The shingles on the mother’s house were beginning to fall, and two of the three front windows were broken. There was no green in the garden, and the ground was covered in snowflakes. The harsh wind threatened the house daily. The mother sat at the kitchen table and read the old bible in a chair by the space heater. Her shoulders hung low and her hair laid lifeless and her blue eyes were almost black. The doorbell rang, and her eyes moved to the window. A sound slipped from the lips of the heater. Outside, a sleek Mercedes coupe was parked behind her husband’s rusted old car. The door clicked open.
“It’s cold, isn’t it?” the girl asked. Her jacket stretched to just below her knees.
“Yes,” the mother said. She shifted in her seat, and it cried with the movement.
“It’s so beautiful out.”
The mother only licked her pale lips.
“How are things?” the girl asked. She sat at the table and crossed her legs. She opened her purse, and retrieved a small mirror and a tube of lipstick, and she began to touch up her face. Her eyes were covered by dark glasses.
The mother did not reply, and she inched her chair closer to the heater.
“It really is cold,” the girl said.
“Yes.”
The girl allowed a pause, and moved her shades to the top of her head. Her eyes were big and blue. “How are things?”
“Fine.”
“How is Dad’s car?”
“Fine,” The mother glanced out the window, and looked again at the rusted car. “Good.”
A beat of silence swept between them. The clock on the wall ticked, and a sound loosened from the heater once more.
“You were wrong,” she said. The mother’s eyes cut into the girl’s.
The clock on the wall ticked again, and an ant crawled across the table. The girl’s coat was still on. Her eyes followed the ant across the table.
“I hate ants,” the girl said.
“All life is beautiful, Jig.”
“They are such a-”
“Janet.”
The girl bit her lip, and breathed deeply. “I hated it.”
They both sat. The ant crawled onto the mother’s arm and the girl winced. The heater whined to a stop and the mother shifted and hugged her body. The girl looked at the walls and the chairs and the table and the broken tiles on the floor.
“We needed it,” the girl said, and looked away.
“He needed it.”
“We needed it.” The girl fidgeted in her seat, and looked at her nail polish.
“I need things too.”
“We all need things.”
“Some are more blessed than others.”
“I am blessed,” the girl nodded.
The mother looked away and said, “Not anymore.”
The heater’s purr had slowed to a stop.
“The damn thing,” the mother said. She kicked the heater.
The girl shifted in her seat and uncrossed her legs.
“Should we drink?” the she asked.
“Water is in the fridge.”
The girl’s brow wrinkled and she stood and adjusted a curl. “Water?”
The mother did not reply and the girl said, “It is very cold, you ought to get that thing fixed.”
“I’m fine,” the mother dropped her folded arms.
“Water?”
“I am alright.”
The girl poured two drinks and brought them to the table and sat down. “I want to help.”
“I am fine. I don’t want anything,” the mother stared at the glasses.
“Just take it,”
“I don’t want anything.”
A few minutes passed. The glasses beaded with sweat, and the water in the glasses jiggled with the vibrations of the heater. The mother’s eyes roamed the room, but the girl’s were steady.
"Can we talk civilly?" The girl asked. The mother remained silent.
“Have you been to the cemetery lately?”
After a few moments the mother answered, “He’s been gone for ten years.” The mother’s mouth was thin and she frowned. The girl’s eyes were steady and they rested on the ant which remained on the table. The girl 's red nail flicked the ant from the table. Both were silent, and the mother revealed a pained expression.
The heater vibrated, and the smell of smoke wafted from its vents. The mother wrinkled her nose, and fanned her hand. A flame appeared from the depths of the heater.
"Should I get water?" The girl asked.
"No." The mother slid the glass easily off the table, and dumped its contents onto the heater. The girl released a gasp and allowed herself one nod of her head.
A moment passed. The girl presented a checkbook and placed it on the table. She took a pen from the table and began writing.
"Stop," the mother said.
"Let me." The girl finished writing, and ripped the page from the book, and held it to her mother. The mother’s eyes shifted from the check to the girl and back again.
"I don't need it," she said.
"You do. Take it."
The mother started to shake her head.
"We have more than enough," the girl said.
"He has more than enough."
"I love him. I did what was best for us" the girl said. The mother's hand flashed to the bible by her side.
"You did what was best for you," the mother said. She sighed. “Look at you. You’re a mess now.” She wanted to keep from judging.
A gust of wind rapped at the broken windows. The mother reached to start the heater, but shook her head. She hugged her arms.
“Dad would have wanted me to help you,” the girl said. She knew her comment was unkind and she straightened her back and pursed her lips.
“Dad would have wanted a granddaughter.” The girl’s posture loosened, and the mother shook her head. A light puff of air escaped her mouth and the cold hardened it and it became viable in the air.
The girl shifted deeper inside of her coat, and bit her lip. She fumbled around the inside of her bag. A set of car keys appeared from inside.
"I should go," the girl said. She tapped the keys against her thigh, and pushed the chair out, and stood. She gently took her things. She walked toward the door, and the mother remained seated. After a moment, the door clicked shut. The mother sighed and wrapped herself more tightly in her own arms.
The mother watched the girl walk to the coupe, and sit down. She watched her start the car, and fasten her seatbelt. She watched her daughter lurch forward and smash into what was left of her husband’s car. Panic flashed in the girls eyes, and they met the mother’s. Once they had rehardened, and the girl had collected herself, the mother watched the car drive away.
The mother sucked in a breath of heavy air, and moved her hand toward the old bible. The mother let her hand hover over the book for less than a second. The girl had laid a check on top of the book. The mother picked it up, and felt it between her fingers and she rotated it and it was heavy in her hand. She read the check. There was only a signature at the bottom. The mother’s heart shuddered, and she tucked the thin slip of paper behind the last page of her bible. Her bottom lip shook, and she began to read where she had left off.
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