Chapter Nineteen
My DNA test arrived more quickly than anticipated, and I opened it with eager hands.
I read the instructions twice before collecting my sample and returning it to the mailbox with silent prayers.
Did I have family out there? I’d wished for siblings and cousins as a child.
Wanted big family reunions and holiday get-togethers with family crowded around the table.
But Mom and Dad were only children, and their parents had passed while I was young.
If not for Camilla, I’d be afloat, genetically speaking, and I didn’t realize how much I wanted an anchor until the possibility became real.
Camilla texted consistently following her return from the Maldives and visited often on her way to the yoga studio. It wasn’t until a text arrived as I clocked in at Chez Margot that I grew concerned.
Camilla: Dinner at the club?
I grimaced at the four seemingly innocuous words.
My last visit to the country club didn’t end well, and I didn’t want a repeat.
I couldn’t think of a good reason for Camilla to request a meeting at the club, unless this was a family affair and she’d chosen neutral ground.
I steeled my nerves and drummed up enough faux enthusiasm to respond appropriately.
Me: Of course!
My suspicions were confirmed that night, when I got out of my car and spotted Robert at the valet with a new Mercedes. I’d arrived early to settle myself for whatever came next. Apparently he had a similar idea, except he’d probably wanted to hide the car.
“What was that?” I asked. Irritation sharpened my tone, and Robert smirked in response.
He watched with amusement as the young man in a crimson vest and matching tie drove the car away. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, you’re claiming bankruptcy. How the hell did you get a new car?”
“Language,” he chided. “Swearing is for the uneducated. Next time, search deep for some big-girl words.”
A wave of nausea washed over me. I wanted to scream. To punch his smug face. Or turn and leave. Camilla’s request was the only thing keeping me there.
I turned on wooden legs and marched toward the door.
Robert followed. “The firm leases new cars for the partners every year,” he said. “You know that. It’s just one more benefit of an advanced degree.”
“Funny,” I said, ducking inside as an outgoing guest held the door.
“I recall writing all your law school papers.” He’d bullied me into finishing the bulk of his graduate work while I stayed home with Camilla in the early years, treating me like a loafer, insisting that helping with his class assignments was the least I could do to pull my weight. “Maybe I should have the new car.”
Robert caught up to me easily. Heat blazed in his eyes as he nervously flashed his plastic smile at passersby. “Watch it, Soph. You’re playing a game you can’t win. You can, however, make it worse for yourself.”
Fear trickled down my spine, and I picked up my pace.
A dining room hostess noticed our approach and smiled. She led us to a table for four near the back, and I chose a seat facing the door.
I wanted to see Camilla’s face the moment she arrived. I was sure I’d know what this was about if I could just get a look at her. Was she quitting school? Moving to the Maldives? Did she get an incredible job offer? As long as she wasn’t getting married, I could get through this night.
A server arrived within seconds to take our drink orders. I ordered a glass of chardonnay and Robert asked for scotch. Alone again, he warned me to watch my alcohol consumption, reminding me that my mother drank herself to death.
I imagined tossing the wine in his face when it arrived and wished I’d ordered merlot so it would stain.
Thankfully, Camilla and Jeff arrived before the drinks.
Robert rose to greet them. A cheek kiss for Camilla. A handshake for Jeff.
My gaze zeroed in on her ring finger before she reached my side of the table. A fat round diamond winked and glinted, and my stomach heaved.
She hadn’t gotten engaged in the Maldives. I’d seen her photos and had lunch with her multiple times since the trip. There wasn’t any sign of a ring.
Until now.
“Mom,” she said, bending forward to hug me where I sat. “It’s so good to see you. You look amazing!”
Jeff moved into view when she released me. “Nice to see you again, Mrs. B—” He stopped mid-sentence, looking as if he’d swallowed a bee. “Uhm.” He looked to Camilla for assistance.
She visibly cringed.
Robert barked a laugh. “You can still call her Mrs. Bianco,” he said. “That’s her name.”
“Call me Sophie,” I corrected, interrupting Robert for a change. “From the looks of that ring, we’re going to be family.”
Jeff beamed. “We are,” he said. “I still can’t believe it’s real. I promise I will do everything I can to make Camilla happy every single day of our life together.”
