Private Eyes

“We do, Mother.”

“No, we don’t, sweetheart. Not really. We love each other and care about each other- you’re the best daughter a mother could ever hope for. But what we have is too… tangled. We have to untangle it. Get the knots out.”

Melissa pulled away a bit and stared up at her. “What are you saying?”

“What I’m saying, baby, is that going away back east is a golden opportunity for you. Your apple. You earned it. I’m so proud of you- your whole future is waiting and you have the brains and the talent to make the best of it. So take advantage of the opportunity- I insist you take advantage.”

Melissa wriggled free. “You insist?”

“No, I’m not trying to… What I mean, baby, is that-”

“What if I don’t want to take advantage of it?” Melissa’s tone was soft but combative. A prosecutor building the foundation for an assault.

Gina said, “I just think you should go, Melissa Anne.” Some of the conviction had left her voice.

Melissa smiled. “That’s fine, Mother, but what about what I think?”

Gina drew her close once more and pressed her to her breast. Melissa’s face was impassive.

Gina said, “What you think is the most important, baby, but I want to make sure you know what you really think- that your decision isn’t clouded by your worries about me. Because I’m fine, and I’m going to continue to be fine.”

Melissa looked up at her again. Her smile had widened but turned cold. Gina looked away from it while holding tight.

I said, “Melissa, your mother has given a lot of thought to this. She’s certain she can handle things.”

“Is she?”

“Yes, I am,” said Gina. Her voice had risen half an octave. “And I expect you to respect that opinion.”

“I respect all of your opinions, Mother. But that doesn’t mean I have to live my life around them.”

Gina’s mouth opened and closed.

Melissa took hold of her mother’s arms and peeled them off her. Stepping back, she looped her fingers in the belt loops of her jeans.

Gina said, “Please, baby.”

“I’m not a baby, Mother.” Still smiling.

“No. No, you aren’t. Of course you aren’t. I apologize for calling you that- old habits are hard to break. That’s what this is all about- changing. I’m working on changing- you know how hard I’ve been working, Melissa. That means a different life. For all of us. I want you to go to Boston.”

Melissa looked at me, defiant.

I said, “Talk to your mother, Melissa.”

Melissa’s attention swung back to Gina, then to me once more. Her eyes narrowed. “What’s going on here?”

Gina said, “Nothing, ba- Nothing. Dr. Delaware and I have had a very good talk. He’s helped me clarify things even further. I can see why you like him.”

“Can you?”

Gina started to reply, stammered, and stopped.

I said, “Melissa, this family’s going through major changes. It’s rough for everyone. Your mother’s searching for the right way to let you know she’s really okay. So that you don’t feel obligated to take care of her.”

“Yes,” said Gina. “Exactly. I really am okay, honey. Go out and live your own life. Be your own person.”

Melissa didn’t move. Her smile had vanished. She was wringing her hands. “Sounds like the grown-ups have decided what’s best for little me.”

“Oh, honey,” said Gina. “That’s not it at all!”

I said, “No one’s decided anything. What’s important is that the two of you keep talking- keep the channels of communication open.”

Gina said, “We sure will. We’ll get through it, won’t we, honey?”

She walked toward her daughter, arms out.

Melissa backed away, into the doorway, braced herself by grasping the doorframe.

“This is great,” she said. “Just great.”

Her eyes blazed. She pointed a finger at me. “This isn’t what I expected from you.”

“Honey!” said Gina.

I got up.

Melissa shook her head and held her hands out, palms-front.

I said, “Melissa-”

“Forget it. Just forget it!”

She shuddered with anger and ran out.

I stuck my head out the door, watched her race down the corridor, legs flying, hair flapping.

I considered going after her, then thought better of it and turned back to Gina, trying to conjure up something profound.

But she was in no shape to listen.

Her face had gone ghostly and she was clutching her chest. Mouth open, gasping for breath. Body starting to shake.

The shakes got violent. I rushed to her. She stumbled back, shaking her head, holding me off, her eyes wild.

Reaching into one of the pockets of her dress, she fumbled for what seemed like a very long time, finally pulled out a small L-shaped white plastic inhaler. Inserting the short end in her mouth, she closed her eyes and tried to fasten her lips around the apparatus. But her teeth chattered against the plastic and she had trouble gripping it in her mouth. Our eyes met but hers were glazed and I knew she was somewhere else. Finally she clamped her jaws around the mouthpiece and managed to inhale. Depressed a metal button at the tip of the inhaler’s long end.

A faint hiss sounded. Her cheeks remained hollow. The bad side more hollow. She clutched the inhaler with one hand, grabbed a corner of the loveseat for balance with the other. Held her breath for several seconds before removing the device and collapsing on the couch.

Her chest heaved. I stood there and watched as the rhythm slowed, then sat next to her. She was still shaking; I could feel the vibrations through the sofa cushions. She mouth-breathed, worked at slowing down her respiration. Closed her eyes, then opened them. Saw me and closed them again. Her face was filmed with sweat. I touched her hand. She gave a weak squeeze in return. Her flesh was cold and moist.

We sat together, not moving, not talking. She tried to say something, but nothing came out. She rested her head against the back of the loveseat and stared at the ceiling. Tears filled her eyes.

“That was a small one,” she said in a feeble voice. “I controlled it.”

“Yes, you did.”

The inhaler was still in her hand. She looked at it, then dropped it back in her pocket. Bending forward, she took my hand and squeezed it again. Exhaled. Inhaled. Let out breath in a long, cool, minty stream.

We were so close I could hear her heart beating. But I was focusing on other sounds- listening for footsteps. Thinking of Melissa returning, seeing us that way.

When her hand relaxed, I let it go. It took a couple more minutes for her breathing to return to normal.

I said, “Should I call someone?”

“No, no, I’m fine.” She patted her pocket.

“What’s in the inhaler?”

“Muscle relaxant. Ursula and Dr. Gabney did the research on it. It’s very good. For short term.”

Her face was soaked with sweat, the feathery bangs plastered to her brow. The bad side looked like inflatable plastic.

She said, “Whew.”

I said, “Can I get you some water?”

“No, no, I’ll be fine. Really. It looks worse than it is. This was a small one- the first time in… four weeks… I…”