Refuge from the Dark

“Grief is like the ocean. Vast. Dark. Heavy.”

Melanie laughed in the back seat of our dead father’s ancient SUV; head thrown back with her thick, chestnut hair spilling over her shoulders in the messy way only pretty girls got away with. Despite dark circles under her big brown eyes and a sickly complexion, my nineteenyearold sister looked especially lovely in her brand new designer coat, her white throat a sharp contrast to the deep navy of the shiny material. Melanie had confessed that she’d spent a “notinsignificant” amount of money on apparel after our father’s funeral a mere six weeks ago.

I rubbed the back of my neck, other hand clutching the steering wheel as his old car puttered through the foothills of the Appalachian mountains. Rain poured down from the heavens. All I wanted was to get my grieving mother and sister to our family cabin and survive our first Christmas without our patriarch.

My mother cast a cold glare over her shoulder, so defensive of her “nonreligious spirituality” bullshit.

Melanie laughed on. She’d developed an immunity to our mother’s disapproval since our Dad died, coming from her first semester of college with a smart mouth and just enough fresh perspective to be annoying.

The dreamy voice on Mom’s phone prattled on. “Let your grief draw you out into the darkness. Float in it. Let yourself feel that pain because true peace can only come after you confront your negative emotions. Submit to your grief. Let it change you. Let it shape you into a new person.”

Melanie collapsed into a fit of giggles, her laughter somehow still sweet and innocent despite her disdain. Our eyes met in the rearview mirror, and, for a split second, I attempted to count the splash of dark freckles that dusted the bridge of her nose. She winked at me and I jerked, the squeal of the tires setting off our poor mother.

She clutched at the collar of her fleece jacket, panicked. “This is the worst weather we’ve ever had coming up here. I just can’t believe this. It’s too much. I just can’t take anymore.”

I sighed, heart pumping as we rounded a sharp bend. Our windshield wipers struggled to keep up with the driving rain. “It’s December. We’re lucky it’s not snow.”

Mom cranked the volume up on her phone. The bluetooth system had stopped working years before and our newer phones didn’t have a plug for an auxiliary cord. Technology.

Melanie spread out over the back seat, the sneer on her lips twisting her pretty features into something cruel; alien. “I checked the weather before we left. It’s supposed to change into snow by tonight. You should’ve listened to Jason, Mom. This car is shitty. It won’t make it to the cabin. Don’t worry, though. I’ve heard hypothermia is actually painless at the end.”

I closed my eyes and sucked a deep breath through my nostrils. My kid sister was grieving. “How’d you end up doing in school, Mellie?”

She winced, the fear lurking beneath her cruel veneer unmistakable. Dad died suddenly halfway through the semester. I didn’t expect perfect grades, but I hoped she’d at least managed to pass all of her classes.

Our mother could sniff out weakness like a starving alley cat. She typically had the wherewithal to refrain from ripping out throats, but the hellcat didn’t hesitate to show her claws when threatened. Mom had shared her oval face and pretty lips with her daughter, their fair skin bringing a certain princess and poison apples to mind when she whipped around to glower at Melanie.

“Then we’re skipping the tree.” Mom brightened at her petty victory. “Thank god. I hate real Christmas trees anyway. All the pine needles are a nightmare.”

Melanie leaned forward, voice dry. “God’s not real. Dad knew that. Jason knows that.”

Mom swelled with the selfrighteous fury that seemed specific to mothers. “I can still believe in a peaceful afterlife without organized religion.”

I gripped the steering wheel with both hands, my patience all used up on the ailing car my mother insisted we drive. “Hey, are either of you hungry? Maybe we could have breakfast for dinner.”

“Dad didn’t believe in any kind of an afterlife, Mom,” snapped Melanie, her thoughtful eyes filling with tears. “He’s dead.”

Mom began to sob and I ground my teeth to keep from pulling the car over and bending Melanie over my knee. Our parents never spanked us. Maybe that’s why my sister had grown into such a mouthy brat.

A single tear spilled onto Mellie’s cheek. Grief was a bitter poison.

“Grow up, Mom,” she said. “Dad’s gone. Forever. He’s one with the void.”

“Melanie!” I shouted much louder than what was called for.

My mother stopped crying, the shock in her expression just as vivid as my little sister’s. Melanie slumped back in her seat, a pretty pout on her lips.

I held her gaze in the rearview mirror. “Shut the hell up. I understand that we’re all grieving, and that everyone grieves differently, but if we’re going to survive this Christmas”

Pitiful sobs wracked through my mother’s thin frame.

