Discovering Her Mother's Secret

Discovering Her Mother’s Secret

By Wendy Matthews

The murmur of people holding conversations in the small living room and kitchen was like a soothing salve on Aggie’s wounded soul. She was half-listening to the person speaking to her and half-listening to the drone of multiple conversations, catching snatches of ‘…she was always there when you needed her’ and ‘…she never asked for anything herself but was always the first to give.’ They were talking about Aggie’s mother, Jackie, who had died just 10 days ago. Her mother died in her own bed and was found that way when her friend Anita asked the police to make a wellness visit on Jackie because she wasn’t answering her phone and hadn’t shown up for a lunch where she was expected. She apparently died of natural causes, but Aggie was sure the overuse of alcohol had contributed to her mother’s demise. Still, no sign of foul play said the police.

Jackie was 72 years old, still young, yet she had little to show for it. Four failed marriages, this little house which Aggie was pretty sure was not paid off. Her mother had never been a saver or thought too far into the future. She had never shared with Aggie what she wanted when she passed away. It wasn’t the kind of thing they spoke of. That eventuality was way in the future anyway, they both believed. They stayed on safe topics; the weather, Aggie’s job as an office manager for a real estate firm, what kind of flowers Jackie had planted, usually bulbs which took several months to grow and gave her something to talk about for the next phone call. “My daffodils and tulips are popping up.”

Aggie looked around at the people standing in her mother’s home and realized she didn’t know nine-tenths of them. She only knew Anita because she had met her once and she was the only one her mother actually talked about when they spoke on the phone during those obligatory birthdays and holidays when Aggie would call. The others had introduced themselves, but it was all a blur now, she couldn’t remember any of their names. It would be understandable she told herself. ‘You must still be in shock,’ several of them had said. Aggie decided to hide behind that shield. They were all trying to be so kind with their fond memories. Memories Jackie had never shared with Aggie. Such a gap between her and her mom. Like they were separate planets that circled each other but rarely shed any light on the other.

Aggie was named after her grandmother Agatha. An old-fashioned name, but Aggie’s mom must have felt there needed to be a thread to connect her daughter back to her own mother. So, she was named Agatha but was always called Aggie. Today Aggie wished her grandmother could have been there to comfort her, but the original Agatha has passed on herself from dementia. Jackie had to put her mother into a care home because she was unable to leave her unattended without some disaster happening. A fall, wandering away, sometimes hysterical fits. It had been a difficult decision for Jackie, and her mother had only lasted a few months after that.

At the memorial service Aggie had listened to several of Jackie’s friends recount what a wonderful person her mother was and how thoughtful she had been to them. Really, Aggie thought to herself. She herself never really saw that side of her mother. They hardly spoke other than on the obligatory days. And it was usually Aggie who made the call, not Jackie. The years had iced over their relationship. There was no going back and repairing the damage done by their mutual neglect. It just was what it was, and Aggie clung to what little memories she could. She tried to fill in the blanks left by the absence of a mother who always seemed to be in search of someone to help her fill in her own blanks. Thus, the four failed marriages.

“So nice to meet you finally,” one woman had said to her before the service began. “Your mother spoke so fondly of you.” Aggie wanted to ask, “What did she say about me?” but she knew that would open the dark door she and her mother had closed long ago. Aggie felt that somehow it was important to continue the façade her mother had created that made her friends think that she and her mom had enjoyed a close relationship. It couldn’t have been more distant. Well, maybe it could have, but somehow it was important to pretend that it had been close. Wasn’t that what most people did? Say things that they think others want to hear as opposed to how rough and disconnected they really were. Aggie just nodded and said appropriate words that only she knew were untrue. “Yes, I know, she spoke so fondly of you too.”

Aggie was anxious because she had emptied her savings account to pay the expenses of death few speak about such as an autopsy to determine the cause of death, which turned out to be kidney failure. Then there was the ambulance who picked up her mother’s body and the cost of a coffin and then a gravesite that, of course, required a floral arrangement. Then there was the cost for the memorial service at the funeral home. Her mother’s friends all brought food and coffee for the after-service gathering, but the other expenses had not been something Aggie was prepared to pay for. She actually had to put the gravesite on a credit card, because her savings weren’t enough to cover the mounting expenses. Death is not cheap. Her mother hadn’t left a will that she knew of. Her checkbook showed that she only had about $360 left in it when she died. The deed to the house was nowhere to be found. Aggie didn’t know how she was going to regain the money she spent, but she knew she had to do this service for her mother. The last time they had spoken was about 3 months ago. Aggie had called her mother on her birthday, July 31. “Hi Mom, happy birthday,” she had said brightly, trying to sound cheerful, even though her mother sounded a bit morose and maybe a little drunk.

