Chapter 20
Twenty
My mother babbles for the entire drive to the country club. I take as much notice as when she was on the phone, because I know she doesn’t want my input. Knot twists in my back with every mile closer to our destination. I can’t believe she’s back and organized a meeting the moment she returned.
I should be biding my time to meet up with Dax at the hospital. I have no idea how I’ll escape my mother’s plans and get back to my own.
Roger slows the car in front of the country club, and we exit after he opens the door for us.
From the foyer, I spy Sylvie and Hope standing off to the side, whispering.
My mother speaks first. “Good afternoon, girls. You’re both looking as lovely as ever.”
They both reply with toothy grins. “Hello Mrs. Ashworth. Welcome back.”
I motion to my friends and tell my mother. “I’ll meet you inside.”
Mom nods. “Very well.”
Phew. I move over to my friends, needing a breather.
Sylvie deadpans at me. “So, your mother comes home and now we need another meeting? What could’ve changed since Saturday?”
“The menu, apparently,” I reply. “We’re doing a tasting.”
Sylvie’s eyes light up. “Talk about burying the lead. The food at the cafeteria today was a disaster. I could do with something actually tasty.”
Hope flicks her chestnut hair over her shoulder. “Not that Vanessa would know. Where were you today?”
I avoid her gaze. “Since when is it surprising that an Ashworth doesn’t go to school?”
Sylvie nudges me. “We just miss you. You know that.”
I smile. “Thanks.”
Sylvie covers her mouth, sniggering. “Hope’s just being aggressive because her mother’s in a panic.”
Hope clicks her tongue, turning her shoulders away as her arms cross.
“Believe me,” I say to Hope, “I’m not exactly thrilled to have my mother back.”
“It would’ve been nice to have a head’s up,” Hope grumbles.
“Agreed,” I reply. “It was a surprise to me too.”
Hope’s scowl deepens. “Sure it was.”
I back up, unnerved by her hostility.
Sylvie steps between us. “Hope, chill.”
Frustration coats Hope’s tone. “Whatever. My mother puts her all into these events. Yet, your mother still believes she controls everything. In reality, she couldn’t do anything from her ivory throne in Switzerland.”
“Well, she’s back now,” I mutter, dumbfounded. “Besides, I was here to…”
Hope huffs so violently, it cuts me off. “Yes, Vanessa, you were here to undermine my mother too.”
I clutch my chest, hurt by the cruelty of her words. “I was just doing what my mother asked. You don’t think I want to be anywhere else instead of these meetings?”
Sylvie slings an arm around me. “We’re all just here as our mothers’ puppets.”
Hope cackles. “Oh, yes, Sylvie darling. Your martini-addicted mother is such a dictator.”
Sylvie drops her arm from around me and turns her back on us. “Why am I even trying to help?”
“Sylvie,” I call, but she walks toward the dining room.
“Look, you know this is nothing personal,” Hope says. “Your family takes up so much space in this town. My family is just trying to take a piece.”
“And you expect my mother to back down? You know better than that. It’ll never happen.”
Hope shrugs. “We’ll see.”
Pain spasms inside my head as Hope walks toward the dining room.
I check the time on my phone. It’s an hour until Dax’s appointment. My stomach churns, and my headache compounds. I know how these meetings go, and my mother will want to dominate the room. How will I ever get out of here in time?
The back of my hand swipes over my piping hot forehead. This whole situation is making me physically sick. Perhaps I can leverage it as an excuse to leave early. Entering the dining room, I press my hand into my stomach and taste every sour note washing over my tongue.
“Vanessa, darling,” my mother calls, standing at the head of the table. “Are you all right?”
I frown at her and give a slight head shake.
She beckons me over, and I exaggerate the wobble in my walk. Mom puts an arm around me and feels my forehead.
“What’s wrong?” she asks in a low voice.
“I feel sick,” I whisper discreetly. “I have a headache, and my stomach is so fragile.”
Mom pats my back and motions to the nearby chair. “You’ll sit next to me. You don’t have to taste everything.” She snaps her fingers at a server. “Get my daughter a glass of ginger ale.”
The server nods. “Right away, Mrs. Ashworth.”
I clear my throat and lean in closer to my mother’s ear. “Perhaps I should go home.”