Grief is like a painful sore. Foul. Weeping. Infectious. Her eyes rolled as she tore at her short dark hair. Fear burned the back of my throat and Melanie and I exchanged a concerned glance in the mirror.

My sister reached for our mother, all pretense gone. “I’m sorry, Mom. Let’s”

Mom slapped her hand away before she rounded on me. “What do you mean ‘survive this Christmas’? We love Christmas! We’re a Christmas family! Even if we are secular humanists!”

I suppressed the bubble of wild laughter threatening to burst out of me and hurt my mother’s feelings. My lack of an answer only fueled her rage.

“We’re going to enjoy Christmas as much as we can. For your Dad. Because if we can’t enjoy our first Christmas without him, we’ll never enjoy another Christmas. Ever. Again.” Mom crumpled against the passenger door.

Melanie silently stared out the window, tears falling down her cheeks.

I rubbed the back of my neck, dread welling up in my chest. My Dad always knew what to say. He’d always been a stoic bulwark against the trials and tribulations of a brutal, meaningless existence. I didn’t have his wisdom or his loving manner. I didn’t know how to help my family and I hated it.

“I’m having a hard enough time navigating through this rain,” I said. “The last thing I wanna hear is you two fighting.”

To my great relief, neither of them said a word, the voice on Mom’s phone circling back to make its final point. “Grief is like the ocean.”

I sighed. “The second to last thing I wanna hear is that stupid New Age bs. Come on, Mom. Shut that off.”

She pressed her thumb down on the power button until the screen flashed and the phone chimed, stowing it away in her huge purse in exchange for a bottle of water and a bottle of pills. Melanie shook her head in the back seat as Mom picked out four little tablets.

I kept my eyes on the road, preferring to face the rain and the mist rather than my mother’s pain.

Our car rumbled through the gray fog, old tires struggling to create traction on the slick road. Dark trees towered over us as we drove deeper into the wilderness like cloaked judges condemning our weakness.

Melanie piped up from the back seat. “It’s why we have to get a real tree from Santa’s Wonderland and Christmas Tree Farm. Dad took me there to get a real tree the year I stopped believing in Santa and we had the best Christmas ever. We’ll make a pit stop at the cabin, then it’s only fortyfive more minutes east.”

“Mellie, honey,” said Mom. “The weather isn’t cooperating”

“No,” wailed my sister. “We have to go to that specific place. You wanna have a good Christmas? I’m trying to help you.”

We hit a deep puddle, the car hydroplaning toward the guard rail and certain death for one terrifying moment. Both my mother and my sister screamed. I froze.

Somehow, there was enough tread on the tires to keep the car from spinning out of control and it slowed. I jerked the steering wheel to the left, correcting course. The back end only fishtailed for a second longer.

“Melanie, if it’s going to start snowing we have to get to the cabin,” I pleaded.

Dad never pleaded. He always made his case with a clear logic I could never argue with. More tears pooled in Melanie’s eyes, but she didn’t say anything else, simply shrugging and staring out her window at the dreary wet mountains.

Mom clicked on the radio and Elvis’ voice crooned out of the speakers. Her sad smile broke my heart. “This was Dad’s favorite Christmas song.”

I hummed along as I urged the car around another bend, a big, green plywood Christmas tree dominating the landscape. Melanie rubbed the condensation away from her window with the sleeve of her coat, eyes bright with rekindled hope.

An electric star at the top of the wooden tree lit up, the flash of yellow brightness casting a strange pall over the scene. It had been years since anyone but my father had made the trek to the cabin. I hadn’t known of that particular Christmas tree farm’s existence, but I was very grateful for it.

I shifted in my seat, my back aching after hours in the car. “Christ our Redeemer Christmas Tree Farm? Is that place new?”

Melanie pointed to the sign as we approached. “Let’s stop and get a real tree. This is perfect.”

I slowed the car and flipped on the blinker, eager for a chance to stretch my legs. Maybe we all just needed some fresh air. On a Christmas tree farm. In the pouring rain.

My mother raked her fingers through her hair, the curl of her upper lip sending a spike of fear directly to my heart. “No. I hate real trees. I don’t want pine needles all over the cabin.”

I closed my eyes, resigned to another argument as the car’s engine began to whine.

Melanie didn’t miss a beat. “What are you talking about? You spray your fake trees with those pinesmelling sprays every year. I thought you loved the smell of fresh cut pine.”

