by A. J. Carton
Emma’s head was spinning. She felt like she had just taken an advanced course in history, sociology, poli sci, economics, marketing, psychology and civics all rolled into one. And learned that she, Emma Corsi, was a new American product to be branded and marketed like a pair of shoes. How had she missed that?
“OK.” Lexie said the word with the finality of something settled, beyond discussion. “You understand, right? So now I’m gonna sign you up on Facebook.”
Before Emma could protest, Lexie had opened another screen titled “Welcome to Facebook: Create an Account.” Then Lexie shot a series of questions at Emma. Name, age, gender, address, date of birth, what music she liked, what movies, what books. She even asked for the names of Emma’s family members and friends. Screens flashed, boxes appeared and disappeared. Still Lexie’s eyes never left the screen. Five minutes later she sat back, cracked her neck a couple times, finally took her eyes off the screen to grin at Emma, and said, “You’re all set. What do you think?”
To Emma’s horror, staring back at her from the screen was a little box containing her photograph. Her face wore a scowl. She looked old and bitter. Under it, Lexie had pasted a photo she’d found on the Internet of Emma seated behind the auction table at the Opera in the Vineyard fundraiser from the year before. She was holding up a copy of her cookbook, Dining with the Stars. Under that was a caption. It read, “I love food and opera.”
The “about Emma” category that Lexie opened next said Emma lived in an historic farmhouse in Blissburg, CA, wrote cookbooks, loved to cook, and volunteered for the Blissburg Free Legal Services Clinic where she found meaning in her life helping poor people get what was fair. Her favorite movie was 81/2. Her favorite book was One Hundred Years of Solitude. She listened to the Beatles and Coldplay. And loved cats.
“I don’t love cats, Lexie. I never said that. I’m allergic to them,” Emma exclaimed. “And I never listen to Coldplay.”
Lexie shrugged. “You gotta love dogs or cats, Emma. It makes you more…human. Or you could put something exotic, like snakes. And stick with Coldplay. The Beatles make you sound too….”
“Dogs,” Emma snapped. “Put dogs. Labs. And, yes. I’ll stick with Coldplay. Gwyneth Paltrow. Right? Just remind me of one of their songs.”
“Don’t panic,” Lexie shrugged.
“I’m not panicking,” Emma bristled. “Just tell me the name of one of their songs!”
“That is the name of one of their songs,” Lexie laughed. “But we need to fix the photograph.”
With a click of the mouse, Lexie erased the photo she had taken and mounted in the box, and added the photo from the fundraiser instead.
“You’re good to go,” she said exiting Emma’s new Facebook page.
Before turning off her computer, Lexie paused for a second to review her own Facebook page one more time. Emma couldn’t help noticing that there were already 342 “likes” under Lexie’s posting about Dining with the Stars!
A few minutes later, Emma and Lexie had picked a date for the photo shoot. Then Emma drove home.
When Emma turned into her driveway, Julie was just locking up her office.
Julie’s office was located in a Victorian cottage on Blissburg Avenue in front of the old renovated farmhouse where Emma now lived. Emma got out of her car. Then she and her daughter exchanged a hug under the old magnolia tree in the yard separating the two buildings.
“I’m off to pick up Harry.” Julie glanced at her mother sideways. “Where’ve you been?”
“I’ve been meeting with Peppino and Lexie about the cookbook,” Emma replied, bracing herself for some well-meant criticism.
Ever since Emma moved to Blissburg, Julie had complained that her mother needed to dress “professionally” if she wanted to be taken seriously.
“You mean the wine-pairing sessions?” Julie asked. “I thought you complained that those had turned into business lunches. With Barry and his rich friends.” Julie looked her mother up and down and winced. “You went dressed like that?”
Of course Emma felt she had to defend herself. “Look,” she began. “I’m the cook, right? I don’t dress up. I get dirty.”
“I thought Morena served lunch,” Julie answered. She was never one to back off. “So who was there?”
All of a sudden, Emma felt trapped. She raised her eyebrows as though about to impart a secret. “I was just going to tell you. The HoCo people were there. And the truth is,” she added a bit self righteously, “I heard a lot more things dressed like this.”
