Disclaimer: All characters and situations are the sole property and responsibility of the author.

Years ago a stylish neighborhood of compact houses had been build for veterans returning from the war. Once their families had started to grow, they'd priced the homes for a fast sell and moved away. Now the area was as tired and rundown as some of the tenants.

One house stood in the center of its tiny yard; the grass long since covered by a lake of muddy runoff water, paint peeling from the wood siding, the roof patched with mix-matched tile, and one side of the eaves hanging by a single nail.

Bloated, angry storm clouds dominated the grey afternoon sky; fat raindrops battering everything into a sodden jumble. From within the dark interior, a small, brown hand pushed kitchen curtains aside and a woman's face appeared to stare expectantly at the sky. A frown replaced the half hopeful look on her face. After a quick glance at the flooded yard, the curtain fell back into place.

The woman pushed the curly mass of hair from her eyes and picked up a cup of tea from the counter and took a sip. Her eyes slowly roamed around her kitchen, noting the sickening yellow walls, the floor's bleak linoleum pattern, the archaic stove and matching refrigerator squeezed into a corner, and the ever-present pile of dirty dishes soaking in the sink. It was a depressing room . . .

Suddenly, her thoughts were interrupted by a voice behind her.

"Lord knows why you don't have pneumonia, Deirdre, you keep it so cold in this house."

All her life, both the voice and the pretentious name had worn on her nerves until she thought she'd go mad. Deirdre turned to look at the tiny woman sitting at her kitchen table and sighed in resignation. As if her life wasn't unfulfilled enough, whatever cosmic force that controlled destiny had been perverse enough to give her Ada Phillips as a mother.

Deirdre's birth had stopped Ada's education when she was barely sixteen and Deirdre felt Ada had used her lack of a diploma as a reason for not trying to get a decent job. Just living day-to-day had been a struggle for both of them. Their existence was a failure that had made Deirdre sullen, her mother drink, and them both bitter and angry.

"The thermostat's at 80," she mumbled, not turning from the sink, "You turned it up."

Ada pulled the front of the sweater she was wearing tighter together. "I told you this house would be hard to hear, didn't I?" She paused, watching her daughter's back stiffen. "Lord knows why I even try to talk to you, you never listen."

And Deirdre wasn't listening now. She'd made a habit of ignoring her mother's advice. When she'd wanted to paint the kitchen her mother had said, "It may be pretty on that little scrap, but Lord knows a whole room that color would drive you crazy." She'd used the color anyway. And her mother'd been right.

"Maybe the furnace's out."

Deirdre shrugged. "Maybe. The basement's flooded."

Ada shook her head. "Didn't I say when it rained hard the yard would flood and back up into the basement? Lord knows why you fight me so hard, girl." She reached in her sweater pocket and withdrew a half-pint bottle of whiskey, unscrewed the cap and drank a generous amount.

Deirdre clinched her fists tight. It wouldn't be long before Ada was stumbling drunk. She wished her mother was anywhere else, but the drinking had been going on as long as she could remember and wishing had never made it change. For the hundred-thousandth time, Deirdre wondered why. Maybe it started when her father left. Or, was the reason why he left.

In her youth, Ada had been a beautiful woman, now the whiskey had bloated her face, blotched her skin and tainted her eyes. The dark, luxurious hair Deirdre had brushed for hours as a child, now hung limp, faded and lifeless around her mother's shoulders.

"Do you have to do that?" She snapped angrily.

Without looking up, Ada asked, "Do what?" Her words were already beginning to slur.

Deirdre's temper simmered close to the surface. "Drink!"

"No, don't have to, want to."

"And you can stop anytime you want to, right?"

Ada shrugged. "Don't want to."

"And you know it's killing you, right?"

"Lord knows we all gonna die, baby-girl."

Deirdre's mouth closed with a snap as she tried to force back the anger and resentment threatening to break free. For some reason, she couldn't remain silent, she couldn't let the anger go this time. "They why here?"

Ada raised her head to look at her. "You saying I'm not welcome in your house?"

"I'm saying, I don't want you drinking in my house."

"I'm grown, Deirdre. You don't tell me what to do."

"It's my house, Ada! When I lived with you, I followed your rules."

"You never followed my rules. . ."

Deirdre ignored her mother's outrage. "I don't want you drinking in my house!"

"Alright, if it bothers you that much, I'll stop. . .soon as I finish this bottle." In defiance, she took a deep swallow. "I don't understand the problem. Ain't like doing drugs. . ."

