A troubled young man, who never got along with his mother, gets a second chance to get to know her. The problem is that she doesn't want anything to do with him. Anya offers him a way to get past that hurdle.

This is a repost of a story which was earlier posted on FM.

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This story is copyright by the author. It is protected by licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

As late as sunset was during the summer, the sky was still pitch black by the time Jerry slid his key into the lock. He glanced nervously around him, at the other doors on the landing, then he turned the key and quickly scurried through the open door. The unmistakable sound of a deadbolt sliding home was almost immediate.

Jerry Wilkins flipped on a dim light, then trudged across the efficiency apartment to the refrigerator. His gait was that of a man older than his twenty-one years — older, or much wearier. The uniform he wore, dark pants and a blue and turquoise polo shirt, only added to his apparent age and weariness; the pants were rumpled and stained, the cuffs fraying above his dirty tennis shoes, while the shirt well-worn and faded, its once bright colors dimmed from many washings. A thin mustache, dark and unkempt as the hair sticking out from beneath his hat, made a futile attempt to add age and sophistication; instead, it made him appear as more of an unkempt youth struggling for maturity. Which was the perfect way to describe Jerry Wilkins — a medium height, medium weight, troubled youth trying to be mature.

The light from the open fridge nearly doubled the illumination in the room. From the open icebox, Jerry pulled a can of beer and a cold slice of leftover pizza. As he walked back across the room, to the foldout couch that was his bed, he kicked his well-worn loafers off. He flopped heavily onto the couch, already biting into the leftover pizza. With his other hand, he expertly opened the can, and after swallowing the stale pizza, took a big gulp of beer.

The pizza dropped onto the cushion as Jerry suddenly, and quite angrily, reached up and flung the hat from his head. "Stupid fuckin' Burger Palace!" he cursed, pure hatred in his voice. "Stupid little college prick!" He took another long swig of beer.

A knock sounded on his door, surprising him. He never got visitors. Still carrying the beer and pizza, he levered himself out of the couch. "Coming, dammit!" he cursed toward the door.

The door opened to reveal a neatly dressed woman in her mid forties. "Hello, Jerry," she said sweetly. She carried herself with a dignity and grace that seemed completely out of place in this apartment.

"Aunt Ruth," Jerry said after hastily gulping a mouthful of beer. "I didn't expect you. You wanna come in or something?" He glanced nervously down the walkway. This was not a good neighborhood, and the apartment complex had a seedy, dangerous atmosphere.

The woman smiled and entered the dim apartment. Her nose wrinkled, involuntarily, at the stale musty smell. Behind her, Jerry quickly shut the door and reset the locks.

"How are things?" Ruth asked pleasantly. She glanced at the couch, and decided against sitting on it. Instead, she pulled one of the two chairs from the dinky table and seated herself.

Jerry slumped back on the couch. "Life sucks," he answered nonchalantly. "Same shit as usual." The unpleasantness of his words belied the conversational tone, as he tried to hid the loathing he felt toward his life.

"Your job going okay?"

Jerry snorted his disgust. "New boss. A snotty little shit who thinks he knows everything." He took a swig of beer. "In other words, the job sucks, like everything else."

Aunt Ruth shrugged, still smiling pleasantly. "You could get another job..."

"Bullshit!" Jerry spat. "I've got a damned record, in case you forgot! No-one's going to hire me!" Pure venom dripped from his words.

"Well, you could look. I know there's a program to help youth in trouble find jobs." Aunt Ruth was trying not to react to the boy's anger and hatred. "You could get your GED, and go to community college. You are smart enough."

Jerry deliberately hoisted the can and guzzled the last third of the can. He tossed the can in the general direction of the garbage can; it missed, and clanged off a cabinet and onto the floor. "So why are you really here?" Jerry demanded.

Aunt Ruth took a deep breath and steeled herself. It always came to this — the boy could never accept anything without searching for some hidden motive. "You haven't visited your mom in quite a while."

If his previous anger were an explosion, he turned into a volcano. "Fuck that bitch!" he screamed. "I ain't going to see her! She never cared about me, and I don't want anything to do with her!" He drew a series of short breaths through his clenched teeth. "That bitch ruined my life!"