Julie looked skeptical.
“No one takes me seriously,” Emma explained her newly invented theory. “They ignore me. Like I’m not there. So they talk. I’m sure the HoCo people had no idea that I was Piers’ mother-in-law.”
Julie glanced at her watch and then motioned with her head towards Emma’s front door. “I think we need to go inside and discuss this, Mom.”
Julie followed Emma up the stairs to the wrap-around front porch of the old 1850s farmhouse. Emma was proud of the fact that she lived in one of the oldest buildings in Blissburg. They entered the front hall, passing by the comfortable living room with its overstuffed sofa and chairs, past the dining room with the original wooden wainscoting that Emma loved, and into the new cook’s kitchen with its butcher block counters and professional Viking stove. They sat down on two stools at the counter, looking out over the huge garden where Emma’s grandson, Harry, loved to play.
“Want some tea?” Emma asked.
Julie shook her head, all business. “I want to know what you heard from HoCo at lunch today.”
Apparently Piers had told Julie all the details about the HoCo deal. When Emma described Huang Ho’s reaction to the TRO, the order temporarily blocking the plum ranch sale, Julie shot back angrily.
“He thought it was funny?” she asked. “Seriously? He laughed?”
“He called it a joke. ‘No big deal.’ At least, I think that’s what he said,” Emma shrugged. “His accent is really thick, but I understood it a lot better than Barry did. Then he laughed about it and Cheng Bo, Huang Ho’s right hand man, said their lawyers would take care of it - and that Curt had actually done them a favor by murdering Gomez.”
“What?” Julie cried. “Mom, Curt Randall did not kill Gomez. He and Piers are spending a bundle trying to prove that. Without any help from the police, I might add. They are so convinced they have the killer, they don’t even look at anyone else. Unfortunately Curt’s made his share of enemies around here, acting the bitter recluse all these years. And from all accounts, he hasn’t treated his workers well. Like he has a vendetta against Mexicans.”
“Who told you that?” Emma asked.
“Everyone Piers has talked to about the murder,” Julie sighed. “Mom, the police aren’t the only ones convinced Curt did it. But you know Piers, once he believes in someone. He has doctors willing to testify that the old man simply didn’t have the strength to follow Gomez up that trail and plunge a knife in his back.” She shook her head. “I just hope he gets some proof – and fast. Otherwise Curt Randall is about to lose not only everything he owns, but possibly his life as well. He wouldn’t last a week in jail.”
Emma thought twice about telling Julie the rest of what Cheng Bo said. Finally, she decided she had to.
“Cheng Bo told Barry something else,” she continued. “Not about the criminal investigation. It’s about the plum ranch sale. He said that the reason Curt did them a favor was that, due to his skyrocketing defense costs, Curt Randall has now lowered the price of the ranch. Cheng Bo implied they’ll make out like bandits.”
Julie cringed. “That’s exactly what Piers told me last night. The old man wants to unload the property as fast as he can. Says the place has been cursed ever since his son died. Piers is trying to talk him out of it. Hoping he can clear Curt’s name. Fast enough to head off a fire sale as soon as the court lifts the TRO. Which may be soon. HoCo’s lawyers are preparing a report detailing the expensive remediation they�
��ll do to ensure there’s no danger to the water table.
“Sounds like fancy legal footwork to me,” Emma mused.
“Who knows?” Julie shrugged. “HoCo has enough money to paint the sky red if they need to.”
Julie glanced at her watch again. Emma noticed she looked tired. Too much stress, Emma mused.
“Mom,” Julie said. Even her voice sounded tired. “I have a few extra minutes. Maybe I’ll take you up on that cup of tea.”
Emma nodded. “Caff or no caff?” she asked putting the teakettle on to boil and pulling a flowered mug off the shelf over the stove.
“No caff,” Julie laughed, “though I sure feel like I could use it.” She paused. “So did you and the Buchanons make any headway on that new cookbook? I thought you were hoping to publish in time for Christmas.”
Emma laughed. Her computer was sitting next to them on the kitchen counter. She often worked there in the afternoon while she was testing her recipes.
