Mother (43 page)

Claire sat up straighter. “Anything. What is it?”

“I’ll be blunt.”

“Please do.”

“Very well.” Babs screwed up her courage. “I’m worried about you staying here. I mean, you’ve already had an accident.” She looked at Claire’s cast.

“My doctor says she thinks I might be out of here within two weeks. My mother probably told you that Paul Schuyler, Jason’s boss at the flight school, is renting a house to us for absolute peanuts. We’d be there already if I hadn’t broken my stupid leg.”

Babs hoped Claire couldn’t see beyond her calm mask because alarm bells were ringing. “Honey, your mother said nothing about you having a new place. Not a word. I’m so happy for you.”

“She doesn’t want us to go. We even had a big yelling match when I told her. I know she’s glad I broke my leg.”

Babs’ stomach twisted, but she hid her worry and listened as Claire told her about their new home, how they’d already taken a few things over, and that she’d had her injury only a day before they were planning on moving out. “Well,” Babs said, “at least you’re going to be out of here very soon. That’s good. And I’ll be happy to come over every day - all day if you want - and help you for as long as you need me to.”

“I’d love to have you visit. Just don’t bring my mother.”

“I won’t.” Babs chuckled, then saw Claire’s expression turn serious.
 

“Aunt Babs, I want out of here in the worst way, but I need to know why
you
feel it’s important we leave quickly.”

Babs wished she hadn’t led with the statement. “It’s not important since you’re moving out soon.”

“I need to know,” Claire said. “I’m a big girl. I can take it.” She paused. “I’ve been reading Timothy’s old journals. Priscilla Martin was not a model mother, I know that. Tell me.

“How many injuries have you had in the ten years since you left home?”

Claire looked at the ceiling, thinking. “Does a skinned knee count?”

“No, it doesn’t.” Babs had nothing to validate her suspicions, so she tried to make light of things. “You had a lot of accidents when you lived here. I guess you outgrew that.”

“Except for this.” Claire looked at her leg.

“Yes, except for that.” Babs studied Claire, unwilling to upset her with half-baked theories. She decided to change the subject. “Do you remember coming to my house almost every day after school?”

“Of course I do. I loved it.” She grinned. “We had Chesapeake cookies and milk at least once a week. Why?”

“Did you know your mother only let you come because she claimed you were too noisy and Timothy couldn’t do his homework?”

“What?”

“I know, it’s nonsense. You were never noisy or clumsy around me; it never made any sense. But I went along with it because I loved having you with me. I always kind of felt like I should have been your mother, you know?” Tears welled.

Claire wiped tears away, too. “I wish you were.”

“Thank you. We may not be blood, but you
are
my family, Claire. And let me tell you right now - it was all about your mother, not you. Prissy just couldn’t deal with two children. I swear, she was so obsessed with Timothy; that’s normal for a first-time mother, but the obsession never wore off, even when you were born. Did you know she breastfed him until he started kindergarten?”

“No.” Claire’s face lost what little color it had. “I didn’t know. Why would she do such a thing?” She paused. “She didn’t do that to me, did she?”

“Oh, heavens, no. You were a bottle baby. I probably fed you almost as often as she did.”
God, I didn’t realize she wouldn’t think that was amusing.

“Why did she do it to Timothy?”
 

Claire’s voice quavered and sounded an octave higher than it had moments before. Babs didn’t want to upset her further and wished she’d kept her mouth shut. “I think your mother is selectively OCD. She fixated so heavily on your brother that she just didn’t do right by you.”
 

Claire’s lip trembled and her pale face blotched red. She said nothing.

Babs had a terrible feeling that Claire was about to crack and thought it best to leave before she accidentally said something to escalate things. She rose, looking at her watch. “I have a repairman coming. I’m sorry, but I need to get back.”

Claire looked stricken. “You will come back, right? Mother has another meeting on Friday. She’ll be gone for hours.”
 

“Yes, I’ll try.”

“Please come!” Tears ran silently down her cheeks.

Babs’ heart was breaking. “I’ll come, I promise.” She kissed Claire’s forehead again. It was as cold and clammy as a fish. “Are you feeling all right?”

