Synopsis: The bittersweet story of Ethan and Theresa's love is told to Theresa's son through his mother's journals.
Author's Notes: The usual disclaimers apply.
This story is old-school Passions. I wrote it in 2001, so many of the references to events that happened on the show are references to early Passions events. Ironically, I used the name 'Sarah' in this story long before the name was used on the show.
Prologue: A Gift of the Extraordinary
Houses lined the narrow street, and the neighborhood was filled with the sound of children playing in the late afternoon sunshine. Mother and son slowly walked down the worn sidewalk, hand-in-hand.
The years melted away, and she could almost imagine that she was a child again as she looked down at the cracked surface on which they walked. She remembered the games of tag that she and her best friend played along that very sidewalk. She remembered the skinned knees and the diligent attempts to avoid stepping on the cracks. She remembered walking home at night, staring up at the sky, and wishing. How she had wished!
But that was a long time ago. Much had changed.
The son glanced around him, his crystal blue eyes taking in all the sights. His mother had always avoided this place, this town. Yet now she had brought him to it. Why?
They continued their silent walk. A few minutes later, the mother stopped in front of a small, run-down brick house. Crossing the over-grown lawn infested with weeds, she made her way up the narrow walkway. The son followed.
Looking up into the eyes of her son, the mother touched his face. "This is where I come from, Avery. This was my home."
Confusion filled the son's gaze as he surveyed his surroundings more closely. Shutters hung loosely on the windows, in a desperate state of disrepair. Paint was peeling off both the door and the shutters. "This?"
She smiled weakly. "Mi hijo, there are many things about me that you do not know."
Avery was again reminded that his mother was secretive about much of her life. She made fleeting references to her past, but they were mostly of her childhood and never were told in great detail.
It was as if she had lived another existence before he was born.
"Then tell me, Mother. Let me know. Make me understand!"
He wanted to know why she had avoided this place for so long. He wanted to know what had put the sadness into her brown eyes. He wanted to know why she had such a look of longing when she thought no one was watching her. And he wanted to know who she was as a person, not just as his mother.
"Soon," she replied. "Very soon." Her hand slipped away from his face, and she walked around the side of the house.
Avery followed.
He watched the light dance in her eyes as she saw the old basketball goal. She turned to him and smiled. "My brothers used to pound each other mercilessly on this court, all for the sake of earning bragging rights for the day. They had so much pride." She looked down at the ground for a moment. "I suppose we all did."
Avery looked at the goal. The backboard was rotting. A few strings, remnants of the basket, hung from the rusted metal rim. He had a difficult time imagining anyone using it to play basketball, but looking into the eyes of his mother, he knew that she could see it as it had been, not as it was at that moment.
The mother started walking toward the backdoor of the house, but stopped at the window. It was caked with dirt. She drew a handkerchief from her purse and wiped the dirt away.
Peering through the window, she could almost picture the candles that had burned nightly on the windowsill as a beacon for her father and brother to come home. She could almost see their glow and feel the gentle heat they radiated.
Taking a deep breath, she made her way to the backdoor, placing her hand on the knob. Slowly, she began to turn it.
"Mother! You can't go in there!" Avery exclaimed. "That's breaking and entering."
She looked back at him and smiled sadly. "I think I'm the only one home," she replied quietly before walking inside.
With the exception of the layer of dust, which covered everything, the kitchen looked the same to her. Memories pelted her like rocks. So many hours had been spent in that room! Late night talks with her mother over hot cocoa and marshmallows. Teasing her brothers while the family ate meals together. Ice-cream consolation dinners with her best friend. Soap-sud battles with him.
Avery walked to the old refrigerator, removing a small, magnetized picture frame with a photo inside. He wiped the dust away.
Studying the picture, he recognized his mother. She stood with two young men and another woman. His mother looked so young, much as he remembered her from his childhood.
He showed it to her.
"My family," she said, taking the photo from her son. "This was long ago."
"Will you tell me about them?" Avery asked.
"Soon."
"That's what you've been saying. But when will 'soon' become too late?" He looked up at the ceiling. "Why have your brought me here to this remnant of your past only to turn away before telling me about it?"
Tears filled her eyes, and she tried to push them away. "Because it is harder than I thought it would be. It is hard to face the demons."
Avery sighed. "Will you at least tell me about him?"
The older woman looked at her son. "What do you mean?"
"This man. This man you loved before my father." Noticing his mother's look of shock, Avery continued, "You thought I didn't notice, but I did. How could I not?"
She closed her eyes, his image filling her mind. She had memorized every trace of him, every nuance. "I have kept so many things buried deeply within, mi hijo. It has been for your sake, as well as my own. I--" her voice faltered as he looked at her child. "I love you beyond reason. Because of that, I have tried to protect you." She took a deep breath. "I cannot protect you much longer."
He took his mother's hands. "Trust me, Mother! Trust me with whatever it is that burdens you. Please tell me!"
"I brought you here, Avery, because I want you to see me for who I really am. When I am gone…"
"Don't talk like that, Mother."
She shook her head. "You know it's an inevitability, mi amado. You know what the doctors said. Please, just listen to me. When I am gone, you will know everything. I have made certain of that."
"I would rather hear it from you, Mama." His voice had a pleading quality.
She smiled, hearing her son call her mama. It had been so long since he'd used the term of endearment, and her heart swelled with love. "You will. This I promise you."
"Trouble sleeping?" Sarah Markham asked her husband as she walked behind his chair and began rubbing his shoulders.
Avery sighed. "I just can't believe that she's gone. It doesn't seem possible."
"Baby, I'm sorry. I know it hurts," Sarah said soothingly, putting her arms around her husband.
"We knew it was coming. That still doesn't prepare a person…" he sighed and picked up a thick, hard-bound book. He ran his fingers along the ribbon which tied the book closed. Every night for the last two weeks, he'd sat in the same chair, holding the same book, debating the same issue: Was he ready?
Sarah smoothed Avery's hair. "She wanted you to have it. She said it would answer all of your questions."
"It's what I've wanted for so long, but now…now I'm afraid."
Sarah kissed her husband gently on the cheek. "You'll know when the time is right."
Avery nodded and listened to his wife's bare feet as she walked across the wood floor. God, he loved that woman! She was so patient, so kind, and so beautiful.
She was right. He would know when the time was right. Taking a deep breath, Avery pulled the dusky, rose colored ribbon gently.
The time had come.
As he opened the front cover of the book, Avery could see a blue envelope had been tucked away inside. Holding the envelope in his hands, he noticed two words on the outside…his mother's handwriting. My Avery.
He tugged at the seam of the envelope, and it came open with little effort. After removing the folded piece of paper, Avery hesitated. She told him that day at her old home that her words would change everything. What could that mean?
No matter. He had to know.
Unfolding the paper, he read his mother's letter.
Dearest Avery,
How does a mother write a note like this to her child? I don't even know where to begin, so I'll just say this. My foremost wish for you is that you always know that you have been the greatest gift--the greatest blessing-- in my life. I love you with everything in my being--with all that I am.
Just as you have been the greatest gift to me, I leave you with a legacy like none other. I leave you with a gift of the extraordinary. All I ask of you is that you believe.
Mama
Avery held the letter to his heart and ran his fingers over the first page of the book, seeing his mother's handwriting. This was his gift of the extraordinary; his legacy from his mother, Theresa Lopez-Fitzgerald Markham.
And he began to read.