Mother's Day by Patricia MacDonald Page B

“More than you’ll ever know.”
    “Well,” said Alice grudgingly, “you look like you turned out all right.”
    Linda shrugged, still staring at the shrine that had been her room. “It’s not how I pictured my life when I was a little girl here. I guess I made the best of it.” There was a hard edge to her voice.
    Just then there was a commotion downstairs as the front door banged open and the high, excited voices of children spilled into the house.
    “Grammy,” they cried.
    “That’ll be Bill’s bunch,” said Alice proudly.
    “Hey, Mom, where are you?” Bill’s voice yelled up the stairs.
    Alice summoned her composure and headed for the staircase. She did not want to say anything to Linda, but she was a little worried about Bill’s reaction. “I’m up here,” she called out, descending the steps carefully.
    When she reached the bottom, Bill came over to her and kissed her on the cheek. “Happy Mother’s Day.”
    Alice hugged him tightly. “Thank you, son.”
    “Happy Mother’s Day, Mom,” said Glenda, who was holding a pile of presents. “Where do you want these?”
    “Put them on the sideboard, dear,” said Alice distractedly as Tiffany and Mark rushed up and tackled her legs.
    “I got you a present, Grandma,” Tiffany cried.
    “Me too,” chimed in Mark.
    “You did not,” said Tiffany.
    “I could use a beer,” said Bill.
    “In the refrigerator,” said Alice.
    Bill started across the room and then noticed the suitcase beside the sofa. “Hey, you got company? Whose suitcase is this?”
    Linda had followed her mother down the steps.
    “Who are you?” Tiffany demanded.
    Glenda smiled apologetically at Linda. “Don’t be rude, Tiff.”
    “I have a surprise for you, son,” said Alice. She tried to make her voice sound light and cheerful.
    Bill stared at Linda, who fidgeted under his gaze. All of a sudden recognition dawned in his eyes, and then his normally florid complexion turned ashen.
    “Hi, Bill,” said Linda shyly.
    “Your sister has come home to us,” said Alice, shooting for gaiety and missing the mark.
    “Linda,” he said flatly.
    Alice knew her son well. He had always been her favorite, her adored boy, and she recognized the look in his eye. She licked her lips nervously and chattered on. “Imagine my shock when I opened the door. I mean, I never thought I’d have a Mother’s Day like this. There she was, big as life, all grown up. Our Linda.” She chose the word our deliberately, trying to emphasize their blood tie. That was the most important thing, after all.
    Linda was gazing at her brother. “It’s so good to see you, Bill. After all these years.”
    The children huddled up next to their mother and cast worried glances at their father. They knew enough to be quiet.
    Bill’s gray-green eyes were steely. He was a large man, a former college linebacker whose dark hair was peppered with gray but who retained a robustly youthful appearance. His meaty hands were clenched into fists. “What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded in a low voice that was almost a growl.
    “I wanted to come back and see Mother. And see you, too,” Linda said.
    “Linda lives in Chicago,” Alice interjected anxiously. “She tells me she has an apartment there and a good job. We’ve been having a long talk about the past and all that happened. She explained everything to me.”
    Linda said, “I know that no explanation is really going to do after all this time “
    Alice turned to Glenda, who had her hands crossed protectively over the children’s narrow chests. “You’ve heard about our Linda,” Alice went on. “You may even remember her from years back.”
    Glenda shook her head sharply as if to say, don’t suck me into this.
    Alice turned back to Bill. “Didn’t you and Glenda used to take Linda along to the beach sometimes when you were all kids?” Alice asked, trying to conjure up some pleasant memories. The air in the room was still and menacing. Alice