Abithica (2 page)

When she finally did pause, I put the napkin down, forming the question so it would be short: Why would I storm off? Good question, right? Five little words. Couldn’t get much shorter than that.

“Can we go home now? I need to sleep.”
Oh, no—no, no, no! That wasn’t what you were supposed to say. You weren’t even thinking about sleeping. Now you’ve done it. You’ll have to follow through!

“You want to come… home? With me?” The woman in red arched her eyebrows, looking startled.

I had no choice but to play along. “I said something wrong?”

“Not at all. It’s just that you… well, you surprised me a little.”

“Is there a bed?”

“Of course.” She sounded almost apologetic. “There are even some of your old things there.” Her earlier confidence seemed to evaporate, not to mention mine. Alright, what now? Sydney was obviously seeping through and pushing buttons in my psyche, but that wasn’t supposed to happen. She was supposed to recede into the background as an observer, and I was supposed to be the new director in our paired consciousness.

Too boring, I guess because Sydney’s words came slithering out like playful snakes before I could stop them. It had to be something to do with her relationship with this woman. It sounded as if I’d been to her house before.

When I didn’t argue, she motioned to the waiter, who almost ran to the table, circling around to stay as far from me as possible. No doubt he’d been told to get rid of us fast as he could, because the black folder was already in his hand. He put it down, carefully. “Was everything—?”

“Excellent, as usual. My daughter and I
especially
enjoyed the fish. It’s one of her favorites. Was that a hint of nutmeg I tasted?”

She got no answer. He stared at me, probably waiting for me to finish wiping off whatever was on my face. I looked away, digesting the daughter comment. She appeared to be in her mid-forties. If I really was her daughter, it would make my new age somewhere in the twenties, but I hadn’t a clue as to what I might look like otherwise. “Mother” was a lot smaller than I was, but the red suit was tailored, fitting her perfectly, and she had beautiful white teeth, all of which spelled money. Teeth didn’t grow that straight, and orthodontists were pricey. I decided she
was
for real, but that she wasn’t really my mother. She was just using that to advance her own purposes, sort of a “proxy mother” ploy. Maybe I was to read quotation marks around the word “mother.” Or, was she trying to help me in some way?

She raised her voice several notches to ask about the special for the following day, and the poor waiter squirmed. He was the new center of attention, like it or not. He’d probably hoped to get a pat on the back from his boss, but things were not going well, poor soul. That made two of us. I watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard. “Mother” cranked the volume up another notch.

“Better yet, how ‘bout you get us the specials for the week! Bring a copy we can take with us. We can wait,
can’t
we, honey?” She fluttered her fingers at him in a dismissive gesture as she glanced my way.

The entire restaurant was watching us now. I was making everyone’s day, it seemed, especially so for three women sitting nearest us. They all wore pantsuits that looked like they came from the same mail-order house, purple on one, emerald green on the next, and teal on the one closest to us—a giant peacock’s tail without the spots, unless you counted the three heads. “Purple pantsuit” was staring sternly at me over the top of jewel-crusted bifocals with wing tips, perched halfway down her nose. Maybe they’d come from the same mail order house?

Back came the unlucky waiter with what appeared to be the requested list of specials. It was handwritten, probably created while his manager shredded him. Mother snatched the paper from his hands, no more than glancing at it before she thrust the signed bill back at him and got to her feet, all in a single motion. No credit card? That meant she ate here often enough to have an actual account. I didn’t think people did that any more. Apparently, neither did the waiter. He glanced quickly at the signed bill, then rolled his eyes at the ceiling. Now he’d have to face his manager again.

Mother was already in motion, gesturing for me to follow. I scampered after her, thankful all my limbs were finally functioning correctly, but she suddenly stopped and turned back to the roomful of gawkers. There had to be at least fifty pairs of eyes riveted on us, probably all waiting to see if I stood on my head or crawled on all fours or something. Then she cleared her throat and appeared to rise an inch or two.

“I recommend the
fish!
” she announced, then beamed at the distraught waiter, cheerfully predicting we’d return on the following day. “And we both want
you
to be our waiter, so be sure to save our table!” Her final word was delivered with a little bye-bye flutter of her fingers, not quite as dismissive as before, but definitely superior.

As soon as we were outside, she confronted me. This was the moment I’d been dreading. I’d have some real explaining to do if she was honestly my mother, but no, she was suddenly smiling. In her view the whole thing had been fun, she said, and wouldn’t I just
love
to do it again. It wasn’t the kind of thing any real mother would say, so I was right back to wondering who she was. Even if Sydney was somehow related to her, what could I safely say without having more time to absorb my new Sydney persona, or at least gather a few more clues? “Mother” wouldn’t be all that nice if she knew what had
really
just happened inside Gillie’s, and about now I needed nice. Lots of nice.

We approached a red Lexus convertible with its top down, where she paused to open her purse. She seemed surprised when I just stood there. “Sydney, where did you park? Don’t tell me it’s one of these cars right next to mine. That would be too precious! Imagine, after all these years…”

And off she went, rambling on about how significant such a coincidence would be and what it would mean to her. Actually, I had no idea how I’d gotten there, or, if by car, which one. I always tried to avoid driving at all costs, no matter who my host was at the time. Too risky. What if a switch of hosts took place while I was behind the wheel? There were plenty of other options that didn’t include driving, but Sydney had probably already mentioned how she’d gotten there before I took over. She’d driven, of course.

