The Many Daughters of Afong Moy(82)

“Is everything okay?” Dorothy asked, wishing she were somewhere else. Perhaps back on a ship somewhere in the Andaman or South China Seas.

Louise spoke first. “My son has been telling me about these special treatments you’ve been undergoing. Experimental treatments. Frankly, he’s worried…”

“He shouldn’t be,” Dorothy said. “Believe it or not, they’re helping.”

“Obviously.” Louise rolled her eyes.

“If this is about the cost,” Dorothy countered, “I’m sure I can work out some sort of payment plan with the clinic. My doctor even joked that I’m such a good patient, she should be paying me. Besides, it’s my health and my body and I’m working on it my way. I’m sure, I mean I hope, neither of you has a problem with that.”

Neither Louis nor his mother smiled anymore.

“Look, dear,” Louise continued. “I know things haven’t been great between you two for some time. Sometimes that’s normal. Other times there are—shall we say—unforeseen circumstances. But I can assure you, his concern for your well-being is…”

“Louise…”

“He said you’ve been acting erratically. I know some people have postpartem depression, but Annie is five years old now, so we’re left to surmise that these treatments of yours are only making your already tenuous relationship with reality all that more difficult and, well, what I’d like to discuss is…”

“Louise—” Dorothy insisted.

“He said you’re having certain mood swings. Anger issues and—”

“Louise, if you’re not going to fucking let me speak, then let him.”

Both of them looked shocked and offended. Victimized. Dorothy hated losing her temper, but she was tired and emotionally drained from her day. Almost as much as she hated the wordless exchange she observed between mother and son. The nervous glances and the subtle, disapproving shakes of their heads to each other. Dorothy felt cornered, outgunned. She’d first felt that way in the second grade when two kids on the playground took her lunchbox and tossed it back and forth, playing keep-away until Dorothy punched one of them in the stomach. Then she immediately began crying. The vice principal called Dorothy’s mother, who never picked up her phone or even bothered to show up. The vice principal handed Dorothy a note to be signed by her mother, but she threw it out the bus window on the way home and no one ever mentioned it again.

Louis cleared his throat. He held up his hand just as his mother was about to speak, again. “You’re absolutely right. I should be the one leading this conversation. This affects me far more than—” He glanced sheepishly at his mother, who looked at him as if to say, Fine, get on with it. “Dorothy, I’ve tried to be patient with your…” He searched for a polite word for what he really wanted to say. “Your artistic eccentricities. But I’m legitimately concerned that your attention has been occupied elsewhere. You don’t have to explain yourself. I’m not accusing you of anything, though I suppose I could. Look—I’ll be the first one to admit that I haven’t been the most supportive partner…”

“You think?” Dorothy crossed her arms.

“But that’s not the issue,” he said. “If we can’t work things out, I get that. That’s comprehensible. We gave it a shot. But what I’m more worried about is a certain kind of behavior, which isn’t acceptable if you’re going to remain Annabel’s mother.”

Remain?

He took out his mobile phone, glanced at Louise, who nodded, then pressed a button on the screen. He turned the phone around so she could see a video of Annabel on the ferry, standing alone, then walking away. He turned the volume up, and Dorothy imagined the room swaying as though she were back on board. She felt fearful, tearful again as she heard the passengers yelling, screaming. Then she saw herself in a moment of panic push through and grab their daughter just as she swung her leg over the top railing. She saw herself angrily shaking Annabel, then hugging her, squeezing her.

Dorothy’s eyes welled with tears. She took a deep breath, rubbed her temple as though she could erase those memories. “You don’t understand…”

“Oh, I think we do,” Louise huffed. “You’re simply unfit to be a mother. It’s not your fault, dear. Our parenting skills are based on modeled behavior.”

“Wait.” Dorothy looked up. “Why do you have a video of me? It was a terrible, hysterical moment, but certainly not enough to go viral.”

Both of them stared back.

Dorothy crossed her arms, her mouth hanging open in disbelief. “Did you actually hire someone to follow me?”

“It wasn’t him, dear,” Louise said. “It was me.”

“It was my idea,” Louis added, with a hint of regret.

“Yes, but I’m the one who paid for it.” She patted her son’s knee, then looked back at Dorothy. “I’m the one who just filed a protective injunction for Annie. And I’m the one who’s going to be taking my granddaughter with me to Spokane in the morning. It’s either that or we’re going to be showing this video to a judge and arguing for full custody of Annie as well as a restraining order against you.”

Dorothy said, “Wait a minute…”