Standing outside Edwige’s front door, his hand poised to knock, Ronan almost turned to run all the way back to school. He could already hear her shouting, going off on a tirade, blaming him for not making Saoirse return to school, beg forgiveness, and get herself unexpelled. He knew it was going to be his fault because he should have understood the gravity of the situation and how dangerous it could be to have Saoirse in such close proximity to David, Brania, and the rest of their kind, and that he should have immediately asked Edwige for her help. He was wrong.
“I’m so very proud that you’ve been taking care of your sister.”
“What?! You’ve known all along she was at Double A?!” Standing in front of the oval mirror, Edwige secured the gold pin to her chocolate brown crushed velvet poncho, one complete shade darker than her suede knee-high boots. The pin was the silhouette of an ocean wave with two crests, a simple design. But the contrast it made against the brown material made it look as expensive as it was. Underneath the poncho she wore a tight-fitting cream-colored cable knit dress that fell a few inches above the top of her boot. She absolutely loved the look. Swinging around to face Ronan, she caught a glimpse of her movement in the mirror, the poncho flouncing at her waist, and thought what a shame she had never experienced London’s Carnaby Street in the sixties. She would have been so popular. “The headmistress called several weeks ago to inform me that Saoirse had run away.”
Ronan no longer had to worry that his courage would falter. His anger gave him strength, if not focus. “I can’t believe you didn’t look for her. Why didn’t you say anything? How did you know she was in Eden?!”
Fists on her hips, Edwige was becoming as angry as her son, but for wildly different reasons. “How many questions are you going to hurl at your mum before you ask her where she found this smashing outfit?!”
She’s insane! That’s another thing I have in common with Michael. Both our mums are absolutely bonkers. “Will you listen to yourself?!” Ronan pleaded. “Your daughter ran away and you didn’t even go looking for her! What the hell kind of mother are you?!”
Two long strides and Edwige was standing inches from Ronan. Looking up to him, she forced herself to remember that he was her child, her favorite, the only one who had not caused her pain so she didn’t want to inflict pain on him, but he was getting very close to feeling her hand across his face. “The kind of mother who knows that her daughter is being protected by that curly-haired creature,” Edwige said slowly. “And the kind of mother who knows that her daughter would like some time on her own before I swoop in to ruin her life.”
Ronan raised his chin so his mother had to tilt her head back even further to look him in the eye. So she knew Saoirse was staying with Phaedra. Somehow she knew everything she wasn’t supposed to know and yet she never knew how she was supposed to act. Despite her calm rebuttal, despite her logical reasons for not taking action, Ronan didn’t believe she had given Saoirse a second thought until just now. The only thing he did believe was that her thoughts were not of a positive nature. “And is that what you plan to do, Mother, ruin her life?”
Yanking open a drawer, she grabbed her brown suede gloves and started to put them on, careful not to catch her nails on the cashmere lining. “I plan to do what a mother does best,” Edwige declared. “Give her child an ultimatum.”
Unbelievable! She really doesn’t get it, does she? “Is that what you think good parenting is? Abandonment and ultimatums!”
Stealing a glance at the mahogany box near the window, Edwige wished that Saxon were still alive. With him by her side, she knew how to be a mother, she knew how to handle her children, but ever since he left her, ever since he was ripped from her life, it had become much more difficult. She was always saying the wrong words, doing the wrong things, and worst of all, she was beginning not to care. “I haven’t abandoned my daughter,” Edwige said wearily. “I’ve been waiting for the right time to reach out to her.”
“And when exactly would the right time be, Mum?” Ronan asked.
“Now.”
Outside Edwige’s flat, Ronan scuttled after her, even though she was half his size, he was finding it difficult to keep up. Down the block, around the corner, through an alleyway, Edwige brought them to a deserted part of her neighborhood, not stopping until she reached the train tracks. “Call your sister.”
Dutifully, Ronan flipped open his cell phone and started to dial until he realized he had no idea what to say. “What exactly do you want me to tell her?”
