Lavender

Lavender

My book bag tumbled to the floor, my schoolbooks spilling across my feet as I stared. The halls of the house were white and bare. I stormed throughout the rest of the house, finding more empty spots on the walls and the bookshelves. In a daze I wandered into the living room where I found Dad crouched before a box, a strip of duct tape in his hands. There were others without labels neatly stacked by his side. As his hands smoothed the top of the box close, he glimpsed me.
“Cleaning the house,” he said before he taped the box. My eyes roved around the room. Of the photos that remained, Mom’s were missing.


I knelt in Dad’s closet as beads and pearls pressed into my knees. Around me was an explosion of clothes and dust. Neckties swung overhead as I dug through sneakers and loafers. I pushed and shoved boxes, tearing off the lids.
“Heather?”
I froze. Dad’s footsteps were faint on the other side of the door. I held my breath, my fingers closed at the edges of another. Dad asked where I was, and there was a nervous laugh from my step-mom. Then the closet door slammed open.
“What do you think you’re doing?” My father boomed. Over his shoulder I saw Tabitha.
I glared at her before turning to Dad.
“Well?”
I didn’t answer but ripped the lid from a shoebox. In it I found more photos of Mom, my real Mom as Dad shuffled behind me. A hand gripped my wrist and yanked me to my feet, the photos toppling to the floor except for the one I held. My Dad’s eyes were hard, his jaw tight.


