Down World by Rebecca Phelps (best new books to read .txt) 📕

“I’m Sage,” she said to my father, when no introduction came from my mother. Another weird name. My father stood up and shook her hand, and when he did, a bracelet full of little blue beads rattled on her ample wrist.

“Steve,” my father responded, and my mother seemed to snap to life upon hearing his name.

“Sorry,” my mother said, shaking off whatever thought was clouding over her brain at the moment. “Sage, this is my husband. My daughter, Marina. You remember.”

“Marina,” Sage exclaimed. “My, my, my, look at you. I met you once, but you wouldn’t remember. You were very young.”

Dad looked to Mom then, clearly waiting for an explanation that wasn’t coming.

“Jesus, she looks just like you, Rai—Ana.” She turned to me then, her big, warm hand enveloping mine. “You look like your mother, did you know that?”

I shook my head, because I didn’t really know what the appropriate response was. I did have my mother’s Mexican coloring and brown hair, but my father’s Irish eyes. Honestly, considering the tired, defeated look my mother usually had these days, I didn’t really consider her comment a compliment.

“Such a beauty,” Sage continued.

“Sage and I grew up together,” my mother offered. It was an awkward addition to the conversation, however, not betraying a hint of warmth. Instead my mother seemed caught, as though Sage might reveal secrets about her that I wasn’t supposed to know.

“Won’t you sit down?” my father asked.

My mother waited a beat too long before seconding the offer. “Yes, please sit down.”

“We have to be going, thank you.” Sage nodded over her shoulder to a man at the counter who could have only been with her, judging by his all-white clothes and the string of beads hanging around his neck. “We’re just in town for a couple of days.”

My mother’s eyes flickered to the man with a flash of recognition and a half-hearted smile, but then she looked away again, back to Sage. “Your mom still live here?”

“No, she passed,” Sage said, the calm in her voice not wavering for a moment, as though she had come to peace with the fact.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” my mother said, and I could tell it was true. “She was very warm.”

“Yes, she was,” Sage agreed. “George and I wanted to see the old grounds.”

“They’re gone,” my mother offered, a bit too quickly. My mother looked again at the man by the counter, who offered a sad smile of recognition, but made no move to approach her.

“Yeah, so I saw. Just a gas station now, huh?”

My mother nodded. “And some fast food places.”

My father put his hand on my back then, almost in a protective way, and I wondered what he was protecting me from. What were the old grounds? And who was Rain?

“Well, I guess that’s it, then,” Sage concluded, and for the first time a bit of sadness crossed over her face. “The end of the road.”

My mother nodded. She offered the woman another half smile. “I should go say hi to George,” she said, as though it had just occurred to her.

“He’s not feeling well. Maybe next time.”

My mother nodded and settled back into her seat, somehow chastened. “Tell him I hope he feels better,” she said so quietly I almost didn’t hear her.

Sage smiled and nodded, causing all her jewelry to jangle around her.

“It was good to see you, Sage.”

“You too, Rain.” Sage caught herself, a beat too late. “Sorry . . . Ana.” She turned to me then and smiled. “Such a beauty.”

Sage walked away, the little beads on her wrist rattling and a scent of some kind of exotic oil trailing behind her, and we all watched as she and George left the restaurant.

The walk back to our house from Pat’s Diner was typically awkward. My father whistled an old tune that I recognized from an album he used to play, and my mother pretended to smile whenever she caught my eyes.

“Lana’s gonna come over later, okay?” I asked.

“Of course,” they said in unison, but they were both distracted.

The rest of the day, I tried to put the lady from the diner out of my mind. Christy and my friend Lana from St. Joe’s came over, and we painted each other’s nails and talked and watched old romantic comedies from the ’80s. Lana had a boyfriend, she told us. Christy had been promoted to first violin in the school band. I was happy for Lana. I was happy for Christy. But my mind kept drifting.

Had my mother been living a double life all these years? What else about her past didn’t I know? My friends kept talking, but I didn’t hear a word they said. My mind was fixated on one thought:

Is her name really Rain?

My mom came into my room late that night after the girls had left and sat on the edge of my bed, something she hadn’t done in a long time.

“Did you have fun with your friends?” she asked. She looked so beautiful in the light from under my door, her hair pulled back and a soft black sweater on. Little blue earrings I hadn’t seen her wear in years were dangling from her earlobes, and I think she was even wearing lip gloss. I wondered if she and Dad were having a little date or something.

“Yes,” I said. But I couldn’t help thinking about how far away from the other girls I had felt all night, like there had been a wall between us. Maybe that wall was Robbie, or DW. There were so many things that didn’t get said in this house. Which was why what my mother said next surprised me so much.

“I know how hard it’s been for you, Marina. I know you’ve been alone. And I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” I had understood for a long time that my mother was depressed, and that there was nothing she could do about it.

“It is and it isn’t.