"Alcohol is a drug, Ada."

"If it were, you couldn't buy it in a store." Ada snorted disdainfully. "And Lord knows if I didn't come here myself, I'd never see you. . ." She let the sentence dangle, as she fingered the half-full bottle, letting the guilt seep in as she had numerous times before. "Ain't like you'll visit me."

And Deirdre took the bait, as she had numerous times before. "I've just been busy! As a matter of face, I was just going out when you knocked on the door."

"Out? In this weather?"

"You came out, in this weather."

Ada shrugged as she rose to her feet. Bustling over to the counter, she lifted the pot from the coffee maker, sniffed it and made a face. "Why can't you drink coffee like a normal person?"

"I don't like the taste. And besides, it makes me nervous."

She smirked at Deirdre before returning to her chair. "Ain't the coffee that makes you nervous. Lord knows you were always a jittery child," she paused, smiling, her gaze fixed on something far away, "even in the womb. You used to bruise me inside and out with all your jumping around. Lord knows sometimes it seemed like you were digging your way out through the walls!"

Deirdre gritted her teeth, she hated that story, and tried again. "I really was going out."

"Where? Shopping again?"

"No, not shopping. . ." She turned back to the sink.

The kitchen was silent for a few moments. "If you won't answer straight, it means you're going to see that dog you call a man! Lord knows, only he would ask you to come out on a day like this, instead of coming to you!" Her mother's lips thinned in anger. "Child, don't you see he's no good for you? Always wanting something! What's it this time? Money?" She paused. "Sex?"

Deirdre spun to face her mother, a shocked expression on her face.

Ada made a disgusted noise. "Oh, girl, please! You think I don't know what a man like that wants? I'm not stupid!" She took another drink and set the bottle back down. "You can do better, baby-girl! If you'd look past that pretty face of his, you'd see he's just using you!" She paused, toying with the tablecloth. "Mavis said she saw him the other day and he was. . ."

"I don't care what that jealous, dried-up old. . ."

"You watch your mouth! Mavis' your aunt and she loves you! She's just trying to keep you from being hurt!"

Deirdre stared at her mother a minute then turned away and resumed dishwashing.

"Lord, child, how long those dishes been soaking in that sink? I swear, if I didn't come around, you'd never get anything done around here, would you? Seems like the only time you ever do any cleaning is when I'm here. And that little bit's not all that good. . ."

Suddenly there was a loud crash as a plate slid from Deirdre's hands and shattered on the floor.

Ada jumped. "Child! What's wrong with you? You paid enough for those dishes to be more careful! Lord, I swear! You should've bought the cheaper set I showed you. It's not like you make a lot of money on that job or yours. . .I you'da gone on to college like I asked you coulda been teaching now, nor a nurse, or. . ."

Deirdre's control finally snapped. "Stop it! You're driving me crazy!," she screamed, as she raked wet hands desperately through her hair. "Why can't you say one sentence to me that isn't criticism? All you do when we're together is complain! If being here makes you so miserable, why come?" She threw the dishrag in the cooling water. "You don't like my house! I'm a pig! You don't like my life, my job, my taste in men!" She took a step forward and raged, "Why did you have me? You coulda had an abortion, given me away! You never wanted me! I ruined your life! If you'd've left like my father, you'd've been happier. . .I know I'd've been!" She turned angrily back to the sink.

Ada was quiet for a long time. "Well. . .now it's out. I knew I made you mad, that we never could see eye-to-eye about things, but I never knew you hated me."

"Deirdre swallowed hard to clear the tears from her throat. "I don't hate you, Ada." She said, her voice heavy with fatigue.

"Then you're lying to both of us. Anybody could hear hate in what you just said." She stood, putting her bottle back in her sweater pocket. "Well. . .Lord knows, I don't stay were I'm not wanted." She started for her coat. "I'll go home."

Suddenly, Deirdre was stricken with a wave of panic and turned to follow her. "Mama." Ada continued walking. She had to catch her by the shoulders to stop her. "Mama, please. I didn't mean it."

