When the Sun Lays to Rest

October

Amelie

Maeve’s looking down, concentrating on the battered paperback in her lap. It’s early, too early for me, but somehow she always seems content waking up with the sun. It begins to rise, peeking through the window beside her and bouncing off of her dark complexion. A thin gold chain with a small daisy rests above her jutting collarbone, glinting in the gentle light. Suddenly she shivers a bit, and I watch her reach in behind the chair and pull out a thick knit sweater, put it on, then settle back into her book. I glance at the microwave clock across the room. 6:02am. Goddamn, how does she do this every day?

When I first moved in, I thought her early rising would be an occasional thing. I guess not. The coffee maker beeps and Maeve slowly folds over the corner of her page, stands, and walks over to the kitchen island, wrapping her sweater more tightly around her. Her bare feet pad past my chair on the cold tile and I see that she’s painted her nails a new colour. Dark blue, almost black, and I wonder if she knows how nicely it compliments her skin. She probably does. She’s clever like that.

I hear a soft clink behind me as she places two mugs on the counter and begins pouring cream and sugar into mine. She drinks hers black, claiming it makes her feel awake faster. I don’t know if that’s true, but regardless, it’s too bitter for me. She walks back and sets my mug on the small wooden table beside me, affectionately smoothing back the hair that’s fallen in my face and lightly placing a kiss on my forehead. Just as Maeve is about to return to her novel, the phone rings. She answers, and the atmosphere dampens as she takes the phone into our small bedroom and closes the door.

Maeve

“Mum, why are you calling so early?”

I glance at the small clock on my bedside table. 6:13am. Why does she always do this? I thought the whole point of moving four provinces away was to escape this and be able to find my own rhythm and have my own life. My mother had different plans.

“I missed you last night, so I thought I’d call again this morning before you left for work. Don’t sound so disappointed to hear from the person who gave you life.”

“It’s Sunday. I’m not working today. And you just called last Wednesday. You don’t have to keep checking in.”

I don’t know what she expects to happen in the span of four days, but I humour her and answer the rapid-fire questions she throws at me. All the same answers as last time. I’m twenty-five, and how I spend my Saturday night is between me and the girl currently sitting on my couch.

“I’m sorry Mum, but I should go. I have some company over right now, so I’ll talk to you tonight, okay?”

“That company had better be female, Maeve. I don’t need you making those kinds of mistakes.”

It’s too early for this.

“I’m gonna go, Mum. And yes, she’s female. And no, I will not embark on motherhood without your blessing, don’t worry. Bye, Mum.”

I end the call and sit on my bed for a second. She has no clue. And I don’t really want to have to explain it all. I look at the clock again. 6:27am. My coffee is going to be cold.

Amelie

I watch the bedroom door open again and Maeve walks out a little less stormy than she was when she went in. But still not right.

“Everything okay, M?”

She gives me a soft smile, walks over to where she left her coffee and takes a sip. It has to be cold by now. Her scrunched face tells me I’m right and I laugh to myself as she walks back to the island in defeat, pours out her abandoned coffee, and makes a fresh cup. When she returns to the living room, she sets her mug back on the table and sits herself in my lap, legs extended beside me, her ear against my shoulder. She looks down, then back up at me, her eyes dark.

“I think I’m gonna wait a little longer. I’m sorry. If I told her, she just wouldn’t get it.”

She looks so small, so worried she’s letting me down. As if that were possible.

“It’s okay, M. I understand. Whenever you’re ready to tell her, I’ll be here.”

I reach over beside the couch for Maeve’s novel and begin reading it to her as she turns her head towards the window, watching the last of the sunrise.

Camilla

I stare at the small display screen on the handheld phone. 14 minutes and 47 seconds. I don’t think I’ve had a phone call with her last longer than fifteen minutes since she moved out. My baby girl.

