Read Online Mothers and Other Liars by Amy Bourret - Free Book Online Page A

a knot. “I asked around. But it’s not too late to pull the plug.”
    Ruby shakes her head. “What kind of example would that be, for Lark? What kind of life?”
    “These people, they’ll be reasonable. They’ll want what’s best for Lark.”
    Again Ruby shakes her head. “My lawyer says—”
    “I know. I know they’ll get custody. But surely they’ll want to go slow. Surely they’ll let you visit.”
    “That, my friend,” Ruby says. “Is the thought that keeps me breathing. But do stop calling me Shirley.”

TWENTY-FIVE
    “Go. Be with your daughter,” Margaret says. “I had Zara cancel your appointments for the next couple of days.”
    Ruby nods. She knows she hasn’t been able to focus, that she’s doing her clients a disservice. Fortunately, this last client needs only a polish change. Ruby wouldn’t trust herself with cuticle trimmers another time today.
    As the client curls her hands into careful C s in front of the small fan clipped to the edge of the manicure table, Ruby folds and stacks the thin white towels, places the pink finger bowls on top of the pile, as if she can make order out of her messed-up life through a tidy workstation. Out of sight in the back room, she tosses the towels in the hamper, places the bowls in the sink. And wipes the hot tears from her cheeks as she walks out the door.
    She sits there in her Jeep, waiting for her brain to command her arm muscles to drive. It is all too much; everything is too much. She wants—no, needs—to spend every moment with Lark. She also needs to make money to pay for lawyers and court costs and potential fines. And the legal fees are just a slice of the ugly pie. The money that remained from the sale of her grandparents’ house after Ruby bought the Jeep ran out years ago, but she has the small fund that Mrs. Levy left her to pay property taxes and maintain the house. She can work overtime at the salon, make more furniture. But all of that will be a drop in the rusted bucket of what Ruby will owe. And she’s not going to be doing nails or making furniture in jail.
    Money isn’t the only thing driving her, though. Even if she had all the cash in the world, Ruby is afraid that if she doesn’t keep doing these regular things, if she doesn’t keep putting one foot in front of the other through the dailiness, she’ll never move again.
    Finally, she manages to engage her brain and put the car in gear.
    At the house, Molly greets her with a shrug. “Come on, Daisy,” she says to her black Labrador. “Playdate’s over. Let’s go spring Dudley from the doggy salon.” Clyde follows them outside, to re-mark his territory around the porch, no doubt.
    Her daughter’s eyes bore into Ruby before she crosses the room. “Why did you have to tell?” Lark sits stonily on the sofa. “Why couldn’t you just pretend you didn’t see the article? Why did you do this to me?”
    Ruby knows that Lark isn’t really looking for answers; her daughter just needs to vent. Still Ruby tries to comfort her. “Oh, baby bird. I didn’t do this to you, to hurt you….” She sits on the sofa next to Lark.
    Lark flinches when Ruby reaches toward her. “Why didn’t you just tell someone back then? Why didn’t you give me to the police?”
    Ruby lays her arm across Lark’s shoulders anyway. “That was my plan, at first. But then, then the way you looked at me…” She tells her how infant Lark puckered her satiny mouth into a little pink heart and made a pitiful kitten mewl, how Ruby reached over to brush a tress of duck-down hair across that velvety forehead, how Lark grabbed her wrist, wiggled her fingers into Ruby’s palm, and didn’t let go.
    “I looked into your precious baby face and I saw…”
    “What? What did you see?”
    Ruby can’t speak this part, especially not to Lark, how at that moment, a flash of memory from many years before pulsed at her from a cobwebby corner of her mind. With that memory searing her scalp and baby fingers