“She has cancer.”
She freezes, her eyes wide and blank, then she nods toward the closest armchair. “Maybe you should take a seat.”
I remain standing. “She’s had it for months. She’s been undergoing chemotherapy. Has an oncologist. All of it.”
“Did the surgery impact her—”
“I don’t know. I don’t know anything. Why wouldn’t she tell me she was sick?”
Carmen sits, bouncing Ava on her knee. “Maybe she had her reasons.”
“Her reasons?” I gasp, nervously. “Maybe Mom just has a reason for everything. I’m sure she had a reason to steal me as a child. A reason to lie about my entire childhood. A reason to hide her cancer diagnosis.”
“She didn’t come out and lie,” Carmen says. She whispers, even though we are alone. “She just didn’t tell you.”
“No shit, Carmen. I didn’t know you were supposed to ask people these things. Are you my real mother? Are we hiding from my biological family? Do you have cancer? I assumed, being as close as I thought we were, she wouldn’t have a reason to be so deceptive.”
I pop my knuckles. Carmen has been quick to defend Mom when it comes to the charges against her, but I assumed that was her acting as an attorney. I thought she would have been more taken aback by this latest news. She doesn’t even seem surprised.
“Did you know about this?”
Carmen looks from me to Ava. “She was waiting to tell you until after Ava’s party.”
I take that seat Carmen said I might need. My knees could buckle, sending me straight to the floor otherwise.
“You knew Mom had cancer and you didn’t tell me?”
“It wasn’t my place—”
“You’re my best friend! Of course it’s your place.”
“Like I said, she wanted to wait until after Ava’s birthday. She knew how important it was to you. She didn’t want you to be worrying about her condition.”
“This is unbelievable,” I say, leaning my forehead into my palm.
“It was a big year for you. Even before the party, you had your hands full with Ava. For the first time in ages, you seemed happy. When she got the news, the last thing she wanted to do was upset you.”
“So she told you instead.”
“Yes. Not right away. But between the restaurant and Ava, she needed help organizing everything—”
“She needed help hiding it from me,” I correct. She enlisted the help of my best friend to deceive me. “And Des? Does she know?”
Carmen nods.
“Why wouldn’t you two tell me any of this? Especially after her arrest.”
“Believe it or not, it’s not been the biggest thing on my mind. After the jail attack, I was just hoping she’d pull through. Every other moment I’ve been working on Eileen’s case, trying my damnedest to get her back to us.”
“That’s not true. You were in court today, and it had nothing to do with Mom.”
I know this is a low blow, but I don’t care. I’m not about to let Carmen masquerade as some savior, not when she has withheld this from me. I’m reaching, searching for any type of reaction. Her betrayal dives that deep.
“Yes, I have other clients, Marion. But trust me, Eileen is my priority.”
“What about me? Has everyone forgotten my role in all this? That I’m a victim here?”
Carmen opens, then closes her mouth. It’s not like her to lack the appropriate response. I know she must feel conflicted, because while she loves Eileen, she is also my best friend. She knows Mom didn’t do right by me.
I stand, flexing my fingers toward Ava. “We need to leave.”
“Don’t go this upset.”
“I’ve been in a constant state of upset since the party. Just when I think it can’t get worse, it does.”
“Stay. Let’s talk this out.”
“The only person I want to speak with is Mom, and I can’t.” I laugh. “It’s ironic. She didn’t tell me about her cancer because she didn’t want to ruin the party. Getting arrested was much more discreet.”
Again, Carmen looks as though she wants to say something, but doesn’t. She just watches me leave.
20 Eileen
Then
Cliff’s family planned the funeral. They made the cheapest, most detached decisions possible. It was obvious to everyone in attendance—to the dozen who did show up—that this was something they wanted to be over and done with. Like lancing a boil. Cliff’s entire life had come to this: an annoying afternoon for those he left behind.
