I'd Give Anything(20)

And then there was the fact that she was sounding like a wiseguy reporting on a stakeout to her mafia don.

“Mom, why are you digging up information on Cressida’s family?”

“The medical leave story is possibly false. There may have been drinking involved. Or drugs. Who knows?”

A burning started up in my stomach.

“Hold on, Mom. Stop.”

“The girl is bright, an A student with Ivy League–ish aspirations. Apparently, she applied early decision to Vanderbilt. She’s beautiful in the manner of cheap blondes. Probably, they could afford St. Michael’s when her father was employed, but now, Vanderbilt would probably be a real stretch.”

“There’s financial aid,” I said.

“There is. Perhaps you’d like to sit down with Peter Wall and discuss his finances, maybe help him fill out the financial aid forms? Or how about a personal loan to help foot the bill for dear Cressida’s tuition.”

I held up my hands.

“None of this matters. Why are you even—?”

“The point is that they are in reduced circumstances,” she said. “They need money.”

“Who cares? This is about Harris!”

“Obviously it’s about Harris. I suspect the girl got her father involved or perhaps it was the other way around.”

“Involved in what?”

“The plan to trap Harris into giving Cressida money.”

“No, no, no, no. The plan is for you to whisper in a few ears, tell people that Harris got confused, that he was only trying to help Cressida, that he made an honest mistake.”

“Maybe it was planned from the beginning,” said my mother, continuing as if I’d never spoken. “Maybe the idea evolved once it became clear that Harris’s generous heart and his natural fatherly concern made him an easy mark. In any case, she flattered him, spent time alone with him, batted her eyelashes, et cetera. She began to ask for gifts, money. She gave him a woe-is-me story about her father’s having been fired and vaunted her oh so admirable goal to attend a top-ranked college. It’s possible that she hoped Harris would set up a fund for her.”

“You’re going to spread the rumor that Cressida Wall, high school girl, plotted to have sex with a forty-five-year-old man in exchange for a 529 plan?”

My mother ignored me. “When that didn’t work, because Harris is a devoted family man, her father, one assumes, persuaded her to get Harris into an awkward and easily misconstrued position in order to blackmail him.”

I felt sick. “What father would urge his child to throw herself at a middle-aged married man?”

“A desperate one. Mind you, he may not have gone so far as to persuade her to offer sex to Harris.”

“May not have? Her father didn’t actually do any of this, did he?”

My mother gave me a thousand-yard, dead-of-winter stare.

“And blackmail? She’s eighteen years old!” I said.

“I know that kind of person, Virginia, and she will stop at nothing.”

I knew that kind of person, too.

“Please tell me that you haven’t shared this—narrative. It’s all hypothetical at this point, correct? You haven’t already launched this smear campaign.”

“Your concern for the Walls is touching,” replied my mother, not sounding at all touched.

“Listen to me. Stop. Cressida is a little girl, just like Avery. Leave her alone.” Saying this and remembering Harris’s voice when he talked about Cressida, a human child, someone’s daughter, made me shudder.

To my surprise and relief, my mother said, “All right, fine. I understand, Virginia. I don’t share your sentimental concern for the very people who have disrupted your life, but I understand. I’ll only do the minimum of what needs to be done so that we can all sleep better at night.”

I would’ve bet money that my mother had never lost a night’s sleep over anything. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you.”

“Please remember, Virginia, that I do what I do for the greater good, always for the greater good. But I don’t enjoy it.”

I reached out and touched her hand.

“Mom. Are you okay?”

She smiled, a genuine smile. For a moment, the etched, trembling pain in her face got lost in her mischievous luminousness, and for a fraction of a second she turned her hand over and held mine. “Okay. Sometimes, I enjoy it.”

“That’s more like it.”

She slid her hand away.

“Can we move on now?” she said.

I considered. “Soon, I think. I would like to. The problem is that I’m not sure where to move on to. I hate to have my marriage end this way, but I also can’t imagine staying in it. But I’m afraid of what our splitting up will do to Avery. I mean, the two of them aren’t even talking right now, but I’m sure that her parents’ divorcing would hurt her. Maybe we should hang in there until she goes to college? But does that feel right? Natural? I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

My mother made an impatient sound in her throat. “Fascinating issues, all. Plenty of food for thought. But what I meant is can we move on to a new topic of conversation.”

I laughed. “Sure.”