you.”
“And not just about your automatic doors.” She tilted her head toward the car where Caroline sat somewhat like the queen of Sheba, waiting for her minions to drive on.
Melanie shot her an apologetic smile, but her eyes didn’t look the least bit sorry. “She asked me if I’d heard from you. What was I supposed to do, pretend you just showed up on my doorstep without warning?”
Despite an irritated signal from a nearby policeman, neither of them moved.
“You big chicken.” Vivien was amazed at how unprepared she was to see her mother. Not to mention the completely irrational fear that somehow her mother would take one look at her and know all the things that Vivien was hiding.
“Look who’s talking,” Melanie replied and Vivien wondered how they’d reverted back to childhood so immediately. In a moment they’d be tossing their hair and sticking their tongues out at each other. “Anyway, it’s just lunch. We have to drop her off for her hair appointment right afterward.”
Caroline’s window glided down and she leaned out expectantly. The policeman was moving their way now, so Vivien stepped forward to kiss her mother’s perfectly made-up cheek. “Hello, Mother.”
Caroline looked her up and down, and Vivien knew without a word being said that she had failed to measure up. As usual.
“It’s, um, great to see you,” Vivien said.
Caroline nodded and smiled as if to say, “Of course it is.” She completely ignored the existence of the policeman, who blew his whistle and motioned for Melanie to drive on. Vivien, glad of the reprieve, climbed into the backseat and was grateful when her sister filled the drive with idle conversation and innocuous questions about the weather in New York and the details of Vivien’s flight.
Caroline felt no such restraint. “You look a little peak-ed,” her mother said when they had been sufficiently fawned over by the maitre d’ at Caroline’s restaurant du jour and then seated at a favored table.
“Peak-ed?” Vivien overpronounced as her mother had. “Is that still a word?” As always when in Caroline’s company, Vivien felt as if she’d been plopped down in a reenactment of Gone with the Wind . Or that it might be time to ring for one of the family retainers to fetch her fan. But at least she hadn’t said, “You look a little pregnant.”
Melanie smothered a smile. It was one of the things that still bound them, their reaction to their mother’s regal airs. How covert they were in these reactions and how hard they tried to appease her varied depending on an ever-changing array of factors. Even at the ripe old ages of thirty-eight and forty-one, neither of them was immune.
“You haven’t eaten a bite. Are you feeling all right?” Caroline ignored Vivien’s word challenge.
Vivien took a moment to consider her answer. The nausea had eased up over the last week, but the memory of it was still strong enough to keep all but the most insistent hunger pains at bay. She could feel herself drooping though; despite Dr. Grable’s assurance that the exhaustion would ease up, she always felt in need of a nap. This had not been a problem while she was in New York and unemployed and could lie in bed for hours at a time. But if she wanted to keep her condition to herself, she could hardly admit that a two-and-a-half-hour plane ride had worn her out.
Lifting her water glass, she took a gulp, then smiled as disarmingly as she knew how. “I think I’m just a bit dehydrated from the plane. I can’t seem to get enough to drink.”
“Are you sure you’re recovered from . . .” Her mother lowered her voice as if every woman in that place hadn’t watched the three of them walk in and then discussed Vivien’s humiliating wound at length.
“The wound is healed, Mother.” Vivien stared into Caroline Baxter Gray’s assessing gaze, the one that could make you feel like a fly pinned down by its wings. “I, um, just felt a need to take some time off to
“And not just about your automatic doors.” She tilted her head toward the car where Caroline sat somewhat like the queen of Sheba, waiting for her minions to drive on.
Melanie shot her an apologetic smile, but her eyes didn’t look the least bit sorry. “She asked me if I’d heard from you. What was I supposed to do, pretend you just showed up on my doorstep without warning?”
Despite an irritated signal from a nearby policeman, neither of them moved.
“You big chicken.” Vivien was amazed at how unprepared she was to see her mother. Not to mention the completely irrational fear that somehow her mother would take one look at her and know all the things that Vivien was hiding.
“Look who’s talking,” Melanie replied and Vivien wondered how they’d reverted back to childhood so immediately. In a moment they’d be tossing their hair and sticking their tongues out at each other. “Anyway, it’s just lunch. We have to drop her off for her hair appointment right afterward.”
Caroline’s window glided down and she leaned out expectantly. The policeman was moving their way now, so Vivien stepped forward to kiss her mother’s perfectly made-up cheek. “Hello, Mother.”
Caroline looked her up and down, and Vivien knew without a word being said that she had failed to measure up. As usual.
“It’s, um, great to see you,” Vivien said.
Caroline nodded and smiled as if to say, “Of course it is.” She completely ignored the existence of the policeman, who blew his whistle and motioned for Melanie to drive on. Vivien, glad of the reprieve, climbed into the backseat and was grateful when her sister filled the drive with idle conversation and innocuous questions about the weather in New York and the details of Vivien’s flight.
Caroline felt no such restraint. “You look a little peak-ed,” her mother said when they had been sufficiently fawned over by the maitre d’ at Caroline’s restaurant du jour and then seated at a favored table.
“Peak-ed?” Vivien overpronounced as her mother had. “Is that still a word?” As always when in Caroline’s company, Vivien felt as if she’d been plopped down in a reenactment of Gone with the Wind . Or that it might be time to ring for one of the family retainers to fetch her fan. But at least she hadn’t said, “You look a little pregnant.”
Melanie smothered a smile. It was one of the things that still bound them, their reaction to their mother’s regal airs. How covert they were in these reactions and how hard they tried to appease her varied depending on an ever-changing array of factors. Even at the ripe old ages of thirty-eight and forty-one, neither of them was immune.
“You haven’t eaten a bite. Are you feeling all right?” Caroline ignored Vivien’s word challenge.
Vivien took a moment to consider her answer. The nausea had eased up over the last week, but the memory of it was still strong enough to keep all but the most insistent hunger pains at bay. She could feel herself drooping though; despite Dr. Grable’s assurance that the exhaustion would ease up, she always felt in need of a nap. This had not been a problem while she was in New York and unemployed and could lie in bed for hours at a time. But if she wanted to keep her condition to herself, she could hardly admit that a two-and-a-half-hour plane ride had worn her out.
Lifting her water glass, she took a gulp, then smiled as disarmingly as she knew how. “I think I’m just a bit dehydrated from the plane. I can’t seem to get enough to drink.”
“Are you sure you’re recovered from . . .” Her mother lowered her voice as if every woman in that place hadn’t watched the three of them walk in and then discussed Vivien’s humiliating wound at length.
“The wound is healed, Mother.” Vivien stared into Caroline Baxter Gray’s assessing gaze, the one that could make you feel like a fly pinned down by its wings. “I, um, just felt a need to take some time off to
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