Of course, I didn’t feel that way. I wanted to celebrate his life, mourn his loss. Cliff never introduced me to his family. After seeing the way they behaved at the funeral, I understood why he avoided them. They didn’t seem interested in getting to know me. I wasn’t his wife or his fiancé—just some sad, crying girl on the front row. No one even asked my name.
Jamie postponed her trip. Her old apartment—briefly, in my mind, the place I might live with Cliff—found a new tenant. She stayed with me in my dingy studio. Her place seemed like a palace by comparison, but she never commented on the leaky faucet or inconsistent electricity, the fact you had to flick on the kitchen light in order to get the living room fan to work. For two weeks, she slept on a futon, making sure I continued eating and did something during the day besides cry.
“I can stay longer if you’d like,” she said, as the start date at her university approached.
“You can’t. Your classes will begin soon.”
“I’m already starting late. Pushing back a little longer won’t be a problem.”
“No. You have to go. I’m not going to let you give up college.”
“I know, but you’re—”
“I’m fine.”
I was harsher with her than I should have been. Jamie had only ever tried to help me, but now she was leaving, abandoning me to my memories of Cliff. Even when I thought of something happy, my insides would clench with anger and… and guilt. His death, accidental and tragic as it was, wouldn’t have happened had our lives never crossed paths. He might be alive if we weren’t naively daydreaming about the future that day, if he wasn’t helping my best friend move. I was nothing more than a screw-up, transferring my bad luck onto him, and now he was gone forever.
I had what some might call a breakdown. I quit going to work. It was too difficult to stand at the same counter where we’d once been together, to sit in the same alleyway where we first got to know one another. I locked myself away in my apartment, refusing to leave. The only person left in my life was Jamie, and she lived miles away.
“You have to get your life together,” she’d say over the phone. “I’m worried about you.”
“I don’t know how I’m supposed to do any of this without him,” I said, tissues sprinkled over my comforter, the curtains pulled tight to block out the sun. My room mirrored the darkness and claustrophobia I felt inside.
“He’d want you to get better,” Jamie said. “Cliff would want you to move on with your life.”
I’d been so close, it seemed, to having the life I’d always wanted. The family I felt I deserved. That same day—the very day he died!—we’d been imagining the future. They say when we plan, God laughs, but sometimes it’s a cruel laugh, and it’s like I could hear His merciless snickering when I tried to sleep at night.
I stopped going to my counseling sessions. That was a dumb move. If my probation officer wanted to be a stickler, a thing like that could get me thrown in jail. Thankfully, most probation officers have a bigger workload than they can handle. A few missed sessions barely beeped her radar. Still, I didn’t want to run the chance of making my situation worse, so I returned to the center.
I sat as far away from the receptionist’s desk as I could, away from the windows, away from anyone who might see me and want to strike up a conversation. A half hour with Ms. Lang was all I could stand in one day. I’d promised myself I wouldn’t talk about Cliff—I’d stick to the same little details: job, apartment, bills. Hell, I’d
even bring up my childhood to fill the time, anything to keep me from sharing my true feelings.
“Sarah?”
The woman standing in front of me wasn’t Ms. Lang, but I recognized her.
“I’m Amelia Parker,” she said. “We’ve spoken before.”
“I remember.”
For a moment, the heartache of the past month washed away. You’d think after everything I’d just gone through, seeing her again, this perfect woman who seemed to have everything, would make me bitter. But it didn’t.
“Ms. Lang is no longer working at the center,” she said, hugging a clipboard to her chest. “I’ll be handling your session today. Is that okay?”
“Sure.” I stood, almost too quickly. There was an eagerness inside I hadn’t felt since—well, you know. Since Cliff was alive.
I followed her down the same hunter green hallways and entered a room similar in size and layout to that of Ms. Lang’s office. And yet, the energy was clearer. Amelia must have been into feng shui, or something like that. I’d never given that stuff much thought, but I could feel the effects right where I stood. This was a place you wanted to stay, and Amelia was someone you wanted to speak to.
“Let me just glance at your file,” she said.
