Page 62 of Since She's Been Gone

She sits on one of the chairs in the back of the theater, bends her head, and begins to weep.

Despite being accustomed to regularly watching people cry in my office, I’m unsure how to respond; I wasn’t expecting this.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” I say.

She shakes her head. “These aren’t tears of sadness,” she explains. “After I visited your mom in LA forty-plus years ago, she moved, and her number changed. I figured she’d gotten married and changed her name because I could never find her again. Over the years, I tried searching for her at the registrar’s office and online but never came up with anything. Probably because I’m old and a Luddite. I never thought I’d hear from her again. How is she?”

“She died when I was in high school,” I tell her.

“I’m sorry,” Laura says, bending her head, taking in the news.

“Thank you.”

She tries to gather herself, adjusting the braided crown on her head.

“I’m glad to meet you,” she says. “Did you know that your mother had more talent than all of us combined in the tip of her pinky?” She lifts her left pinky finger.

“No,” I say.

“In my twenty-seven years as a professional actor on Broadway, and twenty years of teaching acting to countless students, I’ve come across talent like hers maybe two or three times. I’ve always wondered what might’ve been had not she gotten caught up with, you know …”

“No, I don’t know,” I say.

“Uh,” she stammers. “I assumed you did.”

“Can you please tell me what that was?” I ask. “That’s actually why I’m here—I’m looking for answers.”

Laura looks uncomfortable. “It’s not my place to …”

“Please.” I dig in.

“I’m sure your mother carefully chose what she wanted to disclose to you.”

“I was fifteen years old when she died,” I say. “I think she would’ve told me more about herself when I got older had she lived.”

“It’s best you carry the memory of what you know about her rather than have it sullied by a stranger.”

Sullied?

I’m tempted to tell her the truth, that Mom might still be alive, that I know something happened to her that might not only imperil her life again but is putting me in danger and possibly Eddie and Sarah too. But I can’t. Laura would probably go to law enforcement, definitely contact someone at the university, and it would become breaking news in a New York minute. So I try a different tactic.

“I’ve struggled in my adult life,” I say. “I think it would help me to know about my mom’s struggles. Isn’t that what the theater is all about? Isn’t that what art is for? Making existence a little more bearable, knowing we’re not alone in the human experience?”

Laura takes a deep breath in. “Let’s just say your mother got involved with the wrong crowd who introduced her to bad things our freshman year.”

“Do you know if she had a boyfriend back then?” I don’t mention that I just stalked her yearbook page at the library.

Laura meets my eyes and pauses before answering.

“No,” she finally says.

There’s something she’s not telling me. She must’ve known who that guy was. She stayed with Pearl and Mom in LA. Why won’t she tell me?

“When your mom left Tisch, I tried to convince her to return,” she says, changing the subject. “I told her what I believed—that she was destined for Broadway, Hollywood, the sky was the limit for her, but she was adamant that this wasn’t the right place for her anymore.”

Laura continues speaking in vagaries as I try to discern between the lines.

“Did you know she was hospitalized for a month after leaving Tisch?” I ask.

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