The Holding Place

Chapter Seventeen

“When Abby knew me it was a different time and place,” she begins the story I have waited my entire life to hear. This is what John has come here for. “There are times now when I look back that I cannot even believe it was me.”


It isn’t enough for John to hear the words that his wife has to say. He pulls me along with him as he walks to stand before her, keeping a strong grip on my hand. “This won’t be easy Abby, but absolutely necessary.”


The visiting room that we were standing in is long gone but I can still hear Catherine speaking to Michael. She is pulling us into the deepest recesses of her mind as she delves deep within it to give Michael what he deserves. There is nothing more that I could wish for right now than for somehow to let my mother know that her husband and I are listening with just as much intensity as Michael is, perhaps even more so.


I cannot quite place the year that John and I are revisiting with Catherine but it must be a time much before I was born. My mother is much younger here, maybe even a teenager. Looking at her like this is almost seeing me in a mirror; we look so much like each other. There is no need for her to wear any makeup at this age; her skin is so flawless and perfect. Her clothes have no problems showing off how slim and lithe she is. Expecting nothing less from my mother she is impeccably dressed in clothes that must have been the style at the time with soft lavender floral’s on her shirt and blue bell bottoms slung low on her hips.


“KittyCat, there is someone here for you!” a male’s voice calls from outside of her room.


KittyCat? It is a nickname I have never heard about before. It is clear that Catherine has taken us back to when she still lived at home with her parents, people that I never met or heard anything about. Her eyes are lit up at the announcement that someone is here for her and she leaves the brush that she was running through the same dark curls that she gave to me on the tiny vanity table in one corner of her room. She smooths her hands over her outfit one final time before she leaves the confines of her small bedroom.


Before I follow her I take a moment to observe surroundings of her young a moment longer. The room is decorated in a way that surprises me, it is in total contrast of the décor my mother preferred when I was a child. The room is swirled in various pastel’s, almost a constant reminder of spring. It almost makes me want to think that it is the room of a girl who is innocent of all things that could cause pain.


“James, I just knew that she would do this,” an icy female voice pitches out loudly. “Everything we have done for her, given her and this is what we get in return.”


In the spacious living room my mother stands facing a slight woman with red hair and dark eyes. This slight woman has her finger waving in mother’s face and the light that was present only a moment ago within the green of her eyes is replaced with a bounty of tears. The sight of tears enrages this red-haired woman and she takes back her hand to slap Catherine hard across the face. Automatically my mother wheels back and brings a hand protectively to her face.


“Donna, now…” the man who is sitting down in a chair begins to say.


“James, don’t you dare say anything,” the woman who is named Donna hisses. “You are the one encouraging our daughter to be a slut!”


Another man who I failed to notice before is standing now next to my mother and holding her close in his arms. He is examining the portion of her face that made hard contact with Donna’s hand just a moment ago. He is glaring at Donna with almost menacing eyes.


“Come on Katie,” the man holding my mother says gently. “You don’t have to stay here anymore.”


My mother begins to shake her head and frantically wipes the tears that are now streaming freely down her face. Donna is giving her a look laced with evil and hate. I finally understand where the looks from my childhood came from. “John, I can’t leave yet, I’m not even finished with school.”


“You think that you will actually finish school?” Donna flings at my mother hatefully. “Your whole life is now ruined now.”


Catherine gives the man who affectionately calls her KittyCat a pleading look but he looks away from her with guilt etched in every line of his face. She will find rescue or reprieve in this man. My mother’s face turns to stone when she realizes that his silence is her answer to what help he is willing to offer her.


“I’m sorry for being such a disappointment to you Mother,” she says tonelessly.


She goes into her room and moments later she returns with a suitcase haphazardly stuffed with clothes. She gives the house of her childhood a lasting sweep with her eyes before she walks out of the front door. She doesn’t say anything to anybody, expecting the younger version of my father to follow her out the door.


Catherine fast forwards time and brings us back to the small blue house that I spent my younger years. She and my father are sitting at the kitchen table and it is sometime late in the night. I must be in the other room sleeping soundly. Several papers are scattered in front of them and my father is wearing a defeated expression on his face. My mother is angry as she pores over one of the documents on the table. They must be talking about finances.


“What do you want me to do, Katie?” my father asks her brokenly.


John is standing beside me and I can sense the emotions rolling off of him. I glance over to him to see that he has aged ten years from the last time that I looked at him. I try to touch his shoulder but he jerks his thumb to the younger version of himself silently telling me to keep watching.


My mother tosses her hands up into the air. “I don’t know John! Do something! Make more money!”


My father simply balls up his fists and rests his head on them. He doesn’t offer my mother any answers and this enrages her further. She is shoving the stacks of papers further in front of him and screams at him to look at them one more time. She wants him to see just how much in debt that they are in. She will be surprised if they can even make the rent that month. My father sinks further into himself.


