Runaway Vampire (Argeneau, #23)(88)
Mary frowned. She hadn’t considered that problem. Biting her lip, she glanced toward the offices along the wall, and then peered back at the woman. After a hesitation during which she considered trying some of the mind control business on the woman, Mary sighed and shook her head. She had no idea how to control minds, so there wasn’t much use. “No. I don’t.”
“I’ll see if she is available,” the woman said politely, and started tapping numbers on her phone as she asked, “It’s about a loan?”
“Yes,” Mary lied and then simply waited, her gaze sliding over the offices again in the hopes of catching a glimpse of her daughter. She was almost hungry for the sight. Her little girl. A kaleidoscope of memories slid through her mind. Janie as a baby, a toddler, taking her first steps. She was a grown woman now, in her thirties, with two daughters and a husband, but she would always be Mary’s baby.
“She has a few minutes.”
Mary swung back to the receptionist at that announcement to see that she’d stood and was gesturing for her to follow as she moved out from behind the reception counter and headed for one of the offices. Mary followed quickly, incredibly nervous at the thought of seeing Jane . . . which was ridiculous. She was her mother.
“Here you are,” The receptionist said, leading her into a small but tidy office. The girl handed the slip of paper to Jane and then left the room.
Mary noted that she’d left the door open and considered closing it, but then left it and turned to peer at her daughter. She was a pretty girl, her dark hair framing a round face with bright green eyes. They looked nothing alike, but that had never mattered to Mary.
Janie smiled at her politely and gestured to one of the two chairs in front of her desk, “Please, sit, Ms. . . .” She paused to glance down at the slip of paper the receptionist had given her and Mary’s smile faded. Janie hadn’t recognized her of course. But then she looked totally different, she reminded herself. Still, she’d hoped . . .
What? Mary asked herself dryly. You thought your daughter would recognize some twenty-five-year-old-looking gal as her sixty-two-year-old mom? Dream on. And what are you even doing here? Mary asked herself. She couldn’t turn her daughter, couldn’t explain about nanos and immortals and whatnot. What had she hoped to gain from coming here to see her?
“Alice Bonher.”
Mary glanced up to see that Jane was reading the name from the slip of paper the receptionist had given her.
Jane smiled crookedly. “That was my mother’s maiden name. Small world, huh?” she commented with a smile as she took her seat.
Mary tilted her head slightly. “That was your mother’s maiden name?”
“Yes. She died last week when her RV crashed and exploded.”
Mary blinked at the bald announcement, and then realizing she should respond, murmured, “I see.”
But she didn’t see at all. Well, she did see a bit. Obviously Lucian or one of his men had done some mind-control nonsense and made everyone believe that she’d died in the RV crash, which was handy and even sensible. What she didn’t understand was how her daughter could talk about her death with so little emotion. There was no grief, no sense of loss at all. She’d used the same tone Mary would have used to say she’d visited friends last week.
She frowned over that and was starting to grow upset when it occurred to her to wonder if this too wasn’t Lucian’s work. Could they have done something to Janie to make her accept the death more readily?
Mary glanced to her daughter, and seeing her questioning look, cleared her throat, and asked, “Was the funeral nice?”
“Oh, there was no funeral. There was no body. She burned up in the fire. They couldn’t even separate her ashes from the ashes of the RV.” Jane sighed and then admitted, “We’re considering buying a plot, putting up a tombstone and holding a funeral ceremony, but it will have to wait until I go to Winnipeg next month.”
“Next month?” Mary asked with dismay.
“Well, there was no sense rushing off to have it right away. We don’t have a body, and the ceremony is only for myself and my brother and our families.”
“That’s it?” Mary asked, appalled. “What about her friends? Surely they would want to attend?”
“Yes, but they all kind of abandoned her when Dad died. I think the other women were nervous of having a newly widowed woman around their husbands. Mom was a good-looking woman, young for her age and witty.”
“Oh,” Mary sat back and smiled slightly at the comment. She’d never really seen herself that way. It was nice to know her daughter did.
“It’s probably better she died anyway.”
Mary blinked and stared at her with horror. “What? Why?”
“Because Dad was her whole life. She was terribly lonely when he died. I’d hate to think of her sitting alone and miserable in some little apartment in Winnipeg with no friends or anything.”
Since that had been the future she’d foreseen for herself, Mary shouldn’t have been upset at her daughter’s envisioning it that way too, but she was. Scowling, she said with irritation, “Maybe she would have made new friends, or found a boyfriend.”
“No way,” Jane said emphatically, and then grimaced and said, “I have a friend whose mother did that. Started dating and acting ridiculous after her husband died. She wears clothes much too young for her: tight jeans and low-cut blouses.”