What Mother Never Told Me (8 page)

They’d had this conversation a least a dozen times since Theresa had been felled by a devastating stroke nearly a year earlier that left her trapped in a shell of her former self. It was incomprehensible to Celeste that someone would want to take on that role of nurse when you could easily pay someone else to do it. She couldn’t imagine taking care of Corrine Shaw on an everyday basis. Being in her repressive presence when she was well was exhausting enough. But Leslie had been adamant from the beginning. Her mother’s insurance only covered someone coming in twice per week for four hours, which was the tiny window that allowed Leslie to try to run her design business, take meetings and deal with clients. The rest of the time she was as trapped in this two-bedroom apartment as her mother. And she comforted herself with eating. While Theresa seemed to shrink week by week, Leslie mushroomed, seeming to take on every pound that Theresa lost. And their already adversarial relationship only added to the strain that lived in the apartment as the rent-free third tenant.

“Let’s talk about something else, okay?” Leslie adjusted herself on the couch. She reached for the remote and turned off the television. “So, tell me all about the deal?”

Celeste’s expression brightened. She sat up straighter in the seat and gave Leslie all the details about the place and how excited she was to have closed such a major project. “I know that Nick is going to ask you to come in and work your magic. He said as much. Well, I actually suggested it to his girlfriend, Parris.”

“Girlfriend? Don’t you mean Tara?”

Celeste frowned. “I don’t know about anyone named Tara, but there is something definitely going on with the woman he was with—Parris. She’s apparently staying at his place.”

Leslie’s tapered brows shot up. “You’re kidding. Parris McKay, the singer?”

“You know her?”

“I’ve heard her sing in the club. Phenomenal. I thought there might have been a vibe going on between them, but I was pretty sure Tara wouldn’t let that happen.” She slowly bobbed her head as the images and pieces came together. “They make a great couple. Wow. Good for them.” She focused on Celeste. “What did you think of Parris?”

“Actually, I think she’s really great. Kind of reserved with a little bit of Southern naiveté, friendly, very pretty.” She leaned forward, resting her arms on her thighs. “I thought maybe the three of us could get together when she gets back.”

“Back from where?”

“She went to find her mother.”

Leslie frowned. “What do you mean, ‘find her mother’?”

“Apparently she’d spent her entire life thinking that her mother was dead and only found out recently that she was alive and well and living in France.”

“You’re kidding.”

Celeste shook her head. “Nope. That’s what she told me.”

“That must have been a shock.”

Silence joined them and they contemplated what life would be like for each of them had their own mothers not been in them.

Her rudimentary high school French came to her in bits and pieces, after she’d landed at Nantes airport southwest of Paris,
at least enough to tell the cab driver to take her to the town of Amboise in the Loire Valley.

“I’m going to Ninety-Eight rue Pascal.”

“Ah, in Amboise, Loire Valley.”

“Yes,” she said on a breath of relief, cringing as she’d listened to herself mangle the language.

As the cab wound its way through the early evening traffic, Parris’s heart thudded and banged in time to the bounce and roll of the cab along narrow cobblestone streets before darting out onto the A10 motorway. She smoothed the yellowed envelope with her mother’s last known address across her lap. The lamplight from the street intermittently streamed in through the window, casting short shadows and bits of illumination upon her destiny. Her fingers shook. She gripped her knees and concentrated on breathing slowly and deeply. She peered out of the window as the city of lights flickered and grew dim and the rolling landscape of countryside took its place. She had no idea how long the trip would take but surely an eternity had passed.

It began to rain, slowly at first and then with torrential force. The wipers slashed furiously against the window. The driver slowed as the road disappeared in front of them. She barely made out the sign that read Entering Loire Valley, exit No. 18. Her breath caught. She gripped her knees tighter as the pounding in her chest reverberated in her head. After about another fifteen minutes the driver drew to a stop along a winding path braced on both sides with cottage houses in varying sizes and degrees of splendor with overhanging trees silhouetted against the deep purple sky. At the end of the path cushioned in a cul-de-sac was a three-story structure with a wraparound terrace, towering trees and a sprawling lawn. Lights glowed on the upper floor illuminating the rain.

“Ninety-eight rue Pascal. This is your address.”

Parris could not move.

“Madame? Your address.”

She nodded numbly. What if her mother wasn’t there and this was no longer her address? She had no plan. No way of getting around or even a clue as to where to stay.

She gripped the back of his seat. “Can you…wait?”

The driver glanced at her over his shoulder. He held up his hand. “Five minutes.”

She made a move to get out.

“You pay now.”

She fumbled around in her purse and took out twenty dollars. “Is this enough?”

