Mother's Day (9 page)

The woman standing there gave her a lopsided grin. “Hey,” she said gently, “what do you have to do to get a table around here?”

Mary’s mouth dropped open and she stared. “Linda?”

Linda nodded. “In the flesh.”

“Oh, Linda!” Mary cried. She tossed down the menus and threw an arm around her old friend. The two women embraced awkwardly. “My God,” said Mary. “We thought…well, we thought all kinds of things.”

“I know,” said Linda.

“Come and sit down,” said Mary. “Come and see Sam. He’ll be so surprised. Sam!” she cried, leading Linda by the arm toward the bar. “You won’t believe who just walked in.”

Sam Duncan, a stout, prematurely balding man dressed in a suit and tie he wore like a uniform, turned at his wife’s bidding and frowned at the stranger. All of a sudden recognition dawned in his eyes, and the vodka bottle he was holding slipped from his hands and dropped to the floor behind the bar with a thud, “Linda,” he breathed.

Linda smiled sweetly at him. “Hi, Sam,” she said.

“Excuse me,” he mumbled, bending down to retrieve the bottle. He displayed it clumsily for them. “Good thing these bottles aren’t fragile,” he said.

“You still work here,” Linda observed.

“Actually, Sam and I are married,” said Mary. “We got married about nine years ago.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” Linda exclaimed. “How’s your dad?”

“He died a few years back.”

“I’m sorry,” said Linda.

“I”m sorry about your dad,” said Mary. “Good Lord, Linda, where have you been all these years? Everyone was worried sick about you. Your mother must have called me a dozen times to ask if I’d heard from you.”

“It’s a long story,” said Linda. “But we can’t talk right now because I am meeting someone very special here in just a few minutes.”

“Okay,” said Mary a little coolly.

“Don’t misunderstand,” said Linda. “I want to talk to you. It’s nice to feel welcome somewhere. I am welcome here, aren’t I, Sam?”

“Sure,” Sam said gruffly, avoiding her teasing gaze.

“Your mother must be so happy,” said Mary.

A flinty look came into Linda’s eyes. “That’s hard to say. I saw her last night, but since then I have not been able to reach her. This is my brother’s doing. He threw me out of my mother’s house last night, and I had to stay in the Jefferson Motel. Then, today when I tried to call my mother, there was no answer. He’s stonewalling me. Punishing me, I guess, for having been a bad girl. My mother isn’t at her house, and I suspect he’s got her stashed at his place, but I don’t know where they live. There’s no number here in town. Do you remember my brother?”

Mary nodded, trying to keep a disapproving tone out of her voice. “Sure, I know Bill,” she said. Bill Emery often came into the restaurant for a drink after work or to lunch in a secluded corner. His companions were usually blond and barely of drinking age. Mary knew his wife, Glenda, also. She was a nice woman who didn’t deserve to be treated that way. Mary knew where they lived, too, in the next town over. She was tempted to tell, but she was reluctant to get involved in this family fight. Mind your own business, Sam always said. The customer is always right. Besides, Mary thought, you couldn’t blame Bill for being a little peeved with his sister. She should have at least let them know she was alive.

Linda hesitated a moment, clearly hoping for an answer, but Mary did not offer anything further. “Anyway,” said Linda, “I really do want to tell you everything. But…” Her voice trailed away and her eyes seemed to glaze over. Mary felt the old familiar sense of annoyance with Linda. They’d been friends, but there was always something so secretive about her, even back then. She’d confide in you, but you always had the feeling she was only telling you bits and pieces. Of course that was a quality, along with her good looks, that made her very attractive to boys. Mary glanced up at her husband behind the bar. Sam was studying Linda with a look on his face that Mary remembered from days long ago.

“Well,” said Mary briskly, “it’s certainly nice to see you again. Where are you living, anyway? Or is it a secret?” She immediately felt ashamed of the catty way her question sounded, but Linda did not seem to notice.

“No, no,” she said. “I live in Chicago. I’ve been there all along. No, I’m done with secrets. This visit is going to put an end to a lot of secrets. Not only mine.”

In spite of herself, Mary felt a little shiver run over her at the ominous tone in Linda’s voice, the darkness in her eyes. She started to say, “Are you all right?” when suddenly Linda’s face was aglow.

