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She got up early and walked around her mother’s new house. It was quite nice, with big windows that framed a beautiful garden. The furnishings were subdued, quiet, tasteful. They showed her mother’s conservative New England background.
The kitchen was new and in it was the dumpy little woman Lisa assumed was the housekeeper. She’d seen the woman often, but had paid no attention to her.
Lisa began opening cabinet doors as she searched for the cereal her mother had bought for her.
“I threw it out.”
Lisa looked at the woman. “Threw what out?”
“That cereal. It has too much sugar.”
Lisa was too shocked to speak. Her family’s home—where she’d lived since she graduated—had several staff members. They did what she told them to. “Where is my cereal?”
“I told you. I threw it out.”
That little fire inside her sent forth a flame. “Who gave you the right to—?”
“Good morning!” Sylvia said loudly. She kissed her daughter’s cheek. “I see you and Janet have met.”
Lisa’s eyes were hard. “She threw out my cereal.”
“Did she?” Sylvia sounded vague. “I’m sure it was for a good reason.”
The woman gave Lisa such a look of triumph that she wanted to smack her.
“This morning,” the woman said to Sylvia, “you are to have whole wheat pancakes, but just two of them. You know how you have to watch your weight. And one third of a cup of sliced strawberries. I measured out your coffee. Only half a cup today. Mustn’t get too wound up, what with all the turmoil of the last few days.”
“What the hell?” Lisa muttered. “Mother! What i
s going on?”
“Thank you, Janet,” Sylvia said. “That sounds lovely. Perhaps after breakfast I may work in my garden.”
“May” as in asking permission.
“That will be all right.” Janet handed Sylvia a stack of papers.
At the grimace her mother made, Lisa took the papers and read them. They were printouts of the most recent reviews of her books from over the Internet.
“Should give up writing.”
“Worst book I’ve ever read.”
“I want my money back.”
Lisa dropped the papers into the trash bin.
“I’m sorry, Janet,” Sylvia said and retrieved the papers. “Of course I’ll read them. I know they are constructive criticism and I can learn from them.”
With her back to Janet, Sylvia mouthed Shut up to her daughter.
After the meager breakfast, Janet told Sylvia how long she could work in the garden, and how much time she could spend writing.
It wasn’t easy, but Lisa managed to stay quiet.
At 4:00 p.m., the odious little woman left the house.
“Come on,” Sylvia said. “We have about an hour.”