“I don’t think I’d call it headway,” Emma replied, booting up her computer. “I was going to check this out with you. I’m not at all pleased – and, by the way, I find it a complete invasion of my privacy.”
Julie watched her mother struggle to open a site. Predictably, the young woman quickly grew impatient.
“Mom, I don’t have all day,” she said elbowing Emma aside.
Then she recognized the screen. “Facebook? Are you trying to log onto Facebook? I thought you hated Facebook. What’s your ID?”
Emma rubbed her temples. She was starting to get a headache. “I don’t know,” she clicked on her cell. “I thought I wrote it down here…”
“On your cell?” Julie exclaimed. “You should never keep IDs and passwords on your cell phone. I’ve told you that a million...”
“OK! OK! I didn’t know where else to put it. What am I supposed to do?” Emma exclaimed. “Tattoo this stuff on my behind!”
Julie pretended to gag. “Just tell me your ID.”
“Julie123, capital J,” Emma said.
Julie shook her head. “No, Mom. That’s your password. And by the way…”
“I know. I know,” Emma snapped. “Never use your child’s name as an ID. It’s just…well, at least I can remember it…”
Julie was still shaking her head. “Mom,” she repeated. “Julie123 is not your ID. I need your ID. That’s different from your password.”
“I didn’t know I needed to remember the ID,” Emma shrugged
Suddenly Emma grabbed her mouse back and started to close her computer. “Let’s forget this,” she said. “You’re being abusive.”
Julie grabbed it back. “No. I want to see your Facebook page.”
Julie typed something onto the Log In screen.
“Your ID’s your email address, duh,” she said. “Julie 123 is your password.”
The site magically opened and Emma’s new Facebook page appeared on the screen. Her flattering Opera in the Vineyard photo smiled happily back at them. Emma noted, with relief, that she didn’t look half bad.
After multiple more clicks, Julie looked sideways at her mother. “Mom,” she exclaimed, “this is great. I’ve been telling you to do this for years. Who helped you?”
“Lexie,” Emma replied. “It took her about five minutes.”
“She’s good,” Julie said, sounding genuinely impressed.
She’d scrolled half way down the “about Emma” column when her smile changed to a frown. “What’s this about Labs? Suddenly you love Labs? You were all over Piers and me when we bought Sunny. And Coldplay? I bet you don’t even know who Coldplay is?”
“Gwyneth Paltrow,” Emma replied. Then something on the computer screen caught her eye. “Thirty-two friend suggestions? Julie, who are all these people?”
“Don’t worry,” Julie replied. “They’re just suggestions of people who Facebook thinks you might want to invite as friends.”
Julie scrolled down the page some more. “Here,” she pointed to the screen. “See? These are people who have seen that you’re on Facebook. They are inviting you to be friends. Wow! There are four of them already.”
Emma repositioned the screen so she could see it. “Who?”
“Jack,” Julie answered. “Of course. You know Jack Russo’d be on Facebook. And some woman named Patti Banks…”
“Ohhhh,” Emma replied, letting the Jack comment slide. “I went to grammar school with Patti. I haven’t seen her in years. I wonder what she’s up to…”
“There’s one way to find out,” Julie clicked a button on the screen.
“What did you just do?” Emma asked.
“You just friended her.”
“Great!” Emma snorted. “I never really liked Patti. Now I get to find out what she had for breakfast! Oh, look,” she added, clicking “confirm” after Jack’s name, “here’s Louise, the librarian at my old law firm, Dunn & Munster. We were great friends until she moved to Seattle.” She clicked the confirm button again and continued to scroll.
“OMG!” she shouted seconds later. “Remember Clare Braun, Marisa’s mother? You and Marisa were inseparable until Marisa transferred to that school in Marin. I love Clare. I wonder how she’s doing?” Emma clicked the “confirm” button another time. This was starting to be fun.
Julie had tilted the screen so she could look at Clare Braun’s invitation. “Hey, ask her what Marisa is up to. I’d love to...”
Suddenly Julie stopped speaking. A new invitation had just popped up – along with a message.
