Gabriella Ch. 08

"Crap." She searched around until she found a small white towel tucked on the top shelf in between his extra helmet and a box marked Christmas lights. Dust sprinkled down when she pulled the towel free, along with a piece of paper that fell heavily to the floor.

Patricia plucked the thick paper from the ground and flipped it over to discover it was a photo. A picture of Ella with her head tilted back as her thick raven hair fell to one side of her shoulder in a carefree manner. She flashed most of her teeth as her smile bordered on a laugh. Patricia could see Rodney's wide smile in her daughter, but everything else was from her and she had always been proud of that. It gave her reassurance that she had done something right. A crease crinkled a line down the middle of the photo and from the off center angle, it looked to be a self-portrait. The background was barely visible, but Patricia could make out a bookcase.

A strange feeling washed over her as a ball of tension coiled in the pit of her stomach as she stared at the picture. When had this been taken? Why was it tossed amongst his things? Had she given it to him?

The relationship between Simon and Ella kept her confused. Some days she would come home and they were lounging on the couch laughing at a sitcom, or Ella would be perched on the counter in the kitchen talking to Simon as he cooked dinner. But on other days, she would walk into the middle of World War III because of a disagreement, usually stemming from how Ella should run her life.

An engine idled nearby, pulling her away from the photo. Normally the sounds were sharp and fast as cars sped down their suburban street, but this low hum signaled the car had stopped near their driveway. She paused and listened for a moment to see if it would pass.

After a few more seconds a car door opened, then closed. She folded the photo back along the crease and tucked it into her pocket, pushing her concerns aside as she peered through the small smudged window.

Her heart leapt and she raced to press the garage opener. As the noisy door lifted, wind gushed inside, swirling leaves around, adding more work to her already heavy load, but they were quickly forgotten as she sought to restrain herself from running to Ella.

Patricia rubbed her hands over her arms to rid them of goosebumps as she closed the distance between them. "Hey," she said softly.

Ella looked back at the cab and shifted her feet, as if she were thinking how quickly she could flee the scene. She had a small tattered bag draped over her shoulder and her arms wrapped around her waist as if holding herself up against the harsh November weather. She turned back around. "I didn't think you were home. I thought you'd be at work or something."

"Oh. Well...I didn't get a chance to tell you, but I quit my job. Can you believe it?"

Ella opened her mouth to speak, but then resisted. She shivered as she glanced back at the cab.

"It's cold out here. Did you want to come inside?"

"I'm not staying," Ella shot back when she faced her again. "I only came to get a few things."

Patricia nodded and hid her disappointment through a smile. "I'm glad you stopped by."

Ella gave a nod and quickly passed her as she entered the garage and then the house. Patricia followed behind, watching her every move as she made her way down the hall, barely sparing a second glance around before she entered her room. Patricia stopped by her door and leaned against the frame.

After Ella took in her newly cleaned bedroom, she looked at Patricia and furrowed her brow. Normally Ella would have shut the door in her face, but Patricia held her ground. She wasn't going to sidestep so easily this time.

Ella looked away from her and exhaled noisily "Are you just going to stand there?"

"Yes. Are you just going to leave again without talking to me?"

She exhaled again and jerked her wooden jewelry box from her dresser. Its contents jingled as she emptied it into her bag.

Patricia watched as a lump formed in her throat. "Do you need mon—"

"No...thank you, but no." She glanced around the room, her eyes searching every corner.

"Where are you staying?"

"A motel." She walked over to her nightstand and plucked a charm bracelet that hung from the lamp switch.

"Which one?"

She paused for a moment, as if she might actually say, and then thought better of it. "I have to go." She walked past her and down the hall.

Patricia tried to keep up with her strides before she reached the door. "I can drop you off if you want."

"That's okay, I have a cab."

"I know...Ella, please wait."

Ella stopped but didn't turn around. Her back was rigid as her fist clenched the handle of her bag.

"If I take you, you can save some money. It's just a ride. We don't even have to talk."

She remained still, thinking. Patricia took that opportunity to grab her purse from the coffee table and walk outside, before she could have a chance to say no.

