The Light at the Edges

She has almost gotten used to looking at the eclipse, the dark grey void in front of her. She has almost learned to discern what lays at the edges of the corona, the periphery of her sight.

"Please don't," Candace begs Wanda, the pink fuzzy shape that is her nurse. "Please no fuss, no singing, no candles. Just let it go, okay?"

It has been years, decades really, since she celebrated her birthday. Well, if pressed, she'll admit to occasionally having killed a bottle of wine on that day. In general, though, those days have passed in blessed negligence.

Why would she want to celebrate? Why celebrate the fact that she has simply been breathing for this many years? It's not as if she has produced anything noteworthy. And why would she want to be reminded that she may still have years stretching before her?

Now that her macular degeneration has made it impossible for her to live alone. Now that she can't properly see the TV or a computer screen. Can't see playing cards, scrabble or backgammon pieces. Can't see the yarn she used to knit. Can't read a book or newspaper, can't paint or take a walk on her own. She is not looking forward to years of being locked in her own thoughts. Yes, she knows about audio books and podcasts. But she'll admit her concentration is wavering and won't let her sit and listen without her mind wandering.

Wanda, being young, optimistic and sweet just had to stop at the bakery and buy her a cupcake. "Go ahead, make a wish, Miss Candace. I won't tell anyone."

Candace has only one wish. One she's had for decades. Her biggest regret. She tells herself she's only indulging Wanda when she closes her eyes.

I would like to know what the road not taken would have looked like.

Candace smiles and takes a bite of the little cake and thanks Wanda for the thoughtful gesture. As far as cupcakes go, it's not bad. When Wanda has moved on, promising to be back later, Candace leans back in her recliner, folds her hands in her lap and closes her eyes.

^*^*^

She's resting on her elbows, looking down at Brody. His sea-blue eyes look up at her. His smile is tentative as if he's waiting for her to say something. She smiles, nods. "Yes."

He melts in relief. One arm wrapped around her shoulder, the other pulls her close to him. She shudders. Oh, my! Is she - about - to have - her first - - She grinds herself against him and dissolves.

When she opens her eyes again, Brody looks at her with a combination of awe and humor. "I should have asked months ago." he grins. She smiles and sags into the safety of his arms.

*^*^*

Wanda wakes her for her one o'clock medications. Candace smiles sleepily at the pink blur to her left and dutifully swallows the pills Wanda drops in her palm. Candace tries to snuggle back into her dream.

"You okay, Miss Candace? You feelin' alright?" Wanda probes.

Candace nods and looks toward the young girl. "I'm okay, Wanda. You just woke me from a lovely dream. I want to go back there."

Wanda chuckles. "You do that and tell me all about it later, will you?"

Candace smiles. "My dreams may be too hot for you to handle, child."

Wanda is already a silhouette against the light from the hallway. "I hope so, Miss Candace." She laughs. "I hope so."

^*^*^

Brody urges Candace to sit down at the kitchen table. "I need to talk with you." The twins - screech! Time out! Twins? Who said anything about babies? Let alone twins. Really? Twins ... Well, okay, twins it is. - are asleep.

As soon as he pulls the chair out for her, Candace thinks the worst. He has found someone else. He wants a divorce. He has a terminal disease.

"You want to start a business?" She almost laughs at the relief. A business she can handle. She scoots closer. "Tell me about this business."

He takes both her hands and describes his plan with enthusiasm and detail. He'll need to go back to school, part time would be okay. He'll work with his friend Will. How much they'll need to borrow. Their timeline, projections, etc., etc.

"Okay," she says at length, knowing that Brody is always thorough, will have researched this plan to the nth degree. "Okay, we'll make it work. Cut back on things. We'll make it work." She takes his hand and leads him upstairs, giggling. "If I'm to be the breadwinner for a while, I want to be on to..."

*^*^*

"Miss Candace?" Wanda gently touches Candace's shoulder.

"Wanda, your timing leaves a lot to be desired." Candace grumbles.

"That's what Mr. Courts in 43 always says too. " She laughs. "Your children are here."

Children? Wouldn't she remember giving birth? Everything she has ever read or heard about pregnancy, childbirth, motherhood has led her to believe that it is absolutely life-altering. Why doesn't she remember this?

She lowers the footrest of her recliner, rakes her hand through her too thin hair and slowly gets up. When she turns toward the door, she is instantly, completely overwhelmed by a tsunami of feelings that she has never felt before. Is this what all mothers feel? Is this what her mother felt? This heart-filling, protective - don't anyone dare hurt one hair on these perfect creations, my creations - feeling?

Candace watches a beautiful female replica of Brody walk into the room, closely followed by a male mini-me. Correction, a taller, more handsome version.

"Mona, Mike! You came. You made my day." She's babbling, gushing. Oh, what the hell! She's eighty - effing- five years old and she's just fallen head over heels in love with her own kids for the first time. She's entitled to babble, isn't she?

It's a rare, perfect day in April. The breeze is gentle, the afternoon is fragrant with the smells from the barbeque. There are no clouds in front of her eyes, no Vaseline smeared over her corneas when she walks outside. There on the lawn are - Candace sees them clearly, has known them forever - Mona's husband Len and their children. Mike's wife, Conny and their two boys. And their spouses and babies.

Just minutes ago, she was alone. Just minutes ago, she was all but blind.

Her kids - really, she reminds herself. She has kids, she and Brody have children.- Their children know better than to bring cupcakes. There is wine and nuts and cheese and many other goodies.

Candace is holding one of her great granddaughters. The poor thing looks just like one of Candace's baby pictures. She's a mess, a happy, sloppy mess. A little moist from the more than a little moist baby bottom and a bit sloshed from the wine.

Suddenly there are so many memories.

Their birth, first steps, learning to ride bikes, their first dance, first dates. Their almost constant bickering and competition. Their fierce defense and united front against any outsider. How they had struggled being at different colleges. Their weddings. How they have gone their separate ways, but always know where the other is, what they are doing. How they still tease, admire and support each other.

The sun is about to be eclipsed. Everyone has special glasses. Len even bought special lenses for his camera. When the sunlight starts to fade, Candace's vision begins to blur and cloud again. She reaches for their hands and marvels at the possibility of having created these two seemingly perfect humans. To have somehow experienced, conjured or dreamed their lives in the span of a few hours. She knows that all this will disappear when she wakes up. But Candace would like to think that they are real in another, more perfect universe. A universe where she is more confident, able to trust her judgement and allow herself to love and be loved.