I gently unmade “Mother’s” day by quashing the idea that I’d parked anywhere nearby. Gillie’s was located in a huge shopping complex with dozens of stores, so there really was no specific parking lot other than the portion closest to the restaurant. My story was that I’d gotten there early and felt like walking, so I’d parked over in front of… in front of… there! J.C. Penney had a big sign a good distance away—I’d parked in front of Penney’s. If we were really coming back tomorrow, we could get my car then, couldn’t we? I really wasn’t up to driving right then. In fact, I wasn’t feeling all that well. It might have been the fish.

My improvised story tumbled out so easily I actually congratulated myself. Mother nodded all the way through it, as though every bit was exactly what she’d expected. “Oh, I knew right away something was different, darling. At first you weren’t even speaking to me, then that changed and now you’re even suggesting riding home with me. Is it bad to admit I like it when you’re sick like this?”

“I’m not really sick, just tired. It’s been a stressful day.”

“But so
interesting
… full of fun little twists and turns. I can hardly wait to tell Steven.”

“Is it far? To your house, I mean?”
Whoops, wouldn’t you have known that if she’s really your mother?

But “Mother” didn’t catch my slip. “Hop, skip, and a jump,” was all she said. With that she popped the door locks and opened the door on my side, waiting until I was in before she helped with the seatbelt. My God, how old did that make me… three going on eighteen? Sure, the belts in convertibles were farther back than in other cars, but there wasn’t anything wrong with my… wait! Of course there was something wrong. Hadn’t I just told her as much? She was being nice, and I needed nice, at least until I got away from her. Right now wasn’t the time for that, and Sydney wasn’t cooperating in the least. All I was getting from
her
was a mixture of fear and anger. How was I to spend any amount of time in the car with “Mother”, or face this Steven I kept hearing about, if all I knew about Sydney was that she was an adult female with some sort of ugly mark on her hand and a lip ring and who knew what else, who’d seemed to have had a rift of some sort in the recent past?

As we turned onto the interstate, I was tempted to swing down the car’s visor and see what I looked like in the mirror, but the answers I needed were more than just that. Maybe I could pretend to sleep during the “hop, skip, and jump” portion and postpone any detailed questions. Sleeping would fit in with my earlier question about there being a bed, but right then was when my thoughts turned to Sydney’s purse and wallet. They’d deliver some clues, if only I could sneak a peek while Mother drove.

Ten seconds later, fresh panic set in. Sydney’s purse was back there at Gillie’s. We’d left without it!

Madera Canyon, Arizona

Faith stared at the woman in the mirror.
You should be happy your daughter is sound asleep in the guest bedroom, grateful that she’s changed… but you’re not, because you know something is wrong.

It was true. Talk about Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, what if Miss Nice woke up and decided she didn’t like being Miss Nice anymore? Could she be handled once her claws were back out?

Time to warn Steven.

He answered his cell on the first ring—God bless him. After some background voices and a brief pause, she heard a door close, then his worried question. “Are you all right?”

“I… I… I’m not sure. I think I’m in shock. I told her, and…”

“Go on.”

“I was right. She started out with every cuss word in the book, including some colorful ones I’d never heard before. Come to think of it, I should have written some of them down. They were very creative. Anyway, she was rambling on and on about some guy named Max being totally right about me.”

“Who’s Max?”

“Who knows? Probably the latest in her long string of loser boyfriends.”

“Now, now, Faith, don’t be so quick to judge. He could be a perfect gentleman for all you know. A lot can happen in three years. People change.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Steven, Sydney doesn’t
do
gentleman! It’s strictly the bad boys, the punks. Criminals. Don’t you remember me telling you what her high school counselor said about girls without a steady father-figure trying to fill the void any way they can? Well, she wasn’t picky about the plugs she chose back then, so why should now be any different?”

“Mmmmm.”

“Thanks to that counselor, Sydney had the perfect excuse to screw up her life and blame it on me. Her boyfriend selection actually went downhill from there, if you can believe that.”

“How so?”

“Forget about her just doing the whole football team. I think she’s slept with every dropout in the city. She’s… Steven, are you there? Earth to Steven. Come in, Steven.”

“I’m just thinking.”

“Yes, well, while you’re thinking I’m going to check on her. She was sleeping, but she might have been playing possum. Be right back.”

But Miss Nice was still asleep. Restless sleep, it seemed, judging by the way her legs were shifting about under the sheets. What did she dream about? A better mother would know.

“Okay, Steven, I’m back. Did you finish thinking?”

“Yes, well, if nothing else, you both got closure.”

“Closure?”

“Yes. You can walk away now, knowing you tried, and she’ll know you cared enough to put yourself out there like that. Doesn’t that make you feel better?”

“Steven, I’m not finished telling you. That was just the part outside Gillie’s. She
did
go inside with me, and she
did
sit at the same table, even if she wasn’t too careful with her words.”

“I’m afraid to ask.”

“Right after throwing the F-bomb for the third time, she suddenly put her head in her hands and asked for help. I thought she was talking to me, but she wasn’t. She said something about being alone, even though I was sitting right across from her, and some priest—she mentioned a name, but I didn’t catch it—that he was wrong about me being able to help. She sounded scared, Steven, really scared.”

“I thought she wasn’t religious.”

“She isn’t. Who knows how she met a priest. She sure didn’t meet him in any church, that’s for sure, not dressed the way she was. They’d have taken one look at her and called the police. You should have heard what her shoes were screaming.”

“Which was?”

“Help me!”

“Help me? That seems to me—”

“Wait, I’m not finished. The rest was that if you so much as tried to help her, she’d kick your ass with their spiked, steel tip.”

“Ouch. I can’t even imagine shoes like that.”

“She’s a Goth mess, punk hair, body piercings, probably tattoos. I wanted to laugh and cry and run for my life all at the same time when I first saw her.”