“Well, thank you darling how nice of you to call.” Always so formal. Of course, why wouldn’t a daughter call her mother on her birthday? Maybe it was because Grandmother Agatha had often forgotten Jackie’s birthday. She said it never bothered her, but it bothered Aggie that Jackie wasn’t bothered. And, it bothered her that her grandmother could forget her own daughter’s birthday. How do you forget a major occurrence in your life like the day you gave birth to someone?

The last guest was departing and, as Aggie leaned against the cool painted blue door as it shut, she looked across the room at the bookshelf to see if there was something she might want to read. She wasn’t ready to start cleaning the place out just yet. The blanket of Jackie clung to Aggie’s shoulders and she let that be. Her fingers dragged over the spines of the books and one thin book with no title on its spine caught her eye. It was a plain black Moleskine notebook with an elastic page holder. Aggie pulled it out. Inside were notations made by her mom, a few poems, some sketches of flowers and birds and a handwritten notation. S = shed, S = safe (Aggie’s bd), S= soar. Aggie had no idea what these notations meant, but she noticed a key that was taped to the inside back cover with the letter S written on it with a felt marker. She sat back on the sofa and closed her eyes. What do those notes mean, she wondered. The letter S had no meaning for her. The black book gave no clues that she could discern. She hadn’t been close to her mother and knew few if any of her secrets or hidden passions. This made Aggie sad. So much she didn’t know about her mother and now here she was trying to figure out what S on a key found taped inside a black book was supposed to mean.

Aggie flipped through the pages. Nothing stood out. Just musings about some flowers her mother was planting, some more sketches of a bird, which might be a dove, and at that moment a dove actually landed on the windowsill next to her. It cooed its mournful cry and it, made Aggie want to cry too, so she pursed her lips and drew in a deep breath and decided to make a cup of tea. In the kitchen she looked out the window over the sink as she filled the teapot with water. She heard the cry of the dove again and there it was sitting on the top of the tool shed in the backyard. Hmm, Aggie thought. Wonder if that’s the same bird. Wait, the tool shed. Was that the shed her mother was referring to?

Aggie set the teapot back on the stove and walked out to the shed and discovered it had a padlock. The key, she thought and ran back to the little black book and peeled the tape off the inside cover to release the key. She tucked the book under her arm and quickly went back to the shed. The key fit neatly into the padlock and, snap, the lock released. Aggie pulled the door open and stepped inside. It was hot and smelled of potting soil. Garden tools hung neatly on nails on the wall and a rake leaned against the small window. Her eyes adjusted to the dimness and there, on the floor of the shed was a safe. Aggie’s heart started to race. She opened the book to find the glossary again. S = shed, S= safe Aggie’s bd, S = soar. Her hands were shaking now as she dropped to her knees and began to spin the combination lock. It had a big dial. Aggie’s birthday was July 31, 1950. She turned the dial first to the right and stopped at 7, then to the left and stopped at 31, then to the right to 50. She heard the faint click of the safe releasing its hold on its contents. She slowly opened the door which was heavy. Inside was a manila envelope stuffed with a lot of cash. The bills were mostly twenties, but there were some fifties, even a few that were hundreds. Aggie’s hands couldn’t stop shaking. She pulled the money out and started counting it out on the little shelf that had some paint cans sitting on them. She counted out almost $20,000. She couldn’t believe her eyes and her good fortune. This was going to cover all of the funeral expenses and then some. She pulled out some folders from the safe. Inside the first one was a deed to the home Jackie had lived in for 20 years. The deed had been recorded a year before stating the home was now in Aggie’s name and had been made as a parent-to-child transfer, so no new taxes would apply. The second folder contained a hand-written letter that said “Dear Aggie, you deserve this, and so much more, but it’s all I have. I could never tell you how much you meant to me, but maybe this will. I paid off the house five years ago. So, my darling girl, I hope this will help you soar.” Soar. The last word in the glossary in the black book. Aggie couldn’t believe her mother had done this. She hugged the folders to her chest, looked out the little window of the shed, closed her tearful eyes and softly said, ‘thank you mom.’ The blanket of Jackie was here to stay.