at my father and then at us. She put her elbows on the railing of the deck and watched us play for a long time, her nose tilted up to the crisp autumn air. Not much later, my father cut his hand with the carving knife, and there was screaming and a blood-soaked dishtowel and a frantic trip to the ER. But before all that, while she’d stood on the deck watching all of us, I remember thinking that she looked happy.
We drove for several minutes without speaking. The roads were dry, but my mother was as cautious as ever, taking corners slowly. Someone behind us honked, but she didn’t seem to hear.
We stopped at a light. There was no sound but Bowzer’s wheezing breath, the rattling of the engine. I glanced at her, trying to guess. She was moving, maybe. She was moving somewhere that she didn’t want me to know. She was moving in with a boyfriend, some boyfriend, someone who was not my father. Maybe the Sleeping Roofer had returned. It all made sense. That morning, she’d had the disheveled, wound-up look of someone who had not slept in her own bed the night before. I didn’t care if it was the Roofer or not. She had spent the night with someone who was not my father, and I didn’t want to know any more about it.
The light changed, and we started moving again. She turned on the radio, country music. I reached past Bowzer and turned the radio off.
“Why is all this stuff in the van? Are you moving? Are you moving somewhere secret?”
“You’re not in charge of the radio.” She reached over and turned it back on. A commercial had started, and she moved the dial. It was the college station. Eminem. She did not seem concerned. “I’m driving. It’s my van. I decide about the radio.”
Bowzer was shivering a little. I rewrapped the blanket around him. The van’s heater still didn’t work.
“I’m just taking a few things to Goodwill,” she said. “It’s not a big deal.” She pulled into the dorm parking lot. A few people were standing outside the dorm. I held my breath, looking for Clyde.
“I’m just cleaning out, you know?” Her voice was flat. “Trying to live more simply.”
I turned around and surveyed the boxes and furniture crammed around the back seats. “You’re taking Nana’s lamp to Goodwill?”
She moved her tongue around her mouth. She was chewing gum again. She smacked it. She was not a person who should chew gum.
“Mom, that’s a beautiful lamp. And it was hers. You can’t give it to Goodwill.”
She fingered the keys in the ignition. “I can do what I want,” she said.
“I’ll take it. Don’t give it to Goodwill. I want it.”
“No.”
“What? Why?” Bowzer turned and gave me a pained look, his silver brows moving from side to side.
“Just drop it.” Her voice was low, authoritative. It was the voice she used when I was little, commanding me to take a Lego out of my mouth. “Okay, Veronica? Drop it.”
She faced forward, not looking at me. She was chewing the gum hard and fast, her mouth closed, her temples pulsing.
I handed Bowzer to her. He nestled himself right into her lap, his chin resting on her left arm.
“Bye honey,” she said. “I love you.” She didn’t look at me. We had never stopped at a Dumpster to get rid of the garbage, but something about her face made me know I should not mention this. I got out of the van, opened the sliding door, and pulled both garbage bags out. I carried them up the front steps to the dorm. It was not yet dark out; still, she waited at the curb, engine idling, until I was inside.
Just a few minutes later, despite myself, I started to have an inkling. By the time I was in the elevator, I at least understood that she had never been on probation with me. She was my mother, and always my mother. She could have pressed me about the town house, about Jimmy, if she’d wanted to. And she knew it. She was letting me keep my secrets, not out of guilt or respect or anything that had anything to do with me. She had simply set a precedent for the day, not asking for trouble, because she had secrets of her own.
9
THIRD FLOOR CLYDE was waiting outside my door.
He turned, hearing my footsteps, and for a moment, I was happy to see him. He was