Daybreak in Sandbridge

Chapter 3-1

Chapter 3

Eleanor Howard pushed the door open slowly. She hadn’t been here for a while, but every time she stepped into her son’s room, she forgot that so much time had passed.

Twice weekly cleanings had kept the room dust free, but her orders to the housekeeping service had been exacting. Nothing was to be moved. Andrew’s room must stay exactly as it had always been. He would want it that way, would want to be comfortable when he came home. Would want his things exactly as he’d left them, his father’s child in ways neither of them wanted to admit.

Sometimes, Eleanor could pretend he’d never left; that it was only a few more hours until he would be home from high school, flinging his backpack onto the bed and vanishing into his computer programs until she called him to dinner, and then he would come reluctantly downstairs to eat and report to Charles on his studies.

The air in his room, still and unlived in, told a different story. It spoke of arguments grown out of control as Andrew tried on the mantle of his growth and Charles attempted to push his son back into the place designated for him since before his birth. Of heated words and raised hands.

Eleanor sat on Andrew’s bed, her hands spreading the lines of her dress into tidy folds. She could never look anything other than her best; that had been trained into her for years before she married, and enforced by a husband who wanted—and deserved—nothing but the best.

The room had aged; the colors were faded. The collectors’ figures were contained in their boxes, neat and unopened. They were valuable, but the movies had faded from importance. Perhaps Andrew would want to sell them. He was a man grown now.

Eleanor got to her feet, all grace and ease, even though her heart was beating furiously. She had not seen her son, not even pictures in…more time than she wanted to remember. She had to check the calendar. The one in Andrew’s room was still turned to March of 2011, the very last time he was home, that Easter before he’d—

She was gasping, hand pressed to her chest. Underneath her dress, her heart was racing. She staggered a step and fumbled at her bracelet. It had once been a fancy engraved watch, but she’d convinced a jeweler to remove the watch components. Under the watch face was a tiny compartment that held three pale peach tablets. She considered them for a moment, then dry-swallowed two of them, waiting for her medication to calm her.

Her cellular vibrated. She’d put the wretched thing down again, as she’d come into Andrew’s room, but—ah, there it was. She picked it up. Charles was always telling her she’d forget her head if it wasn’t attached, and sometimes his reminders came with a sharp grip on her forearm. She rubbed the spots where his fingers left bruises sometimes; he truly did not know his own strength.

Ah, yes. The phone. She turned the screen over.

The letters swam in front of her and she held the cellular out, trying to focus. The reminder pinged. She struggled to remember how to turn it off before the sound drove her absolutely wild. Right, right. She’d set an alarm; Andrew would be getting off a plane in two hours. She’d told her driver—Charles was always so concerned for her health, and he disapproved of women driving—to fetch her son and his bride-to-be from the airport.

Eleanor should remind the driver. If he left now, he would be awaiting Andrew before the plane landed. Eleanor considered: was she well enough to go with him? No, no, the airport was a dirty and crowded place. Too many pick-abouts and tourists. Greeting her son like a common traveler would be undignified, and her grace and charm was what Charles loved in her.

She would remain here and greet him as befitted the matron of a soon-to-grow family.

Her son was getting married. How delightful. He’d sent her a cellular message to that effect when he’d let her know that he would come visit. She navigated slowly to the messages screen to look at it again, the first communication from her son in so many years.

coming wednesdy, wire $$ for tix, btw bringing my fiance

Andrew’s spelling was horrible. The cellular messages were particularly unpleasant that way. Young people, shortening down words and typing in abominable code. She’d sent the money immediately, of course, enough for two first class tickets, and had the housekeeping staff open up the goldenrod guest suite. The conservatory was right off that bedroom, and perhaps the young lady would like to hear Andrew’s performance on the piano. She hoped he’d managed to keep up with his practice.

Eleanor had never met the young lady, but of course her Andrew would select a wonderful girl. Eleanor could barely contain her excitement. Perhaps, perhaps, one day there would even be grandbabies. And of course they should have the wedding here, in the city, where Eleanor could be in charge of the planning. She was a delightful event planner.

Oh! The driver, of course! She’d almost forgotten. She took one last look at Andrew’s room. She would see him soon!

She pulled the door shut carefully behind her.