What a Mother Knows (30 page)

The
music
kept
blasting: “Eyes on the road, your hands upon the wheel…” Noah sang along to his recorded voice, then shrieked with laughter.

Michelle
did
as
the
lyric
suggested
and
stared
straight
ahead. Anything to avoid the sight of his mocking grin, his bloodshot eyes, his naked body slamming into her baby girl. He cranked the volume knob up until her head throbbed with the beat. “Just wait until I talk to your father.”

He
burst
into
laughter
again. “You kidding? He thinks I'm gay. He'll be thrilled.”

“About statutory rape?”

“Any publicity is good publicity.”

“No, it's not, you little shit. What did you give her?”

He
sang
over
her—“Going to the roadhouse. We're gonna have a real good time.” He put his hand around his mouth like a megaphone to shout between choruses. He punctuated the beat with his pelvis and added an extra line to the lyric. “Let it roll, baby roll, in Ec-sta-sy.”

Michelle
glared
at
him. She saw his seat belt, still hanging loose, and reached over to his lap to try and fasten it herself.

He
batted
her
hand
away. “Like mother, like daughter, eh?”

“You stay the hell away from Nikki!” she shouted, as the tires caught the edge of the curve.

“You can't protect her forever,” he said, taunting her with those long lashes and that leering grin. He was writhing now, dancing, wouldn't sit still.

“I can try.”

“Fuck you, I'm out of here,” he said, opening the car door. He leaned out and lifted his leg. Michelle lunged to reach him, to pull him back in.

The
steering
wheel
turned
without
traction. The tires crunched over gravel, the bumper bounced against dirt, branches scraped and pine needles sprayed rat-a-tat like shrapnel through the white cloud. The bass note beat to a whoosh of airborne bliss, like flying. Then the air whistled. Noah screamed in perfect pitch, the key of C to silence.

“Michelle?” Kenny asked.

She blinked and saw him standing in front of her. He glanced at the jurors a few yards away, their faces upturned and expectant. She was on the witness stand, her legs neatly crossed at the ankle. He had promised he wouldn't make her testify unless it was absolutely necessary. So, how did she get there? What had she said?

“Are you all right?” Kenny asked. “According to your medical records, you suffered a traumatic brain injury in the accident, resulting in memory loss. Is that true, Mrs. Mason?”

She heard the name, but it wasn't hers anymore. It was a person from a past life, a stranger. She shook her head.

Kenny exchanged concerned looks with the judge. “The defendant is obviously in a state of confusion. We may need a recess.”

“Are you able to continue, Mrs. Mason?” the judge asked. “Speak up for the record.”

The record? Michelle nodded along to the music, that song in her head. “Yes.”

Kenny raised his voice. “Fine. Can you tell us anything about the events on the morning of October 8? Anything at all?”

Could she? Michelle could barely speak, she was so tongue-tied with the truth. Could she tell him that she'd killed Noah Butler? She knew now, without question, that it was true. He had done his part by taking his seat belt off, but she was angry and she couldn't see through the rain and they argued and he opened the door and she panicked. She had let go of the wheel to grab him. Only for a moment, but a moment was all it took. She would be led away in handcuffs to await a criminal trial.

Michelle cleared her fuzzy throat, struggling to free herself from this straitjacket of guilt. She was ready to accept punishment. She looked at the faces of others who would pay: Kenny, who had sacrificed so much time to help her; Cathy, who splurged on a celebration steak; Drew, the father of her children—and then she saw Tyler. Her son was the most innocent among them. He would suffer most.

Tick, tick, tick.

The door in the back of the gallery squeaked open. When Kenny turned to look, so did everyone else in the courtroom. But it wasn't Nikki. It was Elyse.

Kenny turned back to Michelle and spoke slowly, carefully, so that she understood every word. “Once again. Can you explain what happened the day that Noah Butler died?”

“No,” Michelle said. “I can't.”

The courtroom was still for a moment, then there was a flash of light from the back. When darkness resumed, the door was closed and Michelle's mother was gone.

“Michelle Mason may be liable for many things,” Kenny said as he stood before the jury box and began his closing argument. “But negligence isn't one of them.” He glanced back at her, then faced the jurors once more. “This is a confusing case; at least, it is to me. Did the car hit a puddle of oily rainwater that caused the fatal turn? Did the seat belt stop working, or had Noah Butler failed to fasten it in the first place? How long does the owner of an automobile have to repair a potential malfunction? Why did Nicole Mason run away? Who gets all the money that Noah Butler's songs have earned? And yet, few of those questions have anything to do with Michelle Mason.

