No Returns by Rhonda Pollero Page B

weather, the DAR – I pay dues but I don’t attend the luncheons – Lisa, anything that didn’t have to do with my job. She thinks I should have gone to law school and instead of calling me a paralegal, she calls me a secretary. Not that there’s anything wrong with being a secretary, but I have a degree. I’m qualified to do legal work under the supervision of an attorney.
    After a long, drawn out silence, I proudly said, “There’s a pool outback. Would you like to see the rest of the place while we wait?”
    “I suppose. May I have more wine?”
    Freaky thing number two. I’d never known my mother to have more than one drink. “Sure.”
    I left my empty glass in the sink, refreshed hers, and then started the tour.
    It was a warm May night with a gentle breeze off coming off the ocean. I loved my backyard, especially when I could hear the waves lapping against the shore. “What do you think?” I asked.
    “It’s cozy but I don’t know why you went to the expense of putting in a pool. The ocean is right here and chlorine will damage your blonde hair.”
    “Let’s check out the bedrooms,” I suggested.
    The guest room continued the color scheme throughout the house. Turquoise and coral accents with white furnishings and white bedspreads. To me it looked very beachy. According to my mother it looked like a motel. She wasn’t fond of the adjoining small cabana bath either.
    The master bedroom had been two smaller rooms but I had the contractor expand it into one large room with a bathroom and closet that I was sure she would approve of.
    “This is nice,” she said as she stuck her head in the closet. “As soon as you organize your shoes it won’t look so messy.”
    “That’s on my list, “I lied. I checked my watch again. Where are you Liam?
    As if by telepathy, the doorbell chimed. I practically ran to answer it. My mother could stand there and contemplate my shoes until hell froze over.
    He never fails to make my breath hitch in my throat. He had a large brown paper bag in one hand but his other hand slipped around my waist and he gave me a long, lingering kiss. It was magical.
    It was interrupted by the click of my mother’s heels against the tile floor. I leapt away as if I was seventeen and gotten caught in the family room. That’s the thing about mothers. No matter how old you are, you revert to your teens in their presence.
    “Mom, you remember Liam,” I said as I felt my cheeks grow hot.
    “Mr. McGarrity,” she said stiffly.
    “Mrs. Rossi,” he returned easily.
    “Liam brought dinner,” I said as I went to the kitchen and got plates, bowls and utensils.
    Before we went to the table, Liam went to the fridge and got a beer. He then went into the third drawer from the dishwasher and grabbed the bottle opener. My mother was taking it all in. Between the kiss and the fact that Liam knew his way around my house, I was fairly sure she’d deduced that Liam and I were more than friends. True, only we hadn’t really discussed the parameters of our relationship. Our one step toward commitment had been swapping drawers at each other’s houses. That didn’t mean he couldn’t see other women. Or one woman in particular. His supposed-to-be ex-wife Ashley. For divorced people they sure did spend a lot of time together. And when Liam was shot, it was Ashley he called, not me. I was still struggling with that one.
    “Moo Shu?” I asked as I offered my mother the container. I opened another one. “Steamed dumplings? General Tso’s chicken? Szechuan beef?”
    My mother frowned. “Do you have anything that isn’t fried?”
    “A glass of water,” I muttered.
    She picked through the offerings, taking about a tablespoon of each and some rice as well. I know Chinese isn’t one of her favorites but the alternative was to serve her the jar of mustard dying of loneliness in my fridge.
    Liam’s bright blue eyes darted between the two of us. He actually seemed amused by our mother-daughter tension.