He looked at the American money and bobbed his head once. Parris opened the car door and stepped out. For a moment she stood stock-still, the rain tumbling down around her, plastering her clothes to her body. She shivered, reached back into the cab for her umbrella and cautiously moved toward the front door. She unlatched the fence and walked forward.

Three steps separated her from all the answers that had eluded her. She put one foot in front of the other, reached out and rang the bell.

In the distance she could hear the chime but no movement, no voices, when suddenly the door was pulled partially open. A woman of medium height with dark sleek hair pulled back into a tight bun at the nape of her neck, peered at her with suspicion from the crack in the opened door.

“Yes, may I help you?” Her lilting French accent was faint, but her English was clear.

Parris swallowed over the tight knot in her throat. “I came to see Emma McKay…Travanti.”

“The Mrs. is out with Mr. Travanti. Was she expecting you?”

“Uh, no, she wasn’t. Do you know how long she’ll be?” Rain slashed against her and her umbrella turned inside out and blew out of her hand, tumbling across the lawn.

“As I said, she is out for the evening. Who should I say you are?”

“She…doesn’t know me.”

The woman looked closer through the rain, attempting to make out the figure in front of her. A light flickered in her eyes.

Parris turned. Those three steps were like falling from a cliff. A sickening sensation, one of a swelling magnitude, rose to her throat, gagging her as she heard the door shut behind her. Tears of a strange kind of relief flowed and were just as quickly washed away with the rain, only to be replaced with the sorrow of defeat.

Emma squeezed her eyes shut, pressed her back to the door and dragged in long gulps of air. She didn’t dare move until she heard the car pull off.

“Em, who was that at the door in this weather?”

Emma opened her eyes. Her husband stood in front of her, looking at her curiously.

“No one,” she whispered.

“D
o you know of a hotel in the area?” Parris asked the cab driver—Amin—while she struggled to hold onto her composure.

“Back in Town Square.” He stole a glance at her in his rearview mirror. “The people were not home?”

“No.” She lowered her head. Water dripped from her hair onto her lap.

He peered at her again and the longing that draped her like a cloak caused him to reflect on what had brought him to this foreign land. “When my daughter Mya left our homeland of Senegal to live here to attend the university, I was never so worried about her being away from home and friends and family.” He shook his head. “Every night my wife, Akewi—rest her soul—and I prayed that she would be safe. All a parent can do is hope and pray that their grown-up child will remem
ber all the things they’ve been taught and that life will treat them with kindness. Our Mya believed in the goodness of people, and she was right. Those who were once strangers became friends. And it made me believe, too. When I lost Akewi to the fever, there was nothing to hold me in Senegal. Nothing but memories and loss. So I took my chances, trusted my daughter’s instincts. And here I am!” He chuckled lightly. “May I ask who you were looking for? Perhaps I know them.”

Parris blinked rapidly to stem the tears that burned her eyes. “Um, her name is Emma Travanti.”

“Ah, Ms. Emma!”

Her heart pounded. “You know her?”

“Everyone knows Ms. Emma. She owns Voile Bistro.”

Her thoughts raced. “In town…”

“Yes, on Monoir Square. You can’t miss it. Perhaps you will find her there tomorrow. They open at noon. I can point it out to you before I take you to your hotel.”

“Thank you.” She squeezed her hands together on her lap.
Noon. Tomorrow.
Parris turned to stare out of the window. Tomorrow. She would meet her mother tomorrow.

Amin reversed course and drove back toward the center of town. He drove up and down several narrow commercial streets before finally slowing. “There, on your right, Voile Bistro.”

Parris peered out the window, memorizing the brown-and-white overhanging awning, the plate glass window that advertised plates of mouthwatering treats—Voile Bistro. Her stomach rolled over and again, mimicking a beach ball kicked across the sand.

She swallowed over the knot in her throat. “What is the name of this street?”

“Rue Venier.”

She repeated the name over and over to herself.
Rue Venier
.

After a bumpy twenty-minute ride filled with wondrous stories of Amin’s life in a tribal village of Senegal, and talk of the first Black president in America and his impact on the world, Parris had begun to push to the back of her mind her current dilemma and almost imagined herself on an exciting vacation, until they came to a stop in front of Le Moulin du Port, one of several bed-and-breakfast inns that Amin had recommended. Amin hopped out of the cab and helped Parris, holding his own jacket over her head as they ran to the front door. He darted back to get her bags.

“I’ll stay and be sure you get a room,” he offered.

She looked into his eyes, the caring eyes of a father, his midnight black face lined by years of sun and struggle, and she understood the kindness of strangers. She tilted her head in question. “You never told me where your daughter is now.”

Amin smiled. “She works for a local radio station in the city of Paris. Perhaps you will get a chance to meet her.”

