“Let me go!” Valerie yelped.
“I’m sick of you coming in here, Val,” he muttered.
“That woman wouldn’t be bothered with you in a million years,” she shot back. “She wouldn’t spit on your ugly face.”
Eddie gave her arm an extra twist until she whimpered, and then he pushed her away. “Get lost,” he said.
Valerie rubbed her arm ruefully, jammed her cigarette in her mouth, and drew herself up with whatever dignity she could muster. “I’m right,” she said. Slowly she walked over and pushed open the motel door and looked either way, as if expecting to see some sort of performance going on in the parking lot. Eddie knew what she was doing. She was waiting for him to call out to her to come back. It was always the same with them. When he remained silent, Valerie turned and looked at him with a haughty glare. She took the cigarette from between her lips, dropped it on the carpet in the lobby, and crushed it with her shoe. Then she hurried out the door as he yelled out, “You bitch.”
Eddie picked up the still smoldering butt, Valerie’s orange lipstick greasy on the filter, and deposited it in an ashtray. Then he stared at the black patch in the rug where the cigarette had been defiantly ground out. He had some spot remover in the janitor’s closet. He’d better get it and clean the mess up.
Eddie went back behind the desk. The Red Sox were losing, 9-3. Disgusted, he snapped off the set and took out a paper clock with movable hands on it that said “Back in…minutes” around the clock face. Eddie moved the paper hand to five and hung it in the doorway. Then he locked the door and hurried down the outside sidewalk to the janitor’s closet at the end of the first corridor of rooms.
He found the spot remover and closed the closet door. As he emerged from the janitor’s closet his gaze was drawn to the lit room where the ice, soda, and snack machines were. A woman was in there, getting ice. It was room 173.
Eddie walked over and pushed the door open. “Hi there,” he said.
Linda Emery jumped and let out a cry. Ice bounced out of her bucket and cracked on the tile floor. “Don’t sneak up on people,” she said angrily.
“Sorry,” he said, looking down at the puddle of water around the machine, now studded with ice cubes. “This thing is leaking. We’re waiting for the guy to fix it. Here, let me get you some fresh ice.”
“That’s not necessary,” said Linda.
“How’s your room?” Eddie asked, leaning against the door frame.
“Perfectly adequate. Would you mind getting out of my way?”
Her tone was imperious, but Eddie could see fear in her eyes, which sent a pleasant sensation of excitement surging through him. “Pardon me,” he said slyly, backing out the door to let her pass but leaving only enough room so that she had to stiffen up to get by him.
Linda avoided his gaze. She walked across to her room, fumbled with the key in the lock and let herself in, slamming the door behind her.
Eddie grinned, but there was a cold gleam in his eye. “I’ll be seeing you,” he said. Then he started to laugh.
Chapter Six
Karen pulled up in front of Memorial Junior High School, and Jenny, who was waiting on the curb, jiggling from one foot to the other and clutching a stack of photo albums and scrapbooks to her chest, slid into the car and slammed the door. She looked around furtively, like a thief in a getaway car, hoping not to be seen.
“Let’s go,” she urged her mother.
“Nervous?” Karen asked.
Jenny looked at her suspiciously, then shrugged. “Excited, I guess.”
Karen nodded noncommittally and watched the road. Linda had called while they were having breakfast, and the two had made arrangements to meet after school at Miller’s, which was a popular local restaurant. Jenny had reported proudly that Linda used to work there as a waitress when she was in high school. Linda had offered to pick Jenny up at school, but Karen had insisted, over Jenny’s loud objection, on driving her. Karen was trying her level best to be agreeable and ready to compromise, but it was taking every ounce of her self-control.
“How was school today?” she asked.
“Okay,” said Jenny. “I couldn’t concentrate.”
“I’ll bet not,” said Karen. There was a silence between them. Then Karen said, “I see you’ve got all your albums.”
Jenny rested the stack on her lap and looked down at it. “Linda wants to know all about my life. I figured I’d bring some visual aids.”
Karen smiled. “That seems like a good idea.”
“She might like to have a picture to take back to Chicago.”
Karen felt her leaden spirits rise slightly at this remark, a reminder that Linda would soon be gone. That Jenny understood and accepted it, even. “Well, that would be nice,” said Karen.
“Yeah,” said Jenny wistfully. “I wish she didn’t have to go.”
Karen stifled a sigh and tried to concentrate on driving. But she could not keep herself from pursuing something that had been bothering her since Linda called. Karen had been more than a little surprised when Linda gave Jenny her phone number and her room number and told her that she was staying at the Jefferson Motel. Greg had wanted to make an issue of it, but Karen had calmed him down. Still, she could not help wondering. She glanced over at Jenny, who was staring out the car window, absently clasping and unclasping her hands over the stack of albums. Karen tried to make her question sound casual. “Did um…did Linda mention why she wasn’t staying with her family?”
“I don’t know,” said Jenny. “Maybe they didn’t have enough room. What difference does it make?”
“None,” said Karen quickly. But she tried to imagine that it was Jenny, coming back after a long absence. She tried to imagine saying that there was not enough room for her to stay. Never, she thought. I would give her my own bed and sleep on the floor first before I would send her off to some motel. It was something else. Something had happened when Linda went home. “I just thought it was strange,” Karen said, “that she wasn’t staying with her mother. I mean, after all this time, you’d think—”
“Maybe she didn’t want to stay with her mother,” Jenny said testily. “Are you going to make a big deal about this?”
Back off, Karen thought. It’s her problem. It’s her business. “There’s the restaurant,” said Karen.
Jenny’s eyes widened with eager anticipation, as if she were about to enter a foreign land.
Mary Miller Duncan had grown up in the dining rooms and the kitchen of Miller’s restaurant. When she looked back on her childhood she could hardly remember a day when her parents were not working. Sometimes Mary thought it had driven her mother to an early grave. Mary’s husband, Sam, whom she had met in high school, started work in Miller’s as a busboy, and Mary’s father had liked him from the start and taught him the business from the ground up. Two years ago her father had died a happy man, knowing that his daughter was married to a man who loved the business. Mary sighed and looked, from her post at the door, over at her husband, who was behind the bar checking the levels of the liquor bottles. It was the bartender’s job, but Sam liked to do everything himself. Then Mary heard someone walk up behind her and she automatically resumed her hostess smile as she turned around.
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.
Chapter Seven
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 oppress
ively 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.
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