I put the phone down and close my eyes. After a moment, I open them again and stare out the window at the golden leaves dangling off tree branches, gleaming under the early morning sunrays. I turn to the lamp beside me and flick it off, then stand, careful not to look at the empty plaid armchair across the room.

I take my time as I sleepily pad back to the bedroom. With the curtains drawn, it’s so dark that I can pretend George is still here lying peacefully on the right side of our bed, wrapped in the green quilt I’d made years ago.

Asleep. Alive.

Or my little girl, her face completely serene and lost in a dream, sleeping on his chest. I let the darkness drown out the heaviness as I pull the quilt more tightly around my shoulders and close my eyes.

No. I jerk awake and sit up in the darkness. Something’s wrong. The small alarm clock beside me reads 9:36am. I can’t shake the feeling. Something is wrong.

Maeve

“Maeve? Maeve. It’s me. Wake up. You’re okay, you’re okay, look at me. Does anything hurt? Is your head okay? Sweetie, it’s okay. Just breathe. Breathe.”

I take a shaky breath. I’m on the floor. My mug is in several pieces beside me, the handle still gripped in my fingers. The floor is cold. My face is cold. I taste pennies in my mouth. Wait… I think that’s blood. I must have bit my tongue.

“M, what happened? Is your head okay? Should I call 911?”

I try to shake my head, but the room is sprinting laps around me. I place a hand beneath me and attempt to push my heavy body up off the floor. Suddenly, everything feels lighter. Then little black dots appear, pixelating the world until I feel nothing.

Amelie

“Oh my god! Maeve. Shit! Maeve! Stay awake. Maeve, wake up.”

I place my hand on her cheek. It’s so cold. Her body is rigid on the floor, her elbows and knees occasionally jerking and knocking against the hard tile. Her skin looks grey, even under the sun rays still falling through the window. I reach up, grab my phone from the granite counter, and dial the worst number in the world, silently willing her eyes to open again as the call goes through.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

Maeve

Why is everything so loud? I brace against the harsh wail of sirens as something is placed over my mouth.

“Deep breaths, look at me, Maeve. We’re taking you to the hospital.”

I don’t know what’s going on. I want Amelie. Where’s Amelie? I need her. I can’t breathe. Everything is so bright. Something is beeping beside me. It’s so loud. I just want quiet. The beeps start to get slower and slower. That’s better.

“We’re losing her. Come on Maeve, we’re almost there. You can do it. Keep breathing.”

My body feels so heavy again. I just want to go to sleep. I close my eyes, and let the nothingness wash over me again.

Amelie

White walls with little leaf accents in the most sickly sweet mint-green that they could find. White linoleum floors. No windows. The worn, cushioned waiting chair is uncomfortable, scratching against the underside of my thighs. My light blue sleeping shorts look grey under the blinding fluorescent lighting, and my normally tanned skin looks pale. Expressionless people sit on either side of me, sifting through the faded fashion magazines that have probably been in this room since the 90s.

I just want her to be okay. I want to be beside her right now and holding her instead of sitting in this depressing fucking room, surrounded by strangers who don’t care that Maeve is suffering. Oh god. She can’t die.

“Amelie Thorne? Come with me please.”

Maeve

I can barely open my eyes. I hear voices, but they sound kind of far away. Amelie? Footsteps get closer to me and something warm and soft envelops my hand, and then grazes the side of my face. The scent of her washes over me and I fight the sleep that’s trying to overtake me again. My eyelids are so heavy I can’t even open them. But I need to see her.

“M?”

Amelie. I love you. I love you so much. But I still can’t open my eyes and when I try to speak, only a small hum comes out. I hear her take in a quick breath and the nurse I didn’t realize was here begins talking.

“She’s been asleep for a while. Seizures tend to be fairly exhausting, especially the major ones Maeve appears to be having. The doctors have given her some medication to help relieve the stress put on her brain.”

Medication? Maybe that’s why I can’t talk or open my eyes.

“Oh. Okay,” I hear Amelie murmur.

