The day Margaret Sanford died was an unremarkable day.
A muffled buzz persisted from beneath Caroline’s desk. She leaned to pluck her phone from her purse. She dismissed the call and placed the phone beside her to resume her typing. The duties of being a partner in her law firm were tedious but they came easily to her.
The buzzing began again. The display read “Home.” Caroline chewed her bottom lip and watched the screen until it went black again. Her gaze was sucked into the blackness and memory washed over her.
Before she’d left for college, her family life had been strained.
Margaret was obsessed with her work, always locked away in her workshop. The few times Caroline had seen her mother, she looked hollow. She was a disheveled and unwashed ghost of a woman. Everyone thought she was crazy. Caroline suspected they may have been right.
Her mother crafted snowglobes but never sold a single bauble. They were ornate scenes created with the finest handmade materials, but they only decorated the workshop shelves. They were never touched once finished, never moved, never talked about. The only connection Caroline had made with her mother was the shrill warning not to touch the tiny pieces of art. She never even looked up to scold her.
“Don’t!” she’d shout. “Never touch them.”
Those were the last words she’d heard from her mother.
Caroline’s father, James, was left to be her sole caretaker. He worked hard to make sure Caroline had as normal a life as possible, but she was left wanting for a real family. James would never discuss her mother. He’d awkwardly change the subject to school or Caroline’s friends which only left her more curious about the woman.
She shook away the memories as the phone vibrated once more in her hand. It had been years since she was home for a visit. Visits became more infrequent as she became more successful in her profession. Caroline was fulfilled despite her family. She tried to leave the horror of it all in the past and that meant leaving her parents.
Her manicured nails rapped against the surface of the desk. The phone had continued to light up to display yet another call coming from home.
Caroline took a deep breath and tapped the screen to accept the call.
“Hey Dad, everything okay?”
Ragged breaths answered, and finally, a voice came through. “Care? She’s gone.”
Caroline’s breath caught as if she’d had the wind sucker-punched out of her.
“Care?” He sighed. “Caroline, you need to come home.”
“I can’t.”
“I need you here, Bear.”
“Dad, don’t call me that. Just- I’ll. I will get a flight this weekend. Friday. I’ll come home Friday.”
Caroline shifted in her seat as strangers prattled on about what a good woman her mother had been. She wondered when anyone had even last seen her and how they knew her. She wondered if Margaret Sanford had been a real human being before.
After the service, Caroline drove her father to her childhood home. He invited her in, but she declined. James seemed to catch on that she was in no mood for company. He watched as she drove away.
Caroline lay restless in her hotel, recounting the day’s events. The words of those strangers led her down a rabbit-hole in her own mind. She began to ponder how the obsession began. She thought about how her mother had learned to make snowglobes. She wondered why snowglobes in the first place. The scenes had all seemed so real, so believable. What could have inspired them?
She sat up. Knowing it was a dangerous path to keep on, she decided to take her mind off things with a relaxing bath. She ran the water as hot as she could stand and added the complimentary Epsom salts. She breathed in the rosy scent and sank into the water. Her skin reddened from the heat, but she closed her eyes.
I was on one of my visits to my mother’s workshop, admiring her beautiful pieces. There was sawdust everywhere on the floor that made my every step scuff more loudly than normal. The room was cool and goosebumps covered my arms and neck as a draft chilled me.
Caroline woke instantly, eyes wide. Why was there a draft? The workshop had no windows and only one door. Could it have come in through the main house? The one door?
Caroline slid deeper into the water, enjoying the pruning of her fingertips and toes and inhaling the salty steam. She powered on the jets and tried to shake thoughts of her mother from her mind.
A chill caught her face and knees. Caroline woke with a start.
“Well, that’s not dangerous,” she said sarcastically to no one.
Deciding it was time to get herself in bed, she washed. The soaps bubbled in the water as she rinsed. She was mesmerized by the swirls of bubbles around her. She watched the oily swirls on the surface of the bubbles. She grabbed a handful of bubbles and blew them from her palm. One bubble didn’t float back down to the water, but instead rose. It began to glow.
Caroline rubbed her eyes. She dried herself and crawled into bed to sleep.
Submitted September 10, 2019 at 04:59PM by AliciaWrites https://ift.tt/34DIsQE
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