I never knew my Mom, at least not in the sense Dad knew her. She died when she gave birth to me. Dad knew Mom as a young woman that easily smiled and laughed—vibrant and alive. I knew Mom by name and black-and-white photos, static and flat. Dad said that Mom always had a sweet floral scent, a lavender perfume she’d always wear just for him. The only smell that links us now was of mud and stone at her grave with white carnations. Visiting Mom always left me numb and cold like her headstone. A smile flitted across Dad’s face, his eyes misty as he saw memories I had no part of. He laced his fingers in mine as he turned away. “Let’s go home.” The corners of his mouth weren’t so high like earlier, the warmth in his smile dissipating.
Already he’d begun to shut the world out, at least the one where Mom wasn’t around. He led me away, the smell of the flowers fading. A couple of headstones ahead a small boy ran to a figure, pulling at sleeves. The mother turned, smiled down, and whisked the child into her arms. My eyes stung as I looked back, but Dad tugged my hand when I slowed.
I waved goodbye from my bedroom window. Below, Dad saluted me before he entered his car. As he drove off, I slid the curtains closed. A shaft of the late afternoon sun went across my bedroom and I went straight to work. I crawled along the wooden floor, groping. I swept bundles of clothes into my arms along with a couple of my dolls, all of which I dumped onto my bed. I shelved books and stacked papers onto the small desk I had pushed to the wall. With a foot, I kicked my beanbag along the floor until it thumped beside the desk.
Once all was clear, I retrieved my Mom’s perfume bottle—now empty—a piece of chalk, a birthday candle with the end flattened, a match, and a small paperback from a drawer. I fell onto all fours as I set the bottle at the center of the floor. With the book, I skimmed through pages until I found what I needed. I went for the chalk, and pressed the tip, grinding a white circle around me. Once I closed the circle, I had the candle lit in front of the bottle as I sat Indian style. I rubbed my palms along my thighs when I felt sweat, feeling a mix of wonder and embarrassment. I shook my head when I saw Mom’s bottle, and I brought the book into my lap. I turned to stare at the slab of sunlight along my windowsill. As it disappeared, I took a deep breath, and held my hands out, palms up.
“I invoke the world between sunlight,” I watched the sky outside deepen with reds and oranges, “and moonlight. I invoke the travelers at the crossroads. Among them I invoke Susan, my mother...”
I brought my eyes to the candle as it flickered. Beyond it, the perfume bottle gleamed. The reflection of the flame looked trapped within, and I leaned forward. I waited, the smell of wax filling my nostrils. Two minutes later, I repeated myself. I continued until the flame sputtered out as molten wax oozed around the bottle. In the dark, I continued to stare at the bottle before I sighed. I went onto my knees, grabbed the book, and hurled it into my trash bin.
More months passed until our visits to Mom’s grave diminished. Then Mom came to me when Dad brought Tabitha home. I sat at my bedroom window, staring out into the street as I waited for Dad to come home for lunch. Slates of sunlight crept across the floor. I frowned, wondering what was taking Dad so long. In the hallway outside my room, I heard soft creaks but ignored them. My house always speaks, especially for the lonely. But the creaks grew louder as if someone paced the floor. I padded towards my door and peered out. Motes of dust floated in the light, the house still as I waited.
“Lavender? I breathed in the air, the fragrance getting heavy.
At the far end of the corridor, the door to my Dad’s room opened. The afternoon sun flickered as a figure passed by.
“Mom?”
Dad’s room was neat and tidy, with all of his clothes and belongings stashed away. Like nobody lived in the room. At the small night table near his bed was a picture frame. Within it, Mom grinned at the camera as her arms linked around Dad. Tucked at the bottom right corner of the frame was a photo of another. I swiped the extra woman away from the frame, away from my parents. I curled my fingers, crumpling the snapshot until I tossed it. Sweat beaded at my forehead, and I realized I was cold even though I felt the sun’s warmth from the window. Something shuffled behind me, and I turned to find Mom leaning against the closet door. I thought of throwing myself at her, wrapping my arms around her but I jerked to a stop.
Mom’s face was lifeless and she began to disappear.
Suddenly I heard car doors slamming shut outside. I tore my gaze away from the closet as I dashed down the hall. I hurtled into my room as the door swung shut behind me. An instant later the door downstairs clicked open. At first I thought it was just Dad until I heard a giggle, low and throaty.
There were whispers and rustling cloth before the front door closed. Footfalls climbed the stairs, and I crept back to bed, crawled under the covers, and turned from the door.
“She’s asleep, huh?” A woman whispered. “Well then...” When they snuck off, Mom stood in front of the windows, her face shadowed.
The next day I sat at the kitchen table, confused. Dad stood side-by-side with a woman.
“Heather, I want you to meet Tabitha. We’ve been dating for some time, but now...well...” I watched as my Dad floundered for words.
His face lit up whenever Tabitha would smile at him, her fingers curling around his for encouragement. I never saw the corners of his mouth lift so much.
I scraped my chair along the floor as I rose from my seat. “I don’t feel so good,” I muttered.
They didn’t hear me, but whispered to each other as Tabitha rubbed her belly. Behind her, I saw Mom. Nausea swept through me, and I ran off. I climbed the stairs to Dad’s room. The picture frame was absent from the table. I yanked the drawer open and found the frame inside. The photo of Mom and Dad was gone.
In a week Tabitha moved in. Unlike before, the house wasn’t so silent and cold—for once there was excited chatter along the halls and barks of laughter, my Dad more animated.
Before Tabitha came, Dad devoted himself to work, and he would rush through mealtimes. He’d give me a brief hollow smile before he’d stand with his plate. Sometimes I’d finish so I could join him in the kitchen, drying off the dishes he washed. As he’d lather the plates, a distant look would pass over his features. Late one evening, I spied my Dad as he crept out of his room with a small bottle. I followed as he returned to the dining table, flicking on the lights. He sagged into a seat as he set the bottle at another part of the table. That’s when I recognized Mom’s perfume bottle. Dad popped the top off and inhaled, his eyes closed.
“Susan,” he whispered before he leaned onto his elbows, his shoulders shaking. I approached his side, my fingers tugging at his sleeve. He started and whirled. When he realized it was me he relaxed, a hand rubbing his face. Then without a word, he pulled me into a hug. Awkwardly I returned the motion as my hand reached for the bottle, the smell fading. Seconds passed before he stood up, releasing me. He brought the top, and with a clink, he stopped the bottle. “You keep that now,” he muttered, stepping away from me. He gazed at me before he left, leaving me to dwell on my own sadness.

