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Beatrice woke up, rolling over to find the other side of the bed empty. This was unusual. Usually she was up before Leslie, unless Leslie had meetings. She stretched, slid to the side of the bed and sat upright, pushing her feet into her slippers on the floor beside the bed. Bea stood up, walked to the dresser and grabbed her robe, pulling it around her before heading out of the bedroom. She headed down the hall, and could smell something coming from the kitchen. Leslie never made breakfast. Sometimes she made coffee (which she could also smell), but breakfast? Unless it was Bea's birthday and she'd somehow forgotten her own birthday. As she entered the living room, she found Leslie sitting on the couch, staring into the mug cupped between her palms. Beatrice stopped and looked at her, and Leslie finally looked up, but didn't say anything.
"...this is uncomfortable," Bea finally said, "this is the sort of tension one only encounters when they're about to be dumped. You're not dumping me are you?"
"No," Leslie said, laughing a little, shaking her head, "no, but I do need to talk to you about something."
Bea walked towards the kitchenette, grabbed her mug and filled it with coffee before looking back at Leslie.
"Um," Leslie said, wiping her eyes on her sleeve, as if she'd been crying and trying to hide the evidence, "your father called."
That made Bea's stomach drop.
***
Delores opened the front door to find Justine standing there. Neither one spoke, but finally Delores threw her arms around her and invited her inside. Justine stepped inside and shivered. She hadn't been in her mothers house since...well...since before the accident. It felt like walking back into a previous life of sorts. Delores shut the door and turned to watch her daughter stop and look at the photos hung on the wall.
"God," Justine said, "I was such a dweeb."
"You were not!" Delores said, laughing, "you were a normal kid with normal interests!"
"There's nothing normal about being obsessed with art supplies," Justine said, "look at me, having an art themed birthday party. The only reason anyone even showed up was because their parents made them come. Absurd. I should've been cooler."
"Well, for what it's worth, I think you were plenty cool," Delores said.
"You have to say that, you're my mom," Justine replied, smiling.
"Believe me, after some of the moms I've met lately, no, being your mom is not simply a prerequisite for appreciating you or being kind," Delores said, the both of them laughing as they entered the kitchen. Michelle was at work, so they had the house to themselves for the majority of the afternoon. Justine sat down at the table while Delores got them some sodas from the fridge, recalling her daughters proclivity for caffeine, and then seated herself as well. Justine's bag was on the table, and Delores's eyes were immediately drawn to it, wondering what could be inside.
"What have you been working on?" Delores asked.
"I've been doing watercolor illustrations for a new kids book that's coming out next fall," Justine said, "and that's been pretty entertaining. They really didn't have a specific set stylization in mind so it's really my own kind of look, and I always like when I get those projects. Other than that, nothing much. How's work?"
"Same old, same old. Case workers only do so much that it doesn't offer much variety," Delores said, "but it's nice to help others find stability or a road they can go down, you know? That gives me a sense of usefulness in the world."
"You have someone living here now? A girl named Michelle?"
"She's living here at the moment yes," Delores said, "comes from a really bad family, works for a film studio making props. I took her in mostly because she had a very scary medical emergency and..."
Delores looked down at the table.
"...she reminded me of you," she whispered, "and I missed having you around, so I guess, in some way, having Michelle around was like having you around again."
She wouldn't admit it, but that broke Justine's heart a little.
***
Michelle dropped her pair of pliars and collapsed on her butt on the stage. She wiped her brow with her sleeved arm and exhaled deeply. She heard the door to the studio open and spotted Liam walking in. She smiled as she scooted towards the edge of the stage while he approached, reaching out and handing her coffee and a gas station sandwich. She took both, setting the seran wrapped sandwich in her lap as she lifted the coffee to her lips and took a long sip.
"This is nice," she said, "it's like having my own secretary."
"Alright, well, you sure know how to kill kindness," Liam remarked, making her laugh as he looked around, adjusting his glasses and adding, "Where's Casey? She's not here?"
"She said she was running late, feeling sick," Michelle replied, shrugging, "whatever. I got this stuff done before without her, I can manage."
"Nobody's questioning your abilities. You've more than proven yourself. My concern lies more within the realm of Beatrice giving her a job she isn't even showing up to do," Liam said, leaning against the stage and unwrapping a candy bar.
"She's here on time most of the time, so what if she runs late now and then, not everyone can be perfect," Michelle said, and Liam sighed.
