Mother's Day (6 page)

A little stiffly because of her arthritis, Alice rose from the chair and went to the door. Bill urged her to use a chain so she could check out any callers before she opened the door, but Alice was not about to begin living like that at her age, husband or no husband. Bay land had always been a nice town—that’s why they’d picked it to bring up their family. It was still a nice town.

Alice pulled the door open and looked at the woman on the steps, smiling tearfully at her. It took a full minute for it to register whom she was looking at.

“Hi, Mom,” said Linda.

Alice just stared.

“Don’t you recognize me?” Linda asked.

Alice’s heart was thrashing in her chest like a fish on a hook. Her face felt numb. It was Linda. Her Linda, whom she hadn’t heard from or set eyes on now for—she tried to count back, but numbers wouldn’t come to her. “Lord in heaven,” she said. “Is it you?” It was at once a rebuke and a cry for joy.

Tentatively Linda reached out her arms and stumbled forward as Alice pulled her in, holding her close, wanting to slam the door against her but unable to let her go.

“Oh, Mom, I’m sorry,” she sobbed into her shoulder. “Oh, Mom.”

As if brought back to her senses, Alice disentangled herself from Linda’s embrace and stared at her child, now a woman. “Where have you been?” she demanded, as if Linda were still a teenager who had walked out an hour before, promising to be back shortly.

Linda wiped the tears from her eyes and began to laugh at the sound of her mother’s question. “Oh, Mom,” she said. “It’s a long story. Can I come in?”

Alice nodded helplessly, tears in her eyes. Linda picked up her suitcase and walked through the door. “I’ll tell you everything,” she said. She looked around the familiar room and sighed at the sight of it. She turned to her mother, “New drapes,” she said. “They’re pretty. And a different rug.”

Alice and her daughter hugged sharply again, and then Alice pushed her away. “Linda Jean Emery,” she said, “I ought to slap your face. Never a word from you in all these years. How could you?”

“I had my reasons, Mom, believe me.”

Alice shook her head. “I don’t want to hear it. There’s no excuse. How we suffered!” she exclaimed.

“I’m sorry, Mom. Forgive me.”

Alice shook her head and then began to weep bitterly. Linda put an arm around her shoulders and led her to her chair.

“I know,” said Linda, nodding sadly. “It’s so good to see you, Mom. You look the same.”

“I look terrible,” Alice protested. “I’ve had the worst year of my life. Since you took off on us, that is.”

“I know about Daddy,” said Linda. “I’m so sorry.”

“You should be,” said Alice. “How did you find out?”

“I had a subscription to the Gazette. In another name, of course.”

Alice peered at her. “Why?” she cried. “Why didn’t you at least call us?”

“I thought it was better that way.”

“Better?” Alice cried. “How could it be better? To leave us hanging like that. It was torture for us. Your poor father never got over it.”

Linda turned away and stared out the window as if lost in the memories of the past. “I don’t blame you for being mad,” she said.

“Well, thank you, Linda. I can’t think, I’m so mad at you,” Alice fumed.

As if she had not heard, Linda drifted away from her mother, making a tour of the old, familiar rooms, touching objects and pieces of furniture. She stopped in the doorway to the dining room. “Who’s coming?” she asked, looking at the perfectly set table.

“Bill and his wife, and their two kids, Tiffany and Mark.”

Linda shook her head wonderingly. “Bill has two kids? Who did he marry?”

“He married Glenda Perkins.”

“His high school girlfriend?” Linda asked. “I’m surprised. I didn’t think that was a big romance.”

“Well, they got back together when Bill came home. He had to quit college after you left. Your father became too depressed to work. Bill came back and got a job at Shane’s Sporting Goods so he could help us out. He stayed on there. He’s the manager now.” The accusation in Alice’s tone was strictly intentional, but Linda did not seem to notice.

“He always liked sports,” said Linda vaguely.

“Liked them! He planned to play pro football after college. ’Course he wasn’t able to finish school, so…” Alice could see that her words were not getting through to Linda. Her mind seemed to have wandered off. “Anyway,” she continued, “Glenda’s a wonderful wife to him, and she’s been like a daughter to me.”

“I’m glad,” said Linda.

