everything else she took from me? Because when she took that money—my money, money I could have used to go to college, or help pay for my own kids’ college, if I ever have any—she also took my future, and my career, and my pride, and in very short order after that, my boyfriend, Jordan, my home, my life, and, yes, my hope. My hope that there was justice and fairness in the world. My own mother took that from me.
And yes, everything’s turned out fine—better than fine—but not thanks to her. Because there’s one thing she took from me that I will never get back, and that’s a mother I could trust, one who loved me. Janet Wells certainly didn’t. Because she didn’t merely steal from me: she abandoned me. Dad left because he had to. She left because she wanted to.
How can she not see the difference?
But I can’t say any of those things to her. I can’t even seem to move. I’m frozen stiff, as cold and unmoving as poor Jasmine Albright, whose body I sat with all afternoon.
Cooper, on the other hand, moves very quickly, pushing away from the deck railing as if he’s about to lunge at her. Frank steps into his path, still holding his son, saying urgently, “Don’t, man. It’s not worth it.”
My mother is blinking bewilderedly at all of us.
“What?” she asks. “What did I say? Oh, good heavens. You can’t still be upset about the money. That was so long ago! And it wasn’t only Heather’s money. I was Heather’s agent, and Ricardo was her manager. We earned that money—”
“Ten percent,” I say, finally finding my voice. “That was your cut. Ten percent, not all of it.”
“Oh, honestly, Heather,” Mom says, taking a sip of her wine. “I’m not saying what I did was right, because of course it wasn’t. I made poor choices. But you were still a child. Ricardo and I were adults, with adult issues. You know Ricardo had a gambling problem. There were criminals— real criminals, with guns, wearing very thick gold chains—after him. What was I supposed to do, let him die?”
“No, but you didn’t have to go with him.”
“But I loved him! Would you leave Cooper if gold-chain-wearing thugs were after him?”
“Of course not,” I say. “I would stay and help him fight.”
“Against men with guns ?”
“Heather’s been to the range with me a few times this summer,” Cooper says mildly. He’s looking calmer. “She’s a pretty good shot.”
“Of paper targets,” I say modestly.
“What I find interesting, Janet,” Cooper says, “is that for someone so convinced she didn’t do anything so wrong, you were awfully careful to wait until the statute of limitations had run out before you returned to the United States . . . five years, with an additional five years while the prosecutor sought, unsuccessfully, to locate you for extradition. That sounds about right, doesn’t it, for a class-B felony—grand larceny in the first degree—for New York State?”
My mother chokes a little on the mouthful of wine she’s just swallowed. “Don’t . . . don’t be ridiculous. I told you, I came back to be with Heather during this important time in her life. And I don’t know why the money is still such an issue with her; she could always have earned more if she’d simply laid off the hot fudge sundaes and hadn’t been so insistent on singing all those silly songs she wrote herself—”
It’s Patty who interrupts, which is surprising since she’s normally the most easygoing of creatures, slow to take offense.
But that’s the thing about people like my friend Patty . . . and maybe me. When we do form a grudge, we hold it for years, and then like a kettle left to simmer on a back burner, before you know it, we’ve burned the house down.
“Frank is right,” Patty says, getting up from her chair. “We have to go now. Janet, where can we drop you? We brought our car. It’s parked out front. We’ll be happy to take you anywhere you want to go.”
“Go?” my
And yes, everything’s turned out fine—better than fine—but not thanks to her. Because there’s one thing she took from me that I will never get back, and that’s a mother I could trust, one who loved me. Janet Wells certainly didn’t. Because she didn’t merely steal from me: she abandoned me. Dad left because he had to. She left because she wanted to.
How can she not see the difference?
But I can’t say any of those things to her. I can’t even seem to move. I’m frozen stiff, as cold and unmoving as poor Jasmine Albright, whose body I sat with all afternoon.
Cooper, on the other hand, moves very quickly, pushing away from the deck railing as if he’s about to lunge at her. Frank steps into his path, still holding his son, saying urgently, “Don’t, man. It’s not worth it.”
My mother is blinking bewilderedly at all of us.
“What?” she asks. “What did I say? Oh, good heavens. You can’t still be upset about the money. That was so long ago! And it wasn’t only Heather’s money. I was Heather’s agent, and Ricardo was her manager. We earned that money—”
“Ten percent,” I say, finally finding my voice. “That was your cut. Ten percent, not all of it.”
“Oh, honestly, Heather,” Mom says, taking a sip of her wine. “I’m not saying what I did was right, because of course it wasn’t. I made poor choices. But you were still a child. Ricardo and I were adults, with adult issues. You know Ricardo had a gambling problem. There were criminals— real criminals, with guns, wearing very thick gold chains—after him. What was I supposed to do, let him die?”
“No, but you didn’t have to go with him.”
“But I loved him! Would you leave Cooper if gold-chain-wearing thugs were after him?”
“Of course not,” I say. “I would stay and help him fight.”
“Against men with guns ?”
“Heather’s been to the range with me a few times this summer,” Cooper says mildly. He’s looking calmer. “She’s a pretty good shot.”
“Of paper targets,” I say modestly.
“What I find interesting, Janet,” Cooper says, “is that for someone so convinced she didn’t do anything so wrong, you were awfully careful to wait until the statute of limitations had run out before you returned to the United States . . . five years, with an additional five years while the prosecutor sought, unsuccessfully, to locate you for extradition. That sounds about right, doesn’t it, for a class-B felony—grand larceny in the first degree—for New York State?”
My mother chokes a little on the mouthful of wine she’s just swallowed. “Don’t . . . don’t be ridiculous. I told you, I came back to be with Heather during this important time in her life. And I don’t know why the money is still such an issue with her; she could always have earned more if she’d simply laid off the hot fudge sundaes and hadn’t been so insistent on singing all those silly songs she wrote herself—”
It’s Patty who interrupts, which is surprising since she’s normally the most easygoing of creatures, slow to take offense.
But that’s the thing about people like my friend Patty . . . and maybe me. When we do form a grudge, we hold it for years, and then like a kettle left to simmer on a back burner, before you know it, we’ve burned the house down.
“Frank is right,” Patty says, getting up from her chair. “We have to go now. Janet, where can we drop you? We brought our car. It’s parked out front. We’ll be happy to take you anywhere you want to go.”
“Go?” my
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