Mom crossed her arms over her chest, defiant as she shook her head. “I like the smell, but I hate the needles.”

“You’re so full of it,” snapped Melanie. “You just wanna control everything. It makes you feel safe.”

My mother’s face twisted into a hideous caricature of itself and she unbuckled her seat belt, turning around so she could snarl at her daughter. Her long peacoat was also navy. “I swear to god, Melanie. If you don’t shut the fuck up; if you ruin this Christmas for me and your brother; I swear to god “

“Enough!” Blood rushed in my ears as my heart thudded against my ribs. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re driving through a winter storm. I’m doing the best I can to keep us on the road, but it’s getting pretty sketchy out here. I’d really appreciate it if you two could AT LEAST stop fighting until we get to the cabin.”

A cold sweat broke out beneath my layers of clothing and it took several minutes for me to catch my breath. I shouldn’t have lost my cool. They were grieving. Dad wouldn’t have blown up like that.

We rumbled past the Christmas tree farm without further issue, Bing Crosby taking Elvis’ place. I kept my eyes on the road, a sheet of water cascading down the side of the mountain like the precursor to a flood of biblical proportions. If only it was enough to wash away the sorrow in Melanie’s eyes.

###

The click of the car door handle filled me with a sense of relief, cold, wet air enveloping me like a cleansing mist as I lurched out of the driver’s seat. My parent’s cabin was small in the mountain wilderness with one bedroom, one bathroom, and a spacious loft over the open kitchen/living room common area. Melanie and I each had a full mattress up there.

Despite all the pine logs and the moss growing on the roof, the cabin had a modern quality to it. Big bay windows on the southern and eastern walls let in plenty of natural light and Dad had hassled the phone company for years until they laid the cables for a WiFi connection. To celebrate his victory, Dad bought a seventyfive inch television for watching sports. My father may have been a godless liberal, but was a good ole’ boy at heart.

My mother’s voice was muffled inside the car. “Where do you think you’re going?”

I bent over and touched the toes of my boots, the deep stretch in my back and legs painful, but necessary. A blast of wind whipped through our refuge, the creaking and groaning of naked branches as they rattled against each other bringing a smile to my face.

Melanie had spent many an afternoon playing in those woods. She spent happy summer days making mud pies for all eight of her imaginary children and their pet sasquatch on the bank of a little stream that ran through the property. In the spring, she tossed bread crumbs into the water for all the frog spawn. When the creatures were grown, she caught them, claiming she was a witch who needed their breath for her magic potions.

I stood up straight, hands on my hips as I went through the mental checklist of everything that needed to be done. Dad had spent a lot of time there over the previous summer and his presence was everywhere; from the stacks of firewood on the wrap around porch, to the freshly laid gravel crunching beneath my weight.

A seven year age gap had made it tough for Melanie and I to be friends, but I’d always liked my little sister. An innate love of all things outdoors and a “no frills” attitude made her a fun companion. Mom recently told me that after I left for the adult world, Melanie and Dad became attached at the hip.

I had all but completely moved out at eighteen when I moved away to attend college and I missed out on Melanie’s teenage years. I liked her dark intelligence, but I couldn’t tell what kind of a woman she’d grown into.

My little sister didn’t say a word as she climbed out of the car, pulling a blue wool hat over her head. Emotion flickered over her pretty face, betraying the grief churning behind her eyes.

“Jason!” Mom hadn’t moved.

She’d told me the pills she’d been taking were antianxiety medication prescribed by her family doctor, but I couldn’t help but wonder if they were something stronger.

“I’m gonna go see the stream. I bet it’s really high with all this rain. Last time I talked to Daddy…” Her voice trailed off and Melanie turned away, wiping her eyes with her sleeve before taking off toward a gap in the treeline.

Two brand new posts marked a trail that looped and twisted throughout my parent’s property. At nine, I hadn’t been much help when Dad cut the trail, but I offered him my full support and enthusiasm while he worked. Mom kept twoyear old Mellie safe at the cabin.

“Go with her, Jason,” yelled Mom. “What if she slips and cracks her head?”

“She’s dressed for the elements,” I said under my breath. “Give her some space.”

I walked around to the passenger door and opened it, helping my mother out of the car. Her milky complexion turned to ash when she beheld the cabin and her bottom lip trembled. An oppressive silence filled the space between us and I regretted letting her talk me into our trip.