“Once she’s more responsive, we’ll take her for an MRI scan. You can come back in and see her after that when she’s a little more alert.”

I’m scared. I hear Amelie walk out and many other pairs of feet walk in. Some rattling happens beside me and I feel the foggy sensation in my brain begin to fade.

“Okay Maeve,” a soothing voice says, “It’s time to wake up. We have to go do a brain scan, honey. I’ve disconnected the medication so you should start feeling a little less fuzzy soon.”

Once my eyes finally open, I’m able to focus on the fluorescent lights overhead. They begin to wheel me down the hallway into Radiology.

I’m scared.

Camilla

“Name of patient, please?”

“Maeve Levy.”

I look down at my watch. 7:04pm. So that means the accident was around 9-ish hours ago. My baby must be sleeping by now but that doesn’t matter. I just want to see her.

“Relation?”

“I’m her mother.”

Hospitals are always so depressing. White and sterilized and falsely optimistic. At least it’s quiet.

“Maeve Levy appears to be having some tests done, but they should be finished within a half-hour. Try back around 7:30pm and I’ll get you signed in to go see her.”

“Oh, okay. I’ll come back then. Thank you.”

I guess I have 20 minutes to kill. I look around the hospital lobby and spot a small gift shop on the opposite wall. I wonder if they have daisies. When she was little she would always stop and pick them from the side of the road on her walk home from school, then present them to me with a proud smile on her face. Look at them, mama, look how pretty they are. Like little baby sunshines and their clouds. Never any other flowers, not even sunflowers. Only daisies. She always loved daisies.

Amelie

I look up from the tattered magazine that I succumbed to reading out of pure boredom, an effort to distract myself from the current circumstances, to see Maeve being wheeled back into her room. Thank God. I put the magazine back on the rack and walk over.

The nurse is helping adjust her pillows. The top of her right hand is covered with an array of colours and tubes, binding her to the pole behind her head. My poor Maeve. Why her? I walk into the room as two nurses leave, the original one staying behind. She smiles at me softly as I go to the side of the bed and stand beside Maeve. I kiss her on the forehead as she looks up into my eyes. I bring her hand to my cheek and hold it there for a second, fighting back tears. I turn to the nurse, who is busy reviewing Maeve’s chart, reading glasses perched on her small nose.

“What happened?”

The nurse slowly puts down her folder and looks up, a warm, comforting look in her eyes that she probably gives everyone. A look that says “What I’m about to say is bad but I want you to know that I wish I could do something about it.”

“The diagnosis is a bit complicated, and the doctor will be here shortly to explain everything, but here are the basics. Maeve seems to have developed adult-onset epilepsy. She’s suffered a string of minor seizures that followed the major one, which is called a tonic-clonic seizure. Often, patients who develop epilepsy later in life don’t have such severe episodes, but Maeve appears to be different. The doctor and radiologist are discussing her scan to see if she may have any other brain trauma from previous incidents, or anything that might have caused seizures in rapid succession. She is going to have to stay here for a few days so that we can monitor in case she has any more serious episodes like the one you witnessed.”

I can’t breathe. I can’t—no. This can’t be real. Everything was so peaceful, so perfect, just this morning. What happened? I look down at Maeve and see her eyes are still looking up into mine, deep in terror.

Camilla

They didn’t have daisies. I hope she’s okay with chrysanthemums. God knows the flowers don’t even matter that much. My heels click loudly against the tiled floor, even amongst the bustle of patients and nurses around me. I pace down the hallway until I get to her room. The mint green door is ajar and I can just see the end of a small hospital bed with two pairs of legs positioned on it. Confused, I open the door further and take a sharp breath. Why is there another girl beside my daughter on the bed? Her arm is situated behind Maeve’s shoulders, her fingers gently stroking the side of her face. She’s turned away from me, so I can’t see her, but I can see that they’re speaking softly to each other.