“Oh, good, she’s here,” she exclaimed. “Come with me, you two. There is someone I want you to meet.”

“There she is,” Jenny cried, and began to wave.

Karen had insisted on coming in to make sure Linda was there. Jenny was furious anew at the implication that Linda might leave her stranded, but Karen was adamant. Now, with a sinking heart, Karen watched Linda approaching them, her arm around the waist of a plain-featured woman with rather dry, shoulder-length brown hair. A balding man with his hands clenched at his sides was following them. Karen realized she’d been hoping that Linda would not show up. It was a terrible thing to wish for—it would have crushed Jenny. But there it was.

Linda smiled and gazed at Jenny, and then her eyes flickered with a quickly concealed disappointment at the sight of Karen. “Are you joining us?” Linda asked in a pleasant manner.

Before Karen could reply, Jenny blurted out, “She’s leaving.”

you go, I’d like you both to meet some old friends of mine.” She gestured to the woman beside her. “This is Mary Miller, now Mary Duncan,” she said, nodding to Sam. “This is Sam Duncan. Mary’s parents started this place, and I had my very first job here when I was in high school. Actually, we were all in high school then. Mary, Sam, I have someone I want you to meet.”

Mary smiled in the practiced manner of a restaurant owner and extended her hand.

“This is my daughter, Jenny,” said Linda proudly as Mary took Jenny’s hand. “And this is her adopted mother, Karen Newhall.”

Karen knew that her face would not conceal her anger at the wording of the introduction. She saw confusion and embarrassment in Mary’s eyes as Mary briefly took her hand and then dropped it and looked away. Sam muttered something by way of greeting but kept his eyes lowered.

Linda did not seem to notice their uneasiness. Her gaze was focused on Jenny. “I had to give Jenny up for adoption when she was born. But now I’ve found her again, and we’re here to do some catching up. I know this probably comes as a shock…”

“Well, that’s wonderful,” said Mary, not knowing whether she was more shocked at the news or angry at Linda for the way she’d just dropped it on them. She wanted to say, “Don’t you have any sense? Look how you’re hurting this woman,” but she wasn’t about to get into it. She avoided looking at Karen’s distorted expression. “We’ll get you a nice quiet table and leave you to it,” she said, and led the way to a table in the corner.

She handed them menus automatically. “The waitress will be over in a minute.”

Before she sat down, Linda embraced Mary impulsively. Mary was stiff and unresponsive. “I want us to really sit down and talk,” said Linda. “There’s a lot I need to tell you about. It’s important.”

“Sure,” said Mary, “I’ll be here. You know where to find me.” She turned and left.

Karen stood awkwardly by the table as Jenny nestled onto her seat. “When shall I pick you up?” she asked Jenny.

Jenny looked inquiringly at Linda.

Linda consulted her watch. “I’m not sure when we’ll be done,” she said.

“Well,” said Karen to Jenny. “Why don’t you just call me?”

“My mother can drive me,” Jenny said impatiently.

Karen blinked back angry tears.

Linda blushed, a mixture of surprise and pleasure in her eyes, but her gaze at Karen was sympathetic. “Thank you so much for bringing Jenny today. We’ll call you when we’re through if you’d like. Although I can just run her home and save you the trip.”

Karen was too shaken to argue. She did not trust her voice not to crack if she spoke. She nodded and quickly turned away, trying to make a dignified exit. She could feel Mary Duncan’s curious gaze on her as she left, but she kept her eyes forward.

All the way home,
Karen wiped away tears with the back of her hand. When she reached the house, her legs felt rubbery as she got out of the car. Jenny’s words rang in her ears and filled her head. “My mother can drive me…my mother…my mother.”

The house was dark and felt oppressively gloomy as she let herself in. She was glad she didn’t have any dance classes to teach this afternoon. Her boss, Tamara, was still keeping her on a light schedule since she’d come back to work. In a way, it might have been better to be at the studio. Something to distract her, to get her mind off her daughter, who was, at this moment, eagerly offering her past up to the scrutiny of this stranger, her mother.

Karen poured herself a glass of iced tea and sat down on a stool beside the island in the kitchen. Memories of days, events, celebrations, filled her thoughts. Silly things came to her. When Jenny was three years old she had been on a pancake kick, and Karen had made her pancakes for breakfast and lunch for weeks. The delight in Jenny’s eyes as she drowned them in syrup had made it seem worthwhile.