Aunt Ruth seemed unfazed by his hatred. Truth be known, she'd seen it before. Many times. "She's getting older. Don't you think you ought to try to patch things up?"

"No way!" Jerry spat. "It's her fault I ended up living a shit life!"

The woman looked calmly at the boy, her lips pressed firmly together. For several seconds, she stared at him, until finally, he looked down. "How is it her fault?" she asked, her tone even against the turmoil in her heart.

Jerry shook his head. "I don't want nothing to do with her."

"You have to."

Jerry glared at her. "Why?"

"It's Mother's day tomorrow."

Jerry snorted his disgust at the concept. "So fucking what!"

Aunt Ruth closed her eyes and let her head drop with a heavy sigh. She took a breath to calm herself, then looked back at him. "Your mom is very, very sick. She has cancer." Jerry's eyes widened. "She's dying."

**********

Turmoil flowed through Jerry's veins as he stepped to the door. He raised a finger to the doorbell, then paused, unable to press the button. Finally, he got up his nerve and pressed it. For several seconds, he stood on the tiny porch, swaying back and forth, nervously waiting for an answer.

The door opened a crack, and a weathered face peeked out. "Oh, it's you," an old woman's voice said, sounding disappointed. She closed the door, and then opened it wide. "So, what do you want this time?"

Jerry recoiled from her words. There she went again, he thought. Never letting him near. "I just wanted to stop by to see how you were doing." An agonizing effort lay behind the words as Jerry fought his anger and bitterness, trying to be civil.

The old woman stared at him, wheezing and gasping for breath. She looked gaunt, her eyes sunken and hollow, her cheeks protruding as if there were no muscle to her. The hand she held on the door trembled and wobbled; she was working hard to steady herself on wobbly feet. "Well, I'm doing okay." The woman didn't budge, didn't let him into her house. "You looking for some money again?" She sounded suspicious, untrusting.

Jerry felt a surge of anger. His intentions of being nice fled. "No, dammit, I don't want your stupid money. I don't want anything from you. And even if I did, you never did give me anything!" He spun, and stomped away, his jaw clenching tightly, his fists balled. He heard the door slam, and didn't pause to look back. Instead, he crawled into his car and drove off.

**********

Jerry downed the rest of his beer, then signaled the bartender for another. He pulled a couple of wadded up bills from his pocket and paid the man, then started to sip. He turned as he drank, surveying the crowd.

Jerry's eyes landed upon an attractive girl sitting in a booth. She looked to be his age, with long sandy-blond hair, an attractive figure, and a very nice tan. Jerry found himself walking over toward the girl. "Would you like a little company?" he asked, trying to sound pleasant.

The girl was startled, then she scanned up and down Jerry. Her nose wrinkled in distaste. "I don't really think so," she said. "Not from you."

Jerry felt himself shrinking. Her tone left no doubt about how she felt. He turned and began to slink back toward the stool he'd vacated.

"Wait a minute," a voice sounded from beside him.

Jerry stopped, and looked. A girl stood near the booth, staring at him. He felt a chill run through him as she gazed, as if she were staring into his very soul.

The girl smiled, which added to her attractiveness. Curvy and tanned like the seated girl, she wore her long dark hair in a ponytail. "Why don't you sit down, and tell me what's bothering you?"

Jerry felt some strange compulsion in her words, and he slid into the booth, while the girl sat down opposite him, beside her friend. "I'm Jerry," he said cautiously.

The dark-haired girl smiled. "Yes, I know." The light-haired girl smiled, as if it were some private joke. "I'm Anya, and this is my friend Liz." She smiled at him again. "Now, what's the trouble?"

Jerry, aided by a little too much beer and Anya's pretty smile, couldn't help himself. He spilled his guts, telling her of his aunt's visit and his mother's illness. He told her how he tried to see his mom, but they just fought — like usual. He told her how he and his mom had fought, practically since his dad died.

Anya smiled sadly, then glanced at Liz. She nodded, briefly, then turned back to Jerry, the sad smile still present. "You know, you really have to come to terms with your mother. Before it's too late." Liz nodded her agreement.