The wind whipped her hair into her face as she approached the taxi. "How much does she owe you?"

"Eighteen-fifty," the driver mumbled in a thick accent.

Patricia handed him a twenty and he didn't bother looking back as he stepped on the gas and sped off. She turned to see Ella staring at her and then at the retreating cab.

Patricia gave a weak smile and nodded toward her car. "Ready?"

They had shared many silent car rides over the years, but this was by far the most painful. In the past, her mind had always rolled through a million things to do. Did she remember the grocery list or was it still posted to the fridge? Did Simon get her dry-cleaning before Pavilion Cleaners closed? Did Sam respond to her email? Her mind swirled with so many thoughts, that keeping conversation with a disgruntled teenager that made every question seem like an interrogation wasn't at the top of her list of priorities. More often than not, it would just incite a fight, and back then avoidance and space were the keys to a peaceful home. But Ella's sudden departure from her life changed her views on what a peaceful home was. She was searching for real peace now, and not just the illusion of it.

Her mind spun like a rolodex, searching for the right words to say before they arrived at their destination because with Ella, she usually got one shot to say something worth listening to. If she chose poorly, she would be tuned out.

A light drizzle splashed against the windshield. She turned the wipers on and thought about opening the conversation with an observation about the weather, but a mundane comment like that would probably be a nail in the coffin.

Patricia examined Ella as she stared out the passenger window. Her light jeans with holes at the knees seemed looser than normal. Had she lost weight or were they just an old pair that she rarely wore? And even the ratty black sweater she donned seemed to be from four or five years ago. But without a washer, maybe Ella was less picky as she ran out of clothing options. A sad helplessness flowed through her as she focused back on the road.

"How's Nolan?" Hopefully that would be safe territory.

"We broke up," Ella replied flatly.

Or not. "Oh no, what happened?"

Ella leaned her head against the window and closed her eyes.

Nail. In. Coffin.

Patricia sighed. How had she not realized how bad it had become? The sharp edges of the photo she found in the garage dug into the side of her leg, further reminding her of a smile that hadn't been aimed in her direction for years. Patricia grimaced when she thought how long it had been since her daughter had been happy with her or anything she had done for her. One moment stood out for her now, taking her back in time to when things seemed simpler and full of promise.

It was the second to last day of third grade for Ella and Patricia had just quit her job at Casual Corner due to the constant roaming hands of her manager. She didn't bother signing in at the front desk as she walked through the bright yellow halls of Jefferson Elementary School. She stopped by Mrs. Grayson's door and looked into the classroom. Ella was seated in the back by the window. She had her elbow on her desk and her head resting in her little hand as she stared outside. Her ponytail was slightly off centered, which some would see as a style, but in truth it was because Ella had been doing her own hair for the past two years and hadn't quite mastered the updo.

Only a few seconds passed before Ella turned her head toward the door, as if pulled by some imaginary connection to her mother. Her eyes widened, and a huge smile spread across her face as a warm feeling swelled within Patricia's body, within her soul. She had no idea how they were going to pay for next month's rent, but in that moment she didn't care.

That was the last time she'd received that reaction. The smiles faded, and soon so did conversation and affection. Life's missteps gave Patricia little to say and eventually Ella stopped saying anything too. What followed was over a decade of silent treatment that Patricia dealt with through double shifts, quiet hotel rooms, and long drives out of the city.

"Some people said some things and he broke up with me."

Patricia snapped out of the past and looked at Ella, wondering if she had imagined hearing her. "He broke up with you?" She tried to sound casual, when inside she was elated that Ella had shared something. Anything.

Ella nodded and fidgeted with a hole on the sleeve of her sweater.

"I'm really sorry, Ella. But it's definitely his loss if you ask me."

More silence. Patricia focused back on the road, wondering what Nolan had heard.

"Why did you quit?"

Again, Patricia glanced at Ella, not believing they were having an actual two-sided conversation. She wanted to make each answer count. "Well, the bad started outweighing the good. I guess it has for a few years now. Long hours, crappy pay, sadistic boss...and for what? To make sure the next generation of microwave popcorn or hand sanitizer is one percent better than the last?"