“I just cannot take this anymore. You will be the one to tell Abby that she won’t be able to go with her this year on the class trip with her friends,” she hisses quietly, cognizant that a young me is sleeping soundly just in the next room. She roughly shoves the remaining papers forward, sending the flying in a flurry to my father’s feet and stomps off to another part of the house.


As soon as she is gone my father makes his way to the refrigerator and pulls out a large bottle of dark liquor. He puts some ice in a glass and pours himself a healthy amount. He returns to the kitchen table to look at the papers that my mother angrily urged him to look more closely at. As the time goes by he is working his way through the bottle at a steady pace.


It has been a couple of hours since my mother has left the room and he is down to his last glass. He has been staring at a single piece of paper for the past several minutes. He finally puts it down on the table and stands up unsteadily to his feet. He walks over to the counter and begins to look for something.


My heart plunges to the bottom of my stomach when he finds what he is looking for. Even through his alcoholic stupor that heavy sadness in his eyes is more than evident. He walks over to my bedroom door and stands in front of it for a few moments. He is starting to silently sob. He opens the door silently and looks on to my sleeping figure. I am cuddled warm in my bed with a large teddy bear he had bought for me a little while before. The sight of me sleeping for me is the breaking point and he closes the door.


He makes for the car that is parked in the driveway and turns the ignition on to the car.  It loudly roars to life and the lights from the headlights flood through the living room window. Within moments of starting the car my mother is running through the house to the front door. She arrives just in time to watch my father drive in a zigzag pattern down our street.


She brings her trembling hand to her mouth as she stares mutely in the direction that my father has driven. She is frozen in the doorway for several minutes before her body allows her the freedom to move her limbs. She runs her hands through her heavy curls as she chews on her bottom lip. Fear, an emotion I have never seen her emit before, is illuminating her eyes.


“My God, what have I done?” she whispers weakly to herself.


John and I are back in the visiting room with Michael and my mother. Her face is wet with tears as she relays the rest of the story to him. My father didn’t make it very from the house before he had swerved into a tree. When the police arrived to tell her what happened it came as no surprise to her.


She didn’t let the officers inside because she didn’t want them to wake me up. I was going to my grandparent’s house later that day and she didn’t want to let it show to me that there was anything wrong. She had cried for the hours before the police had come to tell her the inevitable and by that time she had no more tears to show. She was too tired to cry anymore.


“I’m more like my mother than I would like to admit,” Catherine tells Michael. “After John died I just let who she was overtake me and Abby paid dearly during those years. I wanted to tell her the truth about her father for years but I couldn’t put into words what I needed to tell her.”


Catherine pauses and swallows over the sobs that are catching in her throat. She breathes deeply to regain her composure before she can continue any further. Tears prick hot in my own eyes. I move away from John and position myself so that my same green eyes are looking back at me. I need to feel as if she knows she is talking right to me.


“It was when she left home when I realized that I was truly alone in the world. I didn’t try to reach out to her for years after she left. It was when a friend had told me that she had Norah when something finally broke inside of me and forced me to face the reality that if I didn’t change I would die alone. I knew that she wouldn’t accept me in person and I wrote her letter after letter begging her to let me apologize to her.”


I had no idea that she had ever sent me any letter. Michael’s uneasy expression gives him away.


“She never got any of those letters,” he says quietly.


Catherine looks angry for a split second before she softens into acceptance. She cannot blame Michael for never giving me any of those letters. She knows that I made it absolutely clear that I, and especially our daughter, wanted nothing to do with my mother. How different would my life had been had I reached out to reconcile with my mother?


“I cannot blame you, Michael,” Catherine says. “A bird with a broken wing cannot fly again until that wing has properly healed.”


“I took that option away from her by never giving her those letters.”


Catherine offers him a watery smile and shakes her head slightly. “Norah flies beautifully, Michael.”


The next moment Norah bursts into the room with a crayon drawing in her hand. She rushes straight towards her father and thrusts the drawing excitedly into his hands. “Daddy, look what I drew for you.”


John and I both move closer to see what my daughter has drawn. She has drawn stick figures resembling Michael, Catherine and her sitting in the waiting room. In the corner of the page there are two smudged figures outlined in a greyish white color.


I almost forgot that John was standing right there beside me. I look up to see that he is an entirely new man. His hair is no longer streaked with gray and his face is free of wrinkles. He pulls me into his embrace and lays a gentle kiss atop my head. “I never for a moment forgot you, Abby.”


After a few long moments he releases me. He looks to Catherine and Norah with a smile before looking back to me. He opens the door that leads out of the room and pauses briefly. The light he once told me that he watched others walk through is shining brightly beyond the door and he finally steps through. I know that I will never see him again.


“Good-bye Daddy,” I whisper aloud to myself.