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“Why don’t you take us to the hotel?” I said. “We’ll go to…to the other place tomorrow.”
Our hotel was a five-star palace in Beverly Hills, Jason’s treat. As soon as we arrived, we threw on our bikinis and headed for the pool, hoping to spy a few celebrities.
Later, we went shopping and had dinner in a hilltop restaurant with a beautiful view, where we pretended to be very blasé about the fact that an A-list heartthrob was having dinner at the table right next to us.
The next day was spa day. Since Amy didn’t actually have a shoot, there was really nothing to do other than enjoy the pampering, the shopping, and the food.
The feeling of enjoyment lasted till late afternoon when Roscoe was waiting to take us to Jason’s mother’s home. We went down to the car, and as he drove through the streets, I stared out the window, wondering if it was too late to turn back and let this sleeping dog lie.
“Are you nervous?” Amy asked, her eyes wide with concern.
I nodded.
“Me too.” She sighed. “You know, I still don’t believe you need to do this. Who knows what will happen with time? Jason might forgive her on his own without you pushing it.”
“I know, but…” I trailed off. She was right—I was pushing it. I had asked myself why, had wondered if I was projecting my own need for a mother onto Jason.
Whatever it was, it was too late to turn back now.
It was quite a distance. Roscoe drove quietly through the unfamiliar freeways and overpasses until we arrived in a quiet middle-class neighborhood with well-maintained houses and neat yards. He parked in front of a small home at the end of the street, and then we followed him to the front door and waited as he knocked.
“What if she isn’t home?” Amy whispered.
A part of me hoped she wouldn’t be. Why did I have this irrational urge to run after coming so far? It was almost as if a sixth sense was warning me now at this last moment that I shouldn’t have come at all.
“I don’t know,” I told Amy.
There was some movement inside the house, and after a few moments, the door opened.
Jason’s mother looked almost the same as I remembered, a little more tired, but not much. Her dark hair showed a bit more gray, and it looked as if it hadn’t been brushed in a day at least. She stared at Roscoe, then her eyes slid to me, then to Amy. There was no hint of recognition in their depths.
“Can I help you?” Her voice was hoarse, and she cleared her throat then coughed. “Can I help you?” she repeated.
Roscoe stepped back, leaving me facing her directly. “Mrs. Wild,” I started, and she flinched.
“Sarah,” she corrected.
“I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “Sarah…” I frowned, confused by her apparent lack of any memory of me. “I’m Daphne, Jason’s girlfriend. We met about two weeks ago.”
Her eyes focused at the sound of Jason’s name and she peered at me for a very long, very uncomfortable moment. “Oh, I remember now,” she said, her voice turning a bit frosty. “Why don’t you come inside.”
“I’ll wait out here,” Roscoe said.
I smiled at him. “I’m sure we’ll be fine. You can wait in the car.”
Inside, the living room was separated from the kitchen by a tall counter. Paintings hung over every surface, and more were stacked on the floor. There was one leather couch, a matching armchair, and an end table. There was no TV, but several black speakers indicated the presence of a sound system.
She gestured to the couch, and we went to sit. I peered at the paintings on the walls. They were all the same style, and the signature was familiar, though I couldn’t remember where I’d seen it before.
“These are your works?” I asked politely.
“Yes.” She waved a hand dismissively. “I spent years painting and painting but not selling much. These days, I just do it out of habit.”
She gave me a wry smile, and I suddenly remembered where I had seen her signature before. It was the same signature in the painting I’d seen in Jason’s office of a little boy playing in a pond.
It had to mean something. It had to mean that maybe, just maybe I was doing the right thing.
“You’re the sister.” Sarah was speaking to Amy.
