Tuesday Tales: From the Word LEAF

Wow! The last week of March is upon us. While we’ve had a few mild days, it doesn’t look as if Old Man Winter is ready to release us just yet. This week’s scene takes on an ominous note as Eva learns a bit more about herself and her early years. Our word prompt is LEAF. Enjoy.

Cal and I paged through the book, stopping to admire the various pictures of me as a newborn with a ginger fuzz for hair. There were some with my father, a couple with my mother, and several with Uncle Seamus, including one of the four of us, not unlike the framed picture Molly had given me. While both men were proud and happy, Mom looked haunted, her eyes fixed in that blank stare I knew all too well.

Here and there, Mom had added notes, in French, most of them clinical, devoid of emotion. Eva drank six ounces of formula at each of her feedings today. Others sparkled with joy. Eva smiled at me today. Ray claims it’s just gas, but I know better. Ray must’ve been Raymonde, my godmother. She was only mentioned that one time, and there were no pictures of us—no pictures from my Baptism, simply the date it had happened and who’d been there, with a notation. Michel couldn’t come. I think he’s angry with me. Ryan says I’m being ridiculous, but his brother was there—he’s always here. Why had she underlined the word always? It sounded as if she resented her brother-in-law. I would ask Aunt Lucie why she and Uncle Michel hadn’t attended.

The red-gold curls, the color of an oak leaf in autumn, replaced the orange fuzz, and the entries changed, becoming more like a diary than a book of baby milestones. The last one made me shiver. Ryan wasn’t here again tonight. He claims he needs to be at the resort. Has he replaced me? Eva could’ve died tonight. My hands were soapy. She slipped through my fingers and banged her head in the tub. I can’t do this. God knows I can’t do this. Were these early signs of the paranoia to come?

There were no more entries, no pictures even though the book had space for each of my next ten birthdays and my first day of school. Had she wanted to fill it in, she couldn’t have since she’d left it here, along with everything else that could’ve reminded her of her husband, everything except me.

I closed the book and set it on the coffee table, reaching for my beer.

“Not what you’d hoped for, was it?”

“Not really, but it’s still more than what I knew.”

That’s it. Stay safe and don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales