Page 44 of Healing Eleanor

It isn’t until we reach the bridge into my parents’ neighborhood that Mama finally speaks.

“So, I’ve been thinking,” she announces.

That sentence is usually never good. When Mama gets too deep in her thoughts, anything can come out.

I keep my eyes on the road. “Oh yeah?”

“Yes.” She responds simply. “After you spoke of Eleanor—that’s her name right?—I got a peaceful feeling. Like God whispered to me, ‘Yes, Irina. This is the girl. Guide Nikolai.’”

That gets my attention. When we hit a red light, I turn fully toward her. “What do you mean?”

Her eyes narrow just a fraction. “I mean, I felt God’s presence when you spoke of her. I felt it in my spirit—that she is for you. Your rib.”

I cackle. “My rib? Mama, really?”

She raises her chin, serious as ever. “Why not? Isn’t that what women are to their husbands?”

My thoughts turn to her and my father. How she stays with him, how they’re bound by something sacred. Mama has a heart of forgiveness. My only wish is for my father to have a heart of repentance.

“I suppose so, yes,” I say carefully. “Mama, I don’t even know her. Sure, maybe she’s in my life for some reason. But if I’m being completely honest, I don’t have time for anyone right now.”

“Whose plan is it, Nikolai?” She asks, resting a hand gently on my knee. “God has a plan for you—to prosper you and not harm you—plans for a future. I’ve been speaking that verse over you since you were a boy. His word does not change, Nikusha.”

I pull into the driveway and cut the engine. The porch light is still flickering—a reminder that I need to change the bulb.

“I know God’s Word, Mama. But…” I exhale, running a hand through my hair. “I hear you, I really do. But, I don’t know this girl.” The tension in my shoulders softens slightly. “And even if God sent her my way, it’s not like anything would happen. I’ll be her coach. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Mama’s icy-blue eyes catch the light, gleaming in the dark. “Nik,” she says softly, “just pray, my boy. God will find a way if it’s His will.” She runs a gentle hand down my cheek, stopping at my chin and tilting it toward her. “It’s not everyday that someone reminds you of Daria.”

I huff. “Well, not the happy Daria who loved ballet and antagonizing our dad, but the Daria a month before she took her life.” I shake my head. “Plus, I have too much on my plate right now. The fall season, new hires, you—”

She shifts in her seat. “You don’t need to worry about me. I have Evelyn, Richard, your father—”

I open my mouth to protest, but she holds up a hand. “Your father will help. He said so himself. He’s promised to cut back on the drinking.”

I don’t fully believe it, but I don’t challenge her either.

“As I was saying,” she continues, “God will give you and me everything we need. Does He not provide for the birds in the sky?”

She has me there. “He does,” I mumble.

“Then He’ll do the same for you.”

I nod. “Yes, Mama.”

“Good boy, you are,” she says, with a smile. “Now come walk your poor old mother to the door. My pajamas are calling my name.”

At least she still has her light. For now.

“Can’t leave the pajamas waiting,” I joke.

She gives me a warm smile, and I walk her up the path. We hug goodbye, and I stand there a moment, watching until she’s safely inside.

Her parting words refuse to leave my mind during the drive home. I thank God that she’s still here and that she can still give me her wisdom. The first round of chemo is always the hardest.

But tonight, she was present. She was laughing. She was praying.

And I pray too—fervently—that the day she isn’t here won’t come any time soon.