"You're right, not everyone can be like me," he said, the both of them smirking.
The more Beatrice had removed herself from hanging around production, the more Liam had taken her place, and frankly, Michelle liked this. When she was a little girl, her favorite character - aside from Bea, of course - was Liam's, and so to get to hang out with the man behind the cactus...it really brought her a sense of comfort and peace. Now here he was, bringing her coffee and snacks on the regular. This future was certainly something young, sick Michelle never could've foreseen.
"Well," Liam said, finishing his candy bar and wiping his hands on a hankerchief, "if she comes in, maybe have a talk with her about her scheduling."
"You're not a middle school principal," Michelle said.
"Don't crush my dreams," Liam said as he began to exit, making Michelle cackle. Michelle finished her coffee, ate half her sandwich and then went back to sculpting a new prop. After a little bit, the doors to the studio opened and Casey stumbled in, her eyes red and her hair a mess. Michelle didn't judge her by appearance though, lord knows she herself was usually a mess, so. Casey climbed onto the stage and laid on her back, staring at the ceiling.
"Hello," Michelle said, "you feeling okay?"
"...not particularly," Casey said, "...I saw my mom this morning."
"Oof. How was that?" Michelle asked as she set down her knife and picking up her pliars again.
"...I'm a bad person," Casey whispered.
***
"For a while it was hard, you know, to accept being so limited," Justine said, "I was always so active, so agile, even if I didn't play sports or whatever. I liked going for runs, I liked exercising, I loved riding my bike. To suddenly be stuck the way I was...it was scary. I guess I just felt...pathetic. To know this Michelle girl had it so much worse makes me feel even dumber about my issues regarding my mild time based disabilities."
"They're not comparative. You were in an accident. She was born with her problems. But you both overcame them, and even if you hadn't, think of all the things you managed to both accomplish while having those issues. You didn't let that stop you. I saw how often you worked. I saw all the books you did artwork for during that time. Michelle built an entire TV set in her rental home basement. Being disabled - whether chronically or for a brief time - doesn't mean you can't do something," Delores said, and Justine nodded.
"No, I...I know that. I get that. I'm not saying it would stop anyone," Justine said, picking out a cookie from the tin on the table, "I just...I don't know. It's hard to explain the terror that courses through you when you think your time has come."
A moment passed as they sat and drank soda and ate cookies. After a few minutes, Justine smiled.
"You always had cookies and sweets around," Justine said, "it's wild how I didn't grow up with more cavities."
"Because I made you brush your teeth," Delores replied, the both of them laughing.
The thing was...before the accident, Delores and Justine had the kind of relationship other mothers would kill to have with their child, regardless of gender, and after the accident, Delores never understood why Justine stopped talking to her, but she was far too scared to ask now. Really, she was just so very happy to have her back in her home right now. And, despite the break in communication, it really felt like nothing had happened between them, and they'd just fallen right back into that very same pattern they'd always had.
"For what it's worth," Justine said, "Michelle is very persuasive."
"What do you mean?" Delores asked, and Justine took a bite into the cookie in her hand.
"She tracked down my address and came to see me with some friends of hers," Justine said, shrugging, "she just said she felt compelled to help you re-establish communication for some reason she wouldn't explain. But whatever her reason was, it was...it was nice. She's a determined, kind person, and frankly...if you had to attach yourself to someone to replace me momentarily...I'm glad you picked someone who cares so much for you, mom."
Delores wanted to cry. She'd have to thank Michelle for her help when she got home that night. Maybe she'd buy a cake. She loved keeping sweets around for the sweet folks in her life, after all.
***
"You're not a bad person," Michelle replied, chuckling, "I think we're all in agreement that your mom was the bad person. Just because she makes you feel like shit during your brief and rare interactions doesn't mean she's right. You need to remember that her opinion is just that, her opinion, and not objective fact."
"She is right though," Casey said, still laying on her back, "I'm not defending her in any other instance, like...she's shit, you're not wrong, and you of all people would know what it's like to have a shit mom from what you've told me, but...but that doesn't mean what she thinks doesn't have validity or hold water in some instances. She's right. I'm a disgustingly bad person."
Casey finally rolled over and looked at Michelle, who was now moving onto painting this current prop, a berry bush that was to be planted right beside Bea's doghouse.
