Amanda and I pour over photographs and scrapbooks. Piles of albums, jumbles of photos and mementos from the past litter nearly every flat surface in the living room. Something would remind me of a funny story about a person or a special event, and Amanda soaks up all of the family lore I offer her. Our laughter dispels the uncomfortable nothingness I have grown accustomed to since Joshua died.
Over dinner, I discover I feel a strange kinship with the younger woman. Each of us have a huge void in our lives, and for one night -- this night -- we provide one another with companionship and empathy.
"It has been very nice having you here, Amanda." I raise my glass of wine as if I made a toast. I sip the deep red Cabernet savoring the taste.
"I was so afraid to even come here. I didn't know what I would find or what kind of reception I'd receive." Amanda pauses her voice breaks as if she might cry. "This has been one of the best days I've had in a very long time. I can't thank you enough, Libby."
My heart goes out to Amanda when I see her brave smile waver with emotion. I feel a tear slip down my cheek. How dismal my life has become. What does it say about the state of my emotions when meeting my late husband's illegitimate daughter makes me feel complete. Currently, the only bright spots in my days are caring for Mia and receiving an occasional phone call from my children.
# # #
After I bid farewell to Amanda, I head upstairs to change the bed sheets in the guest room and clean the upstairs bath. I go on my morning walk with Mia, and my head spins with questions. Should I stay here? Get a job? Should I sell the house? Where would I go? Where would I like to go?
I greet and wave to my neighbors during the walk. I complete these actions without any thought. When did my life become so automatic? I fear it was happening long before Joshua died. Like multitudes of women, my identity wasn't simply limited to being a wife and mother. I wouldn't trade those aspects of my life for something different. Yet, I crave having it all without losing the essence of myself.
When I was young I loved to take photographs. My parents got me an expensive camera and I poured over every book on photography I could find. It has been a long time since I took a photo of something other than family. I gather the photos and albums I'd shared with Amanda, looking at the different snapshots with a different eye. I can still see the artistic principles I tried to implement as a young photographer in my more recent pictures.
I need to make some changes soon or I will live out my future days without being truly alive. I am as frozen in place as I was yesterday morning by the river. I pull out the yellow pages as I search for the phone number I want. Chuckling at myself, I hear exactly what Carrie would say if she were here -- "Mom you can search for those numbers on your cell. Why do you insist on being so archaic?"
"Hello. Can I speak to Carmen Blunt? Carmen? Hi. This is Libby Crenshaw. I'd like to talk to you about listing my home."
YOU ARE READING
Empty Chairs and Empty Promises
RomanceLibby Crenshaw is an empty shell since her husband died. Her adult children are living their lives on the coasts but Libby can't seem to get out of her depression. Then one day a visitor comes and Libby's world changes.
