The pearl ring Mom gave me the day of Ava’s party sits in a little white bowl on my nightstand. I pick it up, twirling the jewelry between my fingers. Each pearl is so distinct, so unique, like the three of us—Mom, Ava and me. This symbol of unity now exists as a declaration of our differences moving forward. Our relationships, if not completely severed, will be forever changed based on what I decide.
As I walk into the bathroom, I catch sight of my reflection in the mirror. I don’t look like myself. My ashen skin and disheveled hair remind me of how I looked when Ava was a newborn. My appearance, like my mental well-being, is withering away. I might not like the results. They might break me. But maybe that brokenness can lead to healing. Besides, it’s only a matter of time before the police force my hand. I’ll eventually have to confront it. What’s the point in dragging things out a bit longer? Nothing can be worse than the waiting.
I bend down and open the sink cabinet. My eyes scan the clutter, landing on the Ziploc bag in the corner. This is it. Only days away from knowing the truth and beginning to deal with the aftermath. And maybe I need this, to accept these results without the watchful eyes of so many around me. I’m deceiving everyone, it seems. Carmen. Amelia. Mom.
I must follow my intuition, the guide that led me to Ava and so many other monumental moments in my life. It’s never failed me before, and I’m relying on it now, as I walk into the living room and give Rick what he needs to submit the test.
30 Marion
Now
I have to take my mind off the results. Rick says it will be at least twenty-four hours before he has any information, a timeline that seems excruciating.
I drive over to The Shack. According to Des, the place hasn’t been very busy, but I can at least show support by being there. As I pull into the parking lot, I can tell something is wrong. The windows at the front of the restaurant are streaked in red and black. I pull into a parking space. I lift Ava in her carrier as I move closer to investigate.
“What the hell?”
It looks like something was written on the glass, but the first layer has already been smudged. What remains are rivulets of paint and soapy water, pink suds on the base of the windowpane.
“Don’t worry. It will be gone before you open.”
Evan comes walking up behind me. He is carrying a bucket of water in one hand, a mop with the other.
“What happened?”
“Someone vandalized The Shack last night. Des called me this morning,” Evan says, resting the fresh bucket of water by the door. “I told her I’d clean it off.”
“What did it say?”
“Does it matter?” He hoists the mop into the water and begins scrubbing the glass. “I’ll have it cleaned before customers show up.”
I look around the parking lot. Beach towns tend to start early; people have likely already seen the damage. Not to mention the media parked across the street. It’s embarrassing, invasive and certainly doesn’t cast the business in the best light.
“Let me help you,” I say.
“It’s really a one-person job. If I were you, I’d check on Des. She’s upset.”
“We should be able to check the security cameras—”
“I already asked her about that. She says she’s not hooked them back up since the police search. Said something about paying the security company.” He looks over his shoulder at Ava in her carrier. There’s a perceptible glimmer in his eyes, then he looks at me. “Like I said, I think Des needs a friend right now more than she needs someone to blame.”
I lift Ava off the ground, taking one more look at the muddied windows. Inside, the restaurant is dark and quiet. Des is sitting in a corner, scrolling through her phone. She puts it down on the table when she sees us.
“I guess you saw our latest art project?”
“I’m so sorry, Des. I wish you’d called me.”
“You haven’t been much of a talker the past few days.”
Des lifts her coffee mug to her lips. She takes a sip, winces, then lets out a sob.
“Des, are you okay?” I move quickly, pulling out the chair by her side.
“It’s just all hitting me, you know?” Her eyes are glossy, puckered skin beneath them. She makes another scowl. “What am I doing? Anything I’m going through is hitting you ten times worse.”
“That doesn’t mean you can’t talk about it,” I say, looking down. I’ve been upset with Des because she didn’t tell me about Mom’s cancer diagnosis, but now I feel guilty. She has been struggling through all this, too. “I’m here. Let me listen.”
Des exhales, and I catch a whiff of alcohol on her breath.
“People think I’m naïve, but I still don’t think your mother is capable of what they’re saying. I mean, she’s my best friend! Don’t you think I would have been able to pick up on the fact she was a liar? A killer?”
“I know how you feel,” I say, my voice low. Truth is, I didn’t pick up on it either. I place my hand on her shoulder.
“The more time that passes, I guess it makes sense, doesn’t it? The police wouldn’t have arrested her if she wasn’t guilty. And now they’ve confirmed the fingerprints match. Thinking about what she did to the Parkers all those years ago makes me sick, but I’m mad because she fooled me, too. I thought she was better than that.
“All I’ve been trying to do is keep myself busy. Think positively. But I can’t even come to work without some dipshit vandalizing my building. My regulars haven’t stepped foot in here since the arrest. It’s bad enough I’ve lost my best friend, but now I’m about to lose my business, too.”
Even if we have enough money to bail us out, neither of us wants to start over. The Shack is at the center of both our lives. To think all that hard work could be gone overnight is devastating.
“We won’t lose the business.”