"Well," Michelle said, pulling her palette towards her and squeezing some different colors onto it, "for what it's worth, what we do in order to cope might be unhealthy, but it's how we get by and there's no shame in that. I didn't have a good home growing up, so instead I built a whole set in my basement, because the Beatrice Beagle set was the only place that ever felt like home. Is that normal or healthy? Absolutely fucking not."
Casey and Michelle laughed a little, as Michelle cleared her throat, dipped her brush into the water can and then applied some paint.
"But," she continued, "it's what kept me going completely bonkers. Between her and my health, I had to have something, you know?"
"I need help," Casey whispered.
"What kind of help?" Michelle asked, "Cause you've got health insurance now through this job, so you could easily get medication or some form of therapy or-"
"I need help," Casey repeated, and Michelle nodded, setting her brush down and, sitting cross legged, turned to face her.
"How can I help you?" she asked.
"....I need to go to rehab," Casey whispered, almost embarrassed.
"Then that's what we'll do," Michelle said, smiling warmly.
Whatever Casey had done to suddenly be immersed in such positive genuine caring, she wasn't sure, but she sure appreciated it. Maybe the universe was finally giving her a chance to turn around. She and Michelle came from sort of the same situation, were sort of alternate ends of the spectrum of eachother, and it was nice to know that she had a friend who understood her without judgement. That was, as she knew all too well, very hard to come by. She was going to take whatever help was offered.
***
Justine held her bag in front of her as she stood by the front door, waiting for her mother to come back from the kitchen. When she finally did, she pushed an entire enormous tupperware into her hands filled to the brim with home baked sweets. Justine just laughed as she clutched it, then let Delores hug her.
"This was so nice," Delores said, "please come by again soon."
"I wanna give you something, mom," Justine said, putting the tupperware down and opening her bag, pulling out a rectangularly shaped wrapped gift and handing it to her mother; Justine added, as she zipped her bag back up and picked up the tupperware once more, "...I made this for you. I'll call you tomorrow, yeah?"
"I get off work at 7," Delores said.
They hugged once more, and then Justine exited the house. Delores stood on the porch, hugging the gift to her chest and waving, and didn't go back inside until Justine's car was fully out of sight. Once she was no longer visible, Delores headed back indoors and seated herself on the couch. She slowly unwrapped the gift, and then stared at the cover; a beautiful hand painted water color and pastel colored image of a woman, who looked suspiciously similar to Delores, and a little girl who looked almost identical to Justine as a child. The title, shimmering in its glittery font, was thusly "Worlds Greatest Mom". Delores wanted to cry. She couldn't stop smiling. She began to slowly open the book, and flip through the pages, reading the story. Justine had written and illustrated and published this book specifically for her mother, and it told the true tale of a wonderful mother, and her devout dedication to her daughter.
Children really were the gift that kept on giving.
***
Eliza was sitting at her train set up in her bedroom when someone knocked on her door. She figured it was her father, coming to either ask her what she wanted for dinner, or tell her dinner was ready, so she pulled her noise cancelling headphones off and looked towards the door, saying they could come in. But as the door slowly opened, instead she was surprised to see, of all people, Beatrice standing there. Eliza raised her eyebrows in curiosity, as Bea entered and shut the door behind her.
"Um...is there somewhere I can sit?" Bea asked, her voice sounding hoarse and strained, like she'd been yelling all day.
"There's a stool over there at my desk," Eliza said, pointing across the room. Beatrice walked across the room and pulled the stool towards the tiny town table set up. She sat down on it and watched as the train headed through the town, then up into a small forest and continued round in circles like that for a bit.
"You know," Bea finally said, "when I was a child-"
"You don't have to talk," Eliza said, "you sound like you gargled rocks."
Bea just smirked and continued, "-I used to live out in the country, and for fun, my parents would take us to a nearby train station."
"Us?" Eliza asked.
"My dog and I," Bea said, "I didn't have any friends growing up, just my dog. Anyway, we used to go to this small train station, and watch it come in and leave. Rarely did anybody board, it wasn't very exciting, but there was a small, sort of quiet comfort to seeing something just doing its job. I think that's where I got the notion that just doing your job was enough. That if you dedicated your time and effort to something important enough to you, then your time spent on this world was enough, regardless of what anyone else might think. You have your puppets, Michelle has her props, you all know what I mean."