Jerry scowled. "I tried," he protested. "It just ain't gonna work!"

Anya smiled knowingly at Jerry, then reached into her purse. She pulled out a business card and handed it to Jerry. "I think I can help. Meet me here tomorrow."

Jerry took the card from her outstretched hand. "Bikini Beach," he read. He looked up at Anya, confusion written on his features.

"Okay?" Anya asked insistently. Jerry finally nodded.

**********

Jerry parked his beat-up Cavalier and climbed out, still confused. He slammed the door, but gently; from the appearance of the car, a sudden shock might cause parts to fall off. A slight hiss sounded from under the hood, and a faint wisp of steam slipped through a crack and headed skyward. Beneath the car, a colorful mixture of green coolant, black oil, and red transmission fluid was starting to pool on the asphalt.

Anya smiled from within the ticket booth. "I'm glad you made it," she said. She pushed a card toward him.

"What is this about?" he demanded, his mind whirling with confusion. "I thought you said..."

Anya smiled again. "That I could help you with your mother? Uh huh." She extended the ticket. "Just go enjoy yourself and relax for a while. It'll help you get a different perspective."

Jerry frowned, then he took the ticket and shrugged. "Okay, if you want to give me a free pass .... But I don't see how that's going to help."

"Trust me. It'll help more than you can imagine," Anya said with a grin.

Jerry shrugged and walked into the park, into the men's locker room. A short time later, a scream sounded within the locker, a sound that was inaudible outside the walls due to special soundproofing. But Anya heard it. She was waiting by the door when a frightened-looking girl emerged from the room, one arm clasped across her bare bosom, her eyes darting about nervously. They fixed on Anya. "What the hell is going on? What have you done to me?" The voice echoing in the girl's ears was strange, and her eyes widened at the sound. The girl seemed confused by herself; she was about five-five, and quite trim, weighing perhaps one hundred twenty pounds. There was an athletic tone to her body; trim and lithe and not showing any fat. Her curves were feminine, without being too much so; the B-cup breasts she had her arm clasped over were pert and firm. The brown hair on her head cascaded to her shoulders, ending in a neat flip hairstyle. Her bangs were neatly trimmed, falling just over her eyebrows. Her features were soft and feminine, in a nice girl-next-door sort of way. Her big brown eyes, which would have been her best features, were now filled with uncertainty and fright.

Anya put her hand on the girl's arm. "Calm down, please, Jerry."

The girl's eyes narrowed. "You know who I am? You know what happened to me?"

Anya smiled. "Of course," she said. She pulled a bikini top from seemingly nowhere, and handed it to Jerry. "Put this on, please. My grandmother gets very upset with topless sunbathing." Anya helped Jerry tie on the bikini, then led her back into the locker room.

Anya sat on one of the benches, and pulled Jerry down. "It's kind of hard to explain."

Jerry frowned. "How about trying?" She flinched from the sound of her own voice.

"This place is ... magic." Anya watched Jerry, and saw a flicker of understanding. "That's right. Wizards and spells and magic. This is a retreat for women, a haven from ogling and leering men. The magic transforms men into girls."

Jerry frowned. "So what good does that do?"

Anya opened the locker Jerry had put his things in. He handed a purse to the girl. Jerry frowned, then took the purse and opened it. He found keys, just as he expected. A wallet. Cautiously, Jerry opened it. "Jacqueline?" he mouthed, astonished.

Anya smiled. "When the magic worked, it rewove the fabric of reality. In this reality, you've always been Jacqueline — Jackie."

"Student ID? Money?" Jackie was astonished. "What's going on here? Why did you change me?"

Anya bit her lip. "Your mother is dying. And Jerry, you can't get close to her. Even if you wanted, she won't let you. There's too much bad blood between you. But as Jackie — there's a chance."

Jackie frowned. "I think I understand. At least some of it." She looked down. "But I'm not sure I can do it." She looked at Anya. "How long am I stuck like this?"

"One week," Anya said evenly. This was the tricky part — if he could accept being Jackie for a week, he had a chance. "Now, why don't you go out and enjoy the park for a while? Relax, get some sun, have some fun."