“Won’t we?” She makes a face. “This isn’t the type of industry where you can start over again from scratch, and it’s all I’ve known.”
“We won’t lose the business,” I repeat. “Trust me, okay?”
I give Des a hug. She rarely shows emotion like this, but I’m glad she has. I need to know I’m not the only person devastated. Mom betrayed us, something Des is only beginning to admit.
Des snorts and wipes her cheeks with the back of her hand. “I need more coffee.”
“Just coffee?”
“Yes.” She stands, her jovial nature returning. “This time, it’s just coffee.”
Des walks to the back. I unload Ava from her carrier and put her in the playpen. From behind, the front door opens, and Evan walks inside.
“I think one more wash is all it needs.” He looks around the room, seeing I’m alone with Ava. “Where’s Des?”
“She’s fixing herself up.”
“Is she okay?”
“I think she will be.” I cross my arms, walking closer to him. “I appreciate you cleaning up the mess. You didn’t have to do that.”
“Des is my friend. I’m just happy she can lean on me when she’s feeling overwhelmed.”
My phone pings with a text from Amelia: Are you home? I was thinking of stopping by.
I’ve not spoken to her since yesterday, which was before I reached out to Rick about the DNA test. Now I’m the one harboring secrets, and I don’t like it.
I’ll be there in ten, I type back.
“Could you do me another favor?” I ask Evan.
“Sure,” he says, leaning the mop in the corner.
“I need to run by the condo for a second. Can you stay here with Des? Help her keep an eye on Ava?”
“No problem.”
“Thanks.”
I take my wallet and keys out of the diaper bag and start heading for the front door.
“You know, I’m here if you need me.”
I stare back at him, pushing the door open with my back. “The window looks great. Thanks again.”
Amelia is sitting on the front porch of the condo when I pull up.
&
nbsp; “Out and about today?” she asks as I approach.
“We have some work to do at The Shack.”
Emerald Shores Hotel is right across the street from the restaurant. I wonder if Amelia drove by there earlier and saw the graffiti on the front windows. If she did, at least she is being polite by not bringing it up.
She looks over my shoulder into the back seat of the car. “Where’s baby Ava?”
“I left her at the restaurant. I can’t stay long. Anything in particular you wanted to meet about?”
Already, I can feel this barrier between us. The barrier of the DNA test she doesn’t know I’m submitting. Part of me wants to tell her, but I’m afraid of what other problems that might cause. I need to come to terms with the results on my own, then I can start involving others. Still, it doesn’t feel right holding onto this secret.
“I wanted to give you this.”
She pulls a folded paper out of her pocket and places it in my hand. It’s a check.
“Amelia, I already told you—”
“You need this right now. So does Ava. Please, let me help you.”
I unfold the paper and look at the amount. My mouth falls agape.
“It’s too much. I couldn’t possibly take this from you. I mean, we’re still just getting to know each other.”
Amelia holds both her hands together and smiles. “Listening to you talk about the business the other day bothered me. Like I told you then, you shouldn’t lose your career because of someone else’s mistakes. This amount should be enough to get the place running again. You could use that, couldn’t you?”
Less than an hour ago, Des was crying about the state of the restaurant. Des could use this as much as I could. But something about taking Amelia’s money, especially when I’ve not been upfront about the DNA test, doesn’t sit well. I don’t want Amelia to feel like she has to buy my friendship or respect.
“Promise me you’ll think about it,” Amelia says, placing her hand over mine. She leans in and kisses my cheek. I smile, appreciating her kindness, still conflicted about how to react.
31 Marion
Now
Other than the graffiti incident at The Shack, the past two days have been normal, whatever that means.
I’ve worked my regular shifts, trying to raise Des’ spirits. I’ve taken Carmen’s calls concerning the case. There still aren’t many updates from the hospital because Mom is under sedation. I’m resting on the couch, having just put Ava to bed. The room is dark except for the blue glow of the television.
My phone pings with another text message from Holly Dale:
I’ve been trying to reach you.
No shit, she’s been trying to reach me. If she’s not pestering me with text messages, she’s calling Des at The Shack. I’ve been dodging her, but I can’t avoid her much longer. I dial her number.
“Is this a bad time?” Holly asks when she answers the phone. She knows what the past week has been like; she was at the party when Mom was arrested.
“As good a time as ever,” I say, punctuating my response with a deep exhale.
“It’s a business matter,” she says, her voice artificially nice. “We’re about to send the hotel’s promotional offers out to the printer. I didn’t know if you wanted us to include The Shack, like we did last year.”
“I can’t think why you wouldn’t. We’ve partnered with your hotel for the last several years.”
Holly is fishing for an excuse to exclude us. If Mom’s case continues to garner the attention it has in the past week, any association between the hotel and the restaurant would be bad press. They’re not the only local business that will reconsider their partnership with us, but Holly is the most irritating. I’m not willing to give her an easy out. If she wants to cut ties, she’s going to have to say so.
“I just thought you might have other things on your mind right now.” She pauses. “Maybe this isn’t the best time to be promoting.”
