Read Online Pascal's Wager by Nancy Rue - Free Book Online Page A

the nagging thought that there was something more fundamentally wrong with my mother than the blues.
    My biggest clue was the abyss that had formed itself betweenus. I’d always complained about the distance she kept from me emotionally. We’d never been affectionate with each other—I couldn’t imagine anything more phony. And we’d certainly never “bonded”—a word I disdained anyway. But in the past when we’d been together, she had always focused her attention on me. Sure, she was usually critical, but at least she
saw
me. There had been a connection, even if it made me want to scream.
    Right now there was no connection at all. Throughout my hike from Escondido Village to Sloan Monday morning, I couldn’t fix Nigel and the new thesis proposal in my head. All I could picture was the look on my mother’s face when I left the night before. She was sitting in her study reading when I finished the supper dishes and went in to say good-bye. She looked up at me from the book in her lap, and I fought not to gasp. For a moment, the vibrant intelligence that had always given her eyes life was gone. Her face looked absolutely flat.
    The moment had passed then, but it wouldn’t leave me alone now. And it had to. I had Nigel’s face to worry about.
    He wasn’t in his office yet when I got there, so I put my new proposal in his box and tried to jam myself into the teaching-class compartment. Nothing doing. Tabitha showed up about five minutes after I got back to my desk. There was evidence in the puffed-up slits that she’d been bawling her eyes out. However, crying hadn’t slowed down her speech patterns any.
    â€œHi, Ms. McGavock,” she said. “I know I don’t have an appointment, so if you have other stuff you have to do right now I can come back later, but I thought I’d try to catch you before you got too busy because I really need to talk to you.”
    â€œSure,” I said, giving the stack of yet-to-be-looked-at homework papers only one pointed glance. “What’s up?”
    â€œI’m just—” The gangly arms flapped as if the poor kid were trying to take flight. I motioned toward the chair.
    â€œThe tutoring’s not helping?” I said as she skated her way over.
    â€œOh, no, I think it is. You’ve been so supportive and everythingand I think I’m getting the problems better—but I thought if I could just, like, talk to you about this other thing, it might help me concentrate better because I’m just
really
freaked out.”
    â€œI can see that,” I said dryly.
    I opened a drawer and pulled out a purse-size package of Kleenex, which she accepted gratefully. She managed to get a tissue out and blew her nose.
    What am I now, a guidance counselor?
I thought.
Don’t they have people with master’s degrees to handle this kind of stuff?
    â€œDid you try what I suggested?” I said. “Did you find a study carrel in the library?”
    She nodded, fingers still pinching the Kleenex over her nostrils.
    â€œDidn’t help, huh?”
    â€œOh, yeah, it did! Like I said, you’re so good at all this. That’s not the problem. The problem is, I’m
so
homesick!”
    I groaned inwardly. Maybe if I looked at my watch about twenty times she’d get the hint that I did not want to play Mommy this morning. I restrained myself and nodded. Active listening, my mother had always called it.
    â€œI knew I’d be a little bit homesick. You know, miss my parents and my brother and my dog and all my friends and some of my teachers—”
    â€œUh-huh.”
    â€œBut I thought I’d make friends here and be over it by now. I mean, it’s, like, October.”
    â€œIt
is
October,” I said.
    â€œBut there’s nobody here like me. I’m not expecting people to be my clones or anything, but everybody here is so into dating and partying and competing for