Mimi Clark had always hated mornings.
They had once meant piercing alarm clocks and her mother's impatient rapping on the door. Later they had meant waking with a pounding headache and dragging a shoulder bag of textbooks through the slush, and after that, an early smoke cut short by a cross-town meeting she had to make.
Then there had been silent mornings she could barely get out of bed. She'd had to face things much worse than Microeconomics 101 or rush hour traffic. Things like cardboard cereal, surly looks from her teenage hostess, irritating jibes from the farmer she hated depending on, and the knowledge that her entire life before this dependence had vanished in smoke and soot.
She had always liked sunsets, and loved the night that swallowed up the city. It was strange, then, that the most meaningful moments in her life seemed to happen at sunrise.
The one she recalled this morning was the one that always came back to her whenever she braved getting up in time to see the sun climb over the hills. It was the sunrise that followed one of the worst and best nights of her life.
That night, in turn, had followed the day she and Stanley had come out of hiding to bury Bonnie. The same day Beck and his men had changed allegiances, and as everything was happening at once, their fortunes had reversed again. The part of the day that stood out most for her would always be the still moment on the hill, making promises with Stanley, with only their dead to witness it.
She'd felt such a sense of calm walking down that hill, Stanley's arm holding her good shoulder. It had been so contrary to everything else she'd felt for what had begun to seem like forever. Each step was still shockingly painful, images of Bonnie hit her mind in waves, but she felt a clarity, a sureness in herself that she had never felt so strongly in her life. She was still aware of the precarious nature of everything all around them, but the space between them was safe and steady.
They'd made their way to Bailey's, where the celebratory spirits had been high. She had insisted on staying until she was so pale he insisted they leave. The bar that night had seemed like a dream, because all the things she felt stirring in her own mind had spilled out into the tavern. There was frivolity and mourning, drinking and toasting, laughing and teasing and crying. As alone as she'd felt for days since her life had turned upside down again, now she felt that everyone was wounded with her, and everyone was rejoicing at the latest turn of events. She wasn't alone, she was like them and they felt it all as she did.
Mary had eventually found her, leaning against a bench, and wordlessly handed her the keys to the upstairs apartment. Mimi had let Stanley lead her up the stairs, ready to collapse. She had let herself rest on the pull-out couch for an hour, but she couldn't let her mind slip away on a night like this. She'd finally opened her eyes, and found him sitting inches away, watching her.
That new quality in his expressions was something she couldn't quite name but it frightened her just a little. She wanted to mourn the part of him that she feared was gone forever, but she shoved this out of her mind. He was here, close enough for her to breathe in the air he'd breathed out moments earlier. There was wear and tear on him now, but he was still whole, sitting with his hands on his knees. Whatever else happened, was going to happen, or would happen, she wanted him there.
It wasn't how she'd envisioned her wedding night, culminating on the pull-out couch in a shabby apartment above a tavern. She'd never pictured her arm bent awkwardly against her, or him tensing every time he noticed her wince. Everything that had happened was suddenly hitting them both at once. For the first time since that horrible waking moment, she let herself sob. He cried too- the first time she'd ever seen him. Their usual clumsy words were gone. All she knew was the piercing gashes that had infected her inside and out, the fierce longing she'd felt for him when he'd been gone and she still felt now, though he was close enough to touch, the euphoria that made her nearly dizzy that he was hers, not the ASA's or the rangers' or even his dead family members'. She'd never believed in forever, but this moment seemed complete, outside of time, so however short it might turn out to be, it didn't matter. She cried with relief when she felt him encircle her twisted limbs with his own- so close had she been to losing this skin, these bones, those lips, that face.
The night ended finally and she would remember it as though it had lasted an eternity, but also with the haze of a blurry polaroid. The revelers downstairs grew quiet and the sounds of the wake faded away. No one came upstairs, but neither of them had expected anyone else. They drifted into sleep, her carefully arranged on her good side, his warm breath against her neck, his arm reached up to her waist until he would shift in his sleep and fling it against the wall.
She'd woken the next morning, slowly. It was the first time she hadn't startled awake since that night before she'd discovered a mistake in the ledger. She'd never attempted to sleep in the Bailey's apartment before, but her surroundings didn't give her the horrible shaky feeling she'd always had waking at the med centre. She pulled her legs across the couch, her feet brushing lightly against his shins. She couldn't imagine how, but he looked peaceful curled up in an awkward position, his head almost up against the protruding arm of the couch.
It was earlier than she'd ever liked to wake in her former life, but she still felt the odd disconnect in time and space that had started several days ago. She carefully extracted herself from the blanket they'd pulled over themselves, letting it fall over his sleeping form, and pulled on the borrowed scrubs and sweater she'd left draped on the chair in the corner. She had a strange urge to go downstairs, to step outside, but something kept her by his side. When he opened his eyes, it was to see her looking down at him, just as he had watched her the night before.
She'd quickly and breathlessly explained, though she didn't quite understand herself, her notion to go outside. He'd smiled, but expressed a different wish for something he hadn't had in days: a shower. Laughing at the absurd ordinariness, she'd told him to go ahead and use the shower. He was relieved, she could see, and wondered if he wanted a chance to collect his own thoughts. The instinct that was telling her to go out was telling her she wanted a moment alone. She told him she'd meet him outside.