I slanted my eyes at Robert, then forced a bright smile for my daughter and soon-to-be son-in-law. “I love hearing that,” I said. “In truth, I was on the fence about taking back my maiden name, but seeing as how Camilla’s name might also change soon, I think the timing is perfect.”
Camilla took the seat beside me with a gasp. “Oh, Mama, I love that. I think Grandma would be so happy.”
I swallowed an unexpected lump in my throat as I let the thought sink in. Could I do something to make my mom proud? I certainly hoped so. But seeing my daughter’s delight was just as good. Maybe even better.
I felt Robert’s heated gaze on my cheek as I chatted with the happy couple, but I didn’t look his way. Robert Bianco’s hold on me was weakening each day, and that truth had never been so evident.
I walked alone to my car after dinner, eyes upturned to the stars.
“She’s getting married, Mom,” I whispered. “I think you’d agree that she’s the best part of us, so let’s hope she does a better job choosing than we did.”
Raisin met me at the door when I returned. I fed him a half can of his favorite paté, then changed into my pajamas.
I baked until my level of distraction surpassed my progress.
Then I climbed the steps to my mom’s old bedroom.
Gone were the clutter and chaos, replaced by open space, lacy curtains, and braided area rugs.
A small bookcase anchored one wall. Nightstands with lamps bookended the bed.
The space was technically mine, but it was also still hers.
Standing in the doorway, I could see her at the mirror, checking her hair or putting on jewelry.
She’d remained beautiful and steadfast in the face of absolute hell.
I aspired to be half as strong.
I couldn’t recall when I first started blaming her for Dad’s mistreatment, but I was deeply sorry for that now.
I leaned against the doorjamb for support.
Arms crossed and emotions high, I felt her presence in the room and clung to it.
“I’m so sorry, Mama,” I whispered. “I should’ve been a better daughter.
And when I grew up, I should’ve been a better friend. ”
Raisin trotted past me and headed for the windowsill, where he kept tabs on the world below. Moonlight beamed through the gauzy curtains and illuminated the closet door.
I moved into the light and opened the door.
Mom’s walk-in closet was stuffed to capacity with things I’d tucked aside to go through later and boxes of items that had been there long before that. Clearing and sorting the space would take days, but something edged me forward anyway.
I started with a hatbox, worn and frayed along its edge.
The weight of it suggested I’d find more than a hat inside.
I carried it to the bed and reluctantly removed the lid, and found piles of photos and paperwork.
I nearly returned the box to the closet, too tired and weary to start sorting, but the corner of an old report card caught my eye.
I crawled onto the bed and lifted a stack of papers.
Every report card I’d earned from preschool through college Mom had neatly organized, chronologically, with great care.
Underneath those were poems from my middle school day camp days, friendship bracelets from high school, my first driver’s permit, and certificates for national honors society induction.
Loose photos from birthdays and family vacations mingled with band and choir concert mementos and candid shots from local hikes and backyard barbecues.
Wonder stole my breath as I dug more deeply into the box.
“I can’t believe you kept all this.” She really had cherished me and my life.
I overturned the box with desperate impatience and found photos from my parents’ wedding, and from her parents’ wedding.
I didn’t know much about any of my grandparents, but I knew they’d lived a tough life, raising kids in the Great Depression and getting by with very little.
I couldn’t help wondering if they were happy as I stared at their youthful faces, captured in black and white.
When had the miserable marriages of my lineage begun? “Was it with you?” I asked. Or had it started long before?
A small notebook slipped free from the pile of papers and photos, an Eiffel Tower on its cover. I lifted it for a closer look.
Inside, an image of Mom and Sébastien was stuck to the page with brittle, yellowed tape. The couple clung to one another outside a restaurant called Le Bistro, and the street sign behind them read Rue Pasteur.
I raised the book to my chest and smiled through the window at the moonlight beyond. I’d found a clue to their location. Maybe to his location. “Thank you, Mom.”
I held a book club meeting on the following Friday night, eager to show off the redecorated place and hear what my friends had been up to these last few months. I feared no one would come but extended the invitation anyway in the name of bravery.