**********

Jackie woke abruptly and sat up. She winced as she did; she remembered being out with some people the night before. Jackie felt the pounding in her head, and wondered how much she had drunk. "What a dream," she said softly, to herself. She clutched at her head, and came up with a fistful of matted brown hair. Jackie's eyes widened as she pulled the long hair in front of her face. She stared at the long strands, at the fine fingers holding the hair. Her eyes widened. She closed her eyes, then opened them again. The hair was still present. Slowly, fearfully, she lowered her eyes.

The scream was muffled, but it was present, and very female in tone. Jackie stared wide-eyed at the breasts poking from her bare chest. "It wasn't a dream," she said softly, almost reverently. "It was ... real!"

The phone interrupted her amazed reverie. She lurched off the couch, and clutched her head as it throbbed in pain. Slowly, so as not to stir up any more of the painful pounding, she stepped over to the table and picked up the phone. "Hello?" she said softly. "Uh, hi Aunt Ruth." She listened for a few moments, then she nodded slowly. "Okay, I'll try. Bye."

Jackie stood, her hand resting on the phone, trying to comprehend what was going on. Aunt Ruth had acted as if she'd always been Jackie. Was she the only one who remembered Jerry? She glanced around, really seeing the apartment for the first time since she awoke. It was — neat. Tidy. There was no pile of garbage around the garbage can. There were no dirty clothes strewn about the floor. The carpet was clean, and the sunlight filtering through light colored curtains made the place look almost cheery. Unlike Jerry's apartment, which was perpetually in twilight, dark and gloomy to match his mood.

Jackie poured a glass of juice, surprised at how well-stocked the refrigerator was, then went to the bathroom. A flushing sound echoed through the open door, followed by some muffled cursing. Finally, Jackie came back, clutching some aspirin. She swallowed them, then washed them down with the juice.

Jackie glanced around, wondering what she was going to wear. But when she looked, she found the dresser full of feminine clothing. Clean clothing, unlike Jerry's. She picked up a bra, staring at it like it was a snake, wondering how she was supposed to wear it. But then, when she quit thinking about the 'how', she put it on as if she'd done it a million times before. Without thinking, Jackie picked out a skirt and knit shirt; the dresser and closet were both adequately stocked with clothes that were not only clean, but also not nearly worn out, as Jerry's wardrobe had been. She slipped on her panties, the shirt, and the skirt. Automatically, Jackie picked up a pair of pumps, and as she slipped them on, she realized that the actually matched her outfit. With an ease that belied her recent change, she walked on the inch and a half heels like a pro. Something in her mind told her that she needed to brush her hair, curl it a bit, and then put on some makeup.

Still amazed at how much she'd accomplished without even thinking about it, Jackie closed the door behind herself and locked the apartment. She turned, and stopped, stunned. She glanced around, and realized that she didn't recognize the place. She stood on the second floor landing of a reasonably nice apartment complex; the cars in the lot were not the broken down hulks that had dotted Jerry's lot. The buildings of the complex lacked the peeling paint and falling gutters that Jerry had known. It was a nice apartment.

Jackie walked to where her car should have sat, and was momentarily confused. She didn't find a broken-down Cavalier; the change had somehow also transformed her car into a late-model Volkswagon Cabriole — about five or six years old, but in good shape. Shaking her head in astonishment, she crawled in, started the car, and pulled out of her parking lot.

**********

"Mom?" Jackie's voice was nervous, uncertain. She didn't know what to expect.

The old woman opened the door. "Jackie, I'm glad you got a chance to come over. Ruth said you might stop by." She shuffled painfully to one side of the doorway, her frail hand clutching at the doorknob. "Please come in. If you've got time."

Jackie felt her head spinning. This was unlike anything she'd every experienced with this woman — her mother. She nodded and stepped into the house.

Instantly, her nose was overwhelmed with a strong medicine smell. She followed her mother as the old woman shuffled into her living room. "Would you like some tea, dear?"

Jackie shook her head. "A b..." She caught herself; she'd started to request a beer. "Nothing, thanks." She eased into a chair, cautious, wondering what was going on. What was her mother up to?