The stairs took a toll on her weary body, but she hardly noticed this morning. She stepped outside to the deserted street. Anyone else would have seen a strange sight: leftover blockades from the ASA's occupation still littered the sidewalks, the J&R office still bore signs of recent revolutionary action, and a new flag flew over town hall. She noticed none of this, however.
She saw the sky. Streching over the world above her, it was the most brilliant shade of crimson she could ever remember seeing in a morning sky. She felt the air- still except for a gentle breeze brushing along her skin. She pulled off her sweater, holding it out in her arm. This moment, with sudden intensity, she felt fully and completely grateful. Grateful to be breathing and feeling, grateful for the earth under her feet, grateful for the heart racing in her chest, goose bumps on her skin, and for her maimed, weary, living body.
It was true, she was also grateful for the man waiting for her upstairs. That he hadn't been swallowed up by the horror that had stolen into their lives, or that he had, but he had made his way out of it again. She was grateful too for the quiet around them now, that they could walk freely down the street in an hour and no one would try to stop them. She was grateful for friends who understood without explanations, for people who risked their own bodies protecting hers. And for the girl who'd given her life because she'd called her family.
It was also true that everything else she'd had to feel was there too. The persistent gnawing that part of her had been torn away forever, the tingling fears of what would become of him as he wrestled with his own actions, harsh reminders everywhere of the sister she'd never laugh with again.
But in this moment, holding all of those things tangled in her mind, Mimi allowed herself to feel the pure joy in watching a brand new day begin.
Mimi Richmond still hated mornings. Three kids who greeted the day with screaming and years of living on the farm hadn't convinced her otherwise. This particular morning, she'd gone outside to avoid Stanley's cheeriness. He normally had the sense to avoid bombarding her with it before it was light outside, but this was one of his favourite holidays and he could barely contain his excitement as he talked about football and turkey by the counter with his eldest son.
Mimi had taken her mug in her hands and made her exit. She hadn't expected to be greeted by the brilliant display of colour in the sky. She had pulled her favourite chair to the edge of the porch, sitting slowly and breathing deeply.
She'd never been a big fan of Thanksgiving. It had been nice to have a long weekend, and she'd enjoyed the trips she'd taken with her mother. But the spirit of the holiday, the cheesy traditions and enforced giving of thanks, had never appealed to her. It was merely a coincidence that this morning, she had been reminded of that long ago moment in which she'd suddenly realized how lucky she really was. Other moments, such as this one, had reminded her over the years, but never had she known as clearly as that morning. It was odd, but reassuring, to know that this basic realization had only come after the very bad and very good had happened all at once.
Soft footsteps on the porch drew her out of her reverie. Arms encircled her shoulders from behind.
“Good morning, Mom,” said Tessa, leaning her head against her mother's.
“Morning,” answered Mimi. She shifted slightly to the side of her chair, Tessa quickly occupying the wooden arm, holding onto Mimi's shoulders still so she wouldn't fall.
“The boys figuring things out in there?” asked Mimi.
Tessa rolled her eyes. “Not really. Clark wants to kill the turkey, and Ben wants to cook the turkey, and Dad wants us to get ready for football.”
“Is he crazy? That's not for hours,” sighed Mimi.
“I said that,” said Tessa, tossing her dark hair, but grinning. “So, I left them to it and came out to where the sane people are.”
Mimi chuckled. Tessa was another example of the way her life seemed to work, struggles and moments and appreciating what she had all tangled together. This year had been especially trying. There was the time Mimi had first worried about having a heart attack- this year at the Jericho-New Bern friendship picnic, when she glanced away from Gail Green's story and saw her daughter standing in the middle of a bunch of teenage boys, laughing, hanging on her every word, and staring at her suddenly tall and graceful twelve-year-old frame. There were the fights and door slammings. Tessa had always spoken her mind but traditionally they'd been allies. Now, though she was afraid to admit it, Mimi's memories of early spats with Bonnie seemed tame in comparison. There were also times like these, when all the other troubles seemed to slip away.
“So what were you thinking about Mom?”
Mimi paused for a moment, and looked at the sky again. The sunrise would last another few minutes. “I was thinking about the view from Pointer road.”
“Yeah?” Tessa blinked sleepily. Mimi hid a smile. Much to Stanley's dismay, she'd passed on her aversion to mornings, though at least growing up on the farm had allowed Tessa to adjust a little better.
“I want to go for a walk. Do you want to come with me?” Mimi asked.
“Just me?” asked Tessa.
“Yeah, we can leave the boys to fight out who does what first. I was thinking about how my mom and I used to go to Punta Minta. For Thanksgiving.”
“I know,” said Tessa. “The infinity pool, the surfer boys,” she said in a sing-song voice.
“Well, Miss Tessa, did you know I was just around your age when we started going?” she asked, standing. “In fact, I had my first kiss there.”
“Mother,” protested Tessa, scrunching up her face.
“Well, if you don't want to hear about it.” Mimi stepped off the porch, her back to her daughter, and took a few steps across the field. Just as she predicted, she could soon hear Tessa following. She stopped and turned.
“I'm not getting ready for football this early,” said Tessa. Mimi nodded, and started walking again, Tessa falling in step closely.
They walked in silence for a few steps. Mimi let the cool wind hit her face, and looked up at the sky again.
“So who was the boy? What did he look like?” asked Tessa.
Mimi let out a laugh before launching into her story. As blue finally began to bleed into the pink sky, the pair vanished across the field.