“Who’s this?” Julie squinted at the screen. “Someone named Dan Worthington wants to be your friend. He’s posted a message. Wow. This is weird.”
Emma grabbed the computer away from Julie. “Dan Worthington!”
Amidst a blur of boxes and bubbles, she finally located the message. It read: “Dear Emma, Kim left. This time for good. I need to see you. After all these years you’re still in my heart. I hope we can reconnect.”
Emma felt her own heart stop beating. Dan Worthington had been the love of her life. Her soulmate. The man who, after Andy left, she’d thought could make it all worthwhile – heartbreak, divorce, loss. Her old college classmate who broke up with his wife and reconciled, all in the space of Julie’s high school semester abroad. Thankfully, Julie never knew of the affair.
“Mo-om,” Emma heard Julie’s voice through a fog. “Mo-om! What’s going on? Who is this guy? What’s the matter?”
Emma could feel the color rise to her cheeks. Julie would notice. Emma struggled to pull herself together.
“Nothing,” she shook her head, willing herself to stay calm. “Nothing’s the matter. It’s…it’s,” she tried to think of some excuse. Something that would satisfy her suspicious daughter.
“I’m a little upset,” she finally answered. “I do recognize the name. He’s…he’s someone I used to work with,” she lied. “I mean,” she scrambled not to implicate anyone at her old firm. “Opposing counsel. Someone who propositioned me once,” she added. That would sound OK. “And…” she swallowed, “and I reported him. Years ago. Once in a while he tries to contact me and, you know, it upsets me.”
Emma let out a deep breath. A necessary fib, she told herself, slipping her hands into her lap. They were shaking.
“Then why does he say ‘reconnect?’ I mean, if it was a one way street?” Julie replied.
Emma took another deep breath, and tried to shrug. “You know how it is, Julie. Men never think it was a one way street.”
Julie looked satisfied. At least for the moment. “Well, it’s no big deal, Mom. You don’t have to accept his invitation to be friends.”
Julie started to hit the “Delete” button, but Emma pushed the computer away.
“So, you’re sure. All I have to do is push ‘Delete Request’?” Emma asked. “I think I want the satisfaction of doing that myself.”
Then she closed her computer. “In fact,” she added, “I’ve had more than enough Facebook for today.”
Ju
lie was looking at her watch again. “Mom, I really have to go in a couple minutes, but there’s something I want to tell you – and I think that now is as good a time as any. In fact, I’ve probably waited a little too long already, so I hope you won’t be upset.”
Emma felt her heart contract. Her expression changed from shock to worry. “Are you OK? Is Harry OK? Is Piers OK? Oh, honey, tell me I don’t have to worry!”
To Emma’s relief, Julie burst out laughing. “Mom, no! You don’t have to worry. You’re going to be really happy about this. You’ve been bugging me about it for years. I’m having another baby. I figured you knew already with all the weight I’ve gained. I’ve been eating like a horse. But everything’s fine. It’s just that, at my age, Piers and I really wanted to get all the test results back before we told anyone – even you.”
Emma leaned over to give Julie a big hug.
“Anyway,” Julie continued, “we got all the results last week and everything’s fine. We are so thrilled. It’s another boy. I’m due in September. I just hadn’t found a good time to tell you.”
All Emma’s worries vanished into thin air. She hugged Julie again. “You know this makes me happier than anything in the world,” she said.
Julie nodded, “Me, too!”
“And I want you to take it easy,” Emma added.
“I know, Mom. I know.” She kissed her mother’s cheek. “Now I gotta run. Oh, by the way, let’s keep it our little secret for a while. Harry doesn’t know. We’re not telling him for a few more weeks. I’m afraid this will be a big adjustment for him.”
“I’ll say,” Emma laughed.
Emma saw Julie to the door. “Careful on the steps,” she called after her as she made her way to her car.
Then she walked back to the kitchen, wondering how she could have missed all the signs: the weight gain, the fatigue, no caffeine, the SUV for goodness sake! Why didn’t she guess weeks ago that her own daughter was pregnant? And why didn’t Julie tell her? Share with her own mother the joy of the good news as well as the stress of waiting for the test results?