Staring at her, I noticed her figure looked bigger than before. Was she pregnant? I wanted to ask, but knew it was rude. Instead, I focused on her face, expecting a judgmental flinch when she reached the details of the convenience store incident, waiting for her friendly expression to fall.
She placed the folder on her desk and smiled.
“It looks like you’ve been coming here over two years. Have you found counseling helpful?”
“Sort of.”
“What’s helpful about it?”
“I… um.” I started looking around the room, as though I’d stepped on stage and forgotten my lines. Ms. Lang never asked questions like this. She barely made eye contact.
“Let me rephrase,” Amelia said. “You said sort of. What doesn’t work about it?”
“You know, we just kind of talk about what I did to get arrested, what I’m doing now. We don’t really go beyond that.”
Amelia nodded. Like she knew exactly what I meant.
“It’s weird, isn’t it? Talking to a total stranger.”
“Yeah. Yeah, it is.”
“Maybe if I tell you a little about me, you’ll feel better opening up?”
I nodded.
Amelia talked about her family, her southern roots, her husband and the types of places they liked to go on vacation. Vacation. Let’s go to the city, Cliff had said. This happened sometimes, where I’d hear his voice so clearly it felt like he was in the room with me, but of course he wasn’t. Only Amelia was here, and she was talking to me like I was a human being, more than an appointment slot in her agenda.
“And that’s about all there is to know about me,” she said, finishing. She rested her palms on the desk and waited for me to speak.
“Have any kids?”
I’m not sure where that question came from, other than I’d been thinking about her stomach, trying to figure out if it had gotten any bigger since the last time we spoke. Idiot, I scolded myself. Classless idiot.
“Working on it.” It was an eloquent way of dodging the question. She smiled, but this time there was a tightness around the corners of her mouth. Still, she didn’t seem offended.
“I’ve always wanted children,” I said, looking down, unsure why I couldn’t shake this topic. It’s not something I ever talked about with Ms. Lang. “Now I’m not so sure.”
“How come?”
Amelia’s eyes didn’t look away. She wanted to know. She wanted to hear my answer.
“My boyfriend… um, Cliff… he just died.”
“Oh, Sarah. I’m so sorry.”
And just like that, the floodgates opened. I told her everything. About how we first got together, how he was the only person who made me feel loved. Like he needed me as much as I needed him. I told her how excited he was to build a future with me, that he wanted a family and all the other things I wanted too. I told her about the car. I explained what his body looked like, lying broken in the middle of the street. I told her how angry I was that the police showed little interest in finding out who killed some line cook from Buster’s. I told her I’d stopped going to work and never left my apartment. I told her Jamie had left, hopped on a plane to start over. Something I’d never be able to do. I was stuck here, alone, not sure what my next step should be.
When I finished, it was like I’d surrendered all my strength, all my tears. But instead of feeling exhausted, I felt clean. Pure. I’d purged and was waiting to be filled with something new.
“I’m sorry. You must wonder why your life has unfolded like this. I wish I could provide you with answers.” She reached across the table and held my hand. There were tears in her eyes. Ms. Lang never seemed to care. “All I can do is give you options.”
“Options.”
“Possible steps for what to do next.” She opened a folder, taking out a series of brochures. “You’re in this situation now, whether you like it or not. Only you are capable of deciding where to go from here.”
I liked that phrasing. Even though it seemed everything had been taken from me, I might have some control left.
Amelia would show me the way.
21 Marion
Now
Two Moms.
The woman who is always there for me, and the woman who keeps me in the dark. I want to see the best in her, but how can I do that when she continues to lie?
It’s bad enough she committed these unspeakable acts years ago, ripping me away from my birth family and any opportunity I had at a better life. Even now, after all the years we’ve spent together, she’s continuing her deception. She didn’t tell me she had cancer. Worse, she enlisted the two people I trust most, Des and Carmen, to help hide it from me. With each passing day, the life I’ve known unravels, threads loosening around what once kept me together.
