A Swing in the Park

11. Mother

"I don't understand," my mother's voice said from the kitchen. "You would just leave? Just leave Katie? I understand you want to leave me, but our daughter? What am I to tell her, that her father is moving to Florida?"

"I haven't decided," my father's voice said.

"But she is selling her shop?" My mother said.

"Yes," he said, "and moving to Florida to be with her mother. She has asked me to come with her."

"And what about your job?" She said.

"My firm has several branches there," he said. "There's one near where Elsa's mother lives."

"When will you decide?" My mother said.

"I don't know," he said. "I think soon."

"If you go, then tell her yourself," she said. "I won't be able to do it. She's angry with you but she adores you. It's going to break her heart."

"Good night," he said. I heard the door to the porch open and his footsteps go outside.

"Good nothing," she said, and closed the kitchen door.

I was in my bed, staring at the walls, my head pounding. I had never felt such a terrible feeling in all my life. I clutched my Mickey Mouse doll in my arms and tried to go back to sleep. I was too old for that doll, but it gave me comfort and my mother allowed it unless it was time to put him in the laundry again. Then, while I suffered terribly from withdrawal, she tried to interest me in something more girl-like, like make-up or shoes.

I turned over in my bed but sleep did not come. I kept hearing my father's voice. I did not know exactly where Florida was, but I knew it was a long way from Virginia. And I would miss the flower shop on 49th street with its large bay window glistening under the street lights. The thought of that shop being without all its beautiful flowers made me cry. I cried in my pillow, not wanting my mother to hear me, but she did and came upstairs and opened my door.

"Katie?" She said softly. "Are you awake? Could you hear us?"

I continued crying. I could not stop. She came over to me and touched my shoulder.

"Why does he have to ruin everything?" I sobbed. "What did I do to make him leave?"

"All kids think that," she said, "but it isn't true. You did not do anything. It's that trollop who did it."

In spite of myself I smiled. Trollop was a funny word.

"She's nice, mom," I said, drying my tears. "I really like her."

"Then you're a saint," my mother huffed. "I hope I never meet her. I might do something terrible I'd regret later."

"Do you remember when I was a little girl?" I said.

"You are a little girl," she said.

"I know," I said, "but when I was real little and you crawled in bed with me?"

"Oh that, my mother smiled. "I still fit then. Now you're taking up all the room. "

"No I'm not," I said, and made myself really small. "Come," I said, patting the empty side of the bed.

"Very well," she sighed, "just this once because you overheard your father."

She crawled under the blanket and I nestled into her arms. I could smell her shampoo and her hand lotion.

"Let's do what we used to do," I murmured in her ear.

"What?" She said softly. I felt soothed by her warmth.