Blossom needed to be gone for a few hours. As she
drove along Montreal Avenue in Manny’s old 1984 Mercedes, she saw a “For Sale” sign out front of what used to
be an old warehouse that had recently been converted into condos. There were carefully trimmed bushes and
big clay pots filled with pink impatiens out front. The original brown brick, which had been sandblasted
clean, looked good. She loved the neighborhood too with its many restaurants, a movie theatre and even a
large grocery store, so when she returned home, she put the few groceries she had purchased away, then called
the number listed on the for sale sign.
“The condo is available immediately,” the real estate agent, a trim little woman
in a navy blue suit said when she arrived the following morning to pick Blossom up. The day was one of those
perfect spring days, bright and sunny, the topaz blue sky filled with fluffy white clouds. “The husband of the
couple is a corporate lawyer and he’s taken a job in Oregon,” she said as she drove. “The location is fantastic.
The couple have already moved, so they’re anxious to sell. I’m sure it’ll go fast.”
The moment Blossom stepped out of the elevator onto the top floor, down the
hallway and through the front door, she felt at home. She could see herself rolling out piecrust on the
lovely granite counter tops or cooking a pot of stew on a Sunday afternoon. She loved the wide oak wood floors
and the huge east facing windows in the living room and bedroom with the light flowing in. The house she lived
in now was dark in comparison. There was also a large balcony outside which could be reached through the double
doors in the living room. Standing on the balcony, she was thrilled to see two yellow finches fly by so close
she could almost reach out and touch them. A good sign. Manny and Blossom both loved watching the birds feed
at the five bird feeders Manny had set up in the back yard.
Impulsively, she made an offer two thousand dollars less than the asking price
and was astonished when the real estate agent called her at home and said that her offer had been accepted.
Now standing at the kitchen counter making herself a tuna sandwich and waiting
for the water to boil for tea, she wondered what she could have been thinking. She wasn’t the sort of person
who made quick decisions. She liked to think things through, at least sleep on it overnight. Shouldn’t she
have at least looked at a few others? Worse, her house wasn’t even sold yet and here she was purchasing
a condo.
She added some potato chips to her plate, scooped out a dish of chocolate ice
cream than sat down at the table in her spotless kitchen to eat her lunch and drink her tea. While she ate,
she worried. She could be making a huge mistake and there was no one who could help her. Even if Albin could
help her, he probably wouldn’t and besides he was just getting by himself on his enlisted man’s pay. But she
reminded herself again that her house was in a good neighborhood, had a big eat-in kitchen, lots of closets
and storage space and two full bathrooms.
“The KCB’s are fantastic,” the real estate agent, said when she agreed to
put her house on the market. “It should sell quick.”
Blossom asked what a KCB was.
“Kitchen, bathroom and closets,” she said. “If a house has good KCB’s,
it’s usually a quick seller.”
Only it wasn’t.
One month later, the house was still on the market and now Blossom had signed
a purchase agreement to buy a condo. Even worse, a down payment would be required on the condo and she didn’t
have the money. She made good money as a waitress at Chez Tulips, but there wasn’t anything left over at the
end of the month. Maybe it wasn’t too late to back out but then she remembered Manny’s classic motorcycle.
He was a member of a motorcycle club which was made up of mostly professional men who liked to ride on the weekends.
She had always hated his motorcycle and worried that he would get himself killed some day. Who knew he would die
of a simple heart attack. And although they had talked about life insurance from time to time, nothing had been
done and so there was no help there either.
She finished her lunch, put the dishes in the dishwasher, then sat down at the
desk in the den where Manny used to pay the bills, checked his Rolodex then dialed Jim Anderson. Jim was a member
of the same motorcycle club that Manny belonged to and the two men had become friends. When Jim stopped by after
Manny’s funeral to see if she needed anything, he said that if she was interested in selling Manny’s classic
motorcycle, to give him a call before she put an ad in the paper. She was too crazy with grief at the time to
even consider it, but now she needed the money and he was the first person she thought of. She picked up the
phone and dialed. Luckily he was home and answered the phone.
“You still interested in Manny’s motorcycle?” she asked, not mincing any words.
“Yup, how much you asking for it?” Blossom could hear the interest in his voice.
“I saw an ad in the paper recently for one just like it for twelve thousand dollars.”
“Sounds like a bargain. I’ll take it.”
Within a half hour, she had a check in her hand and he had the motorcycle along
with the title which he promised to transfer on Monday.