“My esteemed adversaries want you to believe that Mrs. Mason is a typical Hollywood player who thinks she is above the law and who wanted this young man to stay away from her daughter at any cost. They have told you that she has a family history of depression and that her daughter is, in so many words, a runaway. A video slut. They have implied that Mrs. Mason neglected her children and drove her husband away, that she enjoyed working in an environment of casual drug use, and that the tabloids are correct to call her ‘Killer Mom.' How crazy is that? These fancy lawyers deserve their high salaries. Mr. Greenburg is helping his own family find closure. And Mr. Dillenger is legendary for his success in protecting wealthy stockholders.

“But neither one has provided evidence proving that Michelle Mason got in that vehicle with any conscious disregard for passenger safety, nor malice aforethought, nor a history of improper driving. We have only seen evidence that her daughter was a lucky kid who got to dress up on her birthday and be in a low-budget video—a project that her mom talked her boss into making as a favor to a teenager who helped out her son's baseball team. Turns out that Noah Butler did have talent, the kind that comes with tattooed groupies and postmortem fame. But even if Noah Butler turned out not to be so typical, Michelle Mason surely is.

“She is a typical working mom, trying to do all the right things. The evidence presented shows that she often raced straight from work during rush hour to her son Tyler's baseball practice, talking to her husband long-distance when he could only find work out of town, and knitting with her daughter on the sidelines while planning the evening meal. On the day of the accident, evidence shows that her son's baseball game was called off due to rain. It shows that Noah Butler, the assistant pitching coach, rode his motorcycle to Tyler Mason's house. It shows that Tyler's mom was giving him a ride to his dad's house while it was still raining. And it shows that she nearly died doing it.

“By some miracle, Tyler's mom is sitting before us today, scarred inside and out. She will never forget that a young man's life ended when he was thrown out of her car. If anyone wants to profit off this tragic accident, or fight about the particulars, so be it. Make no mistake: this is a terrible tragedy. Nobody should ever lose a child. But it's not my client's fault!”

Kenny took a deep breath to collect himself, then continued. “Michelle Mason is only responsible for being a typical mother who gave another mother's child a ride home in the rain. This could have happened to any of us. Like it says in the Bible, ‘There but for the grace of God, go I.'”

The courtroom was quiet as Kenny's closing words filled the room. They echoed in Michelle's head, and she recalled when Cathy had first spoken them to her. But when she glanced behind her, Cathy looked away. Maybe Cathy hadn't meant that it was simply bad luck. Maybe she'd meant what she had said about strangling someone. Maybe that's what Noah's mother meant when she said she would do anything to protect her child. And maybe the knowledge that she would do anything to protect her child was the very thing that made Michelle so typical.

Kenny patted her hand as he sat down, but he avoided her eyes, as if it was all for show. And at that moment she realized that Cathy hadn't bothered him with extra details for a reason. Like she'd said at the ballpark, Kenny knew
exactly
what he was doing.

When the jury left to deliberate, spectators strolled to the lobby as if it were a theater intermission. Kenny made Michelle wait, restless with guilt, in her seat. Greenburg and Dillenger could be heard debating tee times for the Riviera Country Club as the aisle began to clear. Noah's father ran up to catch Becca and Victor, who were adjourning to the hotel bar across the street. Finally, Kenny escorted Michelle out of the courtroom and past gossiping fans. Reporters looked up from their handheld devices, alert for the district attorney. Kenny didn't stop until they reached the drinking fountain. Then he stood uncomfortably close, like a human handcuff.

Tyler ran over and gave her a big hug. Michelle smoothed a lock of hair from his forehead. “Thanks for being here. I'm sorry about Key West.”

“Me too,” he said, cutting her off before things turned maudlin. He turned to shake hands with Kenny. “Nice play, Coach.”

“Brilliant,” Cathy agreed. She shooed Tyler toward the snack machine, then lowered her voice. “How do you feel?”

“Not sure,” he admitted. “I still don't believe that none of those jurors have ever heard of Roadhouse or Killer Mom. It was probably a mistake to mention the bartender. And the jury foreman's eyes widened when I mentioned Hollywood, as if he could see his name in lights. Undermines all that crap about being typical.” He rubbed his temple. “Damn it, I should have kept it about the car. How you put your trust in a vehicle and look what happens. These cars are known for rollovers—I could have made a case for unreliability.” He shook his head in misery.

“He's just nervous,” Cathy told Michelle. They both looked at Kenny, the coach who never broke a sweat at the league championships, even when his team was down two runs at the bottom of the ninth. He wasn't nervous; he was scared, and not just for Michelle. They'd go bankrupt if he lost the case.

