DAIR by R.K. Lilley

mother had a mission in life that was far more important than just being one boy’s mommy.  
    She had so much to live up to.   Coming from a distinguished family, married to old money, and close childhood friends with two of the most notable women in the nation, one who grew up to be the VP of the United States, and the other the outspoken activist wife of a powerful senator.  
    If I was brutally honest with myself, Tammy had been something of a rebellious statement to my mother, which accounted for some of her attraction, at least in the beginning.   She was no Susan Johnson-Masters, in fact many would say she was the polar opposite, with very few personal ambitions.  
    Back then, Tammy had fed me some lines about wanting to live a life with an emphasis on family, and my young, already work consumed self had eaten it whole.   Wouldn’t it be great to come home to someone who wanted to take care of my needs?  
    Years had turned into decades, and Tammy, who’d waxed poetic about wanting to be a mother, had somehow never quite been ready just yet for that step.  
    Twenty years later, and I was well aware that joke had been on me.  
    My mother’s voice brought me back to our conversation.  
    “. . . As though that poor, dear woman hasn’t been through enough . . . ”
    Ah.   I didn’t have to wonder who the dear woman was, though I hadn’t been listening prior.   My mother and her two closest friends had achieved such a prominent, noted level of success that my mother had become accustomed to updating other people of each of their statuses before she was even asked.   She did this when she spoke to me not because she even assumed I cared, but out of pure habit.
    Though, incidentally, I did care.
    The purpose of the automatic, obligatory update was for two reasons, as I saw it.   One:   To remind one and all about her important ties.   Two:   To assure everyone that the three influential women were as close as ever.  
    The dear woman could only be Diana, the VP.   If she had said sweet, I’d have known she was referring to the senator’s wife, Vera.  
    It went without saying that these two forces of nature could in no way be described as either dear or sweet, but you couldn’t have paid me to tell that to my mother.  
    And of course, she knew they weren’t either of these things, but calling them that was yet another reminder about how special their relationship was, pointing out to whoever was listening that she knew a side of them both that no one else had seen or would ever be privileged to.
    “. . . First her daughter and son-in-law die in a tragic accident, leaving her to raise all three of her grandchildren herself.   And soon after, her oldest grandson cuts all ties from her, turns criminal , and has to be hidden from the public,” she continued.   “And all before he was even eighteen.   She could do nothing but suffer in silence and let him go.   And then her granddaughters, those two beautiful, darling girls, both pass away, tragically, at such tender ages.   And all of this she bears in silence, the epitome of a strong woman, and perseveres in her political career, holding the second highest office in the nation, a great example to all women . . . ”
    She always spoke in what I liked to think of as her projecting/lecturing voice, every phrase thought out and rehearsed just so.   She didn’t need to use it with me, but it was old hat for her at this point.  
    “. . . And now this, this outrage , these accusations of corruption, and ties to the mob, and even talk of a criminal investigation!   All with some mysterious person, this witness that’s gathered this so called proof against her, yet remains anonymous!”
    “You were saying, the last time we spoke, that there was finally some speculation that the deaths of her two granddaughters might be related,” I interrupted her, because that was literally the only way I’d ever be getting a word in.
    “I said that?   No,