"So how are your classes going, dear?" Mom smiled. "Still getting A's?"

Jackie's head spun, but she fought to keep from showing her confusion. Classes — was she in college? Yet another unexpected change? "They're okay."

Mom smiled broadly. "You always were smart. And how about boys?"

Jackie's eyes narrowed at that question. "Uh, not really."

"Jackie, you know I'm pretty bad, don't you?"

Jackie slowly nodded. "Aunt Ruth told me."

The old woman nodded slowly. "I'm glad you came by. There's something I need to say. I know it was tough, after Earl — your dad — passed away. I know you were very young, but I know it still had to hurt."

Painful memories swam through Jackie's mind; she felt a tear welling up in her eye. "Mom," she protested, hoping that her mother would stop this line of conversation.

"Jackie, please!" Despite her frail appearance, Mom's voice was strong and firm. "Let me finish. Please." She gazed into her daughter's eyes, until Jackie nodded. "I know I had to make some hard choices. I couldn't be at home for you; it was tough working two jobs to pay for a house and food and clothes. You had to grow up by yourself, most of the time." Mom swallowed, and Jackie saw a tear streaming down her cheek. "I know I wasn't there for you. I know you resent that I couldn't buy you a nice dress for your prom. I know you resent that we couldn't take vacations like your friends did. I know you were ashamed of our little house, while your friends lived in big houses, and got nice cars from their parents." Tears were streaming down the old woman's cheeks. "I wish you could have had more time for your friends, that you didn't have to work after school. I wish I'd been able to provide better for you. I wish I'd been a better mother. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me."

Jackie's jaw dropped. "Forgive — you? You want me to forgive you?" Her head spun. She tried to digest all that her mother had said, and failed. Jackie lurched from her chair and raced from the house, trying to escape before her mother could see the tears on her own cheeks.

**********

Jackie stared into her empty beer glass, tears still seeping from her eyes. She couldn't understand — her mother had asked for Jackie's forgiveness. But why? She didn't hear the two girls coming up to the booth; it wasn't until the girls had slid into the seat that Jackie even realized they were there. She looked up, startled.

"Thought you could use some company," Anya said softly. Jackie stared at her, then dropped her gaze back to her empty glass. "So, how did it go?"

Jackie looked back up at Anya. "I ... I don't know," she said.

"What happened?" Anya asked.

Jackie stared for a few seconds. "I'm not sure. She invited me right in, and wanted to talk. She was asking about how I was doing."

Anya frowned. "And that's strange because..."

"Because she never gave a damn about how I was doing before," Jackie snapped. "She acted like I was a perfectly good little daughter, and that she could be my friend." Jackie frowned. "Why couldn't she have ever treated me like that?"

Liz smiled sadly. "What did you do with your mom — when you were a boy?"

Jackie's eyes widened, then she began. "Not much. She took me to plays and stuff — when she had a night off. Mostly, she left me alone."

Anya nodded. "And other boys that you knew — what did their folks do with them?"

Jackie's eyes narrowed; it was easy to see the anger simmering behind them. "They learned to play baseball. They built treehouses, and went sledding. Their parents took them to Disneyworld. Their dad's took them hunting, and taught them to shoot. They were in scouts. Stuff like that. Men things."

Liz nodded her head. "Normal boy stuff, right?" Jackie nodded, bewildered. "And you resented your mom because she wouldn't do those things with you?"

Jackie glared at her. "You don't understand!" she snarled. "I never got to do anything. And all the other boys called me names, teased me. Sissy boy, they called me! They wouldn't play with me, they beat me up all the time!" Her voice was angry again, a reflexive reaction to the bitter memories of Jerry's youth. Tears were streaming down her cheeks anew. She lurched to her feet, and ran from the club, her eyes burning with anger and confusion.

**********

Jackie lay in her bed, unable to sleep. What went wrong? Where did things go so wrong? Were Liz and Anya right — was she still blaming her mom for all her problems? Did she hate her mother — because of what she hadn't done for Jerry? And then a strange thought came to Jackie. Was her mother so distant because she didn't understand a boy? Was it that her mother didn't know how to relate to a son, didn't understand what he needed — which was a father? Was it that she tried, knowing that she didn't know what to do, but tried nonetheless?