Two days later, she wrote a check for five thousand dollars and sent it to the
real estate agent’s office as the down payment. That afternoon, before she went to work, she sat down on Manny’s
leather recliner and called Albin to tell him about the condo. This time his wife Lorraine answered. Or at least
Blossom assumed it was his wife as she had never met or talked to the woman before.
“Hello Lorraine, this is Albin’s mother. How are you?”
“I’m fine,” Lorrain said. “Albin’s not here. What’s on your mind?” She sounded
agitated and in a hurry, so Blossom simply asked her to tell Albin that she had purchased a condo and gave her
the address and said she would be moving in as soon as they closed which should be shortly. She felt uncomfortable
giving her new address to Lorraine as she didn’t know if Lorraine was the kind to do what she was asked or forget
about it altogether, but she had no choice.
* * *
Today was Mother’s Day and Blossom just wanted
to get through it as soon as possible. She was already worn out from working so many extra hours, exhausted from
keeping her house and yard in perfect condition and depressed because she hadn’t heard from Albin for almost a month.
Not a phone call, not a card. To make matters impossible, the housing market had cooled to the point where nothing
was selling and there was almost nothing left of the money from selling Manny’s motorcycle. She’d had to use the rest
of it when the roof on her house developed a leak and to pay the movers when she moved to her condo. She was now stuck
with two mortgages and was losing ground fast. The only thing she could think of to do was to rent out the house so at
least one mortgage payment would be taken care of. But the thought of having to deal with complete strangers renting her
house made her feel so sick inside that she had put that off, too. Adding to her troubles, the condo wasn’t nearly as
wonderful as she originally thought. The light in her bedroom woke her up way too early, the noise from the traffic
was horrendous and even after the traffic slowed down around midnight, the neighbor’s radio could be heard all night.
In spite of her overall tiredness, Blossom was glad to be at Chez Tulips, glad to
have something else to do besides worry. The sun shone through the large sparkling front windows with their special
shades lowered so customers would not be forced to sit in direct sunlight. Each table was adorned with a snowy
tablecloth and a tiny silver vase filled with three red tulips. On the walls were art deco designs of Minnesota
scenes. The atmosphere was muted, elegant and immaculate.
Blossom, now wearing her starched black uniform and the long white butcher’s apron tied
around her ample waist, forced herself to think positive and smile. Grumpy waitresses do not earn big tips. She
folded the linen napkins into perfect fans, laid one at each place setting, then positioned two goblets, one goblet
for red wine and one goblet for white wine. Next she laid the silverware.
Rebecca, who had been working at Chez Tulips for five years, trained Blossom in when
she first began and the two had become friends. She warned Blossom about Mother’s Day when they were standing together
waiting for their orders to come up the previous Saturday.
“Plan on tiny tips and food that’s difficult to keep up to Chez Tulip’s standards.
It’s up to you to make sure the omelets are hot and the orange juice is freshly squeezed and chilled. And oh yeah,
the grown children of the mothers make crazy demands to show Mama how important they are, not to mention the little
kids running around without supervision. I almost broke my neck last year tripping over one of the little monsters.”
Blossom didn’t mind. She was just glad to have some relief from the obsessive chatter
of her own brain. Would Albin call her today? How was he? Was he okay? Would the house ever sell? Who was this
Lorraine person anyway?
Customers began to arrive the minute she finished setting up. Lilly Sullivan, a steady
customer, was one of the first. Lilly, a mostly unknown starlet from the forties came in almost every day for dinner,
often with a friend. She always sat at her favorite table near one of the large front windows in Blossom's section.
Now a widow of a rich real estate developer, she was tall and reed thin with pale, almost translucent skin. Adding to
her paleness, her snow white hair was pulled back in a pony tail and tied with a black velvet ribbon. She looked,
Blossom thought, like a beautiful woman not so much grown old, as grown dry. Today, she was with a younger man who
most likely was her son. He was tall and thin and unusually tanned for this time of year. He wore an expensive suit
with a snowy white shirt and no tie. He had a sullen look on his broad face as though he wished he were anywhere
but here.
Blossom brought them their free Mimosas, a mixture of fresh squeezed orange juice
and champagne, then took their order. The son stared sulkily straight ahead, not acknowledging her presence.
When he deigned to give his order, it was as though he were giving it to the air in front of him. Lily, who was
normally very pleasant, smiled when she gave her order, but the smile seemed forced and did not reach her eyes.
Blossom wondered if it was better to have a son who so obviously hated spending time with you on Mother’s Day than
no son at all. After placing their order with the kitchen and heading back to the dining room with a fresh pot of
coffee, she decided that no matter how miserable she was, it would still be better to see her son than not.
