Read Online The Black Stiletto: Stars & Stripes by Raymond Benson - Free Book Online Page B

before I could get up or say anything, she turned her head and looked at me. She had tears in her eyes. She reached over with one hand and placed it on mine, which was resting on my knee.
    â€œI’m sorry,” she said. A drop rolled down her cheek.
    â€œMom, it’s okay. What’s wrong?” I asked. Then I felt like
I
was going to cry.
    â€œI understand,” she said as if she was right there on my wavelength.
    â€œYou do?”
    â€œShe was—”
    Oh my God
, was my mom about to say something about the Black Stiletto?
    â€œWhat, Mom? What was she?” I found myself becoming more anxious and choked up.
    Mom wrinkled her brow. Whatever was on the tip of her tongue was inaccessible. She struggled for a moment, trying to put it into words. She squeezed my hand.
    â€œFor the sake of the baby,” she said.
    â€œWhat? Mom, what? What was for the sake of the baby? What baby?”
    â€œHad to stop.”
    â€œStop? Stop what? Being the Black Stiletto? Is that what you’re saying?”
    At the mention of the name, she turned back to the television and the tears flowed freely.
    â€œMom?” Despite my growing alarm, I got up and put my arms around her. “It’s okay, don’t cry.”
    At that moment, a nurse knocked on the open door and came into the room. “Everything all right in here?” she asked cheerily, but then she saw us and became concerned. “Is everything okay?”
    I let go of Mom and said, “Oh, my mother’s upset about something. I don’t know what it is.”
    The woman came over to Mom and said some encouraging words and asked her how she was doing. Mom replied appropriately and seemed to settle down as the nurse took a tissue and wiped her face. I explained that she just started crying for no reason, but I knew that was something that can happen with Alzheimer’s patients.
    As the nurse gave Mom her attention, I made an excuse to leave, for I couldn’t handle being in the room any longer. I’d felt something painful pass between my mom and me. Perhaps that empathy thing she has was working. She felt
my
anxiety and didn’t know how to respond to it. So I said goodbye, kissed Mom on the cheek again, and got out of there.
    Maybe Maggie’s right and I
should
call a shrink.
    When I was home that night, I decided to phone Carol. The ex. She works as an administrator for a medical group, so I figured I’d ask her if she could recommend a psychiatrist. Her group is in my health insurance’s network of providers, and as much as I was loath to tell Carol I had an anxiety disorder, she’s the only other person besides Maggie that I know around here who I could talk to about it. Maggie didn’t know anyone in my network.
    Carol and I have a cordial relationship. After all, we share a terrific daughter. Our time together in New York when Gina wasrecovering from the assault was awkward, to be sure, but I think we were both glad the other parent was present. I can’t be around Carol for an extended period of time, but we don’t hate each other like some divorced couples.
    She greeted me on the phone with a noncommittal, “Oh, hi, Martin, how are you?”
    Lying, I said I was just fine and then asked if she’d heard from Gina.
    â€œI talked to her yesterday,” Carol said. “She’s doing okay, I guess. Her schoolwork is going well and she feels better. Her jaw isn’t as sore.”
    â€œThat’s good to hear.”
    â€œBut, I don’t know, when I talk to her she seems to dwell on the assault a lot, have you noticed that?”
    I hadn’t. “Don’t you think that’s only natural? It’s only been a little over a month. She just got her jaw unwired.”
    â€œI know, but when I talk to her she always brings up the police investigation. How they haven’t caught anyone yet, how they’re dragging their feet, how there’s a serial