Eliza nodded as the train came around a small mountain pass. Silence filled the room as Bea sniffled and wiped her eyes on her palm before continuing.
"...but now, I don't know. Maybe it isn't enough. Maybe there's more to it. Sure, having people you love work with you is nice. Having both important things rolled up into one thing, that's a beautiful gift not everyone gets. Most people don't get. Most people don't form close, life long bonds with their coworkers. What we do, Eliza, is very special and beautiful, and I'm so grateful for you and Michelle and Liam and everyone else I get to work with on a day to day basis."
"Well, thank you, we love you too," Eliza said.
More silence. Bea watched the train as it stopped a station and waited there for a bit, smoke coming from its stack.
"My mother died this morning," she finally said, ending the silence, surprising Eliza.
"Did...did you come to me cause my mom is dead too?" Eliza asked, and Beatrice finally broke, starting to cry. Eliza scooted her seat over towards Bea's and put her arms around her, hugging her tightly as Bea sobbed. The train started again and continued along its predetermined path. Eliza watched it move, and then shut her eyes, just listening to the sound of its wheels on the track. Eliza rested her head on top of Bea's and continued to stroke her back.
It was true, though Bea wouldn't openly admit it, that she'd come to Eliza for that exact reason, but also because Eliza was bar none the most comforting person she knew. More than Michelle, more than Leslie, more than anyone else, she knew that Eliza would know, especially in this particular situation, how to help. Eliza felt like she'd inadvertantly killed her own mother, while Beatrice knew her mothers death was sudden and without warning. And yet, that one thing Beatrice couldn't shake was that feeling...the feeling she had when she awoke that morning.
"It's weird," Bea said, wiping her eyes on her arm, "it's so weird, the...the tonal shift in the world around you that you can sense when something has either happened or is about to happen. Maybe it's something only really empathetic people are aware of, but...this morning, before I even knew...I knew. I could tell something was off. The air felt stale, the world was quiet. There was just a sense of...emptiness."
"That's how that day with my mom felt," Eliza said, "something about the whole day felt off, and then after it happened, it sort of made sense why. So yeah, I get that."
"They always say you never expect it, that it...it just happens, these moments of loss, but I disagree," Bea said, "It's like people who say they saw the person they wanted to marry and knew that was who they were meant to be with, you know? Whether you're aware or not of the life changing event, you know it when it happens. You always know it when it happens."
Eliza nodded, and the two sat silently, watching the train make another complete round and coming to another stop.
"My mom's dead," Beatrice whispered.
"Mine too," Eliza replied.
And no more needed to be said. Acknowledgement was hard enough.
"...this is uncomfortable," Bea finally said, "this is the sort of tension one only encounters when they're about to be dumped. You're not dumping me are you?"
"No," Leslie said, laughing a little, shaking her head, "no, but I do need to talk to you about something."
Bea walked towards the kitchenette, grabbed her mug and filled it with coffee before looking back at Leslie.
"Um," Leslie said, wiping her eyes on her sleeve, as if she'd been crying and trying to hide the evidence, "your father called."
That made Bea's stomach drop.
***
Delores opened the front door to find Justine standing there. Neither one spoke, but finally Delores threw her arms around her and invited her inside. Justine stepped inside and shivered. She hadn't been in her mothers house since...well...since before the accident. It felt like walking back into a previous life of sorts. Delores shut the door and turned to watch her daughter stop and look at the photos hung on the wall.
"God," Justine said, "I was such a dweeb."
"You were not!" Delores said, laughing, "you were a normal kid with normal interests!"
"There's nothing normal about being obsessed with art supplies," Justine said, "look at me, having an art themed birthday party. The only reason anyone even showed up was because their parents made them come. Absurd. I should've been cooler."
"Well, for what it's worth, I think you were plenty cool," Delores said.
"You have to say that, you're my mom," Justine replied, smiling.
"Believe me, after some of the moms I've met lately, no, being your mom is not simply a prerequisite for appreciating you or being kind," Delores said, the both of them laughing as they entered the kitchen. Michelle was at work, so they had the house to themselves for the majority of the afternoon. Justine sat down at the table while Delores got them some sodas from the fridge, recalling her daughters proclivity for caffeine, and then seated herself as well. Justine's bag was on the table, and Delores's eyes were immediately drawn to it, wondering what could be inside.
"What have you been working on?" Delores asked.