Claire nodded. “It’s just been rough being here in this house. Half the time I think I’m losing my mind.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just little things. My phone isn’t where I left it, then it is. I thought my door was locked this morning but Mother says it must have stuck.” She paused. “I think it really was locked.” Embarrassment flashed. “Nothing serious. Just little things.”

Babs could see that, for Claire, these weren’t little things at all, and thought there was more to the story. “Have you spoken to Jason about all this?”

“Yes, I did, but I don’t anymore. He thinks I’m imagining things.”

“Well, you can talk to me on Friday, okay? Or you can phone me any time you want, day or night.”

“Thanks. I might do that.”

“Take good care of yourself.” Babs hugged her then let herself out of the room. Once the door was shut, tears rolled down her face. Downstairs, she locked the door, replaced the key, and wiped her eyes. She paused before heading home. She couldn’t stop thinking of the look in Claire’s eyes - frightened, haunted. And she’d been so edgy. She wasn’t herself. Not to mention, she was too fragile to talk turkey. But the issues couldn’t be ignored any longer. Babs resolved to speak with Jason.
 

The Secret Life of Timothy Martin

At noon, Jason made his way into the airport cafeteria. He’d packed a sandwich and a bag of Sun Chips for lunch and bought a Coke Zero from the vending machine. He hadn’t been watching what he ate since they’d left the apartment in Oakland, and now it was starting to wear on him. He hadn’t put on any significant weight, but he was tired, sluggish. It was time to start running again.
And eating better.
 

He sat at a table near a large window where he could watch the runway and opened his sack. A sweet little red-and-white Cessna touched down and he felt a pang, wishing he were in the pilot seat, but there was no use dwelling on it. Instead, he pulled out the sandwich. He peeled back the bread, regretting how much mayo he’d slathered on.
Definitely time to get things back in order. I’m going to be a father soon! Gotta get in shape!

When Paul Schuyler entered the room, Jason raised his arm and waved. Paul smiled and headed over and sat down.
 

“Just the man I want to talk to.” Paul pulled out his own bag lunch, which made Jason’s look healthy by comparison: a dozen fried-battered shrimp with tartar sauce. “I got a phone call about a sweet little business class jet I’d like to buy.”

“Oh, yeah? What kind?”

“A VLJ. It’s a Cessna Citation Mustang 510. Nice and light. If it’s as advertised, it would make a perfect addition to our little fleet. Great to teach in. We’re getting more and more students who want to learn this class of aircraft.”

“Nice,” Jason said. “You already have one very light jet. Thinking of expanding?”

“I might be.” Paul grinned and ate another shrimp. “Our VLJ is in good shape, but it’s quite a bit older. We need something more up-to-date. The thing is, I can’t get away to inspect it and there are other interested parties. Would you be willing to go Friday morning and take a look? It’s in Denver. I could send you with Jake Fairview and put you up overnight. You’d be home within 24 hours.”

Jake was a pilot who taught students in the air. He was about the ugliest man Jason had ever seen, but a great pilot and instructor. “Why not just send Jake?”

Paul smiled. “Because he doesn’t have the executive skills you do, and you know your way around jets, big or little. He’s strictly a small-plane guy. You have experience none of us have - and I trust you.”

“I’d be happy to, then. I just hope Claire understands.”

“I’ll sweet-talk her into it, if you want.” Paul pulled out a tube of Ritz, a small baggie of Oreos, and two Mountain Dews. “Don’t judge me,” he said, biting into a cookie.

Jason raised his hand. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” He laughed and took a bite out of his turkey sandwich.

“I deep-fried these babies myself.” Paul dipped a cold shrimp and popped it into his mouth. “You can have some if you like.”

“No, thanks, but they look great.”

“You’re not watching what you eat, are you?”

Jason laughed. “As a matter of fact, I was just thinking I probably ought to start.”

Paul sighed. “Me too. But not until after I grill up some of my famous ribs for you guys. Those burgers you and Claire had were just the tip of a very greasy iceberg, my friend.”
 

Jason laughed. “I’m looking forward to it, and Claire is, too.”

“I’ll bet.” He popped another shrimp, chased it with an Oreo, then opened a Mountain Dew. “Just a few more weeks, right?”

“Two. Claire has an appointment in two weeks, and as soon as Dr. Putnam gives the word, we’re heading over.” He paused. “Assuming we get the green light, of course.”