Closing her eyes, Edwige lifted her face toward the sun, its warmth pleasing, appreciated, and told Ronan to make sure Saoirse was in her room and to stay there until he arrived. When he was done with the call, Edwige asked, “Is her babysitter with her?”
“No,” Ronan replied. “She said Phaedra was in class.”
“Pity. I was going to bring her a hot-oil treatment as a thank-you.”
Shaking his head in amazement, Ronan marveled at how shallow Edwige could be even during moments of crisis. And how easily she sucked those around her into her superficial musings. “Phaedra really doesn’t care about her appearance and such,” he said.
Twirling to face her son, allowing her poncho to whip around her for full effect, Edwige commented, “Such idiotic thinking will make her one very lonely efemera.”
The train whistle prevented Ronan from explaining that there was no chance Phaedra would be lonely as long as Fritz was around, so instead, he followed her silently as she sprinted down the tracks toward Double A. Less than five minutes later, the train miles behind them, they arrived at St. Anne’s, but outside the door to Saoirse’s room, Ronan heard something that ticked him off even more than his mother’s attitude and made him want to abandon his entire plan. He heard laughter. Saoirse didn’t care that he was trying to protect her, all she wanted to do was goof off with Ciaran. “We should go,” Ronan announced. “It’s not worth the trouble.”
“Don’t fret, I’ll be civil,” Edwige replied. When she saw that Saoirse had company, a large part of her wished she had accepted her son’s proposal.
“Look, Ciaran!” Saoirse cried. “Mum’s finally come to visit!”
Awkward. That was the only way to describe the impromptu family reunion. It was as if Edwige’s body had turned to stone, her body, her face, became rigid. Ronan and Ciaran were just as motionless except their eyes grew wide and darted about the room, at each other, their mother, their sister, trying to figure out how they had all wound up in the same space and how it might be possible to leave without being noticed. The only one who seemed to be enjoying the meeting was Saoirse. She bounded off the bed and gave her mother a hug that was barely reciprocated, but when she stepped back to stand between her brothers and spoke, the tone of her voice belied the sincerity of her actions. “Wow! A poncho,” she said. “I thought they went out of style. Again.”
As Edwige crossed to the other side of the room, as far from her children as she could get, Ronan and Ciaran both bit their lips to stifle a laugh. It was only when they each turned to slap Saoirse in the arm for her comment did they realize they both found their sister’s rudeness highly amusing. Edwige pulled out one of the desk chairs and sat. “No, darling, you’re mistaken,” she replied tersely, taking off her gloves. “Just like you’re mistaken that you’ll be able to get away with this latest escapade.”
Saoirse actually batted her eyes several times before speaking. “Whatever do you mean, Mummie?”
Hunched forward, her hands clasped, Edwige looked at her three children as they formed a tentatively united front, and was comforted. She didn’t feel the pangs of maternal affection, but it was good to know her children were bonding.
For Ronan, it was disquieting. One minute he was the outsider, the next included in the inner circle with his siblings. But he had to admit he preferred the latter location even if it meant being on the opposite side of his mother.
So did Edwige. Even though Ronan was her treasure, her hope, he was also a reminder that she was something she no longer wished to be, a mother. But could she really be that cold, that apathetic toward her own flesh and blood? Blood. Maybe that was it. Maybe she had spent so many years feeding alone without a partner, searching for the perfect victim by herself that she had become content in her solitude, resentful of those who relied on her, offended by those who wanted her to do anything more than accept their bodies as a final offering, to be a participant in their death but not in their life. Victims she could handle; children seemed to be beyond her capabilities. But they were her children, shouldn’t she try harder to act like their mother? Isn’t that what Saxon would have wanted and expected from her? “I mean, dear, that you need an education,” Edwige began. “So you have a choice.”
Wary, Saoirse glanced at her brothers, both of whom ignored her, more interested in knowing what options Edwige was going to offer the girl. “I’m listening,” Saoirse said.
“You can either enroll in St. Anne’s,” Edwige replied. “Or be homeschooled by me.”