“Don’t tell me you’re glad,” Alice erupted. “How dare you just waltz in here like this? Why in the world did you run off and leave us like that, without a note, or a word? Weren’t we good parents to you? No one could have loved you more than we did.”

Linda sat down on a shabby, plaid easy chair and gazed at her mother’s indignant countenance. “Mom, I was ashamed and confused. I didn’t want you to know about it.”

“Ashamed of what?” Alice asked warily.

“When I left, when I decided to leave, I was pregnant.”

Alice flinched at the word. “Oh, Lord.”

“You see what I mean? You and Dad were always so strict. You were always bragging about my grades and all. You would have been so humiliated.”

Alice recovered herself. “Well, my goodness, Linda. Of course we wouldn’t have been happy about it…”

“Worse than that,” Linda muttered. “I couldn’t tell you.”

“We could have helped you,” Alice cried. “Or what about the boy? Surely he cared about you.”

“He wasn’t about to marry me.”

“But running off like that. It made everything so much worse than it had to be.”

“I was a kid, Mom. All right? I didn’t know what to do. I did the only thing I could think of. I guess I figured you would disown me anyway.”

Alice sighed. She suddenly felt exhausted. All those lost years. And it could have been so easily avoided. What was the use of arguing now. It was too late to change the past. She sneaked a glance at her grown daughter. In spite of everything, the sight of her was like balm on a wound. She was still beautiful. Alice forced herself to concentrate on what Linda had told her. Pregnant at seventeen. Some boy had taken advantage of her innocence. Despite all their warnings and trying to teach her the right way. Then another thought occurred to her. She was almost afraid to ask.

“What about the baby?” she said. “What happened to the child? You didn’t…”

“No, I didn’t have an abortion. I had the baby. A girl. I gave her up for adoption.”

“Oh, God,” said Alice miserably.

“Well, what else could I do? I couldn’t very well raise her myself. I didn’t even have a high school diploma then.”

“If only you had told us,” Alice lamented, shaking her head.

Linda studied her mother gravely, as if weighing her next words. At last she said, “Mother, there were circumstances Look, I’ve come back here to…let’s say, straighten out a few things from the past. A wrong that was done, if you will. And it’s going to get pretty messy before it’s over. But I promise you, you’ll understand everything in time…”

“Don’t talk to me in riddles, child. What circumstances? Girls get pregnant every day. Does this have something to do with the father? Was he married or something? I wasn’t born yesterday. I see this stuff on TV and in the papers. I know these things go on. Although I wouldn’t have thought it of you.” Another thought occurred to her. “It wasn’t some interracial thing, was it?”

“Please, Mom, don’t grill me. For right now you have to trust me…or believe me.”

Alice threw her head back and closed her eyes. “What a waste,” she said.

“I didn’t waste my life,” Linda insisted. “I got a degree, got a pretty good position at Marshall Fields. I’ve worked my way up. I have a nice little apartment in Chicago.”

“Chicago?” Alice said numbly. “I suppose you’re married now.”

“No,” said Linda shortly. “And I don’t plan to be.”

There was a silence between them. Alice pushed herself up out of her chair and said, “Do you want some tea or something?”

“Not right now. Mom, there’s something else I want to tell you.”

Alice looked almost frightened. How much worse could it get? “What?”

“I’ve seen my daughter.”

Alice dropped back down into her chair. “The baby?”

“She’s thirteen years old now,” said Linda proudly. “She was adopted by a couple here in Bayland. I went to see her this afternoon.”

‘They asked you?”

“Not really,” said Linda. “But I was able to find out who they were.”

“Oh, Linda, Linda.”

“She’s beautiful, Mom. Her name is Jenny. Jenny Newhall. They live over on Potter’s Way.”

“You’re not allowed to do that, are you?”

“Do what?” Linda asked defensively.

“Go showing yourself to the child. At least in my day you weren’t.”

“Things have changed, Mom.”

“Things don’t change that much. There was a good reason for that. No one wants to be reminded of how that child came into the world.”

“God, you have attitudes from the Stone Age. She came into the world like any other baby. Aren’t you curious about her? She is your grandchild.”

“Linda, for goodness’ sake. I didn’t even know she existed until two minutes ago. I’m still trying to get over the fact that you’ve shown up here after all these years. Although I see now it was probably just an afterthought.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Well, you really came back here to see this child you gave up. Figured you’d drop in while you were in town.”

