The Visit

It was the one appointment that she had never missed.

Never, in the five years since she had begun dedicating the entire month of November to her daughter's homecoming. It was the only time of the year they could see each other, and no day in November was more important than the 3rd.

Mrs. Dock began her preparations as early as the 1st of October. The first year of her daughter's visits she cleaned the house from top to bottom, paying close attention to the downstairs floor, as her daughter could not make it up the staircase anymore. She enjoyed the decorating as much now as she ever had, but she stuck to the old decorations that had served her so well throughout the years; Christine told her the new decorations she had tried to add in the past were confusing and that she preferred the house layout as she remembered. Mrs. Dock didn't mind. She compromised by decorating the house for Halloween, adding little touches here and there, but kept the crafts she and Christine made during her childhood, and the bedrooms were left alone. It was still easy, old as she was, to get into the holiday spirit, given that it was the time of year she got to see her only child. Christine was also always fond of this time of year.

After the house was decorated, Mrs. Dock collected candy to give to trick-or-treaters; then, of course, after she had eaten the first couple of bags herself, she got more and locked them away in the cupboard, lest she fall into temptation twice. Their hometown had many active churches who hosted events throughout the month; Mrs. Dock's own church, the First Episcopal, had not one but two trunk-or-treats that were open to the public. Five years ago Mrs. Dock had been prominent enough in her congregation to organize and lead the trunk-or-treats, and Christine, angel that she was, led the children around the grounds and entertained the older members, led the youth group's prayer and was a general delight. Nowadays, though, Mrs. Patchley organized most of the church's events. Either her or Mrs. Buck–Mrs. Dock hadn't actually attended service for some time now.

The last time they spoke about it, Christine told her not to worry about Mrs. Patchley or Mrs. Buck or any of the other mothers of the congregation. "You have different priorities in life," she said, and Mrs Dock agreed. Besides, Mrs. Patchley's son was a felon serving time for his manslaughter, and Mrs. Buck's husband was having an affair with his personal assistant.

They never actually went anywhere when they were together. Just sat and talked, and they didn't even talk about anything different from one year to the next; the same phrases and exchanges, but Christine's voice was always so sweet and soft, her hair so bright and clean. Her honey-blonde hair in its curls, her long eyelashes and clear green eyes, her pink round cheeks–she was youth and beauty personified, forever and ever. Mrs. Dock told her every time she saw her.

*

The day of Halloween Mrs. Dock woke up thrumming with excitement. The house was decorated, the snacks were made, the candy was ready. The mother had a smile that wouldn't dim as she completed errands during the day–trying to fill the hours until night fell.

The thing was, Christine would arrive by November 3rd no matter what. But for the past two years, she had arrived by midnight on Halloween. Four nights and three days with her angel was a gift to Mrs. Dock; the weather permitting, they would have that time again this year.

When she stopped by the post office to check her box and mail a letter, she felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see Mr. Jenkens standing behind her with a sympathetic smile. "Hey, there, Janine," he said.

"Robert," Mrs. Dock replied. She nodded her head and turned to leave, but Mr. Jenkens' hand held firm. "I just wanted you to know the church will always have a place for you when you're ready. None of us have made light of your loss." And although his tone was kind, it cut at Mrs. Dock's ears; the words tasted like gravel as she replied, "Thank you very much. See you later."

She abandoned her other errands and her high spirits for a while after that. She drove, as she often had before, in circles around town, trying to gain some ground on her inescapable thoughts. When she did eventually head home, she felt heavier than she had in months. It was all she could do to make it to her front porch to watch the trees as they swayed in the fall breeze.

As the sun set her morale rose once more. To hell with the others, she thought; how could anyone quantify or even articulate the depths of a mother's love? Who knew how precious the concept of time truly was until it was to be measured in hours instead of years? Her favorite day of the whole year was here; she would enjoy it until the end.

Certain harbingers began to sound off from both ends of the street as the festivities began. Children dressed in costumes, their parents trailing behind, and with them came all manners of vehicle and all amalgamations of groups. Teenagers pushing at the edges of adulthood, but Mrs. Dock turned away from them. She tried to keep her thoughts light and easy. This would be an early arrival year. She just knew it.

Eventually, the crowds died away, and the clock struck midnight, and Halloween was over. Mrs. Dock sat on the porch until the trick-or-treaters arrived, then moved inside so she could begin greeting them at the door when they rang. Christine never arrived before the midnight hour, so Mrs. Dock contented herself with the promise that they still had time. She refused to go to bed early; she would not give in to doubt. She resolved to make a cup of tea and wait at the kitchen table.

Another hour passed. Mrs. Dock was besieged by a forlorn dread. One year a fog descended on the entire town, blanketing it completely for two day straight. Christine showed up at the midnight hour when the fog lifted on the second day of November, full of apologies; she had gotten lost along the way, wandering from house to house. The weather this year, however, was clear and perfect.

A faint knocking at the front door pulled Mrs. Dock from her thoughts. She sprang to her feet and hurried to the front door. She opened it in a rush and cried out in joy.

Christine Dock looked and acted like an angel; everyone who knew her said so. So on her sixteenth Halloween Mrs. Dock convinced her to dress up like one, complete with a halo and wings. When they found her body in the woods three days after Halloween the detectives were amazed that her costume was perfectly intact; not a single feather or curl of her hair was out of place.

"Mother," the girl greeted with a glowing smile. The irises of her eyes were gone. Her voice came from far away, all the way back to the past; to the distant memories Mrs. Dock had of her darling daughter.

"Christine, my dear," breathed Mrs. Dock. She hurried forward to hold her child.