The Home They Lost

When I got home from a business trip for Thanksgiving, I discovered that my mother, who had traveled from our hometown to visit me, had been put up in the storage room. I was about to lose my temper when my mother-in-law, Patricia Fitzpatrick, rolled her eyes first. "Next time your mother comes, give us some warning. What if the neighbors find out we have relatives from the sticks? How embarrassing would that be?" My mother lowered her head under the scolding, her hands fidgeting helplessly, unsure where to put them. My husband, Ethan Fitzpatrick, noticed my expression darken and finally lowered his phone, taking his time. "That's enough. Mom's only looking out for us. "After all, everyone in this neighborhood is either rich or well-connected. Next time Evelyn comes, she should stay at a hotel. Otherwise, we have to call in the cleaners to scrub and disinfect everything afterward. It's such a pain." As he spoke, he tossed the homemade apple pie my mother had brought into the trash. "And don't bring this kind of country food into our house again. It's crawling with bacteria." My mother apologized repeatedly, pulling the few belongings she had brought closer to her chest. With her head bowed, she turned and walked out the door. I didn't argue or make a scene. I simply turned around, took out the deed to the house, and contacted a real estate agent. I put the marital home my mother had bought for me outright on the market. If they were so ashamed of having relatives from the sticks, then they shouldn't be living in a house bought by someone from the sticks. That would save them the embarrassment. Chapter 1 When I hurried downstairs after her, my mother, Evelyn Browning, was sitting beside a flower bed in the residential complex. "Mom," I called. She turned around. Her eyes were red, as if she'd just been crying. The moment she saw me, she hurriedly wiped her face with her sleeve. "Brooke, what are you doing down here? It's almost dark. It's not safe out here. Hurry back upstairs." As she spoke, she reached into her jacket pocket. She'd worn that jacket for ten years. The collar was frayed, but the jacket itself was spotless. She lowered her head and rummaged around for a long time, muttering as she did. "I should have told you before coming this time. I really should have thought things through. "Your mother-in-law and Ethan are city people. They like things clean." She finally pulled a plastic bag from the very bottom of her pocket. It was wrapped in several layers. She carefully peeled them away, one layer at a time. Inside was a roll of cash. Fives, tens, and fifties... The bills were neatly stacked and secured with a rubber band. She pressed the money into my palm. "$2,000. It's clean, I promise. Take it and buy some apple pie at the supermarket. I remember how much you like them." I fought back a sob and took my mother's hand. "Mom, come back upstairs with me." "No, no." She waved her hand and shrank back a little. "I'm leaving now. My bus leaves at seven. Hurry back upstairs. Don't argue with Ethan!" "Mom..." She wouldn't give me a chance to say another word. She pushed the money into my hand and headed for the gate. I stood there, feeling as though my throat were clogged with a wad of waterlogged cotton. When I returned upstairs, my mother-in-law, Patricia Fitzpatrick, was standing in the living room, directing Ethan as he moved things into the second bedroom. "Hurry up. We need to get this room ready again. Maddie will be back soon." Maddie. Madison Fitzpatrick. My sister-in-law. She had been married for three years, but she came back to stay every few days, often for ten days or even half a month at a time. Whenever she came home, she acted like royalty. She never lifted a finger, just waited for everyone to wait on her. I had put up with it for three years without ever saying a word. "Is that why you drove my mother away today? Because Madison was coming?" I stood in the doorway and asked. "Who drove her away?" Patricia pointed toward the storage room and replied indifferently. "Didn't we give her a room?" I looked at the storage room, which was barely thirty square feet. I fought to keep my temper in check. "There's no window in there. Once you put a bed inside, there's barely any room to move. My mother's getting older, and she has a bad back. She can't possibly sleep in a place like that." "Then she should stop coming so often!" Patricia rolled her eyes. Chapter 2 "People from the country are used to living in mud houses. Since when did they become so particular? Isn't that storage room better than the mud houses back home?" Ethan Fitzpatrick straightened up and took his mother's side. "Brooke, that's enough! So what if your mother stayed in the storage room for a few days? What's the big deal?" "Would you make your own sister sleep in the storage room?" I shot back. "Then what do you want?" Ethan had lost his patience, too. He threw the things in his hands onto the floor. "You want Maddie and her daughter to sleep in the storage room? She's only three years old. How could you live with yourself?" He couldn't bear the thought of Madison and her daughter sleeping in the storage room. But he could bear making my mother, who'd spent seven hours on a bus to visit me, sleep there? Patricia let out an even more contemptuous snort. "Maddie is one of us. It’s only natural for her to stay in her own brother’s home. "As for your mother... She's getting on in years, and she's still living in her daughter's and son-in-law's