Jackie remembered when her dad's brother visited once. He'd tussled Jerry's hair, and said he was just like his dad. Jerry had been twelve, and didn't like the comparison. But his mother — she seemed to recoil at Jerry being likened to his father. She hated the idea, it seemed. And that hurt Jerry.

By thirteen, Jerry had a record for vandalism. By fourteen, it was assault — he'd severely thrashed one of the kids who'd teased him. At sixteen, it was car theft and joyriding. Later that year, he tried to knife the principal, and got a handful of trouble. Not only was he expelled, but the state tried him as an adult, based on his past record. He was convicted, and spent six months in jail. With no high school diploma and a criminal record, his options narrowed considerably. Which led to a series of poor jobs.

Jackie slipped out from under the blanked at padded to her dresser. She flipped on a light and picked up an old, yellowed picture. She gasped at the figure — a tall, handsome man, neat in his appearance, smiling broadly as he stood with his wife in front of a tiny house. Her father. And then Jackie gasped. She mentally pictured Jerry without the mustache, with trimmed hair, without the chin stubble. And she saw just how much Jerry had looked like his dad.

"Oh, god!" Jackie gasped, her hand raising to her mouth. "Oh, god!" She dropped the picture, backing away quickly, stumbling and collapsing on the bed. She understood one thing. Jerry had never kept a picture of his dad, and so Jerry hadn't realized. But now, she did. Maybe - no probably - his mom had been so distant because he looked so much like his dad. Every time she gazed at her son, his mom must have felt anew the pain of her husband's loss. She was distant — precisely because it was too painful to get close.

**********

Jackie pulled up to the curb in front of her mother's house. Yesterday, she'd stayed in her apartment, crying and thinking. Aunt Ruth had tried to call; she'd left messages on the machine when Jackie didn't answer her phone.

Jackie pressed the doorbell. For an agonizingly long time, she stood, waiting. But there was no answer. She pressed the bell again. Still no answer. Jackie felt a surge of panic; something was wrong — horribly wrong. She turned, dazed, near tears, and walked back to the car. She knew she'd lost her chance. Something awful had happened to her mother, and she'd never forgiven her mother.

There was a note on the door. Aunt Ruth had taken her mother to the hospital; she'd taken a bad turn. Jackie felt a shudder of relief — she still might have time. She ran to her car and broke records getting to the hospital.

Jackie peeked around the corner of the door, and saw her mother lying in bed. An IV dripped slowly, methodically, while a heart monitor overhead traced eerie green lines across the screen. "Hi," Jackie said softly.

Her mother's eyes flickered open, then a sigh escaped her lips. "I'm sorry you have to see me like this."

Jackie came into the room, one hand held behind her back. "Aunt Ruth told me you were here. I thought you might like some company." Her mother's eyes closed, while a smile formed on her lips. Jackie pulled a vase of flowers from behind her back. "And I thought you could use some color to help brighten up the place."

Her mother smiled. "Thanks, dear. This place is a bit gloomy." She took a wheezy breath. "But this isn't like you. What gives?"

Jackie smiled. "I thought about what you said. About what's happened. I guess I didn't show you much gratitude, did I?" Jackie clutched her mom's hand. "I know you worked hard, and I know you tried your best. I guess I was being too selfish to realize how much you were trying."

The old woman clutched Jackie's hand tighter. Tears were flowing again. "I wish we had more time."

Jackie sobbed. "So do I."

The old woman opened her eyes. "You've got to run to classes, don't you?" Jackie squeezed her mother's hand, nodding through the tears. "I'll come back later."

**********

Jackie glanced cautiously into the room, and saw her mother lying still in the bed, the IV stand hanging with what looked like dozens of different bags, all dripping steadily into her veins. The heart monitor blipped silently over her head, tracing the irregular lines of a failing heart. An oxygen mask covered her face.

