Anything for Her(75)

When the U.S. Marshal decided to move them again, this last time, Allie realized that her mother had felt important again. She wouldn’t be in danger if what she’d done hadn’t counted.

Glorying in once again being the center of attention, she hadn’t noticed how miserable her daughter was. She hadn’t begun to understand why her son had chosen to stay behind.

“Thank you for telling me,” Allie finally said, softly. A waitress approached, her concerned gaze on their untouched salads, but Allie gave her head a slight shake and the waitress stopped then retreated.

Mom had quit crying and mostly mopped her face, although she looked terrible. “In the end, it all went so wrong,” she said, almost inaudibly.

“We can’t know what would have happened if you’d said no,” Allie was surprised to hear herself say. “Maybe you and Dad would have split up anyway. It doesn’t sound like you were very happy in the marriage. And Jason might have sided with Dad no matter what.”

“And you?” There was a great deal of pain in her mother’s eyes. “You might be soaring.”

“Or I could have been injured and had to give up dance,” Allie said prosaically. “You were right. That was always a possibility.”

“Can you ever forgive me?”

Can I? Allie wished she could say, Of course, and mean it. The honest answer was I don’t know.

“You know I love you,” she said instead.

Her mother’s smile was crooked and more sad than pleased. “I know.” She drew in a big breath and looked down at her salad. “I suppose we should eat this.”

“Our salads look really good.” Of course, Allie had no appetite at all right now, but she nonetheless picked up her fork and took a bite.

How did she now say, Mom, the past is one thing, but I’m not sure I can forgive you if I lose Nolan because I can’t tell him the whole story?

And then it struck her: What if Mom had to admit that likely no one was looking for her anymore, not after all these years? That they weren’t looking because she wasn’t that important? If she was forced, finally, to let go of her belief in the choice she’d made. Think of the guilt she’d suffer. Would she be able to bear it?

Chest aching, Allie asked herself, Can I do that to my mother?

She didn’t know.

They ate a few bites in near silence. The blotches gradually faded from Mom’s face, although the lines seemed permanently carved deeper. Allie gradually realized how odd she felt. Maybe this was a case of being careful what you wish for. She hadn’t wanted to know that her mother had resented her for being special in any way.

And yet she did understand how Mom had felt. Allie hadn’t recognized that her grandparents were sexist enough to have devoted their praise and hopes and resources to their son while stinting their daughter. She had entirely misinterpreted those sharp voices she’d overheard coming from the kitchen. The fact that her granddaughter was interested in feminine arts like tatting had pleased Nanna, since her own daughter never had been. Maybe even Allie’s dancing had seemed girlie enough to be acceptable.

What might Mom have done with her life, if she’d been encouraged to go to college and maybe even grad school? It was entirely possible that Mom was smarter than Dad. Had it especially rankled that Dad had inherited his position and the company that carried his name?

Maybe.

And do I blame Mom for that?

No.

Allie knew enough had been said today. Her mother had broken. She’d see herself as having lost her dignity. Allie couldn’t bring herself to plead for more.

“You know, if we hustle we can still make that movie,” she said, and Mom visibly wrapped herself in a semblance of her usual self-possession.

“Oh my,” she said, glancing at her watch. “You’re right. Why don’t you see if you can catch the waitress’s eye?”

Allie lifted her hand, glad she had an excuse not to have to continue to pretend enthusiasm to eat. “Here she comes now.”

“My treat,” her mother said, reaching for her purse.

“Thanks, Mom,” she said, as soon as the waitress moved off with Mom’s credit card. “We have enough leftovers to give us our dinners, too.”

Her mother ruefully agreed. A moment later they both accepted take-out containers and scraped their mostly uneaten salads into them.

Walking out, Mom remarked disparagingly on the antiques-and-consignment store that shared the building.