“I’d like that very much.”

He rang the bell and moments later a woman answered. She appeared to be around sixty years old, and was exquisitely dressed in a long sea-blue cotton dress that gently wrapped around her long slender figure. Her silver hair was pulled back into a tight bun, which seemed to be the hairstyle of choice, Parris thought absently. She’d noticed the coif on every other woman she’d seen since she landed in France. The only things that gave any hint to her age were the fine webs at her eyes and the loss of firmness at her exposed neck.

“Oui?”
She looked from one to the other.

“I was hoping you had a room for the night. I only just
arrived today from the States and…I thought…I’d planned to stay with a…friend.” She brushed wet hair away from her face.

“Ah, yet another lost American.” She smiled. “You are in luck as I had a cancellation today.” She threw a sharp look at Amin. “And you?”

“I’m only the driver. I wanted to be sure she had a place to stay before I left.”

She turned to Parris. “There are still kind men in the world that will not take advantage of a young woman.” She looked them over one more time. “Come in out of the rain.”

Amin carried Parris’s bag inside. She turned to him.

“I can’t thank you enough.” She went into her purse and took out another thirty American dollars. “Will this be enough?”

“More than enough.” He dug in his pocket and took out a battered card and handed it to her. “Keep this. Call whenever you need a ride around town.”

“I will.”

“I hope you find Ms. Emma tomorrow.”

Parris swallowed. “Yes, so do I.”

He gave her a slight nod of his head and turned to leave. The woman locked the door behind him then returned to Parris.

“Let’s get you checked in. My name is Marie.”

“Parris.”

She glanced at Parris from behind the desk, her fine brows arched in appreciation. “Like our beautiful city of lights?”

“Yes.”

Marie looked her over. “It suits you.” She opened the register to a blank page and turned the book toward Parris. “The room that I have available is the
Orangerie
. It’s on the second floor. It has a lovely balcony with an exquisite view of
the Cher River.” She paused. “It is 110 euro. It includes breakfast until noon,” she quickly added.

“That’s fine.” Parris signed her name.

“Perfect!” She took the book with a flourish and swept from behind the desk as if walking onstage for her close-up, Parris thought with amusement. She would discover later that Marie once had a fledgling career in theater before a scandal ran her out of town.

“Follow me and I’ll show you to your room.”

Parris trailed in Marie’s heavenly scent as she was led to the end of the hallway on the second floor. Magically, Marie produced a key and turned it in the lock. Parris smiled inwardly, trying to recall the last time she’d stayed in any type of hotel setting where the room required a real key. Her purse was filled with key cards from an assortment of hotels from her various out-of-town trips.

Marie opened the door in another grand gesture and switched on the light. Parris inhaled a soft gasp of delight. The room was adorned in warm earthy colors of gold, brown and burnt orange with sprinkles of sunshine yellow. The heavy drapes were pulled back in an arc on either side of the French doors that led to the balcony. She could just make out the halo of the moon from between the rain and clouds setting gingerly atop the fingers of trees and the curve of the hill in the distance. The centerpiece was the four-poster bed that stood high above the floor with dozens of pillows atop a thick satin quilt that captured all the colors of the room.

“The bath is this way.” Marie walked to what Parris thought was a closet and opened the door.

The bathroom, complete with tub, shower, sink and bidet, was actually a level below her. Once the door was opened, one
stepped down into the expansive bath that was nearly the length and width of the bedroom.

She turned toward Marie, feeling her first moment of delight since she’d landed hours earlier. “It’s wonderful. Thank you.”

“Breakfast is served in the dining room from six in the morning to noon. And we offer light refreshments from two until six. There’s a heated pool, a car service to take you farther into town or to the rail. The remote for the television is on the nightstand. I’ll have your phone turned on in a moment. The charges will be added to your bill. Uh, you didn’t mention how long you would be staying?”

The air of her momentary elation was sucked out of her. “I’m not sure. A couple of days.”

Marie waved her hand. “That is fine.” She looked around. “Well, enjoy the rest of your evening.” She swooshed out and closed the door softly behind her.

Parris sat down on the embroidered footstool at the end of the obscenely large bed and looked around at her new home away from home. For the past three months she hadn’t been in a place she could actually call her own. Although she’d stayed in her old room back in Rudell, it wasn’t the same as having your own. Then it was on to Nick’s place and now here. She expelled a long breath, shrugged out of her damp coat, took off her shoes and wiggled her tired toes. What she longed for was a nice hot bath, to ward off the chill and hopefully relax her muscles, which had tangled themselves into bands of anxiety. Then she would call Nick.