house? People would laugh at her if they found out!" Her words made me dig my fingernails into my palms. Why hadn't she said any of this when she asked my mother to pay for the house? Besides, we agreed back then that one room would be reserved for my mother so I could bring her to the city when she needed someone to care for her in her old age. But Patricia had arrived early and driven my mother away by sheer force of will. Now my mother couldn't even visit me once in a while and stay in a house that was partly hers without being looked down on? What kind of twisted logic was that? I was about to argue back when the doorbell suddenly rang. Patricia hurried to open the door, her wrinkles bunching into a huge smile. "Oh, Maddie! You're here! Come on in, come on in! Where's Harper? Grandma's missed you so much!" It was my sister-in-law, Madison, and her daughter, Harper. As they walked in, Harper was holding a lollipop that was already melting. Drops of syrup fell onto the floor, one after another, leaving a sticky mess. Everywhere she went, she left a trail of sugary drips behind her. Patricia glanced down at the floor and still smiled. "Harper is just too cute." When my mother arrived, she had worn the new clothes she saved for holidays and special occasions. They were perfectly clean. Yet they thought she was dirty. The apples in the pie she brought had been picked especially for me from the apple tree she had grown herself. She had spent the entire year tending to the apple tree in her backyard until the apples were ripe, all so she could bake a homemade apple pie just for me. But the moment Patricia saw them, she had covered her nose and complained that they smelled strange. Ethan hadn't even opened the bag to look inside. He'd picked it up and thrown it straight into the trash. The disgust on his face had been unmistakable. I closed my eyes, unable to bear watching their little happy family act any longer, and turned toward the kitchen. The apple pie my mother had specially brought for me was still sitting in the trash can. I let out a long sigh, took it out, unwrapped it, and bit into it. It tasted just as I remembered. My mother knew how much I loved apple pie, so she poured love into the apple tree in her backyard, carefully watering it, pruning its branches, and watching over the fruit until the apples were ripe. She picked them one by one, saving the best for the pie she wanted to make just for me. Then she spent seven hours on a bus, holding it in her arms the entire way. All so I could enjoy a single bite of her homemade apple pie. It was filled with love, yet someone else had called it dirty. I wiped the tears from the corners of my eyes and took another bite. The crust had gone cold and tough, but I kept eating anyway. My mother had made these especially for me. I couldn't let them go to waste. After I finished eating, I put the remaining pie in the refrigerator. When I came out, I saw Harper holding the family portrait of me and my parents, scribbling all over it with colored markers. "What are you doing?!" I hurried over and snatched the portrait back. Harper burst into tears. "Mean! Aunt Brooke is mean!" Hearing her cry, Patricia rushed over immediately and stood in front of Harper. Chapter 3 "Brooke, why are you yelling at a little girl?" Madison came over, too, pulling Harper into her arms. Her tone was casual and dismissive. "Come on, Brooke. It's just a photograph. Do you really have to make such a big deal out of it?" I stared at the family portrait in my hands. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't wipe the marks off. My hands trembled with anger. "Just a photograph?" Madison rolled her eyes. "Yeah. It's just a photograph, isn't it?" I stood up, clutching the picture. My voice trembled uncontrollably. "But my dad is already gone. This is the last family portrait we have." The room fell silent for a moment. But only for a moment. Ethan walked over from behind them. He glanced at Harper, who was still wailing, then at the photograph in my hands, and sighed. "All right, all right. So what? What’s the point of getting so worked up? Harper didn't do it on purpose. "Besides, when you live together as a family, people are bound to bump into each other and make mistakes. Are you happy now that you've turned everything into a chaotic mess?" Family? In their eyes, they were the only ones who truly counted as family. My mother was an outsider, and so was I. I opened my mouth to speak, but just then, my phone vibrated. It was a message from my mother. "Brooke, I'm already on the bus back home. Take good care of yourself, and don't argue with Ethan because of me." I stared at the screen, my eyes burning. In an instant, I no longer had the strength to argue with them. All I wanted now was to go home. All I wanted was to see my mother. I wanted to spend the holiday with her. Patricia was still going on and on. "Look at you! It's just a photograph. Do you really have to cry over it? You're so dramatic!" Ethan chimed in, "All right, Mom. Stop it." "Why should I stop? Ever since her mother came, there's been nothing but trouble in this house..." I didn't say another word. I carefully put the photograph away, turned, and walked out, heading for the long-distance bus station. Most of the lights in the waiting hall had been dimmed. The last bus had left long ago. My mother should have arrived home by now, shouldn't she? It looked like I wouldn't be able to spend Thanksgiving with her after all. I sighed. Then I caught sight of