Mom stifles a laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
A server pulls out my chair, and another places the ginger ale in front of my setting. In defeat, I plonk down on the dining chair as everyone takes their seats.
“Hello ladies,” my mother greets everyone, still standing. “It’s so good to once again see you all in person.”
Breathy laughter and smiles beam back at her from around the table.
“Hilda,” Mrs. Fisher addresses my mother, standing from her seat. “We are so happy to have you back, but the jetlag must be draining. I’m happy to continue steering these meetings until you’re back on your feet.”
I watch the condescension twitching at the corners of my mother’s smile. “It won’t be necessary for you to start doing that, Naomi.” Mom gestures to me. “We’re all aware my daughter has been running everything smoothly in my absence.”
It rocks Mrs. Fisher, cracking her smug expression. She lowers in her seat, mumbling, “Yes, of course.”
I catch Hope’s nostrils flare as her mother retreats beside her.
Chef Renaldo joins us in the dining room. Demure applause welcomes him from the table, and he and my mother kiss each other on both cheeks.
“Thank you all for coming and tasting the wonderful menu I’ve put together for you,” Renaldo says in his slight French accent. “I’m so honored to help such a wonderful cause, brought to our attention by Vanessa Ashworth.”
Mom leads the table in a heftier round of applause.
I lift a hand in a humble response.
Chef Renaldo introduces the first dish; an entrée of pan-seared scallops with arugula pesto. It’s hard to feign illness when something so exceptional is placed before you. I eat one of the three on my plate, giving my mother a saddened look of not being able to finish the rest.
When entrées are cleared, my eyes dart to the clock on the wall. Oh my gosh, it’s getting dangerously close to Dax’s appointment time. I promised to be there with him, which is what made him agree to it. What will he do if I’m not there?
When I scheduled the meeting with Cindy, I didn’t even mention Dax. But surely Dr. Harris will meet with him. He’s the one who discovered the issue with Dax’s white blood cell count.
Maybe if I text Dax I’ll be late, he can tell Dr. Harris I arranged the appointment for him. I can confirm everything when I get there. Dax just needs a heads-up.
There’s a tremor in my hand as I pull out my phone. I exhale shallowly and open my text chain with Dax. As I start the message, my mother shifts beside me.
Mom places her hand over my phone. “What on earth could be so important?”
My fingers cramp, and my heart stops for a millisecond. She’s not going to ask who I’m texting, is she?
“Put it away,” she scolds. “This meeting is the only important thing in your life.”
Mom lifts her hand, and I quickly lock the phone. “Sorry,” I mutter, tucking the phone back into my pocket.
Servers place two alternate mains on the table. A classic Beef Bourguignon, and a crispy roast salmon, with smashed potatoes and split peas. As I taste the salmon, delight bursts within me. I wonder if there’s any way I can get this packaged up and take it to Dax?
When the tiramisu is served for dessert, I lean close to Mom and keep my voice low. “I really should make a call.”
Mom huffs and doesn’t make eye contact. “Exactly what is so important?”
“I told you earlier,” I whisper. “I had a volunteer shift at the hospital.”
Mom turns to me with a perplexed expression. “I thought you said you’d taken care of that.”
I shrink in my chair. “What?”
“I told you to get someone to cover your shift. Did you not do that?” Mom then turns to the rest of the table, clearing her throat to gain everyone’s attention. “Excuse me, which girl is supposed to be at St. Mark’s right now?”
All the girls avert their eyes and shuffle in their seats.
Mom’s expression colors with stern disappointment. “Well?”
Saliva surges in my mouth as I wait for them to stop squirming. I hug my middle, bracing for the moment my mother’s dissatisfaction crashes onto me.
Mom nudges me. “Who did you ask to cover your shift?”
“I… I…” I swallow hard. “Umm, no one here.”
Mom’s eyebrow raises higher than I thought her botox would allow. “Why not?”
My mouth opens, but I can’t push a single syllable out.
“The other girls have signed-up, haven’t they?” Mom’s stare lingers on me, and then slowly pans across the rest of the table. “Raise your hand if you’re currently volunteering at St. Mark’s Hospital.”
There’s no movement at the silent table. After an excruciating long moment, Sylvie gradually raises her hand. My pulse blares in my ears as my mother’s head tilts with interest.