Cathy pointed at a court clerk watching the Dodgers game on some portable device. “Honey, why don't you go see how the Dodgers are doing? I'll take Michelle to the ladies' room.”

When Kenny wandered off, Cathy put her arm around Michelle to protect her from Roadhouse fans. Yet, there was no need for protection now. Michelle repelled everyone equally, as if she glowed with radiation. She felt like a bomb about to blow. But it wasn't the jury's deliberation or the plutonium guilt that weighed so heavily in her chest. Michelle had judged herself already. It was her mother's verdict that she feared the most.

Michelle spotted Elyse across the lobby, deep in conversation with Drew. Elyse's silver hair flamed like a lit match on a long fuse.

Michelle and Cathy ducked into the ladies' room. Cathy was chattering as she wandered back to find an empty stall, but Michelle wasn't listening. She washed her hands at the closest sink. She wanted to powder her nose and pull herself together, but she didn't dare look at herself in the mirror. She was afraid a murderer would look back.

When a toilet flushed and footsteps approached, Michelle kept her head down and dug out her mother's Chanel lipstick.

Cathy's voice called out. “Michelle, did I tell you that Julie offered to write Cody a recommendation for UCLA? That's all a mother can hope for, right?”

Michelle looked up slowly and saw Noah's mother in the mirror. Their eyes locked, but neither said a word. Then Noah's mother slid something across the countertop. It was the postcard of Turtle Town.

The stall clanged open and Cathy called out. “Michelle?”

Michelle jammed the postcard in her purse. When she looked up, the hem of the black caftan was sweeping out through the door.

“Was that Dr. Braunstein?” Cathy asked. “How awkward. Are you all right?”

Michelle nodded, then escaped outside to wait by the windows. Her fingers itched to feel the paper her daughter had touched, to read the lyrics she'd written, but she didn't dare. She stared out to sea. A frothy set of waves was rolling in. She breathed deeply, but all she could smell was Chanel No. 5.

Elyse's reflection loomed in the window. A shank of hair hung loose from her chignon, and where was her signature silk flower? Even the lacy scarf ringing her neck looked out of place against her tired St. John's suit. Time had taken a toll on them both.

“I wanted to come sooner,” Elyse said. “But we had our spring recital.”

“Let me guess:
Gisell
e
?” Michelle kept her eyes on the ocean. The horizon was clear now, a narrow strip of blue dividing the earth and sky, like the fine line that Michelle danced on. When she heard the angry click of her mother's compact, she turned around.

“I fly clear across the country, squeezed between a drunken letch and a fat slob who sneezed all over me, but everything I do is wrong!” Elyse flung the compact back in her purse as if it was burning her fingers. “I might as well be dead.”

“Is that a threat?”

“It's just an expression. Stop being so melodramatic.” Elyse clasped the railing like a ballet barre and stretched by force of habit. “All that was long ago.”

“True, but now we have something in common,” Michelle said. “Almost dying, I mean. Although I didn't have the pleasure of seeing your pretty white light.”

“Ah, but your memory remains faulty,
ou
i
?” Elyse's glance was as sharp as a dart until she recognized the pink on Michelle's bitten lips. Then she released the
barre
and almost smiled. “I knew that shade would become you.”

“It's just for today; you can have it back.” Michelle set her purse on the floor to retrieve her mother's lipstick, then held it in her outstretched palm.

Elyse reached toward the black tube, then her eyes widened and she clutched Michelle's hand. She raised it higher in the light to see the razor thin scars on Michelle's slashed wrist. The lipstick clattered to the floor.

“It's not what you think,” Michelle said, yanking her hand away. “It's just a cut.” She saw Elyse drop her chin as if to chide her for a lie. “I'm not like you, mother!”

Elyse spun away. She sat on a nearby bench and adjusted the Ace bandage wrapped around her thin ankle.

Michelle tried not to care, but it was a losing battle. She'd always been her mother's protector. Why stop now? “Are you hurt?”

“
Mes
enfants
,” Elyse said, waving the topic away. “Where shall we dine? They don't feed you on the plane anymore.”

“I could add plus one to my reservation at the jail cafeteria,” Michelle said.

Elyse frowned as she finished wrapping her ankle. “Is that what you want? To be a martyr? To leave everyone else to clean up your mess?”

“My mess?” Michelle asked.

Elyse stood up. “If you have something to say, Michelle, say it now. As much as I abhor your husband's behavior, I will not return if you don't invite me back.
Comprenez-vous
?”

Michelle nodded. For once, her mother was on her side. Too bad it was now, when she had given up on being good. She turned toward the ocean and hoped her mother would wait for her to find the right words. There was a question that had lingered all of her life, the one she'd never known how to ask. Until now.