She threw her arms around my neck, the powdery perfume she’d always worn for as long as I could remember invoking a powerful wave of nostalgia and grief. I blinked away tears. Fuck the ocean.

Mom’s time on Earth was just as finite as anyone else’s, but she couldn’t die yet. I still needed her. So did Melanie.

Her arms slid from my shoulders and she turned away, able to catch herself before she fell. “I don’t even wanna be here without him. A big part of what made this place so fun for me was how much your Dad enjoyed it. Daddy loved this place, Jason. He loved it.”

“I know.”

A single sob wracked through her slender frame. “He was so excited to bring grandchildren here.”

I put my hand on her shoulder, unsure how to comfort a woman who’d lost the man she’d been eager to spend the end of her life with. Words failed me, so I gave her arm a little squeeze. Dad always knew what to say. Even though it was so stupid and childish, I felt like I was failing him.

Mom scowled up at the cabin she and my father had put so much money and effort into. “I’m gonna have to sell it. I’ll find a realtor when we get home.”

I clenched my fists, digging deep for what little patience I had left. “Come on. Let’s get out of the rain.”

“I can carry the bags in. You go get Melanie.” Mom swayed on her feet when she moved toward the back of the car.”

“She’s fine, Mom.” I gripped her shoulders and steered her toward the cabin. “Mellie knows those woods just as well as Dad.”

We made it up the porch stairs and inside without further issue or discussion. Mom refused to sit still, immediately heading to the electrical box to turn on the power. She uncovered all the furniture on the main level and shoved the food we’d brought into the fridge while I carried our luggage inside. Fortunately, it was only three suitcases and a plastic reusable grocery bag full of wrapped white elephant gifts.

I lit a fire and sprawled out in a squishy leather arm chair, farting noises slipping out from beneath me as I got comfortable. Dad and Mellie had dubbed it the “talking ass chair”. Road trips took it out of me more and more every year.

Mom uncorked a bottle of wine behind me, the pop and subsequent gurgle ominous. “I told you that car was fine. I bet I get at least eight grand for it.”

I didn’t say anything, saving that argument for another day.

Light pinewood floors and paneling helped brighten up the dreary winter gloom spilling in through the bay windows, my reflection haggard in the TV screen over the fireplace. The green blob crawling across the doppler radar on my phone flickered to pink, then blue. Snow.

Mom shuffled over and draped her arm over my shoulders, her perfume and her warm weight somehow comforting. “I’m gonna take a shower and lie down. Come get me when you and Melanie are ready to eat.”

I closed my weather app and slid my phone into my front pocket. “Alright.”

Melanie needed to come inside. It was already cold, and it would soon be dark.

With a sob, Mom plopped into my lap and leaned against me, resting her head on my shoulder. Her scent and the feel of her lithe strength against me had a bizarre effect on my body, a surge of raw desire made me push her away, standing to my feet.

I forced a cough, adjusting my clothing. “I’ll go get Mellie.”

Mom wept silently, the vulnerability in her expression as she stared into the crackling fire taking years off her face. Even at fiftyfive, she was still beautiful.

Flannellined jeans showed off her shapely legs and fine ass, firm and round from hours in the gym. There had always been a fragility about my mother that made a certain kind of man want to take care of her. Melanie had a similar quality, but was more chaotic. Our mother was genteel; ladylike. A loose gray cardigan hid her lack of breasts. Dad had always teased me about being the first boob guy in a long line of ass men.

I moved toward the door, anxious to get away from my body’s shocking reaction to her touch.

She caught my arm, whispering. “I hate this so much. I should’ve listened to you about coming here.”

I debated bringing up the real value of the shitty SUV parked outside and her horrific plan to sell Dad’s cabin. Maybe she was ready to hear what needed to be said.

Mom wiggled close and wrapped her arms around my chest, the rim of her empty wine glass digging into my back. “You’re so big and strong like Daddy. I hope you keep all that dark hair.”

Dad had been a handsome man with blue eyes and an athletic build. I’d been fortunate enough to inherit his knack for higher mathematics as well as his attractive features.

“I don’t like being here without him,” she said. “It’s not the same.”

I ignored the panicked impulse to push her away, instead wrapping her up in a tight hug. My skin flushed hot beneath my clothing, the feel of a woman in my arms a pleasant distraction even if she was my mother. “A coworker told me it takes a year. You have the funeral. Take care of the will. Then, you have to go through all the holidays, birthdays, and significant dates without them. When you come to the anniversary of their death, their absence becomes the new normal.”

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