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Chapter Thirty-five
Julia hears her son’s carpull into her driveway and sighs, wondering when it became such an ordeal to see her only son. She fills a kettle with water and carries a tray of freshly baked cherry scones to the coffee table in front of the living room sofa. Seconds later, the doorbell rings.
She takes a quick look in the mirror beside the front door before opening it, pinching her cheeks to make sure they have enough color, fluffing out her hair, then smoothing the skirt of her floral-print dress. It’s important she look, if not her best, then at least well enough to assure Norman that she isn’t about to keel over dead in front of him.
“Hello, darling,” she says, ushering her son inside. He looks as put together and confident as he always does. Light blue sports jacket, open-necked white shirt, trim navy slacks, Gucci loafers, no socks. The picture of success. She glances toward his car. “Poopy isn’t with you?”
“It’sPoppy,Mom.”
She smiles. “I know. I’m just teasing you.”
“Joke’s wearing a little thin.” He gives his mother an obligatory peck on the cheek. “And no, she isn’t with me. I came right from work.” He brushes past her into the living room. “Sorry if I’m a bit late. I thought I’d be able to get away earlier, but well, you know…”
“I don’t know, actually.”
Her son looks puzzled. “You don’t know what?”
Julia shrugs. “Many things, I suppose. For starters, what exactly it is you do.”
Norman’s eyebrows crease toward the bridge of his nose. “Are you feeling all right?”
“I’m fine.”
“Are you sure? You fainted. You spent two days in the hospital.”
“Yes, and they gave me a clean bill of health and sent me home.”
“But now you’re confused.”
“I’m not confused. Who said I was confused?”
“You just said you don’t know what I do.”
“I know you run a hedge fund. I just don’t know what that entails.” She lowers herself to the sofa. “Perhaps you could enlighten me.”
“NowI’mconfused.”
“About what?”
“About the sudden interest in what I do. You’ve never been interested before.”
“Of course I have.”
“No,” Norman counters. “You haven’t.”
Oh dear,Julia thinks. Her son has been in the house less than two minutes and already they’re at odds.
“It’s fine, Mom. It really doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it matters.” She pats the seat cushion beside her. “Why don’t you have a seat, I’ll make us some tea, and you can tell me all about running a hedge fund?”
“No tea for me, thank you.” Norman sits down in one of the chairs across from the sofa.
“How about a scone? Mark made a fresh batch this morning, and they’re delicious.”
“My son made scones?”
“He’s very talented.”
