Anything Is Possible(35)

“I don’t understand anything,” Angelina said finally.

“No. I don’t either.”

Mary reached for her daughter’s hand. And yet to Mary came the sudden knowledge—how stupid she had been not to see this before—that her daughter would never forgive her for leaving her father. Not in Mary’s lifetime. And Mary’s lifetime was not very long anymore. But the knowledge was terrible—and yet in Mary’s head was that twang again, she was angry—!

Please.

Angelina said, “Mom. I don’t want you to die. That’s the whole thing. You took from me the ability to care for you in your old age, and I wanted to be with you if you died, when you die. Mom. I wanted that.”

Mary looked at her, this woman with the creases by her mouth.

“Mom, I’m trying to tell you—”

“I know what you’re trying to tell me.” And now Mary had to be careful. She had to be careful because this girl-woman was her daughter. She could not tell her—this child she loved as much as she had loved anything—that she did not dread her death, that she was almost ready for it, not really but getting there, and it was horrifying to realize that—that life had worn her out, worn her down, she was almost ready to die, and she would die, probably not too long from now. Always, there was that grasping for a few more years, Mary had seen this with many people, and she did not feel it—or she did, but she did not. No. She felt tired out, she felt almost ready, and she could not tell her child this. And she also felt terror at the thought. She pictured it—lying here in this very room while Paolo rushed about—and she was terrified, because she would not see her girls again, she would not see her husband again, and she meant their father, that husband, she would not see all of them again and it terrified her. And she could not tell her daughter that had she known what she was doing to her, to her dearest little Angel, she might not have done it.

But this was life! And it was messy! Angelina, my child, please—

“You didn’t even take the money Dad owes you from the divorce—in the state of Illinois, you could have had some money.”

Mary said, “But, honey.” She paused, looking for the words. Finally she said, “When you fall in love you get into some”—Mary waved a hand upward—“bubble or something. You don’t think. But why should I have his money? I never earned a penny of it.”

Angelina thought, You’re a dope, Mom.

Mary shook her head slowly and said, “I’m a dope.”

Angelina said, “Well, if you had taken the money, I could visit you, that’s one thing you could have done with it.”

Mary said, “I understand that. Now.”

“And why do you say you didn’t earn it? You raised five girls, Mom.”

Mary nodded. “I always felt that I was at the mercy of your father and his family. Like I was a kept woman. I should have had a job. But why would I have had a job? I don’t know what you and Jack have done about finances, but I’ll tell you, Angelina, it’s a good thing you’ve always worked. It makes things a lot more fair between two people.”

Angelina said, “Jack’s going to come back.”

“Jack left? I didn’t know he’d left.” Mary pulled back to look at her daughter.

Angelina said, “I don’t want to talk about it, but things were my fault too. So he’s coming back. When I get home.”

“He left?”

“Yes. And I don’t want to talk about it.”

But Mary was really frightened now; her chatty little Angel, who used to tell her everything, all the nights putting her to bed, the baths drawn—whoosh, it was gone, gone! “Honey,” she said after a moment, “it’s none of my business, but was there another woman?”

Angelina looked at her mother with a sudden stoniness. “Yeah.” And then in a moment she added, “You.”

“What do you mean?” Mary said.

“I mean, the other woman was you, Mom. I couldn’t get over your leaving. I couldn’t stop talking about you. And Jack said I was in love with my mother.”

“Oh, honey. Oh dear God,” said Mary.

“He left over a year ago, and I was going to come see you last summer, but he kept saying he might come back, so I stayed home, but now he really is going to come back.”

Angelina allowed her mother to take hold of her, and Angelina wept on her mother’s chest. She wept for a long time. Every so often she made a sound of such terrible pain that Mary felt removed from it. Finally, Angelina lifted her head, wiped at her nose, and said, “I feel better now.”

They sat together on the couch for many minutes, Mary’s arm around her girl. Mary ran her other hand over Angelina’s leg. Then Mary said, “You know, when I first saw you in these jeans I thought maybe you were having an affair.”

Angelina sat up straight. “What?” she said.

“I didn’t know it was with me.”

“Mom, what are you talking about?”

Mary said, “Well, honey, these jeans are kind of tight for a woman your age, and I just thought—you know, maybe—”

Angelina began to laugh, though her face was still wet. “Mom, I bought these jeans special for this trip. I thought women in Italy wore— I thought they wore sexy things.”