The Truth About Forever(95)

"It's one week," Caroline said. "It's not forever."

"I can't leave," my mother repeated. "I'm sorry." And she walked back into her office, stiffly, and shut the door behind her. I listened for the familiar noises—the squeak of her chair rollers, the phone being picked up so she could deal with Rathka, the keyboard clacking—but heard nothing. It was like she'd just disappeared.

My sister, gulping back tears, turned and pushed the front door open. "Caroline," I said, but she was already outside, walking down the front steps.

I thought about going after her. I wanted to be able to say something that would make everything okay, but I had no idea what that might be. It's not forever, she'd said, but to my mother, it might as well have been. She had made her choice, and this was it, where she felt safe, in a world she could, for the most part, control.

My sister was in her car now, wiping her eyes: I watched her as she cranked the engine, then drove away from the curb. As she moved away, I could see the sign across the street in full view now, and I read the rest of it. NEW PHASES COMING SOON! it said. And then, as if it was easy, or a good thing, always: COME CHANGE WITH US.



My mother was still in her office, silent, when the clock hit five and I stood up to leave. I thought about knocking at her door, even asking if she was okay, but instead I just gathered up my things and slipped out the front door, shutting it behind me hard enough so that she'd hear it and know I was gone.

As I came up our front walk, I saw the box on the front porch: small, square, parked in the direct center of our welcome mat. Waterville, Maine, I thought, even before I got close enough to check the return address. I picked it up and took it inside with me.

The house was quiet, cool, as I went into the kitchen, put the box on the counter, then found the scissors and cut it open.

Inside, there were two pictures: the first was of a belt loop sporting a huge, cluttered key ring that looked like it weighed about a hundred pounds. Then in the second picture, there was the same belt loop, but now attached to it was a square plastic box that looked sort of like a tape measure. Along one side, though, was a series of tabs, each a different color. Frustrated with your old, clunky key chain? asked the bright print below. Get rid of it! Get organized. Get the EZ-Key!

Apparently, with the EZ-Key, you could color code each of your keys, then attach them to a retracting cord, so that you only had to pull them out, unlock whatever needed unlocking, and zip! they shot right back into place. It was a good idea, really, I thought as I turned the box in my hand, rereading its breathless copy, but then they all were, at least on the surface.

About an hour later, as I was sliding some chicken breasts into the oven, my mother called.

"Macy," she said, "I need you to get me a phone number."

"Okay," I said, starting toward her office. "Let me just get your phone book."

"No, I think you know it. It's for that woman, Delia. The woman you worked for."

"Delia?" I said.

"Yes."

I just stood there for a second, waiting for her to offer an explanation. When she didn't, I said, "Why…?"

"Because," she said, "Rathka has just quit, and every other catering company is already booked for next Saturday or on vacation. This is a last resort."

"Rathka quit?" I asked, incredulous.

"Macy," she said. "The number, please."

I knew there was no way Delia would do it: she hadn't booked any jobs since Avery had been born, and it was way short notice. But with the way my mother's day had been going, I figured it was better not to point this out. "It's 555-7823," I said.

"Thank you," she said. "I'll be home soon." And then there was a click, and she was gone.





* * *





Chapter Nineteen





My sister stayed away for a full week, completely and totally incommunicado. She stopped answering her cell phone and ignored all emails, and when we finally got through on her home phone, it was always Wally who answered, his voice stiff and forced enough that it was immediately clear not only that he had been coached to say she was out but that she was standing right there behind him as he did so.

"She'll get over it," my mother kept saying, each time I relayed my thwarted efforts to reach her. "She will."

My mother wasn't worried, even if I was. There were other, bigger concerns on her mind now. And they all had to do with the gala reception.

It had started with Rathka quitting, but that was only the beginning. In the six days since, it seemed like everything that could go wrong had done just that. When the landscapers came to work on the yard, one of their riding mowers went haywire, ripping up huge clumps of grass and taking out a few shrubs in the process. They did their best to fix it, but the topography remained uneven. Just crossing from the garage to the steps felt like walking over little mountains and valleys. Half of the invitations we'd mailed came back due to some postal error, which meant I had to drive around one hot afternoon, hand delivering them to mailbox after mailbox. The next day, the string quartet cancelled, as three of the four had come down with food poisoning at an outdoor wedding.

The night before the party, however, my mother's luck seemed to be changing. The guys from the party rental place arrived early to assemble the tent. We stood and watched as they put it up and set up the chairs and tables beneath it, both of us braced for some sort of crisis. But everything went according to plan.