tried to conjure up the maternal connection she felt when she had argued for this last try in the hotel room and in the car, but controlling the urge to run to the bathroom required all of her concentration.
Instead, her mind leapt randomly. Helen. Could her prognosis really be that bad? Work. Phillip was already ratcheting up the pressure, even though the law school campaign wouldn’t go public for six months. The scattered red and pink hearts on the assisting nurse’s scrubs. Was it special pre-Valentine’s Day attire, or did she wear it regularly?
As they wheeled her out of the procedure room she felt ambivalent, frustrated, and uncomfortably full—the cocktail of gratitude and guilt churning in her gut.
NINE
W e’ve got an update this Valentine’s morning on the cause of the ‘Miracle on the Hudson,’ that plane that was ditched in the Hudson River last month, resulting in the safe evacuation of all one hundred fifty-five passengers and crew. Kimberly Jones is standing by in Washington. Kimberly?”
Brett caught the news update as she re-entered the kitchen with the sack of bird feed, now almost emptied into the feeder. She’d been so preoccupied lately she’d forgotten to fill it. They’d feast now, in her absence.
“Thanks, Bob. I’m here at an NTSB warehouse where the evidence from Flight 1549 is being collected. Investigators are telling us . . .”
She snapped off the TV. The story was more than a little foreboding two hours before the airport shuttle was due to pick her up for her trip to Charlotte, even without Jackie’s preachy seatmate echoing in her head.
She was going solo on the two-night, on-site, up-close, “bugs-on-a-windshield,” as Richard liked to say, tour of Jackie’s food pantry and mobile meal delivery operation.
Amanda’s being cast in the musical was a stroke of luck. Rehearsals meant the family trip just wouldn’t work, she explained to Richard, allowing just the right amount of disappointment into her tone. But on the bright side, she said, the trip would be more productive if her attention and time weren’t divided between family and food pantry.
Logical. Reasonable. Believable. But a complete lie, scheduled as the trip was to coincide with Jackie’s husband being out of town. Family and food pantry operations would be secondary, as they had been for the past month. The fallout included the empty bird feeder, a wrinkled pile of Richard’s Sunday shirts, and a cool distance from Amanda. Usually attuned to her daughter’s moods, Brett couldn’t read the reason, but it seemed to run deeper than disappointment over not going on a spring break trip.
She heard Amanda’s door close down the hall. Her daughter walked into the kitchen and opened the pantry without setting down her backpack.
“Take that off and stay a while,” Brett said, lamely. “I was going to make us omelettes.” She waved at the counter, where diced green pepper, onions, and ham stood in neat piles on the cutting board.
Amanda finished examining the shelves and emerged with a granola bar. She wrinkled her nose. “We always have those for dinner.” From the fruit bowl, she selected a banana. “Besides, Abby’s picking me up. We’re meeting to go over lines. I’ll just take these.”
“At least let me toast you a bagel. Lunch isn’t for almost five hours,” Brett said, glancing at the clock. “A banana won’t tide you over till then.”
“Mom, I’m sixteen, you know. If I wanted a bagel, I’d get it myself.” She set the bulging backpack on a kitchen stool.
Brett watched her tug the zipper, trying to close the backpack around her snacks. “Here, let me help you.” Abandoning the breakfast argument, she laid her hands over her daughter’s. Amanda jerked hers away.
“Amanda, sweetie, what is it?”
Amanda shook her head mutely and yanked the bag, zipper still gaping, off the stool.
“Look, I know you wanted to go on this trip during spring break. But that just didn’t
Instead, her mind leapt randomly. Helen. Could her prognosis really be that bad? Work. Phillip was already ratcheting up the pressure, even though the law school campaign wouldn’t go public for six months. The scattered red and pink hearts on the assisting nurse’s scrubs. Was it special pre-Valentine’s Day attire, or did she wear it regularly?
As they wheeled her out of the procedure room she felt ambivalent, frustrated, and uncomfortably full—the cocktail of gratitude and guilt churning in her gut.
NINE
W e’ve got an update this Valentine’s morning on the cause of the ‘Miracle on the Hudson,’ that plane that was ditched in the Hudson River last month, resulting in the safe evacuation of all one hundred fifty-five passengers and crew. Kimberly Jones is standing by in Washington. Kimberly?”
Brett caught the news update as she re-entered the kitchen with the sack of bird feed, now almost emptied into the feeder. She’d been so preoccupied lately she’d forgotten to fill it. They’d feast now, in her absence.
“Thanks, Bob. I’m here at an NTSB warehouse where the evidence from Flight 1549 is being collected. Investigators are telling us . . .”
She snapped off the TV. The story was more than a little foreboding two hours before the airport shuttle was due to pick her up for her trip to Charlotte, even without Jackie’s preachy seatmate echoing in her head.
She was going solo on the two-night, on-site, up-close, “bugs-on-a-windshield,” as Richard liked to say, tour of Jackie’s food pantry and mobile meal delivery operation.
Amanda’s being cast in the musical was a stroke of luck. Rehearsals meant the family trip just wouldn’t work, she explained to Richard, allowing just the right amount of disappointment into her tone. But on the bright side, she said, the trip would be more productive if her attention and time weren’t divided between family and food pantry.
Logical. Reasonable. Believable. But a complete lie, scheduled as the trip was to coincide with Jackie’s husband being out of town. Family and food pantry operations would be secondary, as they had been for the past month. The fallout included the empty bird feeder, a wrinkled pile of Richard’s Sunday shirts, and a cool distance from Amanda. Usually attuned to her daughter’s moods, Brett couldn’t read the reason, but it seemed to run deeper than disappointment over not going on a spring break trip.
She heard Amanda’s door close down the hall. Her daughter walked into the kitchen and opened the pantry without setting down her backpack.
“Take that off and stay a while,” Brett said, lamely. “I was going to make us omelettes.” She waved at the counter, where diced green pepper, onions, and ham stood in neat piles on the cutting board.
Amanda finished examining the shelves and emerged with a granola bar. She wrinkled her nose. “We always have those for dinner.” From the fruit bowl, she selected a banana. “Besides, Abby’s picking me up. We’re meeting to go over lines. I’ll just take these.”
“At least let me toast you a bagel. Lunch isn’t for almost five hours,” Brett said, glancing at the clock. “A banana won’t tide you over till then.”
“Mom, I’m sixteen, you know. If I wanted a bagel, I’d get it myself.” She set the bulging backpack on a kitchen stool.
Brett watched her tug the zipper, trying to close the backpack around her snacks. “Here, let me help you.” Abandoning the breakfast argument, she laid her hands over her daughter’s. Amanda jerked hers away.
“Amanda, sweetie, what is it?”
Amanda shook her head mutely and yanked the bag, zipper still gaping, off the stool.
“Look, I know you wanted to go on this trip during spring break. But that just didn’t
Similar Books