a familiar figure in the corner. It was my mother. She was sitting against the wall, a woven plastic sack beside her feet and the faded jacket she had washed so many times clutched in her arms. She was asleep. A bus ticket was still in her hand. I bent down to look at it. A bus to the neighboring county, departing at 6:20 tomorrow morning. A regular seat. $43. In an instant, I thought I understood. The last bus tonight had cost $123. To save those $80, she'd decided to curl up at the station for the entire night. I crouched beside her, my throat feeling as though it were stuffed with broken glass. "Mom..." I called to her softly. My mother jolted awake. When she saw me, she froze in surprise. "Brooke? What are you doing here?" "Didn't you say you were already on the bus?" I asked, fighting back a sob. Her smile faltered for a moment. Then she lowered her head and spoke quietly, "I... I wanted to save a little money. The bus at night costs more. The early-morning one is cheaper. I can make do at the station for one night and save $80. Isn't that great?" $80? When she'd bought me a house, she'd handed over $800,000 without batting an eye. I crouched there, looking at her. There was dirt on her face. The wind had messed up her hair, and the hem of her clothes was stained with mud from the flower bed. "Mom, why didn't you... why didn't you tell me?" My mother sighed and reached up to wipe my face. Her hands were rough, and the calluses on her fingertips scraped against the corner of my eye, stinging a little. Chapter 4 "What would be the point of telling you? You live in the city. You have so many expenses. I can't do much to help you, but I can't make things harder for you, either." "Mom..." My mother cut me off. "I'm really fine. Look, the station has lights, and security guards patrol the place. It's perfectly safe. It's even more spacious than home." I looked at her. She didn't mention being cold or hungry, or that she'd spent an entire day traveling, then waited for half the night on a hard bench. Instead, she said the station was spacious and safe. That was how my mother had lived her entire life. She endured ten parts hardship but spoke of less than one. The other nine parts, she swallowed them all. We had been poor when I was little, and my father had died when I was young. She raised me all on her own. During the busy farming seasons, she worked in the fields. During the off-season, she went to town to find odd jobs. Yet she never let me wear dirty clothes or go a single meal without a warm plate of food. When I started high school, I needed $1,200 for tuition. She didn't have the money, so she borrowed from five different families. It was already dark by the time she came home. But she smiled as she pulled a stack of bills from her pocket, counting the fives and tens for a long time. When she finished, she said, "Brooke, I may not have much to offer, but I'll make sure you finish your education." Later, I graduated, found a job, and saved enough to buy a house. The first thing I did was ask her to come live with me in the city. She refused. One moment, she'd say the vegetables in her garden needed watering. The next, she'd say a neighbor had asked her to look after their children for a few days. Sometimes, she'd claim she wasn't used to riding elevators in the city. The truth was, I knew she was afraid of being a burden. After Patricia moved in, my mother became even more reluctant to visit. She said she'd be better off living her own life and that she didn't want to interfere in mine. Yet every month, she transferred $2,000 into my bank account without fail. When I told her I didn't need it, she'd say, "Keep it. A woman should always have money of her own." Meanwhile, she stayed in the countryside, wearing the same clothes for ten years, even after the collars had frayed. During the whole time, Ethan and his family had the nerve to keep living in the house my mother had bought for me. What gave them the right? I clenched my fists. Suddenly, a bold plan came to me. I didn't let my mother spend another night making do at the bus station. Instead, I took her to the best hotel nearby. It cost $880 for one night. My mother stopped at the hotel room door, afraid to go inside. "Brooke, I don't need to stay somewhere this nice. I can make do at the bus station for one night." "Mom." I interrupted her and firmly led her inside. "You spent $800,000 buying me a house. Your daughter can afford to take care of you now. Just let me do something nice for you for once, okay?" She looked at me, her lips moving slightly, but no words came out. I helped her inside and sat her down on the edge of the bed. The mattress was so soft that she sank into it, making her look even smaller and more frail. "Mom, get some good rest tonight. We'll deal with tomorrow when it comes." My mother held my hand, looking worried. "What about you? When you go back... you won't get into an argument with them, will you?" I shook my head. "No. Don't worry. I won't argue." There was no point arguing with a bunch of animals like them. My mother studied me for a while, then slowly nodded. "That’s good—no arguing. As long as you're doing well, it doesn't matter what happens to me." I said nothing more. I tucked her into bed, then turned and left the room. The hallway was quiet. I leaned against the wall for a while. Then I took out my phone and dialed a number. "Hello, is this a real estate agency? I want to sell my house. I don't care how low the price is. I have just one condition."