The Night's Legacy by P.T. Dilloway Page A

for me either.  It’s a terrible thing for people to think you’re a genius.  There’s nowhere to hide.  You’re always in the spotlight.”  She sighed a second time.  “Maybe I should have done what you did.  Disappeared.  Gone off the grid.  Found a quiet little town where no one knew me.”
    “Why didn’t you?”
    “I loved this place too much.  Working here was my dream job.  When they told me I got the job as a junior researcher, I about fainted dead away.  It was the most exciting moment of my life—until a few years later.”
    “When you had me?”
    “Of course, sweetheart.  I do love you.  I always will.”
    “Even though I’m a screw-up?”
    “You’re not a screw-up.  You’re just finding yourself.”  Mom looked down at something on her desk.  “Tony says you’re taking to the gift shop like a fish in water.”
    “You checking up on me?”
    Mom smiled slightly.  “Executive privilege.”
    “What else does he say?”
    “That you’ve really improved morale around there.  Melanie seems to have really taken a shine to you.”  Mom stared at Lois for a moment.  “What do you think of her?”
    “She’s nice.”
    “A bit flighty?”
    “I don’t know about that—”
    “She’s a good girl.  She has a good heart.”
    Lois smiled as she thought of how quickly Melanie had taken to her, how Melanie had seemed so concerned about her earlier.  “She does.”  Lois cleared her throat as a thought occurred to her.  “Did you hire her because of me?”
    “Me?  The director doesn’t typically hire the gift shop staff.”
    “Unless it’s her daughter who needs a job.”
    “Again, executive privilege.”
    Lois nodded.  She looked around the office at the papers and folders piled up everywhere.  “You should use that privilege more often.  Delegate some of this stuff.”
    “That’s what everyone keeps saying.”
    “Maybe you should listen.”
    “I might, now that you’re here.  I should really keep an eye on you.”
    “You don’t need to worry about me.”
    “I’ll always worry about you.  That’s what mothers do.”
    “Yeah, well, maybe you should let me worry about you for a little while.”  Lois motioned to the desk.  “How about I give you a hand with that stuff?  Take some of the load off your shoulders.”
    “That’s sweet of you to offer, but these are very involved—”
    “Hey, I’m a genius, remember?  A chip off the old block.”
    Mom considered this for a minute.  Then she nodded.  “All right.  If you insist.  I’ll show you what a museum director does.”
    * * *
    A lot of what a museum director did was tedious.  There were budget reports, tax reports, benefits reports, and a host of bureaucratic busywork.  That was only half of it.  The other half involved responding to donors, massaging their egos.  Those weren’t the only egos in need of massaging; there was also infighting between department heads.  Dr. Johnson of course wasn’t a problem, but some of the others fought constant turf wars over exhibit space and fund allocations.  Mom had to walk a tightrope with them, trying to appease both sides without ruining the budget.
    As they worked, Lois brought up the subject of what she had found out from Dr. Pavelski’s files.  “Were you really that depressed after I left?” she worked up the courage to ask.
    “Not clinically depressed.  At least I didn’t think so.  Laura gave me the prescription in case I felt I needed them.”
    “And the sleeping pills?”
    “Another precaution.”
    “She says you don’t have good coping skills.”
    Mom shrugged at this.  “She’s probably right.”  She leaned back in her chair and turned to face the window, which gave a spectacular view of the city’s skyscrapers, all of them lit up for the night like manmade constellations.  “When my parents died they tried to get me to see a therapist.  I refused to go.  I didn’t want to sit in an office talking about what had