I try to focus only on Ava, on her needs and desires. The days are long but the years are short, they say. These days have been some of the longest, but I’m not going to let that ruin my time with my daughter. I don’t want her to ever feel I put my own needs before hers. All she understands of this world is what I show her. I can choose to let her see me as an emotional mess, or I can let her see me smiling, enjoying the day.
I put my phone on Do Not Disturb mode for the rest of the evening. I don’t anticipate hearing from the hospital until at least tomorrow and I have no desire to speak with Carmen or Des. I make sandwiches and stroll Ava down to the beach in front of our apartment. I wait until it’s almost sunset, to be sure there are as few people around as possible.
At night, once Ava is tucked away in her crib, the despair returns. Like a heavy blanket covering me, wrapping around tighter, restricting my ability to breathe. I feel the anger toward Mom fighting against the hope I have that she’ll pull through. I feel the sorrow Amelia must have carried all these years, living in a world without her daughter.
I find myself checking the baby monitor more often than I normally would. I squint at the tiny screen, confirming Ava is safe and asleep. I watch her chest rise and fall. The relief I have watching her is fleeting. More than ever, I’m aware of how dangerous and unfair this world can be. There are real monsters out there, some closer than you would prefer to admit.
It feels like I’ve only slept a half hour when I hear my phone ringing. I’m inclined to ignore it, but everything going on with Mom makes that impossible. I pull the comforter away, the brightness paining my eyes. It’s been daylight for hours. Des’ name is on the screen.
“You coming by the restaurant?” she asks.
“No,” I croak. I reach for my bedside water but see it’s not there. And I’m still wearing my clothes from yesterday.
“We’re opening at eleven if you change your mind.”
“Didn’t you think I should have a
say in when we reopen?”
“This is the best thing for the business, and for your mom. We’re not going to let a little gossip tank the restaurant.”
Except it’s more than a little gossip. There’s evidence Mom killed a man. She even admitted she’s used a fake name all these years. I don’t see how Des can continue with this blind faith. Surely, she feels equally deceived? She’s trying to pretend we can move our lives back to where they were. But it’s not that simple for me. Des is able to sweep the floors and polish the tables, act as though nothing happened, but Mom’s actions wrecked my whole life.
“How long have you known about the cancer?”
I hear Des exhale on the other end of the line. I’m sure Carmen called her after I stormed out last night. “I was there when she received the diagnosis.”
Sounds about right. Mom and Des have been best friends for decades. It’s completely natural she would turn to her in a time of crisis, like she did when we moved here all those years ago. And yet, me—her adult daughter—deserves no explanation?
“Why didn’t she tell me, Des? Why am I finding out all these things about my mother’s life from strangers?”
“I told her to tell you about the cancer, if it makes any difference,” she says, and I know she’s being truthful. Des doesn’t lie. “I can’t speak for her on any of the other stuff. Hard to tell what’s true, what’s not.”
This much is clear: Mom’s actions all those years ago ruined lives, and the repercussions are now ruining mine. I’d like to think some of what they say isn’t true. That she’s not a murderer, not a kidnapper, but the more time passes, the more it becomes clear there aren’t enough excuses in the world to justify what has been done.
“I need to go,” I tell Des, ending the call. It’s bad enough I’m worrying about Mom, but I no longer feel I can even count on Des and Carmen. With each passing day, it becomes harder to trust the people I love.
I wander into Ava’s nursery. She’s not yet awake, but she’s rolling from side to side. Normally she’d already have been up a couple of hours by now. We’re getting off schedule, a ritual that seemed of the utmost importance only a week ago. Breakfast by eight, a stroll along the sidewalk by nine. Taking Ava with me to the restaurant and preparing for the day. Attending Mommy and Me in the afternoons on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Bedtime at eight thirty on the dot. None of that seems to matter anymore. Both our sleep schedules are disrupted, and I’m not sure I can face the participants at Mommy and Me ever again, not after they witnessed Mom’s arrest. I tiptoe out of the room, shutting the door behind me.
Not My Mother Page 11