Dad laughed openly, murmuring jokes into Tabitha’s ear. His hugs weren’t distant and loose whenever he’d embrace her. It was worst at dinner, the two of them alternating between chatting together and reaching out to me.
“Why, now...Heather! You’re too far! Move your chair closer, join us!”
I glanced at Tabitha who nodded to me.
“C’mon, sweetie!”
I frowned at the two as I turned my attention to the empty seat at where they pointed. Mom was sitting there, her hands clasped in her lap as she watched us. After her eyes swept over the two adults, they finally settled on me.
“I can’t,” I blurted.
“Why not?” Tabitha leaned over Mom’s seat, a hand out.
“DON’T!”
Worry flashed on Dad’s face as he shared a look with Tabitha. My digging in his closet was still fresh in their minds. Tabitha withdrew her hand, her mouth a tight line.
“What should I do?” she mouthed. She didn’t look at me.
My father reached out and gripped her hand as he leaned into her.
“I’ll take care of this—don’t worry...” Afterwards Tabitha excused herself from the table with her plate in hand.
I tucked my chin into my chest, refusing to meet Dad’s eyes until he coughed. Slowly my vision traveled down the table cloth, onto his plate, and then it traveled up his shirt to reach his face.
“Why are you making it difficult for Tabitha?” Dad started his voice low.
“I can’t sit there,” I whispered.
Dad sighed, a long intake of breath. He brushed a hand through his hair.
“Do you hate—“
“—Mom is there.” I began to panic as I saw Mom’s image flicker, her blank face turned towards me.
“Heather...” The chair clattered back as I stood, my fists pounding the table top.
“She’s here, right here, always watching!” I felt heat go up to my face, my eyes burning as tears welled.
“I see her, why can’t you?” My voice rose, shrill. Blurred, my Dad rose up and began to come around the table.
I rocked on my feet as Dad slapped me. I gaped at him before my fingers fluttered over the spot he’d hit me. Dad huffed in front of me, the hand that struck me flexing. I took a glimpse at the chair where Mom sat, but she was gone.
“Heather, I’m sorry.” He took a step forward and I flinched. When he stopped, I glowered at him through my bangs.
I backed away from him. “I’m going to see Mom.”
I rushed out, pushing by a startled Tabitha as she bumped against the staircase. Up the stairs, down the hall, and I was back in Dad’s room. I gripped the knob, my thumb pressing the lock into place as Dad and Tabitha chattered downstairs. I stalked to the closet and opened it, falling onto my knees. The boxes I’ve searched through were stacked to one side, a quick remedy for the mess I left behind. I groped cardboard and knocked down mini towers of shoeboxes. Junk and knick knacks dumped into my lap, but I didn’t find any photos. I gritted my teeth as coats swayed on the racks. I twisted and stared at the bed before I scrambled.
“Where, where, where...” My fingers clawed beneath the mattress, swiping the carpet. I felt the edges of storage containers and more boxes, each pulled from underneath. When the bottom was nearly empty, I saw ankles from the other side, no shoes. The air got chilly again, and my arms began to show goose bumps. From the edge of the bed Mom watched me.
I stepped forward with my arms reaching out.
Her flat expression didn’t change, her mouth not breaking into the smile I saw from her photographs. She was pale, cold, and dull.
My eyes stung as I dropped my arms.
“Why? You’re here, so why...?” I sagged to the floor as warmth spilled down my cheeks.
I trembled when an arm snaked around my waist, and I felt a body press into my back as I continued to cry. Tabitha was at my side. Dad was at the bedroom door, a key clenched in a hand.
“Shh...It’s okay,” Tabitha cooed. “It’s okay...things will be fine.” She began to rock me.
I gazed at Mom who focused on the woman beside me. As Tabitha shifted, I noticed the box in the crook of her arm.
“What...?” I croaked.
I watched as the corners of her mouth lifted, her lips spreading as she smiled down at me—so much warmth. The arm around me went away as she tilted the box towards me. Photographs of Mom jumbled within, the photo from the frame on top of the others. Gently she clasped my hand as she laid my fingers across her stomach.
“Heather, I have no intention of taking her place. I just want to share her love for you and your father.”
The tears stopped, and I turned away from Tabitha to look at my Mom. Just as Tabitha smiled at me earlier, so did she. An actual, genuine smile.
I sniffled as I leaned into her, Dad settling at my other side. He ruffled my hair, kissed my cheek and whispered “Sorry... I’m so sorry...”
We sat on the floor, Mom beaming at us before she faded away.