Maybe that girl is just Maeve’s roommate. Maybe I’m in the wrong room. Or maybe this is some other patient who looks like my daughter.

“Mum?”

I snap back to see my daughter looking up at me, a look of guilt crossing her face before she gives me a small smile. The other girl turns and the look on her face breaks my heart. It’s the look George gave me every night. I can’t take this.

Maeve

“Mum? Mum! Where is she going? Fuck!”

Why now? Why did she have to show up now? I sit up too fast and get so dizzy that Amelie catches my head before it crashes onto the backboard of my hospital bed. She gingerly lays it back down on the flaccid white pillow and smooths her hand over my forehead.

“It’s okay, M. I’ll go talk to her.”

I nod my head. I can’t go to her myself. I can’t go back in time and tell her properly. I can’t fix the huge sinkhole that’s forming in my mother’s frail body. Why did she have to find out this way? I can’t do anything.

Amelie

“Mrs. Levy! Mrs. Levy. Please, she needs to see you. She needs to tell you herself.”

She turns and looks at me blankly, but I can tell she’s holding a flood of emotions behind her dark eyes. Maeve’s mum is a lot shorter than I expected her to be. I guess M got her height from her father. She never talked much about her parents. Her mum has the same box-braided hair, only it hangs loosely down her back rather than piled on top of her head. She looks tired, exhausted really, but I probably don’t look that much better.

“Please Mrs. Levy. You have to at least go and see her. She’s terrified. The doctors just told us that she—”

“You can tell Maeve that if she doesn’t feel the need to share her life with me, that I might as well stay out of it altogether.”

I’m speechless. Maeve almost died this morning and she won’t even go and make sure her daughter is okay?

“Please just come and see her. She needs her mum.”

“Give her these,” she hands me the small bouquet of white chrysanthemums that she had been hugging to her chest and gives me a sad smile. “She obviously needs you more than she needs me. Go back to her.”

The heavy ICU door slowly shuts behind her. I look down at the flowers. They’re wrapped with yellow tissue paper and tied with a small yellow and white ribbon. I look closer and see it’s covered with little daisies, Maeve’s favourite.

November

Amelie

“Hey M, we should probably leave soon if we want to make it for the sunset. Maeve?”

The door to our room is opened a bit and I push it open a little more. She’s sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the painting on the wall. It’s of a little robin sitting on the branch of a cherry blossom tree. The colour palette of it never matched our bedroom, but she insisted that it stay anyway. I think her dad painted it a long time ago.

“Is everything okay?”

Maeve turns around to face me, then gives me a weak smile. Her face has a greyish tinge to it, her presumably colourless lips masked by the dark red stain she’s put on.

“I’m fine. Just felt a little dizzy again.”

“Do you still want to go out to see the sunset? It might be better if we stayed here. We can watch it from the window instead.”

She looks down at her lap and shakes her head. Oh, Maeve. I know how much this is breaking her spirit. We can’t even walk down to the lake anymore, like we used to, without being terrified of the inevitable. I hate this. I miss my girl being happy.

“No. I still want to go.”

I place my hand on the side of her face and she leans in, presses her forehead against mine. I gaze into her dark eyes and smile.

“Okay. Whenever you’re ready, we can go.”

I pull back and softly kiss where my forehead had been touching hers, then stand and walk out of the bedroom. Just as I’m pulling on my jacket I hear a loud thud and a sickening crack.

No. Please no.

I see her arm laying on the floor through the doorway, her small fist just visible in the hall.

It’s not moving.

I run down the hall, screams echoing off the dim walls, and sink to my knees at the sight of her.

She’s gone.

December

Camilla

I’m surprised she lived in such a nice area, but she never really invited me to visit. I look up at the clear blue sky, ferocious sadness keeping my feet firmly planted on the cracked blacktop. Maeve must have loved this. She always said how she wanted to live in a big city in a big building and have a big life, bigger than she could’ve ever had with me around.

