I I never understood their strange friendship—until after Mom’s funeral, when the girl placed an old key in my hand and said, “Your mother told me to give you this only after she was gone.” My mother, Doris, had always lived a quiet and simple life.
At seventy-three, she still lived in the same house where I had grown up. Most mornings, she worked in her garden, drank tea at the kitchen table, or disappeared into one of her books. She rarely went anywhere except the grocery store and her weekly book club.
I tried to visit her at least once every weekend. Part of me worried she might become lonely as she grew older. So one Saturday afternoon, I was surprised when I walked into her kitchen and discovered a complete stranger sitting across from her.
The girl looked no older than twenty-five. She wore black from head to toe, dark eyeliner surrounded her eyes, tattoos covered both arms, and several silver piercings decorated her face. Standing beside my soft-spoken mother, she looked completely out of place.
Yet the two of them were sipping tea and laughing as though they had known each other for years. Mom looked up when she noticed me. “Oh, Maeve. This is Raven.” The young woman smiled politely. I smiled back, although I couldn’t hide my curiosity.
Then she quickly changed the subject. I assumed Raven’s visit was a one-time thing. The following Saturday, she was sitting at Mom’s kitchen table again. She returned the week after that. Before long, Raven’s Saturday visits had become part of Mom’s routine.
What confused me most was how private those afternoons seemed to be. Whenever I arrived while Raven was there, Mom suddenly found something for me to do. Sometimes she remembered groceries she supposedly needed.
Other times she asked me to pick something up from the pharmacy or run another small errand. By the time I returned, Raven was usually gone. Eventually, I asked Mom directly. “What do you two talk about every Saturday?” “Nothing you need to worry about, sweetheart.
I enjoy having her here.” There was something almost protective in the way she answered. At first, I felt strangely jealous. Raven and Mom seemed to share something Mom didn’t want to discuss with me. She seemed brighter after Raven visited. So eventually, I stopped asking questions.
Then one morning, Mom suffered a sudden stroke. Everything happened quickly. Within a short time, she was gone. Losing her left a silence I wasn’t prepared for.
I had spent years believing that house would always contain her voice, her books, the smell of tea, and the sound of her moving around the kitchen.