What Mother Never Told Me

by Donna Hill

  "I can't. But I promised my Nana that I would find her. This is the place I have to start."

  Emma looked deep into the eyes of her child, seeing the questions, the turmoil and the determination carved on her face. How much had Cora told her? How much of a picture had she painted? Did she include her own role in Emma's defection?

  "Would you like some coffee or tea?"

  "Coffee would be great. Thank you."

  Emma went to the door and locked it, put the CLOSED sign in the glass then returned behind the counter and began perking the coffee. Before long the bistro was filled with the aromas of fresh brewed coffee and warmed croissants. Emma placed a tray of the airy pastries in front of Parris and poured her a mug of coffee.

  She sat down opposite Parris at the round table. "So you say you are Emma's daughter?"

  "Yes."

  She lifted the cup to her lips. "What is your name?"

  "Parris." She smiled wistfully. "Nana said she named me after the place where my mother had come to live."

  "I see." She lowered the cup and embraced it, the warmth softening her bones. "You came from the States. I hear an accent. Southern?"

  "I grew up in Rudell, Mississippi." She lowered her head and chuckled. "I'm sure you never heard of it, not many people have." She looked at Emma. "You're not a native of France, either. But you've been here a while."

  "You're very observant."

  "I just have a keen sense of sound. I guess it comes from listening to music and singing most of my life."

  A singer, like Cora. "Professional or hobby?"

  Parris took a bite of her croissant. "I'm aiming for professional. I've done some shows. I even have a record deal offer."

  Emma's fine brows rose. "That's wonderful. Congratulations. You must be good."

  Her soft expression lit from inside. "So I'm told."

  Emma leaned forward. "Tell me what you think."

  "Really?"

  Emma bobbed her head. "Yes. Tell me."

  Parris drew in a breath. "Well, when I sing...nothing else in the world matters." Her eyes danced with emotion, traveling to the special place that was only hers to understand. "I feel transformed and the music, the lyrics, are my lifeblood, what keeps me alive. I become the words and the need to convey their message is more powerful than anything else." She blinked and Emma came back into focus. She smiled sheepishly. "I'm sorry, I get a little carried away sometimes."

  "We all need our passions, Parris." Her petite hand slowly curled into a fist. "Something that drives us and gives our life meaning. If not, what is the point of it all?"

  "What's your passion?"

  "To live the life that I dreamed of as a girl, the life that was denied me. To be accepted and loved without condition. That is my passion. Everyday." She pushed up from her seat and stood. Her chest rose and fell. She pressed her lips tightly together lest she say more than she should.

  Parris looked up at this woman standing above her and something inside her shifted out of place, leaving her feeling suddenly unbalanced. She was a stunning woman, who defied a fixed age. Her skin was nearly translucent and clear. Her hair--thick, silky and black with fine streaks of gray--gave her fine features an even more regal appeal. Behind her glasses her deep set eyes seemed to hold hundreds of stories and images that Parris could only imagine. She had the bearing of someone important, not ordinary help, even though her dress was simple; a powder blue oxford shirt, ironed to precision, the sleeves rolled to expose long pale arms and a pair of simple navy dress slacks that gracefully fell from her hips and kissed the tops of her ankle boots, with a hint of something very subtle and expensive that wafted around her when she moved.

  "I really must get started preparing for the lunch customers."

  "Oh, yes. I'm sorry to have taken up so much of your time." She draped her purse on her shoulder and stood. "Thank you for breakfast. How much do I owe you?"

  Emma waved off the question.

  "You didn't tell me when Emma would be coming."

  "I'm certain that you are wasting your time, but I'll be sure to mention to her that you were here," she said, sidestepping the question. "If she decides to come in."

  "But you were at her house last night. Won't you see her there?"

  Emma lifted her chin. "She comes and goes as she pleases." Emma walked toward the door and opened it.

  Parris stood in the doorway. Her gaze rested on Emma. "Thank you for your time."

  Emma nodded.

