Probably after he dealt with his mother, I thought, but didn’t say.
“He was closer to his father than he is to his mother. Anyway, forget about all that. Let’s have a good breakfast. I already decided that after all your tests and your doctor’s visit, we will go to one of the best restaurants in Hillsborough for lunch.”
She opened the door and paused again. “You’re all right, right?”
She had rattled off everything with barely taking a breath and hardly looking directly at me the whole time. It was truly as if she had rehearsed her speech in this room many times. Surely, she had in her own mind.
“Yes, I’m fine,” I said. I know I sounded unsure, because I was, but she ignored it, smiled, and left.
As soon as I rose, I called home. The phone rang so long I was sure it would go to the answering machine.
However, just before it would have, Mummy said, “Hello.”
“Mummy, how are you?” I quickly asked, happy it was she who had answered.
“Oh, Emma. Are you calling to tell us you’re coming home?”
I could probably count on the fingers of one hand how many times I had lied to my mummy, if they even qualified as lies. Most of them were half-truths. It was always easier for me to live with my father’s disappointment in me than it was to live with my mummy’s. His reactions were solely crusted in anger; hers were layered with pain. When she discovered I hadn’t told the whole truth, she acted as if I had stuck a needle in her finger. Rather than shout and bawl me out, she looked like she would cry, and then I would feel so terrible that I would cry.
I couldn’t see her face right now, but I could easily envision it.
“No, Mummy. I have a part in a show outside of New York City.”
I knew this was weird, but in my mind I was treating it that way.
“I’m letting you know I won’t be at my apartment and my telephone number.”
“Oh,” she said.
“If the show’s successful, I’ll be in it for months and months, maybe close to a year. It’s a big opportunity. Important people come to see these shows.”
“Months and months,” she repeated, as if she had to stuff the words into her ear. Then she took a breath and said, “Mrs. Taylor was taken to hospital yesterday. She had a bad fall and was nearly unconscious.”
“I’m sorry. Is she going to be all right?”
“Your father says she won’t be able to live alone anymore. He spoke with her son. They’ll be putting her place up for sale. Your father hates the idea of new people next door. You know how he gets used to things,” she rambled on. “He hates changes.”
“I know.”
“So you’re not coming home,” she said, as if she was confirming it with herself.
“Not for a while, as I said. It’s why I came here,” I added. I knew I was rationalizing, committing one of my father’s declared deadly sins, but I was still convincing myself what I was doing was still part of my plan.
“He’s not been himself,” she added, seemingly out of the blue. “He’s never forgetful, but everything annoys him more these days, and he gets distracted. Julia’s not seeing that man anymore. I don’t know why. She won’t say. I don’t think your father liked him.”
“That’s why,” I said quickly.
“Poor Mrs. Taylor,” she said. “She’ll wither like an apple on the branch. Dreary days, dreary days.”
She was wandering from topic to topic to avoid discussing what I had told her. The silence that fell between us was painful.
“I’ll call you again, very soon, Mummy,” I said, swallowing down my tears.
“I won’t tell him you did,” she said.
I waited a moment to see if she would ask any questions about my show, causing me to embellish my lie, but she didn’t, perhaps because she was too frightened to ask.
“Mind yourself,” she said, and hung up.
I stood there for almost a minute, holding the receiver. A part of me was screaming to get my clothes on, ask to be taken back to New York, and arrange to return to England. I was on the verge, tottering. Then I looked at the dress Samantha had chosen for me, again thought about the money and the opportunity doing this would give me, and went to shower and dress.
Close to an hour later, Samantha returned. For a moment, I was speechless. She wasn’t