A doctor noticed her; she'd been called out of class, and they knew she was coming. The doctor moved quickly to intercept Jackie. He took her arm firmly and steered her back out of the room. Jackie felt a surge of panic.

"She's not going to ..." Jackie's words broke off, ending in sobs as the tears started to flow. She'd spent most of the last three days here — at least, when she wasn't in class. She'd even slept curled up in a chair one night. Jackie glanced up at the doctor.

The expression on his face spoke volumes. "Her heart is very weak," he said softly. "She doesn't have very much time left."

Jackie nodded slowly, trying to act dignified. "How long?"

The doctor shook his head. "It's hard to say. The cancer has spread, and it's putting a strain on her whole body." His eyes were sad at having to convey this news; no matter how often he did it, he seemed to feel the anguish of the family members each time. "Her heart is failing from the strain. But we just don't know how long. It could be tonight, it could be two weeks. We don't know."

Jackie nodded. "Thanks," she whispered. She wiped the tears from her eyes, then tried to compose herself. She marched into her mother's room, pretending that nothing was wrong. "Hi, mom," she said cheerfully.

The old woman's tired eyes opened. A derisive snort, muffled by the oxygen mask, greeted Jackie. "Can it, dearie. I know it's bad." She gasped a couple of deep breaths, sucking in the desperately needed oxygen. "I'm sorry I'm being such a burden," she said softly. Her eyes closed again. Jackie started bawling aloud.

**********

Jackie sat at her table, a book open, papers strewn about. She tried again to concentrate, but she just couldn't. Finally, in frustration, she got up and picked up the phone. She dialed a number, and listened to the phone ringing and ringing. When the answering machine picked up the line, Jackie slammed down the phone in frustration. She thumbed through a wad of paper, then dialed another number. This time, someone answered. "Liz? It's me. Jackie." She paused. "Can you come over? Please?" Another pause. "Thanks." She hung up the phone, then began to pace nervously. Finally, a knock sounded at her door.

Jackie opened the door quickly. "Liz," she said with relief, throwing herself around the visitor.

Liz responded to her hug, then ushered Jackie into the apartment and closed the door. Jackie sat down on the edge of the couch. "I'm sorry to bother you. It's just that ... well, things aren't going too good."

Liz grimaced. "Your mother?" she guessed.

Jackie nodded. Her eyes were puffy and red; she'd been crying a lot lately. "She's going to die soon." Jackie grabbed a tissue and wiped her eyes quickly. "I tried to call Anya, but she wasn't home."

"Have you and your mom made peace with each other?" Liz asked cautiously.

Jackie nodded slowly. "Thank you for helping me with that."

"It's hard, isn't it," Liz said softly. "Losing someone."

Jackie wiped another tear. "You wouldn't understand."

Liz sighed, and her face bore the expression of years of wisdom and experience. "You'd be surprised at how many loved ones I've lost," she said sadly. "It's hardest when you haven't had a chance to say goodbye, or to say I love you."

Jackie started to protest, but then she saw Liz' face. There was something there — a pain and sorrow of loss etched on her features, a pool of grief in her eyes. "It hurts," Jackie said finally. "And I want it to stop hurting."

Liz held Jackie's hand. "I wish I could tell you it'll be better. But I can't. It never stops hurting. But eventually, you remember the good things more than the pain." Jackie dabbed her eyes again. "So what are you going to do?"

Jackie seemed startled by the question. "I guess I want to stay like this. At least until it's over."

Liz smiled, then reached for her purse. She extracted a card and handed it to Jackie. Jackie took it, looking surprised. "Anya said you'd need this. It's another week pass."

**********

Jackie steeled herself and slipped into her mother's room. Her mother was awake, but the breaths she was drawing were labored and ragged. Jackie winced at the pain evident with each drawn breath. She glided to the bed and took her mother's hand.

"I'm glad you're here, dear," the frail old woman said, wincing at the pain of speaking.

"Don't say anything, Mom," Jackie protested. She hated seeing the suffering when her mother tried to speak.

"I wish I could have made things better for you," she said. "I know how much you needed a father. I know how much you needed me around, and I couldn't be there."