“It’s almost summer. That’s always the best time to start promoting.” I tear open a potato chip bag with my teeth and dig in. My first meal all day. “We’ll keep the same placement we had last year. I’ll send over a check by the end of the week.”
“That’s, well…” Holly pauses again, trying to process her reaction at lightning speed. “That’s fine, Marion. I’ll put you down.”
An easy forfeit, which isn’t very much like Holly. I hope other businesses will continue to work with us, that Mom’s newly tarnished reputation won’t destroy the business I’ve worked so hard to build.
“Everything else okay with you?” she asks.
“Yep.”
“What about your mom?”
This is the real price I pay. In exchange for not losing our advertisement, Holly will demand some fresh gossip.
“I’m not sure if you heard, but she’s in the hospital. We’re hoping she’ll recover soon.”
“I’m very sorry to hear that. I’m sorry about all this.” She sounds sincere. “How’s Ava holding up?”
“Ava is one, Holly. She doesn’t even know what’s happening.”
As I say the words, I’m not sure that’s true. She must sense some of my anxiety, she must sense that her grandmother isn’t around. But even if she has these realizations, they’re fleeting. Even now, she’s sleeping peacefully in her crib. She doesn’t have to deal with the reactions from other people.
“Do you think they’ll take this thing to trial?”
“I don’t know.” At least, I don’t want to think about it. I remember what Amelia said about staying at the Emerald Shores Hotel. Holly must have noticed the other woman at the center of this tragedy. “Don’t you hear enough about the case from your guests?”
“I try not to interfere with their business,” she says, curtly.
Just mine, I think. The line beeps, letting me know there’s another incoming call. I pull the phone away from my face to check the screen. It’s Rick.
“Holly, I have to go.”
“Let me know if you—”
I end the call before she can finish. I’ve been anticipating his call for days, and I’m hoping he’s reaching out to share the results of the DNA test.
“You’re home, right?” he asks after I answer.
I look out the window. In the parking lot, a dark car sits a few spaces away with its headlights on.
“Are you watching me?”
“Carmen wants me to keep an eye on you. And I have your results.”
“Okay. Tell me.”
“I haven’t read them. I’ll leave them in your mailbox. I just didn’t want to leave them for someone else to find.”
Still peering through the window, I watch as Rick exits his car. He walks over to the shared mail station at the center of the complex. He holds up an envelope, waves it for me to see, then slides it in my box.
“Thank you, Rick.”
He returns to his car and drives away. His job is done, and he’s as impartial about the outcome as he was about the task.
Ava’s in her crib. She’ll be fine long enough for me to run across the street. I take the monitor with me, just in case. I jog to the mail station, unlock my box and pull out the lone envelope.
Once inside, I close the door and lock it. The place is silent, like it’s waiting. The past weeks’ turmoil all comes down to this moment. All these pent-up emotions will finally have reason to break free. I’ll know the truth about what my mother did, without ever having to hear her utter the words.
She stole me. She wanted a child so badly—she wanted me so extremely—she abandoned all sense of right and wrong. When Bruce Parker tried to interfere, my father, she murdered him. And even though she did her best to repent for those sins by giving me a decent life, it can’t make up for everything she’s taken away. If it weren’t for this decision, my entire life could have been different. I could have been a Parker. With a fancy house and an enviable education. I could have had two parents who loved me, and not just one who wanted to hoard t
hat love for herself.
I tear open the envelope and unfold the paper inside. I scan the words until I reach the results.
Positive match.
I drop the paper, letting it float to the floor.
The patchwork of my life as I knew it is gone. I’m bare. Confronted by cold, unforgiving truth.
It’s a positive match.
But I didn’t use Amelia’s DNA. I submitted Eileen’s.
That means Eileen is my real mother.
32 Eileen
Then
I’ve waited until now to tell you this part because I wanted you to see me as a complete person, not solely as your mother.
The world doesn’t do that, does it? Once you’re a mother, you are bound to a certain set of standards. Wear this, not that. Go here, not there. A mother would never act that way, say that word, do that thing. You’re held to an almost impossible set of guidelines, something you might well understand one day, if you choose to become a parent.
And I say choose because motherhood is a choice. And sometimes you’re acting as a mother even when you are choosing to let that child go. When you realize that your situation isn’t one this child deserves. When you realize all the indecision you’ve felt up until this point is a mound no bigger than an anthill compared to the decisions you’ll face afterward.
Don’t ever think you weren’t loved. Don’t ever think you weren’t wanted. Letting you go doesn’t make me any less of a mother. Some might say it makes me a stronger one. I had more responsibility than simply granting you life. I wanted your life to prosper, and if I couldn’t do that for you, the most brave and honest thing I could do was admit it. People wouldn’t know I was already a mother, living without you. They wouldn’t know that their comments, even the unintentional ones, would hurt me. It would become my private pain to carry but suffering in secret doesn’t lessen the sting.
Not My Mother Page 16
