Chapter 25

It was almost ridiculous how impossibly far away the hospital was from her mother’s house.

My house now, she reminded herself as she plopped down on a bus bench and removed her weathered shoes. Her feet were killing her from walking all day. The coffee she’d had that morning was long since gone and Mila was tired, hungry, and still unsure of how much further her house was or if she was even headed in the right direction. She needed help, but she had no idea where to get it. She looked up in desperation, hoping to see a sign or an angel or anything that would relieve her feeling of overwhelming exhaustion.

Like a beacon in the window across the street, Mila recognized the same tiny symbol from her plastic bank card on the door of the store. She forced her aching feet and blistered toes back into her dirty tennis shoes and jaywalked across the street. The bell jingled when she went through the door, but the weary shopkeeper did not look up. Mila gawked at the fluorescent-lit convenience items for a moment, standing in the doorway until the middle-aged woman noticed her.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m thirsty,” Mila blurted.

“Soda’s in the third case over, beer the fourth,” the woman said, gesturing with the magazine she was reading. She promptly returned to her article as Mila stammered her thanks and started toward the case. She selected a lemon lime soda pop and a bag of peanuts and took them to where the faithful cashier waited. The woman rang her up, and Mila held out her bank card, biting her lip in hopes that it would work.

Success, she cheered herself inwardly as the clerk swiped the card and the little signature slip slithered out of the machine. This one was thinner and narrower and was only one piece of paper instead of two. Mila signed it dutifully and the woman put her copy of an unsigned receipt into a bag with her items.

“Thank you,” Mila said, accepting the bag. “Um… do you know if there’s a bus around here?”

“A bus to where?” the woman said.

“Cherry Hills or Jasmine Falls,” she said, removing the soda and uncapping it. She took a long drink.

“No, the depot is a long way from here. All we got is the number ten going downtown, but it’s Saturday, so you just missed the last one.”

“Oh,” Mila said, disappointed.

“You could call a cab,” the clerk shrugged.

“A cab?” Mila repeated dubiously.

“Sure. The Starbright Cab Company takes credit cards, too,” she said, nodding at the card in Mila’s hand.

“They do?”

“Sure, everybody takes them anyway, or practically everyone,” she said.

“Really?” Mila found this fascinating.

“So you want me to call them or what?”

“Yes, please, thank you,” Mila said in a rush, a wave of relief pouring over her. She watched as the woman pulled the phone from under the register and used a matchbook as a dialing reference. She gave the address, waited a moment for a confirmation, then hung up.

“You’re all set. They’ll pick you up on the corner in about ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes,” Mila repeated.

“Yeah, must be a slow night,” the woman said, returning to her magazine.

Mila tripped out of the store in a slight daze, amazed at all the things she did not understand about this world.

She stood out on the corner as the sun faded out, and before long, an orange and yellow vehicle pulled up at the curb.

“You call for a cab?” the driver called through the open passenger side window.

“Yes,” Mila replied firmly.

“Get in,” the guy said, yanking his thumb toward the backseat.

“Oh… sure,” Mila said quickly, grabbing the door handle. She slid into the fragrant-with-the-aroma-of-cigarettes car and reached for the seat belt. Before she could locate one, they were off and running.

“Sorry, but there was traffic coming,” the driver said, slowing to a stop at the sign. “So where to, buddy?”

She gave him the address of her mother’s house, mentally correcting herself about the status of it, and listened to the cabbie whistle his surprise.

“Pally, that’s a long way. You sure you want to do this?”

Mila held up her bank card and he glanced at it, then grinned. “Okay, buddy, you’re the boss. Don’t forget how far I gotta drive back, though, okay? Be generous when you tip.”

“Oh. Oh, sure,” Mila said at once, wondering how she would ever get the hang of this tipping business. She wondered if she ought to carry a bankroll of singles around and just randomly start handing them out to people on the street. She leaned back on the uncleaned seat and waited as the cab sped onward to their destination.

It was dark by the time they reached the house, and Mila had to wait while the driver scanned her card with his wireless box. It printed a receipt, too, and Mila was simply amazed at the technology available with this little plastic card. She remembered his advice and added what she hoped was a generous enough tip to her receipt, then signed it. He smiled and thanked her, and she figured she must have hit the amount about right. The taxi disappeared, leaving Mila standing alone on the street where she had once lived.

She turned to look at the once-foreboding house and found it completely dark and slightly sad-looking. She studied it, trying to feel detached, but found herself unable. She ventured through the gate and up the path to the porch. The door was locked and Mila had no key. A circle of the house revealed no unlatched windows or doors, and she was beginning to wonder how she would get in when she spied her upstairs bedroom window. The lattice on the side of the house might support her frame, and Mila took hold of it, praying it would remain steady through her ascent.

She made it to the porch overhang and hauled herself up, perspiring lightly from effort. Taking a deep breath, she pried open the window and slipped inside.

She stumbled around, knocking into furniture in the dark room, eventually finding her way to the light switch. With the room illuminated, she could finally see how sad things had truly become. The room felt cold and empty, even though it was furnished exactly the same as it always had been. Her tiny, pink dollhouse sat dusty in the shadowed corner, a cobweb clinging to one of the forlorn windows. Everything was clean enough, in an undisturbed kind of way. She shook her head and forced herself to open the door to the hallway.

She half-expected to hear a television or hear her mother calling for her, but the house remained dark and empty. No sound emanated from the lower level. No being populated the rooms. She felt along the wall for the hallway light switch and flicked that on, too. She systematically roamed the house, turning on the lights and inspecting each room to be certain they were unoccupied.

When she came to her mother’s chair, she somehow knew this had been the place of death. A soup cup and molded half sandwich sat on a tray to the left, and a small needlepoint unfinished beside it. She could still see her mother sitting there, stoically criticizing the ways of the world while she sewed. She felt neither sad nor happy as she stood there, gazing down at the blue flowered chair. The house still smelled heavily of the death it had encapsulated and Mila had to get out of the room. In fact, she wondered how she would live here with nothing more than herself and her bag of peanuts.

She crept quietly upstairs to her room and ate her meager snack with the window open and the lights on. Exhausted, she fell asleep in her bed, the lace trim itching her nose as it always had.

Still, at least she slept.