From her peripherals, she saw Ella watching her. "And I feel really awful about missing your birthday." She turned to catch her eyes. "Did you like your concert tickets?"

Ella faced the window. "Yeah, I did. Thanks. Turn left here."

Patricia made the turn and smiled. "You're very welcome."

The rest of the car ride was in silence, but the simple conversation almost moved Patricia to tears. She quickly blinked to keep them at bay. She didn't want to ruin the moment with an embarrassing spectacle.

But panic began to replace her small triumph when she realized what section of town they were in. A row of abandoned warehouses with rusted machinery out front was to the left, a gas station and liquor store to the right. The small alley ways in between the abandoned buildings held remnants of the homeless who had taken shelter there. Ella couldn't possibly be staying anywhere near here, could she?

"Turn in here," Ella said.

Patricia hoped her gasp wasn't audible when they pulled into a rundown parking lot for the Gaslight Motel. The car bobbled up and down over the broken pavement as Patricia tried to dodge scattered glass bottles and weeds that had grown through the cracks.

A drunken man stumbled in circles jerking his shoulders and shouting obscenities, while two teenagers taunted him. Patricia didn't want to slow the car down, let alone leave Ella here.

Ella must have read her mind. "It's not so bad."

Patricia wished she could have felt comfort with those words, but she had read in the papers a few years ago that a man had been fatally stabbed around this area.

"Ella—"

She paused in her movement to exit the car, staring out of the window while her hand rested on the door handle.

Patricia wasn't sure what to do. What could she do? What could she say now? Ella wasn't in third grade. She wasn't even a teenager anymore. Her choices were her own and Patricia could only sit back and watch, even if she wanted more than anything to force her not to go. The small victory of casual conversation couldn't undo what was broken between them.

"I'm fine," Ella said softly.

Patricia wanted to argue, but something in her daughter's voice made it all sound final. Something in the way she spoke those words reminded her that this was a grown woman making a choice that she would have to accept.

Ella got out and walked toward the one story brick building, each step pressing itself against Patricia's chest. But she stopped and turned toward the car. Patricia exhaled and quickly rolled down her window and unlocked the doors, hoping there was still a threadlike connection between them. Did she sense that her mother was having a nervous breakdown? That all she wanted was to go back, to start over. All she wanted was to fix their mistakes and avoid this moment.

But after a few seconds, the connection was broken as Ella turned back around and slipped behind room 104. Patricia stared at the closed door for several minutes until the breaking of glass in another direction caught her attention. She slowly pulled out of the parking lot, barely able to see the road through the blur of tears that sat on the brim of her eyelids.

She drove and drove until the streets began to look familiar again and she neared a small church with faded stained glass windows. The white paint was badly chipped on the siding and a few bricks from the steps were broken.

It had been nine years since she had last been here. She shut off the engine and leaned her head against the steering wheel, calming her breaths before she opened the door.

The dead leaves crunched beneath her feet, creating a russet colored carpet as she meandered along the path, reading the last names that sounded familiar within their community. And then she came upon it. Her mother's headstone. Dark green moss grew up the side of the gray stone and it was one of the few graves without flowers. Some were withered, and others were fresh as if they'd been plucked that day. But her mother's was the only one left completely bare and untended. It held only a name, date of birth, and death. No special epitaphs like 'We will miss you' or 'Beloved wife and mother'. For Patricia, were she being honest, none of those applied to her mother. If she were to decorate the headstone with such flowery words, it would be with the truth...'finally at peace'.

Patricia stared down at the cold stone wondering if Ella would one day look at her grave this way, lacking the emotion that comes naturally to most when they lose a parent. Especially a mother. Some passerby might think she was mourning the loss of someone loved by her red glazed eyes, but it was her own living daughter she was thinking of. The wind chilled her and she squeezed her body tightly, perhaps another gesture of comforting oneself that a stranger would think appropriate in a graveyard.

