Dylan's kid."
***
She was supposed to call Dr. Valentine while Jake took
Lauren to the park across the street, but she popped open a diet soda and
listened to her mother catch her up on all of her recent shopping.
"And Saks has the most beautiful fall selection,”
Savannah went on excitedly, “You really should come see these Hermès silk
scarves, Rachel, you would love them. I found a coral one that sets off my
emerald broach just perfectly, it is honestly one of the most beautiful
accessories I've ever seen."
The scarf or the broach? The woman had thousands of the
most beautiful accessories she'd ever seen sitting in two thousand square feet
of custom designed closet space, complete with Tiffany's chandelier and an
ebony chaise lounge she never sat on.
"Mother, that sounds wonderful, I could use some new
things. But I've got to get the gala off the ground. Do you have anybody new
you'd like to include on your invite list this year?"
She knew the answer already, Savannah was always making new
friends at some club she'd toured or at a tennis convention across town.
"Of course, dumplin', I'll make sure to get you a
list. Have you decided on a venue?"
"We booked it last year, remember? It's going to be at
the same place, Lowry's Summit."
She'd had to pay the $3000 up front to book it, a hard
check to write.
Her mother talked about linens and chair covers, something
about her abhorrence of white table linens at evening events and how Rachel
needn't torture her with an invite if she weren't going to use black this year.
She shuffled through the mail and threw in an "mmm hmm," or
"sounds beautiful," every now and then. Savannah never really knew if
she was listening, she was too busy concentrating on the sound of her own
voice, making sure the early white trash years weren't audible.
"Just a moment, Mother, I've got to call you right
back," Rachel interrupted, unable to fake interest any longer.
She'd never been able to tell Savannah how she felt
outright, or tell her she made her feel suffocated and annoyed and inferior. It
wasn’t Savannah’s fault Rachel wasn’t interested in the same things, and Rachel
never wanted to hurt her mother’s feelings. But it had taken Rachel years of
therapy to find a place in her life where she didn't loathe Savannah, or
fantasize about her driving off some cliff in a convertible. Then she'd had
Lauren, and she remembered something Ginny told her once when she'd complained
that Savannah was driving her insane.
"You'll understand when you have a daughter,
Hátka," she'd said, "Having daughters teaches us to understand our
mothers."
She'd always loved Savannah anyway, she was her mother
after all, but when Rachel imagined herself wrapping the new coral Hermès scarf
a little too tightly around Savannah's neck, she knew it was time to hang up.
She glanced at the envelope the UPS girl delivered earlier,
still sitting on the small table near the door. She'd forgotten all about it
when Jake decided to play therapist, lecturing her for an hour about talking to
her shrink and talking to her husband and eating more fruit and taking
supplements because she was getting old and her body no longer worked the way
it had when she was young.
She sat down with the envelope and fought the vomit rising
to her throat.
Taylor, Billings &
Easton
In a flash, she understood. It was too good of an offer to
have come out of nowhere. They'd said their partner wanted them to write her a
check, that he'd shown them the article from the Courier. Dylan asked them to.
Why?
Rachel sat silently, staring at the unopened envelope,
stunned.
Creeeaak.
Lauren ran in yelling, "I have to go pee pee!"
Jake walked into her office, "Hey, you feel better
yet?"
She shook her head and handed him the envelope. Without
considering the return label, he ripped it open and pulled out the check. There
it was, fifty thousand dollars on a slip of paper. He slid it towards her on
the desk and unfolded the enclosed
***
She was supposed to call Dr. Valentine while Jake took
Lauren to the park across the street, but she popped open a diet soda and
listened to her mother catch her up on all of her recent shopping.
"And Saks has the most beautiful fall selection,”
Savannah went on excitedly, “You really should come see these Hermès silk
scarves, Rachel, you would love them. I found a coral one that sets off my
emerald broach just perfectly, it is honestly one of the most beautiful
accessories I've ever seen."
The scarf or the broach? The woman had thousands of the
most beautiful accessories she'd ever seen sitting in two thousand square feet
of custom designed closet space, complete with Tiffany's chandelier and an
ebony chaise lounge she never sat on.
"Mother, that sounds wonderful, I could use some new
things. But I've got to get the gala off the ground. Do you have anybody new
you'd like to include on your invite list this year?"
She knew the answer already, Savannah was always making new
friends at some club she'd toured or at a tennis convention across town.
"Of course, dumplin', I'll make sure to get you a
list. Have you decided on a venue?"
"We booked it last year, remember? It's going to be at
the same place, Lowry's Summit."
She'd had to pay the $3000 up front to book it, a hard
check to write.
Her mother talked about linens and chair covers, something
about her abhorrence of white table linens at evening events and how Rachel
needn't torture her with an invite if she weren't going to use black this year.
She shuffled through the mail and threw in an "mmm hmm," or
"sounds beautiful," every now and then. Savannah never really knew if
she was listening, she was too busy concentrating on the sound of her own
voice, making sure the early white trash years weren't audible.
"Just a moment, Mother, I've got to call you right
back," Rachel interrupted, unable to fake interest any longer.
She'd never been able to tell Savannah how she felt
outright, or tell her she made her feel suffocated and annoyed and inferior. It
wasn’t Savannah’s fault Rachel wasn’t interested in the same things, and Rachel
never wanted to hurt her mother’s feelings. But it had taken Rachel years of
therapy to find a place in her life where she didn't loathe Savannah, or
fantasize about her driving off some cliff in a convertible. Then she'd had
Lauren, and she remembered something Ginny told her once when she'd complained
that Savannah was driving her insane.
"You'll understand when you have a daughter,
Hátka," she'd said, "Having daughters teaches us to understand our
mothers."
She'd always loved Savannah anyway, she was her mother
after all, but when Rachel imagined herself wrapping the new coral Hermès scarf
a little too tightly around Savannah's neck, she knew it was time to hang up.
She glanced at the envelope the UPS girl delivered earlier,
still sitting on the small table near the door. She'd forgotten all about it
when Jake decided to play therapist, lecturing her for an hour about talking to
her shrink and talking to her husband and eating more fruit and taking
supplements because she was getting old and her body no longer worked the way
it had when she was young.
She sat down with the envelope and fought the vomit rising
to her throat.
Taylor, Billings &
Easton
In a flash, she understood. It was too good of an offer to
have come out of nowhere. They'd said their partner wanted them to write her a
check, that he'd shown them the article from the Courier. Dylan asked them to.
Why?
Rachel sat silently, staring at the unopened envelope,
stunned.
Creeeaak.
Lauren ran in yelling, "I have to go pee pee!"
Jake walked into her office, "Hey, you feel better
yet?"
She shook her head and handed him the envelope. Without
considering the return label, he ripped it open and pulled out the check. There
it was, fifty thousand dollars on a slip of paper. He slid it towards her on
the desk and unfolded the enclosed
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