Michelle took a deep breath and concentrated as if this was a game show.
This
is
Your
Life—and Mine!
She watched the Ferris wheel spin and felt her heart race as if she were at the carnival, crossing a cakewalk of shifting ground, as her mother stepped to the railing beside her.

When Michelle finally spoke, she pushed the words out of her mouth one by one, focusing on the syllables instead of the meaning behind them. “When you swallowed those pills, it was never a cry for help like the doctors said, was it?”

Elyse tucked the loose hair into her chignon. “
Non, pas du tout.
I wanted to be dead.”

Michelle nodded. “But, why?”

Elyse shrugged, as if this game was too easy. “I couldn't understand why your father didn't want me.
J'étais dévastée
.”

There was a rush of activity behind them, an announcement on the loudspeaker that they both ignored. “Didn't you love me?”

Elyse pressed her eyes closed.

Michelle wanted to smooth the lavender powder smudged across her mother's crepe lids, but she was afraid to touch her, afraid she would be pushed away.

Elyse finally looked up but refused to meet Michelle's eyes. It seemed like she was staring into the past, watching an old movie. “I loved you so much,
ma
chérie
. When Alexander left, I was devastated, but that's not why I did it. I gave up dancing, everything I knew, to make up for not giving you a family—and it was a mistake. I burned your soup and left you backstage alone all day. I was a horrible mother. And you knew, always watching me with those big brown eyes…” Elyse turned to face Michelle. Her accent went flat. “I thought you'd be better off.”

“Without you?” Michelle asked.

Elyse nodded.

They stood in stunned silence for a moment. Then the years melted away and the wall between them crumbled. “Oh, Mother,” Michelle cried, her tears flooding from a lifetime of feeling alone. “How could you be so wrong?”

Elyse wrapped her arms around her baby and hugged her, rocking gently as Michelle sobbed. They clung together until a man's voice echoed across the lobby.

“All rise,” the bailiff called from inside the courtroom.

Kenny tapped Michelle's shoulder. She pulled away from Elyse and tripped over her purse on the floor. Her pen spilled out. She looked down and spied the edge of the postcard. She leaned down to hide it but lost her balance. She reached out, catching her fingers in Elyse's scarf. The woven yarn stretched until a hole gaped open. Kenny caught her by the elbow and steadied her feet.

Michelle looked back at her mother's ruined scarf. “I'm sorry. About everything.”

Elyse shook her head. She pulled the scarf free and took it off. She wrapped it around Michelle's neck as if for luck. Then she reached out for one more hug. She held Michelle close and whispered in her ear. “
Je
suis
désolée aussi
.”

“Ladies?” Kenny took Michelle's arm. He pulled her across the lobby, away from her mother. Elyse watched the whole way.

Michelle reached the open door and looked back. “Mother!” she cried, afraid she might not return. The courtroom door clanked behind her for the last time. Kenny escorted her inside the dark courtroom and down the aisle. She felt the eyes of the judge, the jury, and everyone in the gallery. She blinked in the darkness as Kenny steered her limp body through the wooden gate. He sat her down at the defense table. The room was dead quiet.

She looked back again, but her mother was gone. Kenny tapped her knee and reminded her to look down, look sad, look innocent.

Michelle fingered the scarf nervously, studying the loose strands of purple yarn shimmering under the harsh light. It was the kind of yarn Nikki had used, the kind Michelle had found in her bedroom. Where had her mother gotten it? Then Michelle knew. She started shaking.

Je
suis
désolée
, her mother had said. But she didn't mean she was sorry about the scarf or even about the trial. Elyse was sorry about Nikki. And Nikki had made the scarf that hung like a noose around Michelle's neck.

Kenny patted her knee, as if calming her for the verdict. Michelle took a deep breath and fought to put the facts together, to avoid showing the grief that could give her away. Elyse had said something else that rang true: she'd thought Michelle would be better off without her.

The judge was speaking now, but Michelle couldn't hear a word. Her head was crowded with the testimony written all over her mother's face, the secret message in sparkling yarn. The bailiff took an envelope from the head juror and walked it back to the bench. Michelle felt a tap on her shoulder and turned around.

Tracy offered the
Star
Trek
pen that had rolled out of Michelle's purse in the lobby. Michelle nodded thanks. She studied the tiny starship floating inside the barrel. Then she remembered the plane ticket her mother had sent. The one stuffed in the drawer of the hall table.

All at once, she was surrounded. Light bulbs flashed and shouts rang out. Strangers were hugging her and shaking Kenny's hand.

“It's over?” she asked him.

He spotted the district attorney slipping out quietly past the reporters, then nodded. “Congratulations. You can go home.”