"I've been doing watercolor illustrations for a new kids book that's coming out next fall," Justine said, "and that's been pretty entertaining. They really didn't have a specific set stylization in mind so it's really my own kind of look, and I always like when I get those projects. Other than that, nothing much. How's work?"
"Same old, same old. Case workers only do so much that it doesn't offer much variety," Delores said, "but it's nice to help others find stability or a road they can go down, you know? That gives me a sense of usefulness in the world."
"You have someone living here now? A girl named Michelle?"
"She's living here at the moment yes," Delores said, "comes from a really bad family, works for a film studio making props. I took her in mostly because she had a very scary medical emergency and..."
Delores looked down at the table.
"...she reminded me of you," she whispered, "and I missed having you around, so I guess, in some way, having Michelle around was like having you around again."
She wouldn't admit it, but that broke Justine's heart a little.
***
Michelle dropped her pair of pliars and collapsed on her butt on the stage. She wiped her brow with her sleeved arm and exhaled deeply. She heard the door to the studio open and spotted Liam walking in. She smiled as she scooted towards the edge of the stage while he approached, reaching out and handing her coffee and a gas station sandwich. She took both, setting the seran wrapped sandwich in her lap as she lifted the coffee to her lips and took a long sip.
"This is nice," she said, "it's like having my own secretary."
"Alright, well, you sure know how to kill kindness," Liam remarked, making her laugh as he looked around, adjusting his glasses and adding, "Where's Casey? She's not here?"
"She said she was running late, feeling sick," Michelle replied, shrugging, "whatever. I got this stuff done before without her, I can manage."
"Nobody's questioning your abilities. You've more than proven yourself. My concern lies more within the realm of Beatrice giving her a job she isn't even showing up to do," Liam said, leaning against the stage and unwrapping a candy bar.
"She's here on time most of the time, so what if she runs late now and then, not everyone can be perfect," Michelle said, and Liam sighed.
"You're right, not everyone can be like me," he said, the both of them smirking.
The more Beatrice had removed herself from hanging around production, the more Liam had taken her place, and frankly, Michelle liked this. When she was a little girl, her favorite character - aside from Bea, of course - was Liam's, and so to get to hang out with the man behind the cactus...it really brought her a sense of comfort and peace. Now here he was, bringing her coffee and snacks on the regular. This future was certainly something young, sick Michelle never could've foreseen.
"Well," Liam said, finishing his candy bar and wiping his hands on a hankerchief, "if she comes in, maybe have a talk with her about her scheduling."
"You're not a middle school principal," Michelle said.
"Don't crush my dreams," Liam said as he began to exit, making Michelle cackle. Michelle finished her coffee, ate half her sandwich and then went back to sculpting a new prop. After a little bit, the doors to the studio opened and Casey stumbled in, her eyes red and her hair a mess. Michelle didn't judge her by appearance though, lord knows she herself was usually a mess, so. Casey climbed onto the stage and laid on her back, staring at the ceiling.
"Hello," Michelle said, "you feeling okay?"
"...not particularly," Casey said, "...I saw my mom this morning."
"Oof. How was that?" Michelle asked as she set down her knife and picking up her pliars again.
"...I'm a bad person," Casey whispered.
***
"For a while it was hard, you know, to accept being so limited," Justine said, "I was always so active, so agile, even if I didn't play sports or whatever. I liked going for runs, I liked exercising, I loved riding my bike. To suddenly be stuck the way I was...it was scary. I guess I just felt...pathetic. To know this Michelle girl had it so much worse makes me feel even dumber about my issues regarding my mild time based disabilities."
"They're not comparative. You were in an accident. She was born with her problems. But you both overcame them, and even if you hadn't, think of all the things you managed to both accomplish while having those issues. You didn't let that stop you. I saw how often you worked. I saw all the books you did artwork for during that time. Michelle built an entire TV set in her rental home basement. Being disabled - whether chronically or for a brief time - doesn't mean you can't do something," Delores said, and Justine nodded.
"No, I...I know that. I get that. I'm not saying it would stop anyone," Justine said, picking out a cookie from the tin on the table, "I just...I don't know. It's hard to explain the terror that courses through you when you think your time has come."
A moment passed as they sat and drank soda and ate cookies. After a few minutes, Justine smiled.
"You always had cookies and sweets around," Justine said, "it's wild how I didn't grow up with more cavities."
