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“Not any more than there already was.”
Relieved, Emma said, “That’s good to hear.”
CHAPTER8
Zara
Speak of the devil. My mom arrived the next day, the wheels of her sleek black Audi A3 crunching on the gravel. I heard her arrival when I was trying to get the old Whirlpool washing machine going. My heart sank. I’d known this moment was coming, had dreaded it. Tension churning in my belly, I wiped my greasy hands on my jeans and, out of a habit ingrained in me from childhood, hurriedly smoothed my hair. Pasting a polite smile on my face, I walked over as my mom got out of the car. She stood for a moment, the picture of perfect elegance with her brunette hair in a neat chignon, gold-rimmed Gucci sunglasses glinting in the sun, and crisp black suit perfectly fitted to her slim form.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Zara.” Jane allowed a brief air kiss before stepping back to run her eye over me. I knew the verdict wasn’t good. “You look an absolute mess.”
We hadn’t seen each other for nearly ten years, but my mother’s greeting was cold, businesslike. “Yeah, I know, I’ve just been working on the house, trying to get it right…” Old habits die hard, I thought bitterly. I was still trying to justify myself to this woman after all this time.
“Hmph.” Jane looked around, looking totally unimpressed by what she saw. Then she walked to the front door, pushed it open, went inside, and placed her bag on the hall stand. She did it all with an irritating air of ownership. I followed her into the kitchen, going to put the kettle on as she took a seat at the dining table. Neither of us spoke as I waited for the kettle to boil, poured the water into the pot, arranged the pot, cups and saucers, milk and sugar on a tray and brought it all to the table. “So, that husband you lumbered yourself with, what has become of him, pray tell?” I had forgotten the ludicrous way of talking my mother had cultivated. Ridiculously formal and overdone.
“Jail,” I replied bluntly.
Jane paused, giving me an assessing look. “And you?”
“No charges. I’m a material witness. I’ve given my statements, helped with the investigation as much as I could. Not that I could add much. I had no idea what he was up to. I’ll have to go back to New York for the trial.”
“Foolish girl.”
“Sure.” I sighed, recognizing that was all I was going to get on the subject. All that pain, that trauma, all that betrayal…and the only thing my mother had to offer was that I had been afoolish girl.
There was another long pause. We had more silence between us than words, I realized. Had it always been like this? Since I was a child? I couldn’t remember. Wrapping my fingers around my teacup, I watched Jane, waiting. But she didn’t say anything and as the silence grew more and more awkward, I thought maybe I could make an attempt at conversation, since my mother didn’t seem like she was going to. “How are things at work?”
“Good. Great.”
“You still have the salon?”
“Yes, Zara, I still have the salon. I’ve just installed another laser machine and I’ve added two more manicurists. I was the keynote speaker at a conference in Hawaii. As you would know, if you ever bothered to call.”
I sighed. This was typical of her, putting the burden of the relationship on me. Old habits die hard, though, so I did what I always did, pretended that we were totally normal, that this was a perfectly functional mother/daughter relationship. “That’s great. I’m glad it’s going so well for you. You’ve worked really hard for it.”Harder than you worked at being a mother,I thought.
“I have.” She pushed the teacup and saucer away, the Earl Grey virtually untouched. “So, what are you going to do now?”
“Fix up what needs fixing here and sell the place. After that, I don’t know.” ’That was a frightening prospect, now that I said it out loud.
“I’m assuming you will be filing an application for a subdivision?”
“No, I’m not. I couldn’t bring myself to carve it up. I want someone else to be able to enjoy the gardens, Ruby’s legacy…” I was speaking in a rush, fumbling over the words. My mother’s gaze narrowed, grew colder as I stuttered to a halt.
With a slow shake of her head, she said, “I had hoped you might have grown up in the time you were away, but I see I was mistaken. You never did have much of a head for business. I suppose that’s what got you into so much trouble in New York.”
I felt a stab in my heart and I raised my hand to cover my chest. My mother could always cut me to the quick like this. I fought back the hot sting of tears as Jane looked at me for a moment, her blue gaze arctic. “If you had come to me for advice, perhaps I might have been able to help you. But I suppose that would have been too far beneath you.” She rose to her feet. “Well. I’ll let you get back to” —she cast a disparaging look around the kitchen— “whatever it is you think you’re doing here.”
I followed her wordlessly to the entrance hall, watched as she collected her purse, almost cried out as she opened the front door and walked through it without a backward glance. I heard the car start, the skid of tires on gravel. As the sound of my mother’s car died away, I walked on autopilot back into the kitchen and went to collect the tea things from the table, but instead, pulled back a chair and sank into it, lowered my head on my arms, and wept.
I stayed there for the longest time, my mind whirling. My mother always had this effect on me and I hated it. Maybe if I could gain some understanding of why she was like that, so cold and self-involved, and mean, and unnecessarily cruel, if I could understand where it all came from, then maybe I’d be able to deal with her better. But she had been that way for as long as I could remember. By the time I was an adult myself, our relationship had deteriorated to the point that it propelled me into a disastrous marriage and the move to New York, where everything had played out with spectacularly catastrophic consequences.
Lost in my own memories, wallowing in my pain, I didn’t hear the knock at the door. The second knock, louder and more insistent, jolted me back to the present. Rising from the chair, I went to the kitchen sink to splash some water on my face, standing there for a long moment, toying with the idea of ignoring the knock. Then it came a third time and I sighed, wiping my face on my sleeves and going to answer it.
It was Matt.
“Hi, I just thought I’d swing by and measure up the kitchen properly and—” He broke off and gave me a long, searching look, his green eyes roving over my face. “Um, are you okay?”