All those years, Karen had thanked her lucky stars that she and Greg could make do without a second income, so that Karen could stay home with Jenny until she went off to school. Karen had been an only child whose parents had divorced when she was two, and her mother had always worked. Karen could still remember the loneliness of coming home to an empty apartment after school—the way her mother was always too tired and had too little time to ever do anything fun with her. And Greg had come from a large family—the baby of seven children. His mother had been too overworked and distracted to bother with him much. She died when Greg was thirteen, and his father, brothers, and sisters had scattered like autumn leaves once she was gone. Both Karen and Greg had wanted Jenny to have that security they had missed, of having a mom at home to make her pancakes for lunch, if that’s what she needed.

Even these days, when she and Jenny were at odds more often than they were close, Karen still looked forward eagerly to the sound of that door opening, Jenny trooping in, dropping her notebooks on the island, rooting around in the refrigerator, dropping random, reveal-king remarks about her schoolmates and her teachers. Karen washed out her tea glass and walked through the house, slowly climbing the stairs. She walked down the hall to Jenny’s room and pushed open the door. It was a corner room in the front of the house, the pale-blue-striped wallpaper bright with the light of three windows. Recently Jenny had complained that the room was too babyish, so Karen had sewed new curtains and let Jenny pick out a new comforter and pillow shams to go with them. She had promised herself she would not interfere and let Jenny decide on the pattern when they went shopping, but in the end Jenny had asked her advice. They were both happy with the results. Karen gazed around the room, which seemed to vibrate with her daughter’s presence. Jenny had dutifully hung up most of her clothes, but there were sneakers and shoes by the bed and her white desk was piled precariously with books and papers. The top of the bureau was laden with jars and bottles of every sort of beauty aid that could be pitched to teenage insecurities. So unnecessary, Karen thought. She doesn’t even realize how beautiful she is.

In spite of herself, she kept picturing Linda and Jenny seated together, so alike in appearance it was uncanny. She looked at herself in Jenny’s mirror, her blond hair and dark brown eyes completely unlike those of her daughter. She and Greg could be brother and sister, they looked so much alike. In fact, his friends had teased Greg about it when they were dating. “She’s my soulmate,” he would say seriously. “Of course we look alike.” It had always seemed so unimportant that Jenny resemble them. But, still, it had been a shock to see how closely she mirrored the looks of her biological mother. They fit together like puzzle pieces, and for some reason that hurt.

Karen looked away from the mirror and noticed that Jenny had found a spot for the music box on the top of her bureau. Karen opened the lid, and the tune of “Beautiful Dreamer” tinkled forth. A little ballerina danced on a mirror. If I gave her that, Karen thought, she would think it was stupid. But Linda was a different story.

The sound of a car in the driveway startled her. She dropped the lid and went to the window. Linda’s car was in the driveway. Jenny clambered out of the front seat, clutching her stack of mementos, and Linda got out as well. They stood for a moment, talking, and then Jenny threw her arms around Linda, and they embraced.

A dart of jealousy pierced Karen’s heart at the sight. She could not remember the last time Jenny had embraced her like that. Lately she drew back if Karen reached out for her. Why? she thought as she watched her daughter cling to this woman she barely knew. Yes, she gave birth to you. But I rocked you, and nursed your colds, and made your lunches, and dried your tears. What does it mean to be a mother, if not that? You always felt like my very own to me. Didn’t I seem like your very own to you?

As if sensing Karen watching them, Jenny turned away from Linda and glanced up toward her room. Seeing Karen there, Jenny waved and smiled. Ashamed of herself for her jealousy, her self-pity, Karen waved back and retreated from the window. How could she begrudge Jenny this important relationship? Why should it threaten her? she asked herself. Determined to be better, she composed her expression and headed down the hall to her own room. The front door opened and Jenny called out, “I’m back.”

“I’m up here,” Karen called out in that old, familiar way. She heard Jenny bounding up the stairs. Jenny stuck her head into her parents’ room, where Karen was busily arranging clothes in her dresser. “Hi,” said Karen. “I’m just putting some laundry away.”

“Hi. Oh sh…oot,” said Jenny. “I forgot to tell you not to put my red shirt in the dryer.”

“I hung it up,” said Karen.