I lowered myself onto my old chair. “I don’t know what I would have done without you and Dad. And now, paying Rob’s tuition …” I could barely afford to send him to a local junior college much less to an out-of-state university.
“We’re glad to help.”
Gazing into Mom’s face, I noticed the fine, jagged lines around her eyes seemed to be etched deeper than the last time I saw her.
“So, what’s up with you?” I asked. “Everything okay?” It was my turn to be nosy.
She pursed her lips, which I knew meant trouble.
“You’re not still worried about Dad and Alice, are you?” I checked to make sure my father hadn’t walked in. “They probably talk about gold crowns and gum disease.” I visualized ever-grinning Alice, Dad’s former dental assistant of thirty years, clad in a white smock, her bottle-blonde hair slicked back into a French roll. “She’s way too old to be a threat.”
“Thanks a lot. She’s ten years younger than I am.” She heaved an extended sigh. “Who knows what the two of them do now when they go out for lunch. But there was a time …” Her voice trailed off.
“Come on, Mom. Dad?”
“Sure. Dear old Alice—always so sweet at the office, standing at your father’s elbow all day with that insipid smile on her face. Then he would come home at six thirty to find me with a crying baby on my hip and dinner burnt.”
“That doesn’t mean anything happened.”
She hesitated, as if deciding whether to proceed, then said, “I walked in on them once. Alice was in his arms.” Her eyes became two slivers of darkness. “He said it was the first time and that it would never happen again.” A flash of rage swept across her face, hardening her features. “I was so dumb back then. I should have insisted he fire her. But I was afraid if I gave him an ultimatum he might choose her.”
Dad and Alice? I didn’t know how to respond. I stared back, wishing she would tell me she was kidding. But her expression showed no sign of humor.
She wiped the corner of one eye. “Every time he’d go anywhere after that, I’d panic, my imagination sending me into a tailspin. I was furious, then numb. Things were never the same. The one good thing that happened was I started going to church again. God saved my life.”
“God did?” A twist of sarcasm curled through my tongue. “Exactly what did he do?”
She sat back and surveyed my eyes. “When did you get to be so cynical?”
“Listen, Mom, let’s not get into this discussion again. We get along great as long as we don’t talk about God.”
“Just tell me, was it my fault?”
My eyes bulged as my aggravation flared. “It’s nobody’s fault.” I remembered well the last time I prayed. The scene lay hibernating in the back of my mind. “What’s the use of talking about it now? I’ve never seen God, never touched the hem of his robe, and he’s never returned my calls.”
She wrung her slender hands. “Honey, he will answer you when the time is right. We humans are always in such a hurry. What seems like an eternity to us—”
I contained a smirk out of politeness. “I’m happy for you, okay? You were worried about Dad, and you found a way to help yourself. That’s great. Glad it worked.”
She tugged a Kleenex out of a pocket and dabbed her teary eyes. “By the way, your sister and brother don’t know about your father. I probably shouldn’t have said anything to you. What’s the use of burdening you with all this now?”
I gazed at her face and saw a frail sadness, and I realized what it must have taken for her to speak about this. “I’m glad you did,” I said. My arms slid around her narrow shoulders, and I hugged her tightly. “I wish you’d told me sooner.”
Charlie sniffed the residual scent of pot roast on my slacks, then demanded his evening kibbled dog food with a loud yap. After feeding him, I wandered through the house, flicked the TV on and off, then leafed through the newspaper.
Dad fooling around? Mom must have misunderstood or dreamed up the whole thing. Maybe women grew more insecure with age, I thought, in need of a hormone replacement or counseling. No, except for the God thing, Mom was the most levelheaded woman I knew. While I was growing up, she’d been my biggest supporter, the one person I could always count on to be honest, my ally.
My hand moved to my hair, and I combed my fingers through it. When I was a little girl, Mom had untangled my hair, then brushed it until it shined like silk. I could still recall the feel of the soft bristles against my scalp. She also sewed elegant evening gowns for my Barbie doll, making my friends jealous. And it was my mother who’d bought me the art supplies.
Later, I remembered, my high-school art teacher had encouraged me. He was the first to publicly acknowledge my talent, praising my projects before the class, encouraging me to major in art. When I entered the university, I knew I would be an artist. It was a natural progression, like the tide following the moon.
What happened after college? a voice sounding like Henry’s asked. What stopped you from painting? I stared into space for a moment.
I didn’t have any answers.
I felt a gaping hole—a deep cavern of sadness—expanding in my chest. It dawned on me: Everything in my life was a lie. No, my love for Rob was real. I ached for my boy.
I tried reaching him on his cell phone, but got no response. Was he avoiding me? No, I was slipping into paranoia. Picking up the phone again, I dialed Phil’s number. After four rings, he answered, but I could barely hear his voice above the talking and