"Because I made you brush your teeth," Delores replied, the both of them laughing.
The thing was...before the accident, Delores and Justine had the kind of relationship other mothers would kill to have with their child, regardless of gender, and after the accident, Delores never understood why Justine stopped talking to her, but she was far too scared to ask now. Really, she was just so very happy to have her back in her home right now. And, despite the break in communication, it really felt like nothing had happened between them, and they'd just fallen right back into that very same pattern they'd always had.
"For what it's worth," Justine said, "Michelle is very persuasive."
"What do you mean?" Delores asked, and Justine took a bite into the cookie in her hand.
"She tracked down my address and came to see me with some friends of hers," Justine said, shrugging, "she just said she felt compelled to help you re-establish communication for some reason she wouldn't explain. But whatever her reason was, it was...it was nice. She's a determined, kind person, and frankly...if you had to attach yourself to someone to replace me momentarily...I'm glad you picked someone who cares so much for you, mom."
Delores wanted to cry. She'd have to thank Michelle for her help when she got home that night. Maybe she'd buy a cake. She loved keeping sweets around for the sweet folks in her life, after all.
***
"You're not a bad person," Michelle replied, chuckling, "I think we're all in agreement that your mom was the bad person. Just because she makes you feel like shit during your brief and rare interactions doesn't mean she's right. You need to remember that her opinion is just that, her opinion, and not objective fact."
"She is right though," Casey said, still laying on her back, "I'm not defending her in any other instance, like...she's shit, you're not wrong, and you of all people would know what it's like to have a shit mom from what you've told me, but...but that doesn't mean what she thinks doesn't have validity or hold water in some instances. She's right. I'm a disgustingly bad person."
Casey finally rolled over and looked at Michelle, who was now moving onto painting this current prop, a berry bush that was to be planted right beside Bea's doghouse.
"Well," Michelle said, pulling her palette towards her and squeezing some different colors onto it, "for what it's worth, what we do in order to cope might be unhealthy, but it's how we get by and there's no shame in that. I didn't have a good home growing up, so instead I built a whole set in my basement, because the Beatrice Beagle set was the only place that ever felt like home. Is that normal or healthy? Absolutely fucking not."
Casey and Michelle laughed a little, as Michelle cleared her throat, dipped her brush into the water can and then applied some paint.
"But," she continued, "it's what kept me going completely bonkers. Between her and my health, I had to have something, you know?"
"I need help," Casey whispered.
"What kind of help?" Michelle asked, "Cause you've got health insurance now through this job, so you could easily get medication or some form of therapy or-"
"I need help," Casey repeated, and Michelle nodded, setting her brush down and, sitting cross legged, turned to face her.
"How can I help you?" she asked.
"....I need to go to rehab," Casey whispered, almost embarrassed.
"Then that's what we'll do," Michelle said, smiling warmly.
Whatever Casey had done to suddenly be immersed in such positive genuine caring, she wasn't sure, but she sure appreciated it. Maybe the universe was finally giving her a chance to turn around. She and Michelle came from sort of the same situation, were sort of alternate ends of the spectrum of eachother, and it was nice to know that she had a friend who understood her without judgement. That was, as she knew all too well, very hard to come by. She was going to take whatever help was offered.
***
Justine held her bag in front of her as she stood by the front door, waiting for her mother to come back from the kitchen. When she finally did, she pushed an entire enormous tupperware into her hands filled to the brim with home baked sweets. Justine just laughed as she clutched it, then let Delores hug her.
"This was so nice," Delores said, "please come by again soon."
"I wanna give you something, mom," Justine said, putting the tupperware down and opening her bag, pulling out a rectangularly shaped wrapped gift and handing it to her mother; Justine added, as she zipped her bag back up and picked up the tupperware once more, "...I made this for you. I'll call you tomorrow, yeah?"
"I get off work at 7," Delores said.
They hugged once more, and then Justine exited the house. Delores stood on the porch, hugging the gift to her chest and waving, and didn't go back inside until Justine's car was fully out of sight. Once she was no longer visible, Delores headed back indoors and seated herself on the couch. She slowly unwrapped the gift, and then stared at the cover; a beautiful hand painted water color and pastel colored image of a woman, who looked suspiciously similar to Delores, and a little girl who looked almost identical to Justine as a child. The title, shimmering in its glittery font, was thusly "Worlds Greatest Mom". Delores wanted to cry. She couldn't stop smiling. She began to slowly open the book, and flip through the pages, reading the story. Justine had written and illustrated and published this book specifically for her mother, and it told the true tale of a wonderful mother, and her devout dedication to her daughter.