But what about the son? What did he want? Wasn’t that important too? Maybe being married took up all of Albin’s time.
Maybe he really was too busy to call her.
She remembered what a chore it was to spend time with Manny’s mother who always
seemed to be so needy. Blossom’s own mother died after she and Manny were married. Blossom missed her mother
every single day, but in some way she could not explain she was also relieved. Now she was in her mother’s shoes
and learning what she knew – that grown children can be difficult, too. Blossom thought about all this as she
poured coffee for several of her customers, including Lily and her son who continued to stare straight ahead, a
sour, bored look on his face.
Blossom brought two mimosa’s to a table with two women who had just been seated
by the hostess Joy, a blond, blue eyed college student. The mother of the pair was thin to the point of emaciation
and bent sideways, obviously in pain. Her hair was tightly permed and an unbelievable black. She had a smear of
bright red lipstick on her mouth. The daughter, who looked like she wasn’t that much younger than her mother,
was even larger than Blossom, who thought of herself as Rubenesque when she felt good about herself and just plain
overweight when she didn’t. As Blossom approached the table, the light from the window made the red tulips in the
silver vase at the center of the table appear to glow.
| "People were always keeping secrets from each other. It was just the
way it was. You could never know everything about someone, even your own child. There was always a bigger picture.
You just never knew how big or small your part was in it or if you even had a part at all. All you could do was
live your own life day by day.
" |
Both women smiled up at Blossom.
“Sorry you have to work on Mother’s Day,” the daughter said.
“I don’t mind,” Blossom said as she set down their mimosas. “Makes the day go fast.”
Blossom took their order, brought it to the kitchen where Chef LaMere shouted
it out to the kitchen staff, then picked up an order that was ready and brought it to a family of four, mother,
father, and identical ten-year old twins who were having trouble sitting still. As she worked, she looked over
at the mother and daughter from time to time and noticed that they barely spoke to each other but that the daughter
cut up her mother’s meat and wiped her mouth with a napkin from time to time.
Blossom wondered what would happen to her when she got old and couldn’t work or
care for herself. Would Albin help her? Would anybody care?
Albin once said he loved San Diego and planned to stay there for the rest of his life.
Unless she moved there, which she was sure he wouldn’t like, she’d probably be lucky to see him once or twice a year
if ever. A strange hurt feeling rose up at the back of her throat and a tear popped into her eye. She wiped it
away quickly as she indicated for a bus boy to come and clear a table, as four customers were waiting in the bar.
What could she possibly have done to make her own son not want to spend time with her? She wished she knew.
She forgot all about Albin then and everything else as she shouldered a heavier than
usual tray of food, flipped open a kickstand with one hand and expertly balanced the tray on the stand then
served a family of five who were so busy talking, they barely noticed her presence at all.
* * *
The June morning was damp and still cool as she drove over to her house from her
condo and set to work mowing and trimming the yard. Today was yet another open house. Everything was in
bloom -- purple Siberian irises, white Gerber daisies, red, white, and pink roses even the linden tree that
Manny had planted right after they moved in was filled with luscious smelling blooms. She walked through
the house making sure everything looked good then finished up by placing a vase of red roses on the table from
the Dublin Bay rose bush that Manny had bought her one year for Valentine’s Day. She stood back to admire the
effect and said a brief prayer that today, somebody would fall in love with her house and make an offer. Right
before she left, she took out the statue of Saint Francis she had recently purchased and using a small shovel,
she buried it upside down in the soft dirt of the garden where she used to grow her peas. Carlos, the sous
chef at Chez Tulips and a growing star on the Food Network said that burying a statue of Saint Francis would
bring you luck in selling a house.
She felt a pang of sadness as she turned to look at the house one more time
before stepping into her car and driving away. Manny loved that house and said they would have to carry him
out of it, which they did, an irony that was not lost on her. Driving back home, her thoughts turned as they
always did to Albin. Was he okay? Was he happy? Why didn’t he call?
At her condo, she showered and dressed and prepared to meet Rebecca for lunch.
The two women liked to eat at a different restaurant every month, one that had received a good review in the newspaper.
* * *
Burying Saint Francis statue must have
worked because when she returned home to her condo that night, there was a message on her machine from
the real estate agent. She said that a young couple had made a full price offer on the house. Blossom,
elated, called her back and happily accepted the offer.
