The Face In The Mirror by Barbara Stewart

wedding picture earlier. I didn’t want to flip
it over, but I did and handed it to her. “Mitchell found this on the table beside
Mom’s bed.”
“I saw it there when I came by before you came over. I couldn’t remember
seeing it there before, but who knows.”
A moment passed. “Renee!” she said suddenly. I saw tears in the corners of
her eyes and felt my own trying to escape once more. “Renee,” she said once
more.
“I know. Mitchell and I already talked about it.”
He returned, and set the glasses on the table and poured the wine. He sat
down beside me and slipped his arm around my shoulder.
“No, Renee, no! I can’t think about that!” Midge said. Abruptly, changing
the direction of our conversation, she asked, “Anything I can help with?”
“No, but thank you. Tomorrow I’ll work some more on the office before
we head back west. I have something I want to give you,” I said and went to
the office, returning with a picture I’d set aside earlier.
“There are more, but this one is so special to me. You both look so happy.
I kept one of a different pose, but I would like you to have this. The frame is so
pretty. She always put great thought into the frames she chose to display
pictures in.”
“This is from the cruise we took last year.”
“You look so happy,” I repeated.
“That cruise was a very special time. Thank you, Renee, I will cherish this.”
I noticed how she stressed the word ‘very’ as she spoke. I’d known they’d
had fun, but Midge made me wonder how much.
“I’m sure there will be more treasures to share as I go.” They had been
friends since college, so I was sure of this.
    After Midge left, I busied myself in the kitchen while Mitchell watched TV.
I stole glances of him when I thought he wasn’t looking and I noticed him
doing the same. I thought a great deal about the last couple of weeks. Mitchell
coming back into my life had stirred things up and evoked emotions I thought
I’d locked away years before. So much had happened in such a short time. I felt
confused.
    I felt sad over my mom’s death, and now I had to face the question of if it
really was accidental, or intentional. And then to wonder if the picture told a
tale of her knowing she was dying, and wanting me - wanting us - to know that
she had hope for us?
    Maybe Mitchell was right, and she took the picture out because she knew
he would come. Maybe she had been sad and reminiscing. All of it rattled me.
Why? If it was accidental and she knew, why didn’t she call me? Why didn’t she
call 911?
    My thoughts distracted me as I pulled cookie sheets and pans out of a
cabinet, vaguely considering what to keep or what I might be able to use if my
business became a reality. I dropped a pan, making me yelp, and Mitchell
bolted into the kitchen to see what happened.
    “Everything OK?”
“Yes, sorry. I dropped a pan. It’s fine.” But all of a sudden the events of
the day overwhelmed me, and I started to cry. I sat down on the rug in front of
the sink and blubbered.
“I just can’t believe any of this. It hurts so much. Mitchell, was she really so
sad, so broken, and defeated by my dad’s indiscretions, that taking her life was
the only option, or was it truly an accident?”
“I hate him,” I said softly. I hated myself for thinking it, but the more time
that passed, the stronger my feelings became.
“I hate my father for causing her such pain. My mother gave him nothing
but support and love, unconditional love, and he repaid that devotion by not
only sleeping with his secretary, but getting her pregnant to humiliate my mom
even more.”
I knew I was on a rant, but I felt as though I had to let it out, let the
emotions go, be mad, be pissed, or I would explode. Mitchell said nothing as he
sat beside me, pulling me to him, holding me tightly.
Suddenly, I inhaled deeply, and the exhale brought the cry-snot flying out
of my nose. I was mortified. Mitchell didn’t miss a beat;