Gold, Fire & Refinement

Chapter Forty-Four

"There is no instinct like that of the heart." ~Lord Byron

It was almost noon on a stormy, dreary September day. Peering through her bedroom window, Zarah felt like crying but couldn't. She had cried so much lately, she wasn't sure she had any tears left. Home for three days, she had stayed in her bedroom a lot, and the toys and mementos from her childhood were reminding her of the young, innocent girl she still managed to find sometimes, inside. Today, she wanted to reconnect with that girl. She put her toys away during her last visit home, but now she needed them around her, right where she'd always kept them.

Her mother was worried. Zarah knew because Hilda Brion had cleaned and dry-mopped the hardwood floors in her home for the past two hours. Especially those near her room. As she rolled her eyes and sighed for what felt like the one-hundredth time, she knew it wouldn't be long before her mother would come in and demand that they have a talk. A second after the thought went through her mind, Hilda knocked on her door for the third time that day.

"Don't come in, Ma," she begged, for the third time. I told you. I have a cold and I don't want you to catch it. Okay?" As soon as she ended her sentence her mother barged in, backed against the door, and closed it with her behind. She paused a moment, staring through the window at the pouring rain. Then she focused her stare right where she knew it would do the most good.

"You can't keep telling me nothing's wrong or that you have a cold," Hilda said, looking straight at her. "I'm fifty-four, girlie. Too old for you to try to fool me."

A pop of lightning lit up the room, and a loud roar of thunder followed it. To Zarah, it seemed God did it to make a bold exclamation point after her mother's words, giving them uncalled for emphasis. "Ma? Why did you close the door?" They were alone in the house. She stared at her mother waiting for a reply. 

With her arms crossed, her mother began staring at her even harder. "Silly huh? Like you stayin' in here all sad, closing me out of what's going on with you." Hilda walked over and sat down hard on the bed. "Zarah. Your phone keeps ringing. You're not answering it. You all shut up in here, rearranging your old toys." She looked out the window, then back at her girl. "Of all my children, I feel like I know you the best. 'Cause you're the most like me. I know when things aren't right with you. Now. Tell me the truth. What's wrong?"

With freshly washed hair, Zarah finished braiding the last of ten long light-brown, blonde-streaked plaits, and Hilda smoothed a braid. "I can't help baby," she said, "if you don't tell me."

She wasn't ready to tell her mother the whole sordid story. "It's something you can't help with, Mama. At least not now. Okay?"

"No," Hilda said. "No. It's not okay. You're my child, and when you're hurting, I'm hurting."

"If it's bothering you," Zarah said. "Me being here. Then I guess I could go stay with Josie."

Hilda got up from the bed. "You're not going anywhere. You need to stay here with me. I'll leave you alone if that's what you want ... but just don't treat me like you think I was born yesterday."

"I'm not doing that."

"You don't have a cold, Zarah. So don't piss on my leg and tell me it's raining."

"It is raining."

"Don't play with me, little girl. You know what I'm talking about."

"I'm sorry, Ma." She twisted her engagement ring. "I just need some time away from Jackson, away from everything. Doing that story, being the center of so much attention everywhere I went, getting more hate mail than ever at work, I guess it took more out of me than I realized. All the excitement, the media, thousands of people wanting my autograph. It's a lot more than I ever thought I'd have to deal with. I just need some time away."