  Parris turned then stopped. She faced Emma. "Can you give her this number?" She reached in her bag and took out a card that she'd taken from the front desk of the bed-and-breakfast. "This is where I'm staying." She handed Emma the card then walked out.

  Emma stood in the frame of the glass door and watched as her daughter became silhouetted against the brilliance of the morning sun and Emma prayed that the light would blind her to the truth.

  Parris returned to Le Moulin. Marie was in the front room rearranging the flowers on the table.

  "Oh, you're out early. I missed you at breakfast. You went sightseeing?"

  "Something like that."

  Marie stopped what she was doing. She brushed her hands on her apron. "France is no place for sadness."

  "Is it that obvious?" She reached for a bright red apple from the bowl on the table.

  "Very plain to see. May I ask why you are so sad?"

  "Long story."

  Marie raised and lowered her right shoulder. "All I have to do today is whatever I choose. And I make no excuse. I've earned it," she said with a grand swing of her arm, the loose sheer sleeve of her dressing gown flapping like a wing. "Come with me to the garden. I have more flowers to disengage."

  "Disengage?" she said, laughter rimming her voice.

  "It sounds civilized, no?"

  Parris smirked. "Sure."

  "Come."

  Parris followed Marie through the ground floor to the backyard. They exited into a wonderland. The ground exploded in a patchwork of vivid color.

  "This is incredible," Parris said, awestruck. "I don't think I've ever seen anything like this."

  "It is my pride and joy. And very soothing. I could spend hours cooing to my beautiful friends, turning the soil, planting new life." She knelt down near a bed of brilliant orange roses. "Sometimes in life we have to find the things that take us away from what troubles us so that we can reclaim our joy." She glanced up at Parris, who stood with her arms folded beneath her breasts. "Don't you agree?"

  Parris shrugged slightly. "I suppose so."

  "If you could do one thing right now to make yourself feel better what would it be?"

  There was only one thing. "Find my mother."

  Marie's eyes widened for a split second. "I see. And that is why you are here, to find your missing mother?"

  "She's not what you would call 'missing,' not in the technical sense." She paused to clarify her thoughts. "She left, many years ago, and came to France to live." She looked boldly at Marie as if doing so would somehow wrench from her the information she desperately sought.

  Marie remained silent as she gingerly turned the soil around her blooms and added fertilizer from the pocket of her apron.

  "Maybe you know her."

  Marie shrugged. "Perhaps."

  "Her name is Emma. Emma Travanti. She owns the bistro in the square and she lives in the valley. I went to her house last night when I arrived. The driver told me about the bistro. I went there this morning."

  "And..."

  "She wasn't there. I spoke to a woman who works there. The same woman who works at my mother's house."

  "Wasn't she able to tell you about your mother?"

  "No." She lowered her head a fraction and looked off into the distance then back at Marie. "Do you know her?"

  "I'm sorry to say that I don't. France is a big place. Are you sure it is the right person?"

  "All I know is what my grandmother told me, that she'd come here years ago...right after I was born." She tight
ened her arms around her waist. "And she never came back." She said the words almost in stunned surprise, as if the reality of it were sinking in. She drew in a breath. "I made a promise to my grandmother that I would find my mother. And when I find her she will tell me the truth. She'll tell me why." She nodded her head as she spoke to reaffirm her commitment to herself and to Cora.

  Marie watched the shadows of emotions move across her face and heard the underlying pain skimming the words. It took a lot for a mother to leave her child, extraordinary reasons. During her growing-up years, she'd lay in bed at night and pray that when she awoke her mother would be gone. Her prayers were never answered. She endured her mother for sixteen horrendous years until she left home, never to return. She couldn't imagine being on a quest to find Lily no matter how extraordinary the circumstance.

  "What will you do if you can't find her? If you can't fulfill your promise?"

  "Go on with my life...somehow." She frowned slightly. "But I know that once I leave here, no matter what happens, my life will never be the same again. It hasn't been since my grandmother told me that my mother wasn't dead after all."