I gaze at the massive glass building in front of me, seemingly made of nothing but windows and survey the tenant list. Maeve Levy—68B. I press the button and am greeted with a loud buzz as the front door unlocks. As I pull it open, a blast of warm air sends shivers over my body. I guess it’s time to see where my baby girl escaped to.

Amelie

I really wish people would call before just dropping by. It’s not like I’m a mess already, of course I’m just dying to play hostess. That was always Maeve’s job. Guess that falls to me now.

I throw on a black sweatshirt over my loose camisole, trying to be somewhat presentable and quickly tidy what I can in the living room. Everything is a mess. I can’t sleep properly, can’t think properly, can’t do anything. It’s like my existence in time has stopped while the world around me continues at high speed, leaving me behind in my own wretched darkness. I miss her so fucking much. My beautiful Maeve.

I can’t stop hearing that sound.

I jump when I hear a series of small knocks on the front door. As I creep over, I open the drapes to let some light into the dim room. I haven’t been able to keep them open, it reminds me too much of her. How much she loved the sky, the sun. How we would wake up early every morning to enjoy the sunrise together.

I unlock the front door and open it, only to be startled again. An older, shorter looking Maeve is standing in the hallway, tears in her eyes, looking just as broken as I feel.

“Mrs. Levy?”

Camilla

I didn’t realize it would be this hard. This girl standing in front of me looks like she’s gone through hell. She looks exactly how I feel right now. Like my heart has been ripped out and buried in the ground alongside my daughter.

“Hello Amelie. May I come in?”

Amelie steps to the side as I walk into the apartment. It’s quite beautiful, with massive windows covering a wall and many pieces of simplistic, yet comfortable-looking furniture placed on the dove-gray tiled floor. It’s so Maeve.

“Can I get you something to drink, Mrs. Levy?”

I turn back to Amelie and the tears in my eyes start to trail down my cheeks. I can’t talk. I shake my head and reach into my coat pocket, pulling out the piece of paper that I haven’t left the house without since she died. The last piece of my daughter I will ever have. I carefully unfold it and hand it to Amelie. I’ll never be able to fix what happened with my Maeve, but I can do this. Cautiously, Amelie takes the letter and then walks over to the blue couch sitting in front of the windows. I follow and sit beside her, watching her face as she begins to read.

“Dear Mama,

I don’t know what to say. I know what I want to say, but I don’t know if you’ll want to hear it. I’m sorry. I am so so sorry for what happened and how I handled it and how I hurt you. But there is one thing I am not sorry for and never will be, and that is Amelie. She is so incredible, Mama. I can’t even describe how amazing she is. I have never loved someone as much as I love her. And as much as I wanted to, I never felt as though I could tell you that without you getting angry. That was wrong. I was going to tell you before Daddy died, but I was so scared. And then it stayed a secret. I just didn’t want to hurt you. I didn’t realize that in doing that, I was hurting you anyway, during a time when you needed me most. That we needed each other. And now I need you, but I don’t know how to ask.

I’m so scared, Mama. You always said that I was your strong little girl, that I could do anything and make it out on the other side with a smile. I don’t think that’s true anymore. I think I’m going to die. And the only thing that scares me more than leaving Amelie behind is leaving you behind without telling you everything. That I love you. That I will always be your baby. And that I will always love Amelie. Please help her. When the inevitable happens, go to her. I think you two will get along and will need each other more than anyone else.

I love you, Mama,

Maeve”

Amelie slowly folds the paper, gently places it in her lap, and then looks into my eyes.

I know that look.

It was the one Maeve would give me after scraping her knee when she was a little girl. She needed to be cared for, loved, kept safe. Protected from the world for a little while. I softly place my hand over hers, letting her know I’m here for her. For Maeve. I gaze through the windows. The sun is beginning to set. Amelie gently rests her head on my shoulder and we watch the sky streaked with colour, the clouds turning rich purples, pinks, and oranges in the wake of the sun laying to rest.