good of a life. It is time to play.” My father was taken from me. The drunk driver who smashed into his car not only killed my father but shattered my world, my
goals.
My mother was not equipped for our sudden loss. My father had handled everything, which left the composed woman a disheveled mess of tears and sorrow. The rage inside me had to be shoved down. I couldn’t show my emotions. She couldn’t handle it.
Still, she was the parent. Why did she not keep her mask of perfection? The
one I saw her put on whenever she was disappointed. Guilt filled me for the anger I felt towards her, but I needed my mother. Not the mess of a woman falling apart in front of me.
One evening, a few days after the funeral, I found my mother sitting alone in
the kitchen. She was writing in a notebook, which she shut quickly when I walked into the room. She had heard my entrance but disregarded the phone ringing behind her. I waited to see if she would even move towards the obnoxious sound. Nothing.
Sighing, I answered, “Chase residence.”
“Oh good,” a gruff man’s voice said. “May I speak with Hillary Chase? Tell
her it is Winston Charles on the line.”
“Let me get her for you.” I held the phone to my body to muffle my voice.
“It’s Winston Charles.”
She shook her head madly.
“I’m sorry Mr. Charles. My mother is not available.”
“I must speak with her. I know it has been a very painful time for your family, but there are things we must discuss.”
“If you tell me what is going on, I can relay the message,” I offered.
“I’m sorry, but that will not do. There are financial and legal issues to discuss,” he said, not hiding his irritation.
“You would be surprised how much they teach us in high school these days. I have a very strong understanding of how money things work,” I said, wishing he
would just tell me what was going on.
“I’m sorry, Miss Chase, I must speak to your mother, and it must be soon,”
he insisted.
“I’ll have her call you,” I promised before saying goodbye.
I put the phone back on its cradle.
My mother was crying. Again.
“Mother, you have to stop this.” I handed her a tissue from the pocket of my
sweatshirt and sat down next to her. “I’m sad, too, but Daddy is gone. We have
to go on.”
“I’m trying, Caitlyn. I just feel so lost,” she said, choking back her tears.
“Mr. Charles said he needs to speak to you soon. Please, go talk to him. He
can’t speak to me since I’m a minor. You have to deal with our finances,” I scolded.
My mother nodded and closed her eyes. “I’ll go in the morning.”
“I’ll come with you,” I said, not hiding my relief that she had agreed to go.
Her brown eyes popped open, and she shook her head. “No, Caitlyn. They are right. You’re the child. You need to enjoy the last summer before you’re an
adult. Weren’t you going to the beach with your friends?”
“But—” I tried telling her I would be there for her, that she was not alone.
“I can do this,” my mother said, stopping me. “You need to enjoy your youth
while you can. You can’t throw away your chance to enjoy your senior year. You
have worked so hard.”
My mother would not relent. Giving up, I kissed her on the cheek and headed
to bed. When I woke in the morning, I found an envelope with sixty dollars and