  Marie snapped her head in confusion. "I thought you said that she left and came here after you were born."

  "She did. But for reasons that only she and my grandmother know, she wanted me to grow up believing that she was dead."

  Marie stretched out her hand, which Parris took, and helped pull Marie to her feet.

  "Merci." She brushed off her hands on her apron. "One thing I have learned, cherie, is that we must be careful what we wish for." She patted Parris gently on the back as they returned inside. "Sometimes the very thing we believe we need and want is the last thing we should have. Those wants bring their own set of consequences. Oui?"

  Parris's gaze ran over Marie's face, searching for something beneath the surface, an answer that eluded her. But she saw nothing. "I'm sure that they do, but that's a risk I'm willing to take."

  Marie studied her for a moment then smiled broadly. "A woman of determination. I like that." They entered the main hall of the bed-and-breakfast. "Did you eat? Although we don't offer lunch to our guests," she said in a conspiratorial whisper, "I'm sure Marc can prepare something for you."

  "I actually am a bit hungry," she said, albeit reluctantly.

  Marie clapped her hands with a single pop. "Wonderful."

  "Are you sure it won't be a problem?"

  Marie craned her long neck back and let out a throaty laugh. "Marc will do whatever I ask if he knows what's good for him. Besides, we are lovers and he adores pleasing me."

  "Oh..."

  Marie lowered her voice and hooked her arm through Parris's. "It is the very thing that got me ousted from the theater...so many years ago. He was the theater owner's husband." She smiled wistfully. "Vivienne made quite a scene when she found us." She sighed. "I can't blame her for her outrage. But Dominic was beautiful. Too beautiful for a man. Every woman wanted him. I suppose by the time she gets rid of or ruins women's lives over her cad of a husband there won't be a single woman of note left in all of France!" She laughed uproariously at the notion.

  Parris didn't know if she should laugh at the outrageousness of it all or be totally appalled. She opted for laughter. "What did you do when she...walked in on you?"

  "Screamed, of course!"

  They were both doubled over with laughter when Marc walked into the kitchen, carrying in a basket of laundry.

  "Nothing more refreshing than seeing two beautiful women laughing." His blue-black eyes swept from one to the other.

  This was Marc? He was young enough to be Marie's son. An exquisite specimen of a man, a cross between the bad boy arrogance of a Colin Farrell, and the swarthy good looks of a young Antonio Banderas.

  "Marc, this is our newest arrival. Her name is Parris. Parris, this is Marc."

  Parris extended her hand, which he took and brought to his lips, planting a warm kiss on the top of her knuckles. "My pleasure. If there is anything that you need during your stay..." He allowed his sentence to drift off before he finally released her from his grasp.

  Marie waved her hand like a wand. "Marc is very dramatic."

  He smiled at his benefactor, displaying perfect teeth and a deep dimple in his left cheek, which is always appealing during youth, but almost ridiculous when one ages, Marie thought absently. Those who rely solely on looks rather than talent or some manner of skill were eventually doomed to obsolescence. She was sure that was to be Marc's fate, but until then she would make the supreme sacrifice of "looking after him."

  "Parris and I would love a light lunch."

  "Right away." He gave Parris a slight nod of his head and walked out.

  "Wonderful chef. It's how we met actually. He was working in some little restaurant in Paris near the Louvre. He'd prepared the most exquisite escargot and I insisted that my waiter introduce me to the chef." She flipped her hand. "The rest, as they say, is history." She led the way to her room that was much like Parris's, only larger and bolder in color. "It's a bit chilly today but still nice enough to eat on the terrace. The sun will soon warm things up." She opened the terrace doors and stepped out, checking the table and chairs. She made a face. "I'll have to get Marc to dry these off." She turned to Parris. "Do you have a lover?"

  Parris blinked several times. "Excuse me?"

  "Do you have a lover? Someone to care about you or at least pretend to? A beautiful girl like you should have someone."

