Read Online Escape Velocity by Robin Stevenson - Free Book Online Page B

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    â€œWell. I’m going to want all the details later,” she says, and she gives me a grin that looks as real and warm as any smile I’ve ever gotten from her.

    That evening, when I am alone with my mother, I expect her to ask me more about Tom, but she seems to have forgotten all about him. Maybe her apparent interest was for Brian’s benefit, all for show. She’s quiet, off in her head somewhere, irritated by my attempts to make conversation.
    â€œMom?” I put down my fork. I’ve eaten a whole chicken breast, a huge pile of mashed potatoes and some broccoli. I cooked while Mom and Brian talked about his novel manuscript, but she’s barely touched the food. I think she has eaten maybe one piece of broccoli and one bite of chicken. “You don’t like it?”
    â€œI had a late lunch.” She pushes her plate away. “I’m not very hungry.”
    I eat a few more mouthfuls, but the food has lost its appeal. I guess this is unfair, but I feel like my mother is pushing me away, not just my food. I watch her out of the corner of my eye while she drinks her water, looking cool and perfect as always. “You know that woman at the reading?” I say.
    She stiffens. “You mean the woman who introduced me? Her name’s Polly.”
    â€œNo, not her.” I lift the pitcher on the table to refill her glass.
    She frowns and puts her hand over her glass to stop me, and I remember her words from last summer: She’s being completely ingratiating and trying to impress me. I put the pitcher back down, feeling stupid.
    â€œThe woman who went on clapping,” I say. “When she tried to talk to you that other time, was it about anything in particular?”
    My mother doesn’t answer.
    â€œWhy are you so interested in her?” my mother asks at last. I remember the slow steady sound of clapping and the way everyone turned and looked. I picture the old woman’s stringy gray hair hanging past her shoulders, the long hippie skirt. “I don’t know. She seemed out of place.”
    â€œForget about her, Lou. I doubt she’ll show up again.”
    â€œBut who is she?” I ask. “Is she someone you used to know? Or…”
    â€œDrop it.”
    â€œBut…”
    She slams her hands against the table. “Christ, Lou. Are you deaf or just slow? I said, drop it!”
    I stare down at my plate. My heart is racing like I’ve been running, and my palms are slick with sweat. There is a very long silence, and I can’t bring myself to look at my mother. “Sorry,” I whisper at last. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
    I hear her sigh, long and shaky, and I glance up at her. She has her hands pushed against her face, and I can’t believe this, it isn’t possible, but I think she is crying. “I’m sorry,” I say again, panicky. “I’m really sorry, Zoe. Mom.”
    â€œI know.” She lowers her hands, and her cheeks are wet with tears. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
    â€œIt’s okay.”
    My mother puts her hands on the table, palms pushed down as if she is anchoring herself. She doesn’t say anything for a long minute. The window is open, and I can hear the clatter of a skateboard going back and forth across the speed bump on the street outside.
    â€œLou. The woman at the reading…”
    â€œYou don’t have to tell me.”
    â€œI think I do.”
    I suddenly know what she is going to say and I wonder when I realized this, because it makes no sense at all and there is no way I should have guessed it, except that there was something about that clapping woman that was so familiar.
    â€œShe’s my mother,” Zoe says. “But we’re not in contact. She’s not someone I want in my life.”
    â€œWhy not?” I ask. “Did something happen? She looked sort of…I wondered if she was homeless, maybe. Or not