“That’s not the way it is,” Linda said bitterly.

Alice turned her face away. “I don’t know how it is,” she admitted.

Linda sighed, and the room was silent. “Well, I’d like to wash up,” she said.

“Bathroom’s in the same place,” said Alice tartly.

Linda went up the stairs to the bathroom, where she washed and dried her face. Then she turned and went down the hall to her old bedroom. She pushed open the door and looked in. Everything in the room was exactly as she’d left it when she was seventeen years old. Other than being cleaned and dusted, the room had not changed in fourteen years. The same pink dust ruffle on the bed, her books still in the bookcase, her posters on the wall, all the childhood mementos still crowding the bureau top.

She heard Alice’s heavy tread on the stairs. Alice walked up behind her and peered in around her. “Mom,” Linda breathed. “It’s exactly the same.”

Alice nodded and sighed. “Your father wouldn’t let me change a thing. He always swore you would come back, and he wanted you to know that we’d kept it this way for you.”

“Daddy,” she said woefully.

“He got sick after you left. I mean, mentally,” said Alice. “They gave him all kinds of medication, but he never completely pulled out of it. You were always his pride and joy. More than his son, even,” said Alice in a tone that indicated her lasting bafflement at this preference. “It just drained the life out of him, little by little.”

For a moment Linda’s face darkened and she tensed up as if she were going to lash back at her mother’s not-so-veiled accusation. Then her shoulders slumped. “I missed him, too,” she whispered. “More than you’ll ever know.”

“Well,” said Alice grudgingly, “you look like you turned out all right.”

Linda shrugged, still staring at the shrine that had been her room. “It’s not how I pictured my life when I was a little girl here. I guess I made the best of it.” There was a hard edge to her voice.

Just then there was a commotion downstairs as the front door banged open and the high, excited voices of children spilled into the house.

“Grammy,” they cried.

“That’ll be Bill’s bunch,” said Alice proudly.

“Hey, Mom, where are you?” Bill’s voice yelled up the stairs.

Alice summoned her composure and headed for the staircase. She did not want to say anything to Linda, but she was a little worried about Bill’s reaction. “I’m up here,” she called out, descending the steps carefully.

When she reached the bottom, Bill came over to her and kissed her on the cheek. “Happy Mother’s Day.”

Alice hugged him tightly. “Thank you, son.”

“Happy Mother’s Day, Mom,” said Glenda, who was holding a pile of presents. “Where do you want these?”

“Put them on the sideboard, dear,” said Alice distractedly as Tiffany and Mark rushed up and tackled her legs.

“I got you a present, Grandma,” Tiffany cried.

“Me too,” chimed in Mark.

“You did not,” said Tiffany.

“I could use a beer,” said Bill.

“In the refrigerator,” said Alice.

Bill started across the room and then noticed the suitcase beside the sofa. “Hey, you got company? Whose suitcase is this?”

Linda had followed her mother down the steps.

“Who are you?” Tiffany demanded.

Glenda smiled apologetically at Linda. “Don’t be rude, Tiff.”

“I have a surprise for you, son,” said Alice. She tried to make her voice sound light and cheerful.

Bill stared at Linda, who fidgeted under his gaze. All of a sudden recognition dawned in his eyes, and then his normally florid complexion turned ashen.

“Hi, Bill,” said Linda shyly.

“Your sister has come home to us,” said Alice, shooting for gaiety and missing the mark.

“Linda,” he said flatly.

Alice knew her son well. He had always been her favorite, her adored boy, and she recognized the look in his eye. She licked her lips nervously and chattered on. “Imagine my shock when I opened the door. I mean, I never thought I’d have a Mother’s Day like this. There she was, big as life, all grown up. Our Linda.” She chose the word our deliberately, trying to emphasize their blood tie. That was the most important thing, after all.

Linda was gazing at her brother. “It’s so good to see you, Bill. After all these years.”

The children huddled up next to their mother and cast worried glances at their father. They knew enough to be quiet.

Bill’s gray-green eyes were steely. He was a large man, a former college linebacker whose dark hair was peppered with gray but who retained a robustly youthful appearance. His meaty hands were clenched into fists. “What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded in a low voice that was almost a growl.