Behind Every Lie(75)

I poured the tea through a mini strainer into my mug, dashed a bit of milk in, and sipped it. It tasted a bit funny. I checked the milk’s expiration, but it was still in date.

“How’s Eva?” she asked.

“I haven’t heard from her much lately,” I admitted. Our relationship was rather like dark energy these days, a black force pushing us apart rather than drawing us closer together. “Ever since she moved away, to be perfectly honest. Perhaps I was too brusque with her after what she went through,” I said. “I suppose I wanted her to be strong, to learn to trust herself again. But I reckon it backfired in my face.”

“Not to worry. I’m sure she’ll come around.”

But I did worry. I’d realized long ago that when it came to Eva, I always would.

“Do you ever think we should tell her the truth?” she asked. “Perhaps it would help if she knows who she really is, now that she’s experienced childbirth and loss.”

“I’ve thought about it.” I blew on my tea. “But I reckon after all this time it would confuse her more than help her.”

“Perhaps you’re right.”

I rubbed my chest, which was tight, coiled like a wire. My heart throbbed against my rib cage. I took my tea to my armchair and looked out the living room window at the night sky, a blue-black canvas of stars rippling in the distance.

Out there in the expanse of our solar system, there was a cosmic laboratory, each planet’s position, size, atmosphere, and composition creating a world wholly different from its neighbors. Perhaps it was the same with humans—different parents created different children. Perhaps if I had been a different mother, a kinder mother, more sympathetic and compassionate, Eva would have fared better.

“I wasn’t very good at it,” I said slowly. “Being her mother. You know, I worried when I was pregnant with Andrew that I would love him more than I loved Eva. But I don’t. I never did. I discovered that the heart is an ever-expanding organ. Metaphorically, of course. I love them both equally, but in different ways.”

“Some relationships flow easier than others. I’m sure she knows you love her, Kat.”

“I worry that you would have been better for her. I’ve always worried that.”

A stunned silence came down the phone. “Why did you fight so hard to keep me away, then?” she asked finally.

I shook my head, trying to form the right answer. “I’m afraid it is an utterly selfish reason. I wanted to prove that I was worthy as a mother. I suppose I thought it would make up for failing my Eva. I let Laura slip into Eva’s identity, but I couldn’t let her take her place in my heart. I’m afraid I failed her, and you as well. Can you ever forgive me?”

“Forgive you?” She laughed. “You kept her safe! Mother is a verb, not DNA. The world is quite eager to give women criteria for what makes a good mother, but you said it best all those years ago, Kat. We have to make the best choices for our child. You loved Eva and you kept her safe. One day she’ll grow up and understand and forgive our failings and see that we did the best we could.”

“Do you ever regret it?” I asked. “Letting me raise her?”

“A million times,” she replied honestly. “But she didn’t need to suffer for my mistakes. Life is difficult, it’s complicated and beyond anyone’s total control, but I think it all works out all right in the end.”

I heard a muffled knock on the other end of the line.

“Listen, I must dash,” she said. “That’s my date for dinner tonight.”

“Certainly.”

“I’ll speak with you soon,” she said, her voice soft. I imagined, just for a moment, that I could feel her lips brushing my cheek, the faint scent of lemons tangling in the air. My heart crunched, and I stiffened, speechless with a yearning that had never quite disappeared.

“Good-bye,” I said, more abruptly than I’d intended.

And a moment later, she was gone.





thirty-nine

kat




that night

IT HAD BEEN RAINING off and on since last night, and now it seemed the storm was worsening. The trees were writhing and flailing, the wind churlish and angry. Drops of icy rain tumbled through the night. I hurried from my car to my front door, fumbling with the lock, my fingers oddly thick and clumsy. Inside, I slipped out of my wet coat and changed into a thick cardigan. The cold had seeped into my very bones.

I longed desperately to go to bed with a hot water bottle. The pain in my head was dreadful and I felt quite ill. But I had papers to grade, so instead I headed upstairs to my office.

I sat at my desk and watched as withered leaves tore past the window. A far-off rumble of thunder rolled closer. My head was throbbing dreadfully, my vision still plagued by those odd yellow halos. I stared at the papers, troubled and unable to concentrate.

I thought back to dinner earlier this evening. Andrew, as always, appeared to be doing well in his job as a corporate lawyer, and Eva seemed … happy, I supposed. Just quiet. No, quiet wasn’t the word. Eva used to be so very vibrant and full of life. And now she seemed a shadow of that girl, unbearably uncertain of herself. Perhaps that was the root of my deep sense of unease.

I stood and peered briefly through my telescope. The narrow scope was still focused on Bill’s living room. I had been looking at the three largest moons of Jupiter last week when I’d inadvertently seen Jacob administering a dose of medicine to Bill, his hand cupped behind his father’s head. The scene had been so unbearably tender I hadn’t looked away for a long moment. Now Jacob was slumped on the couch, watching TV as Bill slept.