The Concealers by James J. Kaufman

talking about Susan’s family, Katherine’s job search, anything but the elephant in the room.
    Finally, Katherine could hold back no longer. “I wasn’t sure what was going on, Susan. I needed to talk to my mom. But I didn’t want to screw up the day for her, and she didn’t want to screw it up for me, either. She loves me, and she’s proud of me,” she said, finishing the Guinness and signaling the waiter for another.
    â€œIt’s deep, isn’t it?” Susan said.
    â€œYeah, it is. We had a long talk.”
    Susan picked at her fries, letting Katherine take her time.
    Katherine drank deeply of the second beer.
    â€œI’ve mentioned to you from time to time some of my feelings about wanting to know more about my father.”
    Susan nodded and kept eating.
    â€œWell, lately, I found out a lot more about him.”
    Susan nodded and emptied her glass.
    Katherine took out her pen, grabbed a napkin, and drew a couple of boxes. With her pen she pointed to the box on the left. “This is about a man named Larry who died during an Air Force special op before I was born and who I thought—until a few days ago—was my father,” she explained to Susan. Pointing to the box on the right, she said, “This is about a man named Preston, whom my mother met as a twenty-one-year-old nurse in the city—and a few hours ago I learned is my father.”
    Susan dropped the French fry on her plate. “Oh, my God.”
    â€œThis gets a little complicated,” Katherine said.
    â€œYou think?”
    Katherine retold the story in as much detail as she knew. It helped to say the facts out loud, to try and make sense of so much new information. “My mother didn’t lie outright to anyone. She just let everyone go on believing what they assumed was true. She made the call to leave it that way. I’m not sure how I should feel about that—but right now it makes me angry as hell.”
    Susan nodded. “Darts?”
*  *  *
    Katherine woke up with two mad roofers competing to see who could pound the most nails into her head. Hearing the noise from the garbage trucks outside and the heavy rain against the windows, she knew she would pay for last night. She also knew that her mother would have to return home that afternoon, and their conversation was far from finished. She groped for her iPhone and hit the speed-dial number. She was amazed at how clear her mother sounded.
    â€œGood morning, Kat. Have you had breakfast?”
    â€œUh, no, Mom, no . . . having a little trouble getting going this morning. Listen, I’m really sorry about leaving you in the lurch for dinner—”
    â€œIt’s okay, I understand. I ordered room service and then slept for twelve hours. I’m guessing whatever you did, you needed to do.”
    â€œI just bent Susan’s ear all night, that’s all.”
    â€œI’m bringing you a bagel and coffee. Black, one Splenda, right?”
    â€œYou don’t have to do that, Mom, I’ll come—”
    â€œI’m right here at the Starbucks around the corner. I’ll be right up.”
    Katherine fell back in bed but then forced herself to open her eyes again.
Mom made a real effort to be here
and
open her heart. I match that with a litany of questions, give no response to her answers, get drunk, and now leave her alone.
She showered and managed to pull on jeans and a Columbia T-shirt before the doorbell rang.
    Her mother stood at the door, umbrella and overnight bag dripping, coffee tray and bagel sack in hand. Katherine showed her over to the small round table, where they unwrapped their bagels in the gray light of the apartment’s lone window. Hailey followed them expectantly but lay down at Katherine’s feet when she saw no treat was forthcoming for her.
    Beth spoke first. Her words were measured and deliberate, and Katherine suspected she was struggling to keep control.