little nip and tuck, I tried to convince her she didn't need it. But she'll do what she wants. She always has."
"I wonder if she's told my mother? About getting married."
"I don't know. But don't say anything, Sash, just in case she hasn't. As I said, it's a secret. Mom hasn't even informed my father yet, nor has she talked to her lawyer about a divorce. She just made her mind up in the last couple of days… at least, that's the impression she gave me."
"I won't tell a soul, I promise, Mal. And I'm really glad for Auntie Jess, glad she's happy."
"I am too." I paused, staring at Sarah without saying anything for a moment, then I flopped down opposite her.
"Is something wrong?" she asked, frowning slightly, pinning her beautiful dark eyes on mine.
I shook my head. "No. I had a sort of… well, a sort of revelation earlier. My mother was fussing with the potato salad, and I suddenly found myself remembering an incident with a potato salad that happened on another Fourth of July morning. When I was five. I'd buried it deep and forgotten all about it. Anyway, the memory came back, at least a fragment of it, and I started thinking about my parents and their relationship when I was little, and I suddenly felt rather sorry for my mother. It struck me she must have suffered greatly when she was a younger woman."
Sarah nodded in agreement. "Looking back, she probably did. She was always alone. You two were always alone. At least that's the way I remember it."
I was silent for a moment, before murmuring, "I had the most awful feeling inside this morning, Sashy…"
"What kind of feeling?"
"I felt sick at heart. I suddenly understood that I'd been unfair, that I'd probably done my mother a terrible injustice—and for years."
"What do you mean?"
"I blamed her for their marital problems, but now I'm not so sure it was always her fault."
"I'm certain it wasn't. Anyway, it takes two to tango, Mal." Sarah sighed under her breath. "Your father was hardly ever in this country, the way I recall it. The normal thing was for him to be sitting on a pile of rubble in the Middle East, examining bits of old stone and trying to ascertain how ancient they were, which millennium they came from."'
"He had to be away a lot for his work, you know that, Sarah," I said, then realized I sounded defensive.
"But he never took you and your mother with him. He always went off alone."
"I had to go to school."
"Not when you were little, you didn't, and when you were older you could have gone to a local school wherever your father's dig was, or you could have had a tutor."
"Going to a local school wouldn't have been very practical," I pointed out. "I wouldn't have been able to speak the local language, for one thing. After all, I was a little kid, I wasn't fluent in Arabic or Urdu or Portuguese or Greek. Or whatever ."
"You don't have to be sarcastic, Mal, and look, there are ways to make unusual situations work. Many ways."
"Perhaps my parents couldn't afford a tutor," I muttered.
Sarah was silent.
I studied her for a moment, then asked, "Are you blaming my father?"
"Hey, I'm not placing the blame anywhere, on anyone!" she exclaimed. "How do I know what went on between your parents. Not even you really know that. Jesus, I didn't understand what was happening between mine, either. Kids never do. But it's always the kids who suffer. Ultimately."
When I said nothing, Sarah continued, "Maybe your mother felt it was better, wiser for you to be brought up in New York, rather than in some broken-down, flea-bitten hotel somewhere in the middle of the Arabian desert."
"Or maybe my father simply preferred to leave us behind, to go off alone. For his own personal reasons." I stared hard at her again.
"Come on, Mal, I never said that, nor did I even remotely imply it!"
"I'm not being accusatory or trying to put words in your mouth. Still, it might well have been so. But I suppose I'll never know about their marriage, what went wrong with it."
"You
"I wonder if she's told my mother? About getting married."
"I don't know. But don't say anything, Sash, just in case she hasn't. As I said, it's a secret. Mom hasn't even informed my father yet, nor has she talked to her lawyer about a divorce. She just made her mind up in the last couple of days… at least, that's the impression she gave me."
"I won't tell a soul, I promise, Mal. And I'm really glad for Auntie Jess, glad she's happy."
"I am too." I paused, staring at Sarah without saying anything for a moment, then I flopped down opposite her.
"Is something wrong?" she asked, frowning slightly, pinning her beautiful dark eyes on mine.
I shook my head. "No. I had a sort of… well, a sort of revelation earlier. My mother was fussing with the potato salad, and I suddenly found myself remembering an incident with a potato salad that happened on another Fourth of July morning. When I was five. I'd buried it deep and forgotten all about it. Anyway, the memory came back, at least a fragment of it, and I started thinking about my parents and their relationship when I was little, and I suddenly felt rather sorry for my mother. It struck me she must have suffered greatly when she was a younger woman."
Sarah nodded in agreement. "Looking back, she probably did. She was always alone. You two were always alone. At least that's the way I remember it."
I was silent for a moment, before murmuring, "I had the most awful feeling inside this morning, Sashy…"
"What kind of feeling?"
"I felt sick at heart. I suddenly understood that I'd been unfair, that I'd probably done my mother a terrible injustice—and for years."
"What do you mean?"
"I blamed her for their marital problems, but now I'm not so sure it was always her fault."
"I'm certain it wasn't. Anyway, it takes two to tango, Mal." Sarah sighed under her breath. "Your father was hardly ever in this country, the way I recall it. The normal thing was for him to be sitting on a pile of rubble in the Middle East, examining bits of old stone and trying to ascertain how ancient they were, which millennium they came from."'
"He had to be away a lot for his work, you know that, Sarah," I said, then realized I sounded defensive.
"But he never took you and your mother with him. He always went off alone."
"I had to go to school."
"Not when you were little, you didn't, and when you were older you could have gone to a local school wherever your father's dig was, or you could have had a tutor."
"Going to a local school wouldn't have been very practical," I pointed out. "I wouldn't have been able to speak the local language, for one thing. After all, I was a little kid, I wasn't fluent in Arabic or Urdu or Portuguese or Greek. Or whatever ."
"You don't have to be sarcastic, Mal, and look, there are ways to make unusual situations work. Many ways."
"Perhaps my parents couldn't afford a tutor," I muttered.
Sarah was silent.
I studied her for a moment, then asked, "Are you blaming my father?"
"Hey, I'm not placing the blame anywhere, on anyone!" she exclaimed. "How do I know what went on between your parents. Not even you really know that. Jesus, I didn't understand what was happening between mine, either. Kids never do. But it's always the kids who suffer. Ultimately."
When I said nothing, Sarah continued, "Maybe your mother felt it was better, wiser for you to be brought up in New York, rather than in some broken-down, flea-bitten hotel somewhere in the middle of the Arabian desert."
"Or maybe my father simply preferred to leave us behind, to go off alone. For his own personal reasons." I stared hard at her again.
"Come on, Mal, I never said that, nor did I even remotely imply it!"
"I'm not being accusatory or trying to put words in your mouth. Still, it might well have been so. But I suppose I'll never know about their marriage, what went wrong with it."
"You
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