Children really were the gift that kept on giving.
***
Eliza was sitting at her train set up in her bedroom when someone knocked on her door. She figured it was her father, coming to either ask her what she wanted for dinner, or tell her dinner was ready, so she pulled her noise cancelling headphones off and looked towards the door, saying they could come in. But as the door slowly opened, instead she was surprised to see, of all people, Beatrice standing there. Eliza raised her eyebrows in curiosity, as Bea entered and shut the door behind her.
"Um...is there somewhere I can sit?" Bea asked, her voice sounding hoarse and strained, like she'd been yelling all day.
"There's a stool over there at my desk," Eliza said, pointing across the room. Beatrice walked across the room and pulled the stool towards the tiny town table set up. She sat down on it and watched as the train headed through the town, then up into a small forest and continued round in circles like that for a bit.
"You know," Bea finally said, "when I was a child-"
"You don't have to talk," Eliza said, "you sound like you gargled rocks."
Bea just smirked and continued, "-I used to live out in the country, and for fun, my parents would take us to a nearby train station."
"Us?" Eliza asked.
"My dog and I," Bea said, "I didn't have any friends growing up, just my dog. Anyway, we used to go to this small train station, and watch it come in and leave. Rarely did anybody board, it wasn't very exciting, but there was a small, sort of quiet comfort to seeing something just doing its job. I think that's where I got the notion that just doing your job was enough. That if you dedicated your time and effort to something important enough to you, then your time spent on this world was enough, regardless of what anyone else might think. You have your puppets, Michelle has her props, you all know what I mean."
Eliza nodded as the train came around a small mountain pass. Silence filled the room as Bea sniffled and wiped her eyes on her palm before continuing.
"...but now, I don't know. Maybe it isn't enough. Maybe there's more to it. Sure, having people you love work with you is nice. Having both important things rolled up into one thing, that's a beautiful gift not everyone gets. Most people don't get. Most people don't form close, life long bonds with their coworkers. What we do, Eliza, is very special and beautiful, and I'm so grateful for you and Michelle and Liam and everyone else I get to work with on a day to day basis."
"Well, thank you, we love you too," Eliza said.
More silence. Bea watched the train as it stopped a station and waited there for a bit, smoke coming from its stack.
"My mother died this morning," she finally said, ending the silence, surprising Eliza.
"Did...did you come to me cause my mom is dead too?" Eliza asked, and Beatrice finally broke, starting to cry. Eliza scooted her seat over towards Bea's and put her arms around her, hugging her tightly as Bea sobbed. The train started again and continued along its predetermined path. Eliza watched it move, and then shut her eyes, just listening to the sound of its wheels on the track. Eliza rested her head on top of Bea's and continued to stroke her back.
It was true, though Bea wouldn't openly admit it, that she'd come to Eliza for that exact reason, but also because Eliza was bar none the most comforting person she knew. More than Michelle, more than Leslie, more than anyone else, she knew that Eliza would know, especially in this particular situation, how to help. Eliza felt like she'd inadvertantly killed her own mother, while Beatrice knew her mothers death was sudden and without warning. And yet, that one thing Beatrice couldn't shake was that feeling...the feeling she had when she awoke that morning.
"It's weird," Bea said, wiping her eyes on her arm, "it's so weird, the...the tonal shift in the world around you that you can sense when something has either happened or is about to happen. Maybe it's something only really empathetic people are aware of, but...this morning, before I even knew...I knew. I could tell something was off. The air felt stale, the world was quiet. There was just a sense of...emptiness."
"That's how that day with my mom felt," Eliza said, "something about the whole day felt off, and then after it happened, it sort of made sense why. So yeah, I get that."
"They always say you never expect it, that it...it just happens, these moments of loss, but I disagree," Bea said, "It's like people who say they saw the person they wanted to marry and knew that was who they were meant to be with, you know? Whether you're aware or not of the life changing event, you know it when it happens. You always know it when it happens."
Eliza nodded, and the two sat silently, watching the train make another complete round and coming to another stop.
"My mom's dead," Beatrice whispered.
"Mine too," Eliza replied.
And no more needed to be said. Acknowledgement was hard enough.
