sort outâfor each of them. A lot of time. More than her mother had today. More than she would have for a lot of tomorrows. She decided to change the subject. She knew she had ruined her motherâs trip and wanted to try to end on the best note she could.
âWhatâs going on with your eyes?â Katherine asked, sensing her motherâs relief at the shift in conversation. âYou seem to be doing well.â
Beth relaxed into nurse mode. âThere is a notable drusen increase in both eyes, crowding the maculae, but theyâre still dry. So far it hasnât interfered with my work, but that may change.â
âYouâre in the best place to get excellent care, though, right?â
âSo far, so good. What about you, your headaches? The commotion brought on yesterdayâs, Iâm sure. But have you had more?â
âOnly a few recently . . . mostly when I was working on class deadlines or my job search.â
âYouâre worried about a job. I hate that Iâm adding to the worry,â Beth said.
âI told you about the Career Expo in March, and the three best choices. An internship would be a foot in the door, and there are some very good ones, but the ones Iâve looked into donât pay much, maybe a thousand a month. Starting salaries in the City, fresh out, are betterâmaybe $58,000 or soâbut it costs a lot more to live here. If I stay, Iâd have to move to Brooklyn and commute. If I go to D.C. with
Mother Jones
âthe magazineâmy living expenses would be lessâbut so would the pay. Other than that, Iâve put out resumes, filled out a lot of applications, and had some phone interviews, but nothing else seems interesting yet.â
âWhatâs Professor Simpsonâs advice? Didnât he want you to go to the
Times
?â
âIâm meeting with him in the morning.â
âSay hello,â Beth said, looking at her watch.
âYouâre okay for LaGuardia. Howâs Grandpa?â
âHeâs fine. Heâs missed you this yearâitâs not like when you were an undergrad at Columbia and could come home for breaks or long weekends.â
âI know. Itâs been pretty intense. The Fletcher Thomas program drives you hard, but the professors say in the end itâll pay off. Maybe once I get settledâwherever that will beâI can come back up for a real vacation.â
âThat would be nice.â The rain hammered down. Beth went to use Katherineâs closet-sized bathroom and repair her makeup, while Katherine phoned the car service.
Downstairs, Katherine, barefoot, held the umbrella and saw her mother into the sedan as the driver put the one small bag in the trunk.
âYou didnât have to spring for luxury on your budget,â Beth chided her daughter.
âItâs only a small thing. Youâd have waited forever for a cab in this downpour.â
âSome things are a long time in coming,â she replied. She put her hand on the door to leave, and Katherine put her hand over it. âWait, Mom, there is one more thing. I love you.â
âI love you, too,â Beth said, patting her daughterâs cheek and climbing in. âLaGuardia, please,â she said to the driver.
For hours later, watching the rain outside her window, Katherine replayed in her mind the conversation of the last two days. She was trying to absorb the disturbing realization that the idyllic construct of her father as a hero who died serving his countryâand from that fact, must have been a man of strength, character, and purposeâwas a myth. The foundation and architecture of his image, and her genetic connection and identity, a complete fabrication. Her desire, no,
compulsion,
to not disappoint this larger-than-life fatherâwhich had so driven her to excel in all she didâwas a house built on quicksand.
Katherine had always wondered whether she was
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