know if you want to keep it.”
She looked significantly at her mother; the other woman’s expression did not change.
“We’ve got to figure out Dad’s affairs. We’ve got to sort out our finances.”
She waited a beat, wondering if any of this was getting through. There was no way to know, but it had to be done, so she plunged ahead.
“A whole bunch of correspondence came in. Stuff from lawyers, finance people. Things I can’t figure out. I took it all to a lawyer in town. I’m trying to get us some help.”
At this, her mother nodded. Almost imperceptible, just a dip with her chin. But enough to give Miranda courage to continue.
“I can’t do this by myself, Mummy. I need you. It’s just the two of us now. We have to figure this out. We have to work together.”
Light began to emerge from her mother’s eyes. Her hand was steadier on her coffee cup. She chewed with more vigor. She nodded steadily.
“Mum? Mummy, do you understand what I’m talking about? We have . . . there’s a lot to do. Things I don’t understand. Grown-up things.”
Her voice cracked and her eyes dampened. Her mother stared at her and her expression began to come to life. Mild concern crossed her face. She reached out and touched Miranda’s cheek with her fingertips.
“You’re right,” she said, her voice hoarse and distant from disuse. “I need to snap out of it.”
Miranda was startled by this sudden expression of feeling and conviction. She watched in disbelief as her mother stood, tried to square her shoulders, took a step backward to steady herself, and left the room. Miranda listened to doors and drawers opening and closing behind her mother’s bedroom door, water running in the shower and sink. There was something deeply unsettling about the sudden flurry of overly ambitious activity. Miranda didn’t know what to hope for, what to look out for. So she waited to see what would happen. Her mother emerged an hour later, dressed, showered. Her shirt had been buttoned out of alignment, her lipstick was smeared a bit over one lip, and the gray roots of her black hair showed through from a severe part, but it was pulled back neatly into a barrette. She had a small purse on her forearm.
“Where are the car keys?” she asked.
“What are you doing?” Miranda asked.
“Going into town to get my hair done.”
“They’re in the drawer in the kitchen, right where you always put them,” Miranda answered automatically.
She watched her mother fumble through the wrong drawer for a moment and began to regret what she had said. “Wait. Mom. Wait. Let me take you. Let me drive.”
“No.” Her mother’s voice was firm. She found the keys and held them up, triumphant, a clownlike smile spreading across her face. “I’ve been a burden long enough.”
Then she was gone, leaving Miranda frozen in place. When Bunny hadn’t returned by lunch, Miranda told herself that this was all wonderful: a big, new step that her mother had taken back toward the world. When two o’clock came and went, Miranda tried imagining where she might have gone, then remembered the clothing store that she used to love. Maybe she’d gone shopping there or had stopped at the garden center, she told herself. By three o’clock, Miranda’s self-imposed fake cheer began to wear thin. She called her mother’s cell phone and was deeply discouraged when she heard it ring in the bedroom. By four o’clock, Miranda was in her own car, driving to the beauty salon. They told her her mother had come in; gotten a cut, color, manicure, and pedicure; but left by around midday. They said she was cheerful and that they were so glad to see her; it had been so long. Miranda left and drove around town, looking for her mother’s dark-blue Volvo. It was nowhere to be found. She drove up to the club and circled the parking lot, but her mother’s car was not there, either. Miranda parked, and racked her brain. Did her mother go up to Plattsburgh for some reason?
She looked significantly at her mother; the other woman’s expression did not change.
“We’ve got to figure out Dad’s affairs. We’ve got to sort out our finances.”
She waited a beat, wondering if any of this was getting through. There was no way to know, but it had to be done, so she plunged ahead.
“A whole bunch of correspondence came in. Stuff from lawyers, finance people. Things I can’t figure out. I took it all to a lawyer in town. I’m trying to get us some help.”
At this, her mother nodded. Almost imperceptible, just a dip with her chin. But enough to give Miranda courage to continue.
“I can’t do this by myself, Mummy. I need you. It’s just the two of us now. We have to figure this out. We have to work together.”
Light began to emerge from her mother’s eyes. Her hand was steadier on her coffee cup. She chewed with more vigor. She nodded steadily.
“Mum? Mummy, do you understand what I’m talking about? We have . . . there’s a lot to do. Things I don’t understand. Grown-up things.”
Her voice cracked and her eyes dampened. Her mother stared at her and her expression began to come to life. Mild concern crossed her face. She reached out and touched Miranda’s cheek with her fingertips.
“You’re right,” she said, her voice hoarse and distant from disuse. “I need to snap out of it.”
Miranda was startled by this sudden expression of feeling and conviction. She watched in disbelief as her mother stood, tried to square her shoulders, took a step backward to steady herself, and left the room. Miranda listened to doors and drawers opening and closing behind her mother’s bedroom door, water running in the shower and sink. There was something deeply unsettling about the sudden flurry of overly ambitious activity. Miranda didn’t know what to hope for, what to look out for. So she waited to see what would happen. Her mother emerged an hour later, dressed, showered. Her shirt had been buttoned out of alignment, her lipstick was smeared a bit over one lip, and the gray roots of her black hair showed through from a severe part, but it was pulled back neatly into a barrette. She had a small purse on her forearm.
“Where are the car keys?” she asked.
“What are you doing?” Miranda asked.
“Going into town to get my hair done.”
“They’re in the drawer in the kitchen, right where you always put them,” Miranda answered automatically.
She watched her mother fumble through the wrong drawer for a moment and began to regret what she had said. “Wait. Mom. Wait. Let me take you. Let me drive.”
“No.” Her mother’s voice was firm. She found the keys and held them up, triumphant, a clownlike smile spreading across her face. “I’ve been a burden long enough.”
Then she was gone, leaving Miranda frozen in place. When Bunny hadn’t returned by lunch, Miranda told herself that this was all wonderful: a big, new step that her mother had taken back toward the world. When two o’clock came and went, Miranda tried imagining where she might have gone, then remembered the clothing store that she used to love. Maybe she’d gone shopping there or had stopped at the garden center, she told herself. By three o’clock, Miranda’s self-imposed fake cheer began to wear thin. She called her mother’s cell phone and was deeply discouraged when she heard it ring in the bedroom. By four o’clock, Miranda was in her own car, driving to the beauty salon. They told her her mother had come in; gotten a cut, color, manicure, and pedicure; but left by around midday. They said she was cheerful and that they were so glad to see her; it had been so long. Miranda left and drove around town, looking for her mother’s dark-blue Volvo. It was nowhere to be found. She drove up to the club and circled the parking lot, but her mother’s car was not there, either. Miranda parked, and racked her brain. Did her mother go up to Plattsburgh for some reason?
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