Chapter 17
Nora was already regretting this. She hadn’t stayed over at her mother’s condo in nearly two years, for many good reasons. She’d put all that aside when Mom asked her if she had any spring break plans.
She’d asked Mom if she was going to be in Providence, and if she wanted company for a few days.
Naturally, she couldn’t just say “Yes, my daughter, whom I love, please come and stay with me,” like a reasonable person.
Still, she had made it clear in her own convoluted and self-involved way that Nora could come and visit.
Mom hadn’t been there when Nora arrived, so she’d had to find the building manager and beg him to let her in. He’d made Nora show her driver’s license and sign a form before he’d unlock the door for her.
For a while, Nora just sat in the guest bedroom—it was her bedroom once upon a time.
It had been redecorated at least twice that Nora knew of, since she went away to college.
Right now it was all pastels—baby blue paint on the walls, delicate pink sheets and blanket on the bed, a light green chair in the corner and a lavender torchiere lamp with a soft white bulb installed.
It didn’t look as if it gave enough light to read at night, not that anybody who stayed in this room probably did much reading.
It definitely wasn’t her style; it hadn’t really been anybody’s style since 1986 or so. She wondered if one of her mother’s boyfriends had sold her on this décor, or if it had been Mom’s own idea.
She sat in the awful green chair, lost in thought, until she heard her mother in the living room. “Nora, darling! Are you here?”
Nora had a sudden urge to open the window and see if she could climb down to the sidewalk. It was only four floors up, she might be able to get away without ever having to talk to Mom.
“I’m in here, Mom.” If she went out the window and fell, she’d break her leg and then she’d be trapped here with her mother for several weeks.
Karen Langley came in. Swept in, really; she liked to do that. Her hair was shorter than the last time Nora had seen her. And blonder. And the little lines under her eyes were gone. And was her nose different? Had Mom gotten plastic surgery?
“Why are you sitting in the dark like a sad, unloved flower?” Her mother turned the lamp on; it didn’t make much difference, and Mom shrugged.
“We can buy another lamp. But come out with me into the light so I can see you properly.” Nora’s hand was grabbed, and she was hauled up and led into the living room, where her mother looked her up and down.
“You aren’t eating enough, and you need to use a proper face cream every day. You’re only young once, Nora, it would be a mistake to waste it.” Nora thought she might have heard something close to kindness there; probably as close as her mother could get. And even then it was all superficial.
She bit back her first several responses, and settled for. “I hear you, Mom,”—with the nearest thing to a smile she could manage.
She hadn’t expected much from this visit. All she really wanted was one conversation—one moment—that was real. One chance to tell her mother what she was feeling, and get an honest answer. But five minutes with Mom and that already seemed impossible.
Unless some kind of miracle was forthcoming, it was going to be a very long four days.
Nora , March 14
The phone rang at eight o’clock in the morning.
To Nora’s surprise, it only rang once before her mother answered it.
Nora listened to her mother’s side of the conversation from the guest room, and to her further surprise, Mom sounded—she couldn’t recall ever hearing it from her—professional and competent.
She wasn’t making airy pronouncements, she was giving orders in a calm tone, as if she was utterly confident they’d be obeyed.
“Yes, I said unload the truck and clear out the blue room. Make sure it’s completely empty.
I’ll be there by ten, I want a full crew ready to go so we can get everything installed by lunchtime.
” There was silence for a minute, then, “Yes, that’s what I said.
I have lunch plans with my daughter, and I am not going to disappoint her again.
Am I clear?” A momentary pause, then, “Good. See that you do.” Nora heard her mother hang up the phone, and then footsteps—probably Mom heading into the kitchen.
Nora had to replay her mother’s words several times.
Did she—could she—really mean what she’d said?
She thought for a moment about just going into the kitchen and telling Mom she’d heard everything.
But maybe that wasn’t the best plan. Her mother had said things like that before, hadn’t she?
Better to just let the morning unfold and see if her mother’s actions backed up her words.
If they did—maybe a miracle really would happen this week.
