Andrea gave her mother a sun catcher one Christmas, long before the angel fad struck. The handmade ornament was made of cloudy blue stained glass.
Andrea made Mona open it before supper, before the wine had been poured, though she could tell by the flush in Mona's cheeks and her quick, jerky movements that all those trips to the kitchen to baste the ham had been a cover. Mona tore off the wrapping. With a puzzled expression, she turned the ornament over in her fingers.
"A fairy? No, a watchamacallit, you know, someone who sings in a choir? Or is it..is...it...a bride?"
Andrea chewed a hangnail and stared at the ceiling. A huge spider climbed the light fixture, shedding a trail of dust. As usual, Andrea thought, Mona missed the point entirely, but managed to pull it off. She had a knack, no matter how fuzzy her brain was, of skimming the veneer of sanity. But it was all an illusion. Andrea saw through it.
"Honey..." Mona put her hands on her daughter's shoulders. They hugged; or at least Mona hugged. Andrea acquiesced to being pulled, momentarily, into her mother's space.
Mona was the sort of person who, when her inhibitions loosened, hugged everyone. Once, when Andrea was five and home from school with the chicken pox, Mona had invited the sewing notions salesman into the house. He gave her a sob story about his wife drowning and having to put his kids up with the nuns in Saint John because his mother-in-law refused to put cots in the parlour. Mona hugged him and slipped a five-dollar bill into his pocket. Later, after they'd shared a tumbler of whiskey, his tongue loosened and he inadvertently boasted that he'd never marry because he was a "moss-free rolling stone". Mona stared at him blankly. Even as tiny read lines gradually spread through the whites of her eyes, she poured him another drink...
Hope you enjoyed this excerpt from Roads Unravelling published by Sumach Press.