Jackie felt the tears starting again. "Mom, you did your best. Look how I turned out." She wiped her eyes. "I tried to make you proud of me."

The old woman smiled. "You know I am." She shut her eyes and rested a moment. "Get my purse out of the drawer, dear."

Jackie glanced at the dresser, then began to search the drawers. In the bottom one, she found the purse. "I've got it."

The old woman smiled. "There's a small box in it. Please get it out."

Jackie opened the purse, then located the box. It was small and nondescript, holding who-knows-what.

"Open it."

Jackie lifted the cover from the box. A gasp escaped her lips when she saw the object inside. Carefully, disbelievingly, she lifted a silver bracelet out of the box. Its design was Celtic, the intricate knots woven together in a pattern that matched the links, giving it the appearance of a fluid, living piece of jewelry.

The old woman smiled. "Put it on, please." As Jackie started to comply, the old woman continued. "It was given to me by my grandmother, who got it from her grandmother before." She paused, closing her eyes to rest a moment. A cough racked her body. Finally, she opened her eyes. "I was hoping to carry on the tradition, to give it to your daughter." She closed her eyes and rested again. "I guess you'll have to do it yourself."

Jackie felt streams flowing down her cheeks. "It's beautiful," she said.

"Promise me. You'll give it to your daughter."

Jackie nodded. "I promise," she said softly, fighting to keep from bawling aloud.

"Sometimes, I wondered if you knew how much I loved you, dear," she said between breaths. "You know I would have loved you no matter what.

"Even if I disappointed you?" Jackie asked softly.

The old woman paused to cough. It took several seconds for her to regain enough strength to talk. "You could never disappoint me," she said.

"Mom," Jackie's voice was cracking, "you did a fine job. It wasn't easy for you, I realize now. But you did just fine."

Jackie's mother lay back. Her eyelids closed, but beneath the oxygen mask, her lips formed a smile.

**********

Jackie sat in the chair, her eyes reddened. A wad of tissues littered the floor, all damp from tears. Across the room, the doctor stood over the bed, his stethescope pressed against the chest of the old woman. Finally, he lifted, allowing the scope to dangle against his chest. He turned to Jackie, shaking his head. She already knew the answer he would give; the heart monitor had gone flat moments earlier.

"I'm sorry," the doctor said simply.

Jackie felt the anguish rising, like a flood, to drown her. She turned and collapsed into the arms of Aunt Ruth.

**********

Liz and Anya walked slowly, one on either side of Jackie. All were dressed in black, and Jackie was sobbing, reaching up frequently with a tissue to dab away tears. Around them, a small number of people, mostly in black, slowly dispersed from the grave. A few sympathetic souls stopped, offering condolences to Jackie, then hastening on their way, unsure what else to say on this most sorrowful of occasions.

"Are you going to be okay?" It was Aunt Ruth. Like Jackie, she was crying, having lost her only sister.

Jackie wrapped Aunt Ruth in an embrace, tears staining the shoulder of Ruth's dress. Finally, the sobs ebbed, and Jackie stepped back. "If you want, you can stay with us for a while."

Jackie nodded. "Thanks. I think I'll be okay, but..." She left room to take up her aunt on the offer — if it got too painful.

The trio of girls walked to Liz' car. Anya crawled into the back seat, and Liz helped Jackie in the passenger side, then climbed behind the wheel. She started the engine, then glanced at Jackie.

Jackie sat, her seat belt fastened, her arm stretched in front of her. Her gaze was fixed on the silver bracelet which adorned her right wrist.

"Are you okay??" Anya asked cautiously.

Jackie continued to stare at the bracelet. "I don't know," she answered softly. "But I want to say thanks," she said. You gave me a second chance. To patch up things with Mom, to mend things. To undo some of the mess I made of my life." She watched as the intricate links of the bracelet twisted. "I guess it's my choice now, isn't it?"

"So what are you going to do?" Liz asked.

Jackie pressed her lips firmly together. She stared at the bracelet, lost in thought. Finally, she looked up and smiled. "Can we go by the bank?" she asked. "I need to get some money. To buy a membership at the park. You see, I have a promise to keep. A promise to my mother."

FIN