"Why's it 'mama' now?" She turned to face her daughter. "And you didn't mean it, or you didn't mean to say it out loud, baby-girl? Hate's an ugly thing to keep secret all these years. You think I don't know that's why you take anything I say to heart? If I say up, you go down. If I say black, you see blue." She waved her hands helplessly in the air. "Look at this house. If I hadn't said not to buy it, you'd've seen it for the money-pit it was. You bought it to defy me." When Deirdre started to protest, Ada silenced her with a raised hand. "No, you've done it since you were little." She was quiet as she looked searchingly into her daughter's face. "You think I don't love you, don't you? Baby-girl, why do you think I worked so hard at keeping us together? I love you more than my own life.

"True, I didn't mean to get knocked, I was young and fast-assed, couldn't nobody tell me nothing; but I did mean to keep you, keep you with me no matter what." She paused. "I know it plagues you, but I can't tell you why your daddy left, since he didn't tell me. But that doesn't have anything to do with the two of us."

"Why do you drink so much?"

Ada sighed, her shoulder slumping. "Loneliness. Bitterness. Nothing worked out like I planned when I was young." She smiled ruefully. "It used to make me feel good, but not now." He smile slowly melted into sorrow.

"So stop."

She shook her head and said softly. "I can't."

"You can, mama, all you need to do is try."

"I have tried." Ada gently touched her daughter's face. "I love you, baby-girl."

She sobbed aloud as she drew her mother up against her chest and hugged her close. Why did she feel so frail? Deirdre's arms wrapped around her easily, and she could feel every bond in her back. When was the last time she'd touched her? Why hadn't she noticed before?

Deirdre made a mental note to look into some alcoholic's programs tomorrow and take her mother to one even if she had to drag her kicking and screaming.

Ada squirmed to get free.

"I gotta go now." She stepped away and picked up her coat.

"Mama. . ." Deirdre began, when her mother had reached the door.

Ada stopped and turned around.

"I really didn't mean what I said before."

Ada smiled. "Lord knows you just been under lots of pressure lately. It was just something that had to come out or you'd've made yourself sick."

Deirdre nodded. "You want to have lunch with me tomorrow? Talk some more?"

Ada looked at her sadly. "We'll see tomorrow."

"Okay. Call me when you get home, let me know you're all right."

"Sure, Deirdre." He mother's smile was odd now. "'Bye, baby."

"'Bye, mama. . .," Deirdre felt a sharp catch in her chest, as if it finally released the word she had never said out loud. "I love you."

"Dee, who're you talking to?"

Deirdre turned. Her aunt was standing in the bedroom doorway. "Mavis? Where'd you come from?"

Her aunt gave her a puzzled look. "The bedroom. You feeling all right?"

"How long you been there, and who let you in?"

"Been here all morning. You let me in." Mavis came forward and took her by the elbow, leading her to the couch. "You want me to call the doctor, Dee?"

Deirdre blinked. Had her aunt lost her mind? "Call the doctor for what?"

"Who were you talking to?"

"Your sister. I was talking to her. She just left. If I'd known you were here. . ."

The expression on Mavis' face was beginning to frighten her.

"What? Why are you looking at me that way?"

"I'm calling the doctor." She began moving away, but Deirdre caught her arm.

"Mavis, you're scaring me."

"And you're talking crazy! You know your mama's gone."

"Yes," she said carefully. "She just left."

Mavis shook her, hard. "Ada died three days ago. We were getting ready to go to the funeral, you asked me to go get your hat."

Tears burned Deirdre's eyes. "Stop it, Mavis. This isn't funny! I just saw her, she was here!"

"Dee. . ."

She snatched diercely out of her aunt's grasp. "No! It's not true!"

"Dee, she had a stroke and slipped away. There was nothing we could do. It was quick and she wasn't in any pain." Her aunt shook her again. "You were just saying there were things you wished you'd told her. Don't you remember:?"

The tears were falling heavily now. Now, she remembered. Her mother had died days ago. And their last words had been angry ones. Deirdre had been standing at the kitchen window wishing she could have only said goodbye. . .told he that she loved her. Then she remembered her mother walking out into the rain only a moment ago. It had seemed so real. She remembered the feeling of her chest opening up and saying, 'I love you', for the very first time.

"Yes, yes, I remember." She said sadly.

She'd said it. It'd been real, real for her and now she felt better. Now she could cry.

She patted her aunt's hand. "I'm all right now. Really, Aunt Mavis, I'm all right. Come on. We're going to be late." She picked up her coat from the couch. "And when I come back, I'm going to call somebody to see about getting rid of this ugly old house!" She took her hat from the couch were Mavis had dropped it. "Lord knows it's time for some changes. . ." After all, He'd given her a sign.