“Umm.” Sylvie’s voice breaks. “It’s not that we aren’t going to sign-up. It’s just that school is so busy and…”
“So it’s a no?” my mother interrupts.
Sylvie’s hand drops to her lap, and she looks at her mother for an appropriate response.
Mrs. Grant responds with a large gulp of her olive-stained martini.
Mrs. Fisher straightens in her seat. “We determined volunteering wasn’t the best use of the girls’ time.”
Mom’s lips twitch with pleasure. “Oh, you did, did you?”
“It’s senior year, and they need to concentrate on their grades,” Mrs. Fisher replies. “When they’re here, their attention needs to be focused on the gala. That’s priority number one.”
“And you don’t think community outreach is a branch of that priority?
” Mom asks calmly. “We all know the clubs and volunteer groups they join at school contribute to them graduating from high school. How did you not think their charity acts would reflect positively on the gala? When benefactors learn about the young women in our community helping those less fortunate, it helps lend the cause authenticity and increases their desire to monetarily support.”
Mrs. Fisher looks at Mrs. Grant and then back at my mother.
“I mean, really, I would have thought this was obvious,” my mother says, leaning into the pleasure of talking down to her peers.
Mrs. Fisher dabs her linen napkin across her brow. “Maybe I didn’t consider all the options.” She lowers the napkin to her lap. “When Hope told me she didn’t want to do it, I started thinking about how…”
Mom cuts Hope in half with a penetrating glare. “Oh, you didn’t want to volunteer, Hope?”
Hope smooths her hair with trembling fingers. “It’s not that I didn’t want to.”
Mom turns to me. “You couldn’t convince them?”
Again, my mouth opens, but nothing comes out.
“Shouldn’t your suggestion be enough to get a handful of yeses?” Mom presses.
I look away, unable to respond because she won’t like the answer.
I didn’t force the issue because I don’t want girls from school swarming the hospital floor. Three weeks ago, when I approached the nurses about helping, my goal was to reform. To make up for every time I used my influence for personal gain, and in turn, negatively affected others.
I encouraged my friends to volunteer only because my mother saw it as an opportunity. How do I tell her the truth? She wants to know why I didn’t use my position to coerce my friends.
Mom looks back at the table. “The gala will be here before we know it. I need you all clocking at least fifteen volunteer hours before then. Is that clear?”
A fearful unison of yeses responds back to her.
Mom smiles with satisfaction, and everyone returns to eating their tiramisu in eerie silence.
After everyone approves Chef Renaldo’s menu, the meeting concludes with idle small talk. The women mingle about my mother, asking her to delight them in cozy stories from her time away.
I make my way to Sylvie and grab onto her arms. “You've gotta get me out of here. Can you drive me to Logan’s Point?”
“Yeah, but will your mother let you out of her sight?”
I look over my shoulder at Mom deep in conversation with Mrs. Saxon. I turn back to Sylvie and nod. “We’ll say we’re going so I can introduce you to the nurses. She’ll buy that.”
Sylvie groans. “Yuck.”
I nudge her. “They’re good people.”
“I believe you. I just don’t want to set foot in the hospital. Even a good one freaks me out.”
“When you volunteer, all you do is sit and read.”
“When my English teacher can’t get me to do that, how do you think a nurse will make me?”
“Because it’s neither,” I reply. “It’s my mother making you.”
Sylvie’s eyes widen. “Yikes, you’re right. Let’s get going.”
We approach my mother. “Sorry to interrupt, Mrs. Saxon. Uh, Mother, we have to get going.”
Mom shakes her head. “Not yet.”
“I’m taking Sylvie to St. Mark’s and introducing her to the nursing staff.”
Mom brushes me off. “You can do that another time.”
“I guess I could stay and we could share stories from our time in Switzerland,” I reply. “Did you continue that little entanglement you started before I left?”
Mom’s expression tightens. “It’s nothing we need to discuss here. You’re free to leave, and we’ll talk about it back at the manor.”
I keep my smile small to hide how big a victory I just won.
I link arms with Sylvie. “Okay. Let’s go.”
Sylvie leans into me. “What was that about?”
I let a giggle of happiness escape me. “Never mind. Let’s just go before she changes her mind.”