Paul stopped chewing. “Why wouldn’t you? Everything’s okay with Claire, right?”

Jason nodded and took another bite of sandwich. “She’s fine.” It felt like a lie. “A bundle of raw nerves, but nothing that should threaten her pregnancy.”
 

“Why’s she so nervous?”

Jason considered. “Hormones. And, of course, her mother.”

“Old Prissy’s not making things hard on her, is she?”

“No harder than usual. It’s just that Claire’s … well, she’s gotten very suspicious of Prissy. Too suspicious, you know? She seems to think she’s out to get her.”

Paul gave Jason a meaningful stare. “Yeah, well, she may be right.” He watched Jason a moment, then said, “You’re pretty worried about her, aren’t you?”

Jason’s throat went dry. He wondered how much he should say. On one hand, he didn’t want to put off Paul - though he’d hate for him to think they were going to bring unwanted drama into his life - but on the other hand, a few things
had
been bothering him, and it wasn’t as if he had anyone else to talk to. “A little bit. Yeah. She’s not … herself exactly. And I think it’s more than the pregnancy.”

“She contacted me the other day. She asked me to put her in touch with Stephanie Banks.”

“Stephanie Banks?”

“Her brother’s old high school sweetheart. She’s living in Arizona now.”

“Why?”

Paul shrugged. “She said she wanted to talk with her about Tim. Said she’s been reading his journals and wanted to clarify some things.”

“Shit.”

“Eh?”

“I told her to stay away from those damned things. She agreed it isn’t good for the baby if she’s upset.” His sandwich lost its taste. “She was reading Tim’s entries from middle and high school, and getting upset about it. Tim wrote a lot about Prissy, and I think maybe that’s what’s made Claire so …
paranoid.
”

Paul held his hands up. “Oops. You didn’t hear it from me, then, okay?”

“I won’t say anything. But I do need to get those journals out of her hands.”

They sat in silence, Paul devouring his lunch, Jason poking at his, and then Paul spoke. “You said she was getting paranoid. Was that a figure of speech, or literal?”

Jason thought of Claire pounding her crutch on the floor, shrieking at him to go look at her father. There’d been absolutely nothing wrong with the old man. He recalled her vacant stares, her worrying that her mother was plotting against her somehow. If these things didn’t qualify as paranoia, he didn’t know what did. “Unfortunately, it’s a little more literal than I’d like it to be.”

Paul wiped his mouth and started on the Ritz, producing a travel-size can of EZ Cheese to squirt on them. “Stephanie’s a psychiatrist, you know.”

“She is?”

“Yes. And she’s planning a trip here in a few days to see Claire.” He blushed. “And me. Claire doesn’t want Prissy to know anything about it, so don’t tell her. Anyway, do you think maybe Claire would like to … you know …
talk
to her or something?”

Jason wondered if that might have been Claire’s actual plan.
But does she even realize she’s gotten so … high strung? Or that Stephanie Banks is a shrink?
He didn’t think so. “That might be a good thing.”

Paul switched subjects, but Jason wasn’t listening. He finished out the lunch hour, watching airplanes take off and land, his thoughts hovering around Claire like a swarm of hungry bees circling a flower.

Though he hated to admit it, he was looking forward to his short trip to Denver, to a night off.
 

Mother brought up a lunch tray not ten minutes after Claire heard her pull in the driveway. She had forced herself to work after Aunt Babs left and her good mood had partially returned. Once she’d gotten back to work, her appetite returned and she’d devoured four of the eight cookies. Now she pushed the little white bag behind the laptop screen and forced herself to smile as she accepted the tray. There was a cup of soup, some lime Jell-O infused with cottage cheese, both nestled on paper doilies, a grilled cheese sandwich, and a glass of milk. All in all, it looked like it belonged on the cover of
Woman’s Day
circa 1977.
 

The cookies hadn’t dampened her newly returned appetite. “Mmm, this smells good.” Claire pushed the computer out of the way, and Mother set the tray on the desk. “Enjoy.” She hesitated. “What are you doing?”

“Designing a new website for a funeral home chain.”

“That’s rather morbid. Should you be doing that while you’re pregnant?” She sounded distracted.

Claire looked at her and saw she wasn’t looking at the computer screen, but at the cookie bag behind it.
Whatever.
“Thanks for lunch.”