  "I--"

  "Oh, don't be embarrassed." She waved her hand. "Sex is wonderful. We all do it, you know. And since we do, isn't it best to do it with someone worthwhile?" She stared at Parris with wide-eyed innocence.

  Parris felt laughter bubble in her stomach and she couldn't keep the grin off her face. Marie was a real character. Before long she found herself telling Marie of how she and Nick met, the obstacles that they'd faced with Tara and Frank, the illness and subsequent loss of her grandmother, losing her job and her apartment, and then her and Nick finally crossing the invisible line that had divided them.

  "Was it worth the wait?" Marie asked with a sparkle in her eyes.

  "Yes, it was." The revelation singed her cheeks.

  "Magnifique!"

  There was a light tapping at the door.

  "Entrez."

  Marc opened the door and rolled in a skirted cart with silver serving trays on top.

  "Amoureux, I wanted to eat outdoors but the table and chairs are still damp. We totally forgot to turn them down last night," she said and winked at him.

  "That we did."

  Parris watched the exchange with fascination, the way Marie had not a care in the world about calling him "sweetheart" in front of her or inferring that they'd spent the night together, and Marc had no problem being her obvious boy toy and reciprocating with little touches and extra stares while he set up the table for lunch. He opened the leaves of the cart, turning it into a table that could comfortably seat four.

  "I fixed your favorite," he said, turning over the bowls and ladling in a delicious-smelling soup.

  "Ahh." Briefly Marie closed her eyes in rapture. "Tomato basil." She focused on Parris. "You must try it. Superb." She gazed up at Marc. "It is one of his many specialties."

  Marc then placed a tiny saucer in front of them and topped it with a perfect little Quiche Lorraine. "For the main course I prepared perfectly shaved roast beef sauteed with broccoli, onions, roasted potatoes and mushrooms, tossed in a creamy cheddar cheese sauce with green beans almondine," he said with a flourish.

  Marie clapped as if she'd witnessed the closing act of a stage play.

  Marc bowed. "Bon appetit."

  "I told you he was dramatic," she said over her laughter. "Please enjoy."

  They spent the hour talking about the sights Parris should be sure to see and Marie's one trip to the States before Marie shifted the conversation back to Parris's mother.

  "What is it that you really want to find out from your mother?" she asked
, daintily wiping her mouth with the linen napkin.

  Parris put down her fork and pushed her plate aside. "I want her to tell me why she left and why she wanted me to go through life believing she was dead. I want her to explain to me how she convinced my grandmother to hold on to that lie all these years."

  Marie looked her in the eyes. "Why does it matter? Did you have such a horrible life that her absence would make a difference somehow?"

  Parris drew in a breath. "I need to know. For myself. I need to fill this void, this feeling that I was somehow unworthy of my own mother's love. Do you have any idea what that's like?" She pushed back from her seat and stood.

  "Please, sit. Let me tell you a story of a mother's love."

  With reluctance, Parris sat back down.

  "For sixteen years I lived under the tyranny of my mother. A woman who thought nothing of hurting me in any way she saw fit. I was a slave to her whims, her moods, her disappointments." She glanced away. "She said she beat me, humiliated me, locked me in rooms, gave me to men to pay off her debts all to make me strong." She laughed but there was no humor in the discordant sound and Parris cringed as it grated against her. "I left and never looked back." She swung her gaze to Parris. "Your mother may have done the very best thing for you by giving you to your grandmother. Perhaps she knew the kind of mother you would need and that she would never be."

  Parris's bottom lip trembled. That picture didn't mesh with the images that her grandmother had conjured up over the years, at least the few times that she even spoke of her mother. But Nana had lied, too, and she took her reasons to her grave. If she didn't find Emma she may never know the truth, and that unknowing would forever haunt her.

  "Even if everything you say is true, I still need to hear the words from her."

  "You are certainly a stubborn young woman. I hope it serves you well." She lifted her fork. "Your food is getting cold."

  Chapter Nine

  A plate crashed to the floor in the spotless kitchen. Emma simply stared at the broken pieces of china at her feet.