Being alone with those who had already left this world, made her realize that tomorrow is never guaranteed. She had been given twenty years to mend this, and it took losing Ella to not want to waste anymore time sitting back and waiting for Simon to patch up everything. And although he had sworn to fix this, he wasn't the cause for her rift with Ella, and it shouldn't be his responsibility to repair it. The damage had been done long before he entered the picture. This all fell on her.

Confrontation and reconciliation had never been a strong point for her, but she had no choice if she wanted to get Ella back.

**********

Simon

"Goddamn it."

Simon opened his eyes and looked over at Steven. He was concentrating on his monitor as he banged away on the keyboard. It was always odd to see Steven at work. The glasses and suit he wore were always a far cry from how he looked and behaved afterhours.

"What's wrong?"

"These figures aren't adding up," Steven mumbled around the pen between his lips. "See, this is why I need an assistant."

"Where's what's-her-name...Dara?"

"Just a temp and she left. Pregnant."

Simon raised a brow.

Steven looked at him incredulously. "Not even once. Ever heard of the saying, 'don't fuck where you work'?"

"I'm pretty sure it's 'don't shit where you eat', but I get your drift."

"Yeah, well the women who work here are all off limits to me. My own self-imposed rule. I can't afford to have some psycho chick fuck up my career because when I say 'I'm not a one woman kinda guy', she claims to get it, but really she doesn't and wants to key my car, or call the office and hang up several times."

Simon chuckled. "Sheila. I remember."

"Yeah, security finally blocked her from this building."

"But she didn't work here, did she?"

"No, but she was a bartender at the place across the street," Steven said with a nod in that direction. "Too close for comfort."

"In that case, I'm surprised you even started anything at all."

"I know, I went against my better judgment. But fuck if she wasn't a dead ringer for Vanessa Williams."

Simon grinned. "I forgot you had that crush."

"Yep. The Right Stuff album cover in that little red dress. One side was completely void of ink from my handprint." He chuckled. "And the other side is probably still sticky."

"Thanks for the visual," Simon groaned with a laugh.

"What do you want, I was sixteen. A boy can only take so much."

Simon leaned back and focused on the ceiling. "Are you almost done? It's Friday and you're the last one here."

"Yeah, and that's why I have a corner office and get paid more than those clowns. Because I actually care and want this shit perfect for my clients."

Simon sighed and walked over to the large window that covered the back half wall looking out into the city. The red and orange neon glow of nightlife lit up the dark sky. Clubs and bars had never been his thing, but after nineteen years of friendship with a man eternally tied to his frat boy lifestyle, Simon was subjected to every one of these social establishments, from the elite posh clubs that catered to rich housewives to the edgy artsy underground dives of the city. Simon had reluctantly seen it all. But that was before Patricia. Before he became a husband and a...well, he couldn't even define his relationship with Gabriella.

Steven popped up and grabbed his keys. "Alright, fuck it. Let's get shit-faced."

The Lantern Pub was half empty when they first arrived. Just a few guys in sports apparel gathered around the bar watching a football game, and some college-aged kids in the corner playing pool. Simon searched the group hoping none of his students were among them, because he was prepared to drown out all of his sorrow and forget this past week.

"To alcohol...and sex. The two greatest things God created." Steven was already on his third beer when he held it up, sloshing some of its contents onto the bar.

Simon laughed and knocked his bottle against Steven's. "Amen."

Steven turned his attention to the few female patrons, though none of them were up to his friend's normal par for 'take home' material. At the far end of the bar, his eyes zoned in on his prey as if seeing her in a new light. The bartender was cute, with fire red hair in funky braids, but definitely gave off a 'don't fuck with me' lesbian vibe.

"I'm pretty sure she has a girlfriend," Simon said, hoping to derail his horny friend. "And she seems like the one on top."

"I know, that's what's so fucking hot about it. They want to be all dominant and tearing off your clothes and shit." He flashed his pearly whites at her as he spoke under his breath. "Every guy needs to fuck a hot butch lesbian at least once."

Simon shook his head. "Do you ever stop to think about the things that come out of your mouth?"

"Not usually," he said as he tipped his drink toward the redhead. She smiled back and filled another customer's glass.