Nora , two hours later
Nora had convinced her mother to let her come along to the gallery. Honestly, it hadn’t taken much convincing; Mom seemed almost excited about the idea, but of course she couldn’t actually say that.
When they arrived, and Nora saw how the staff reacted to her mother, the way they carried out her orders quickly and without question, she couldn’t help but be ashamed of herself.
She’d always thought that running the Galerie Coeur Nouveau wasn’t a real job. That the gallery was something she’d sweet-talked an old boyfriend into letting her take over, paid for by the generosity of subsequent well-off men.
It had never occurred to her that her mother was actually interested in art, and knowledgeable about it. And competent—more than competent—at making a living displaying and selling it.
All this time, all these years, she’d viewed her mother as little more than a—no, she wouldn’t even think the word.
She wasn’t merely ashamed of herself. Nora was totally disgusted.
No wonder she’d blown things with Daniel. It just proved that the only decent thing she did for him was to let him go, before she could be as ugly to him as she’d been for so long to her mother.
She wandered around the gallery, hating herself more with each passing minute.
Until she stopped in front of one of the new paintings that had just been hung.
It was very abstract, really just vague shapes and blocks of color.
The sort of thing she usually laughed at, and wondered how dumb someone would have to be to pay thousands of dollars for.
One afternoon, a month after they’d started dating, she and Daniel had been walking around off campus, headed nowhere in particular, and they went into a little art gallery, and then they’d spent two hours at the Green Lantern Café talking about exactly that—who was buying the ridiculous modern art that didn’t even look like anything, and why, and what were they doing with it?
But looking at this painting, really looking at it, Nora saw something. It wasn’t just random shapes and colors. There was yellow, very bright, almost a circle, partly obscured by dark shapes. Clouds. So the yellow was the sun, and it was shining out, and rising above dark clouds.
The sun was always there, even if you couldn’t see it. And it would always be there. It would always, sooner or later, shine through the clouds. No matter how dark it was—how dark she was—there would always be light.
Just because she’d been horrible to her mother for years, didn’t mean it had to always be that way. Maybe today could be the day the sun finally came up.
Nora , two hours later
“Didn’t this used to be an Italian restaurant?” Back in high school, her father had taken here a few times in its previous incarnation.
“They went out of business last year. Chef Michel took over two months later,” her mother said.
“Amazing man. And the most gentle hands—never mind, I’m sure you don’t want to hear about that.
” That was new; usually her mother would go on for several minutes about the latest man in her life.
It was as though her mother was a completely different person today.
And then it got even stranger. When the waiter came, her mother ordered wine for the both of them.
Nora didn’t question it, but apparently her expression did it for her.
Mom laughed. “You’re not going to pretend you’ve never had wine before, are you?
I know you started drinking when you were thirteen. ”
“No! I never—I didn’t…”
Her mother was still laughing. “You weren’t really—excuse me—dumb enough to think I didn’t notice, were you?
” She didn’t give Nora a chance to answer.
“Oh, of course you were. Exactly as dumb as I was at that age, when I thought my parents didn’t notice everything I got up to.
” And now she was smiling, but it was—not gentle, exactly, but as close as Karen Langley could get to it.
“And as dumb as my future grandchild will be one day, I’m sure. ” Where had any of that come from?
“Mom, I—I don’t know what’s going on here.”
Her mother reached over, patted her hand.
“You wanted to talk. You wanted to really communicate. That is why you came to stay with me, isn’t it?
” Now she sighed deeply. “I know I haven’t always—ever—been the best mother, but I’m not blind.
And I do love you, regardless of what I’ve probably given you plenty of cause to believe. ”
How had her mother known? How had Mom guessed what she’d been thinking, what she wanted—needed—to hear?
And—whatever joy she’d felt at her mother’s words was gone as quickly as it came—if she was that perceptive, why hadn’t she ever shown it before?
Where had this version of Karen Langley been for the past several years?
Where had she been a year ago, when Nora had needed her—needed anybody who could rescue her from herself—more than she ever had?