Feeling immensely relieved, Blossom sat down on Manny’s old leather recliner
which she had placed near the back window so she could watch the birds fly by and the storms come in. She
hesitated for a moment to get up her courage, told herself that this was important, then picked up the phone
from the teak end table and dialed. Thankfully, Albin picked up the phone after the second ring.
“Hi Ma, what’s up?” he said, sounding genuinely happy to hear from her.
“I finally sold the house,” she said.
“I didn’t even know it was up for sale,” he said. He sounded resentful.
“You could have rented it out.”
Blossom was tempted to remind him that she had told him she was putting
the house up for sale and that she had also left a message with his wife telling him that she had bought
a condo.
“I thought about that,” Blossom said instead. “But I didn’t think it’s a
good idea. How can you know in one meeting if the people you are renting to would care for your house
like it was their own? Anyway, I made enough money from the sale to pay cash for the condo that I’m
living in now.” If you’d called once in awhile you would have known all of this, she thought, Instead
she said, “I’ll never have a house payment again and it feels great.”
“Good for you, Ma.”
“How’s Lorraine?”
“I don’t know. She’s not here right now.”
So that’s why he’s so friendly, Blossom thought bitterly. He must have
felt free to talk to me for a change.
“Ma, I have something important to tell you,” he said. “Ma, Lorraine left
me,” he said. “We’re getting a divorce.”
Blossom felt something like a jolt of electricity to her chest area. “I’m
sorry to hear that,” she said, forcing herself to sound calmer than she felt. “You must be miserable.”
“I’m not,” he said. “I’m glad. It’s been hell, Ma.”
She could hear the tears in his voice.
“Lorraine took everything when she left so I’m moving back into the barracks.
I don’t even have a bed. I would never have married her in the first place but I was drunk and so was she.
What idiots we both were.”
So this is why he didn’t want to talk to her. He was ashamed and didn’t
want her to know. Blossom’s heart swelled with concern for him. At the same time she was furious at him.
She was angry that he hadn’t called, that he didn’t feel he could tell her what was happening in his life,
which he had put her through such hell for so long. But she also knew that was the way he was. It wasn’t
until a year after he broke up with his high school girlfriend that she found out he had been suicidal over
it. When she asked why he hadn’t said something, he said it was his problem and his problem alone. When
he was little, she knew everything about him. Now she felt like she hardly knew him at all.
“Would you like to stay with me for awhile?” she asked.
“I don’t know right now, Ma. I have to work through this myself. Besides I
still have six months left to serve. But thanks for asking.”
She was tempted to insist that he let her help him through this. But she
knew if he wanted her help he would ask for it, and so, hard as it was, she kept quiet.
Before she hung up, she gave him the address of her condo and made sure
he wrote it down. After she hung up the phone, she felt calmer, more peaceful than she had for a long time.
Understanding why she hadn’t heard from him was like having a wound lanced that had been festering for
a long time.
Feeling better in general, she took a Coke out of the fridge, popped the
top, then went out through the double doors to her balcony and sat down on the newly purchased porch swing,
which she’d proudly put together herself. As she looked out over the canopy of trees below, it occurred to
her that the traffic noise that had bothered her so much in the beginning had magically transformed itself
into a kind of white noise. She had also begun to enjoy waking up with the sun. To compensate, she often
took a nap in Manny’s recliner in the early afternoon so by the time the six o’ clock dinner rush hit at
Chez Tulips, she was completely refreshed and ready to work. Best of all, the neighbor next door had
graciously moved her radio to another wall when Blossom put a note of complaint under her door.
Thankfully, she could not hear it anymore.
Thinking about Albin now and all that had transpired, she remembered keeping
her own secrets from her mother, like the time she lost her virginity, or the time she and a friend became
dizzy from smoking their first cigarette or the time she said she was staying at a friend’s house when in
fact, she was out all night with a boy. Even now, she never told her son how hard it was financially after
Manny died. She didn’t want him to worry or think badly of his father.
People were always keeping secrets from each other. It was just the way it was.
You could never know everything about someone, even your own child. There was always a bigger picture.
You just never knew how big or small your part was in it or if you even had a part at all. All you could
do was live your own life day by day.
As she sat there drinking her Coke, it occurred to her that it might be
nice to have some of the crew from Chez Tulips over for the Fourth of July. She could make a late meal
and they could watch the fireworks all over the city from her high-up balcony. Something simple like
potato salad, hot dogs, buns, watermelon and a lemon cake with vanilla cream frosting would be nice.
Her thoughts were interrupted then by the sight of a huge blue heron flying by.
She was amazed at how awkward and gangly it looked up close with its long skinny legs, yet how gracefully it flew.
* * *
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