the world with problems. As your mother, I think it’s my job to let you know that. Two, I am, again, very sorry I let you down. But, Veronica, I guarantee that, in the future, if you are in a crisis, and you need me, I will be there for you. You can call me, and I will be there. The other morning was an isolated incident. I think if you look at my entire record as a mother, you’ll have to agree with that.”
I emptied the cigarette butts into the garbage. I debated with myself for only a moment. She answered on the first ring.
“It’s me,” I said. “It’s Veronica.”
“I know.” Her voice was breathy, distracted. I heard Bowzer’s wizened bark in the background. I waited. She didn’t say anything more. She was waiting for me to speak.
I kept my eyes on the plant. “You know how you just said I could call you the next time, you know, the next time I have a problem?”
“Yes?”
“I’m actually having one today.”
“What?” She paused to tell Bowzer to be quiet. She did this politely. She said “please.” To Bowzer. She came back to the phone. “What? Where are you? What happened?”
“No,” I said. “It’s not a crisis like…” I reconsidered making an out-and-out reference to the other morning. “It’s not really an emergency. It’s more of a little problem. But I could use your help.” I paused. I felt suddenly shy, repentant. You are not the only person in the world with problems. “If you’re not working, I mean. I don’t know if you have to work today.”
She laughed then, which surprised me. It wasn’t her normal laugh. It was lower, a little gravelly, like Bowzer’s bark. “I’m not working,” she said. Her laugh faded into a tired sigh. “I’m at your service. What is it, honey? Tell me what you need.”
She eyed the bloodstain from different angles. She turned the curtain over and held it up to the light. She looked a little rabbitlike when she wasn’t wearing makeup, her eyelashes thin and hard to see. “You know what might do it?” she asked. “Meat tenderizer. Go check and see if they have any.”
“Meat tenderizer?” I was on my hands and knees, picking tiny shards of amber glass out of the carpet. My mother had noticed them, glinting in the sunlight, when she’d first come in. She’d given me her leather gloves, sleek and close-fitting, to wear so I wouldn’t cut my fingers.
“It’s the best thing for getting out blood. Remember Elise used to get those nosebleeds? No, you were too young.” She turned and sneezed into the sleeve of her coat. “Poor Elise. She’d just be sitting there, at the dinner table, on the school bus, on someone else’s white couch, and then out it would gush, all this blood out of that little nose. The doctor said it would pass, and not to worry, but try telling that to a six-year-old. She’d get scared, and get her hands in it, and then it would just be everywhere.” She held up her finger and sneezed again.
“Bless you,” I said.
She looked at me. She appeared annoyed that I was just standing there. “Meat tenderizer.” She snapped her fingers. “The kitchen. Go check. I thought we were in a hurry.”
Jimmy and Haylie did not have any meat tenderizer.
“I’ll pick some up.” She was already moving back to the front door. She’d never even taken off her coat. “Is there a grocery store close by?” She stood with one hand on the knob of the open front door, her other hand jangling her car keys. “I want to pick up some microfiber cloths for the kitchen.” She shook her head, mild disapproval in her voice. “They’re the only thing to use on stainless steel. Don’t spray any more chemicals on it.”
“I don’t know,” I said. I went to rub my eyes, forgetting I was still wearing her gloves. “About the grocery store, I mean. This isn’t really my part of town.”
Her eyes met mine, and I looked away. I had told her I didn’t want to talk about the town house, why I was there, who owned it, and why I needed to clean it very quickly. I had told her I didn’t want to have to explain anything. I just needed help. On a normal day, this request would not have been honored. I am your mother, she would have said. I need to know what’s going on with you! But