Wrapped in the thick white robe provided by Le Moulin, Parris ran a towel through her wild, freshly shampooed hair,
feeling renewed after soaking in the lavender-scented water for nearly an hour. She turned on the little heater that sat in the corner near the French doors and within moments the room was warm and toasty. She stripped out of her robe, found her lotion in her suitcase and took her time kneading and stroking her skin until she felt the hours of weariness drift off and true sleepiness settle in. She stretched and yawned before putting on her nightgown and sliding down between the cool sheets. Turning on her side, she reached for the phone and was relieved to hear the dial tone. She dialed the operator and gave him Nick’s number.

She curled on her side, listened to the phone ring on the other end and felt the pound of her heart bump back and forth between her chest and the thick mattress. The sound of his voice only escalated the banging.

“Parris!”

“Hi,” she said on a breath, wishing she could see the expression on his face.

“I’ve been going crazy waiting to hear from you. Is everything all right? Are
you
all right?”

The questions were straightforward but they both knew they were laced with a multitude of meanings, from emotions that had yet to be fully verbalized, to the reason why she was a million miles away from anything familiar.

“I’m fine. Tired but fine. I…I’m staying at a bed-and-breakfast. I went to the house,” she began, hearing his question in the silence. “She wasn’t there. But the cab driver knows her.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Apparently she is well-known in town. She owns a bistro.” She felt so odd talking about this woman, her mother, sharing
kernels of freshly discovered details about her that others took for granted. Meeting people who knew who Emma was, what she did for a living, and she, flesh and blood, only knew hearsay. It was a sobering sensation.

“At least you have a line on her, and the address that your grandmother gave you is still a good one.”

“Yes, that’s true.” She reached up and turned out the lamp on the nightstand. “Enough about me for now. How is everything with you?”

He told her about taking Sam to the new club location and that he was as excited about it as they were. “Call me crazy,” he said after spinning the details of the visit, “but if I didn’t know better I’d swear something was popping between Sam and Celeste.”

“Get out of here! Sam and Celeste? Mr. ‘The revolution will be televised’ and Ms. ‘Cover model for the uptown girl.’” She laughed at the incongruous image.

Nick joined in the laughter. “I know, I know,” he said, still chuckling, “But I was there. It was like watching one of those commercials where the couples are running toward each other across a grassy knoll in slow motion.”

Parris broke out into laughter again. “You need to stop.”

“I’m serious,” he said, laughing even harder.

“So…what did he say? I know you grilled him.”

“Actually, I didn’t.”

Parris propped up on her elbow. “Why not?”

“Sharing my suspicions with you is one thing, saying them to Sammy is a whole other story. He would flip if I was wrong and I’d never hear the end of it. You know how he is about ‘crossing the line.’”

“Hmm, that’s true, which is why I find it so hard to believe
that he would have the slightest interest in Celeste in the first place.”

“True. But…I know what I saw. It was the same kind of vibe when you and I are together,” he said, his voice lowering.

Parris felt her stomach flutter. “I wish you were here,” she said on a breath of longing.

“So do I. I had no idea how deep my missing you was going to get until I walked in this place and you weren’t here. It’s not the same without you.”

“I hope to get back soon. I wasn’t sure about that before I left. I had this adolescent feeling that I’d meet my mother and she’d welcome me into her life with open arms and never want me to leave.” She breathed deeply. “But after going to the house, having my hopes built up to a point that probably nothing could live up to them, I got brought down to earth…reality. No matter what happens, I have a life, too.” Once the words were off her mind and out of her mouth, the truth warmed her like good brandy in front of a fire.

“Baby, I couldn’t be happier that you said that. But I want you to know that no matter how long it takes to work it out with your mother, I’ll be here when you get back and if you need me, just pucker up your lips and blow.”

She giggled. “I’ll keep that in mind.” She squeezed her thighs together, remembering clutching Nick tightly between them. “I’d better go. No telling how much this call is costing. I’ll call again when I can.”

“Give me the information of where you’re staying. The next call is on me.”

Parris switched back on the light and read the information off of the phone.

“Got it. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Okay.” She gripped the phone.

“I know everything is going to be fine with you and your mother. So don’t worry.”

“I’ll try not to.”

“Good night, sweetheart. Rest well.”

“You, too.”

Emma paced the polished living room floor, intermittently peeking out from between the curtains to see if the girl had returned. She knew her the instant she saw her silhouetted against the rain and waning light. Why didn’t she invite her in? Why did she lie? A strangled sob stumbled in her throat. For weeks since she’d received the letter from her mother, telling her that the decades-old lie had been revealed, she’d expected yet dreaded the moment when she would come face-to-face with her daughter. Parris. That’s what Cora said she’d named her.