All the Wrong Places

by Joy Fielding

  “I didn’t realize you slept in the nude,” her mother continued. “I always wanted to do that, but your father preferred pajamas, so I followed his lead.”

  “Mom! Focus! Why do you think you’re having a stroke?”

  “It’s my vision,” her mother said. “It’s kind of weird.”

  “What do you mean, it’s kind of weird? How weird?”

  “I’m seeing all these flashing lights and squiggly lines, and I remember reading that a change in vision is often the first sign you’re having a stroke. Or maybe a detached retina. What do you think?”

  “I think I’m calling nine-one-one.”

  “Really, darling? Do you think that’s necessary?”

  “Yes, Mom. I really, really do.” Paige grabbed her cellphone from the night table and pressed the emergency digits. “Try to stay calm,” she advised her mother, although she was the one on the verge of hysteria. She’d lost her father to cancer two years ago. She wasn’t ready to lose her mother, too. At thirty-three, she was much too young to be an orphan. “What are you doing?” she asked as her mother pushed herself off the bed.

  “I should probably get dressed.”

  “Sit back down,” Paige said, listening to the phone’s persistent ring against her ear. “Don’t move.” She threw her free arm into the air in frustration. “What’s the matter with these people? Why aren’t they answering the phone? I thought this was supposed to be an emerg—”

  “Nine-one-one,” a woman’s voice said, interrupting Paige’s tirade. “What is your emergency?”

  “My mother’s having a stroke.”

  “Well, it could be a detached retina,” her mother qualified.

  “We need an ambulance right away.” Paige quickly gave the dispatcher the address of her mother’s posh Back Bay condominium. “They’ll be here in five minutes,” she said, crossing to the en suite bathroom and throwing some cold water on her face, then applying deodorant before grabbing the first thing she saw in her closet and pulling it over her head.

  “That’s a pretty dress,” her mother said. “Is it new?”

  Paige glanced at the shapeless floral sundress that Noah had always despised. She quickly reminded herself that Noah’s likes and dislikes were no longer her concern. “No. I’ve had it a while.” She retrieved a pair of lace panties from the top drawer of her dresser and stepped into them, pulling them up over her slim hips.

  “You don’t wear a bra?” her mother asked.

  “Well, I don’t really need one,” Paige said, deciding that attempting a normal conversation was her mother’s way of assuring her that everything would be all right, that even if her retina was detaching or, God forbid, she was having a stroke, she would be fine.

  Except things weren’t fine. They hadn’t been fine in a while.

  “I never used to need one either,” her mother said, almost wistfully. She looked down at her more than ample chest. “And then suddenly, I get these. Now! When nobody’s looking. When nobody cares.”

  In other circumstances, Paige might have laughed. Now she could only fight back tears. “I care.” She sat down beside her mother and hugged her close.

  “You’re a good girl.” Her mother leaned her head against Paige’s shoulder. “I love you more than anything in the world. You know that, don’t you?”

  “I know.” Paige felt a pang of guilt. Not because she didn’t love her mother. She did. It was just that she’d always been more of a daddy’s girl, her father’s outsized personality having tended to overshadow everything in its path, even when he was on his deathbed. “I love you, too.”

  “Don’t you worry.” Her mother patted Paige’s knee. “I’ll be okay.”

  “You promise?”

  “I promise.”

  Paige smiled, knowing such promises were futile. Hadn’t her mother made the same promise when her father was first diagnosed with the cancer that would kill him barely a year later?

  “Don’t worry. Your father will be fine,” she’d assured both Paige and her brother, although it was doubtful that Michael, older than Paige by almost four years and a successful cardiologist in Livingston, New Jersey, had been as gullible.

  Her mother looked toward the bedroom door. “I should at least put on a robe.”

  “I’ll get it,” Paige said. “Don’t move.”

  “Bring a change of clothes for when they send me home,” her mother called after her as Paige marched toward the master bedroom down the hall. The July sun was already streaming through the automatic blinds in the living room, sending streaks, like bolts of lightning, across the beige marble floor.

  Her parents had moved into the two-bedroom condominium five years ago, downsizing from their six-thousand-plus-square-foot home in the suburb of Weston. (“Who needs such a big place anymore?” her mother had asked at the time. “You kids are long gone and the dog is dead.”)

  Had her mother always had this sardonic sense of humor? Paige wondered now. Why hadn’t she noticed before?

  The condo, located in one of Boston’s most prestigious neighborhoods, was spacious and modern, with floor-to-ceiling windows in the living-dining area as well as the library that had doubled as her father’s office and the small family room off the large kitchen. The two bedrooms were located off the main hall in the opposite wing of the apartment. Each room afforded an equally stunning view of the city.

  Paige cut across the ivory silk-and-wool carpet that covered the master bedroom floor, slamming her hip against one of the four posters of the king-size bed as she hurried toward the walk-in closet. Well, more a room full of closets, Paige thought, wondering if her father’s clothes still occupied the half that had been his, or if her mother had finally packed them off to Goodwill. Robert Hamilton had been such a natty dresser, whether wearing a suit and tie or more casual attire. And those socks, Paige thought with a smile. Years before it had become fashionable, her father had sported a huge selection of colorful, wildly patterned socks that were a perfect complement to his equally huge and colorful personality.

  Tears clouded Paige’s eyes and she brushed them aside. She missed her father so much.

  Was she about to lose her mother, too? Was everyone she loved destined to abandon her?

  “God, you’re a selfish bitch,” she muttered, retrieving her mother’s blue terry-cloth robe from a hook inside the closet, then selecting a pink cotton dress and some surprisingly racy underwear from the built-in dresser—had her mother always worn bikini panties and push-up bras?—and carrying everything back to her room.

  Not that the second bedroom had been meant for her. Originally, it was intended as a guest room, for whenever Michael and his family came to visit. But Michael’s busy schedule had precluded such visits happening often, and his wife had preferred staying in a hotel, so the room had stayed largely empty and unused. But then Paige’s father had died, and six months ago she’d lost her job, and two months after that, her live-in boyfriend had left her for another woman—well, technically, she was the one who’d had to move out—so Paige’s mother had suggested that she move in with her. “Just temporarily,” she’d stressed. “Until you’re back on your feet again.”

  Was that ever going to happen? Paige wondered now, entering the bedroom to find her mother standing beside the window, staring down at the tree-lined street ten stories below. “Mom, what are you doing? I told you to stay still.”

  “I’m just admiring the day. There isn’t a cloud in the sky.”

  “Can you see all right?” Paige asked. “What’s happening with your eyes?”

  “Still lots of fireworks. It’s kind of like one of those sound-and-light shows. Only without the sound.” Her lips curled into a weak smile.

  “You’re scaring me.”

  “I’m sorry, darling. That’s the last thing I want to do. I’ll be fine. I promise.”

 
The phone rang as Paige was helping her mother on with her robe. Paige listened to the concierge’s worried voice, then hung up the phone and took a deep breath before attempting a smile of her own. “The ambulance is here.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  “Joan Hamilton?” the man asked, entering the small, nondescript office and shutting the door behind him, his eyes darting between Paige and her mother. He was young and pleasant-looking, with a full head of dark, wavy hair. He wore a white coat over slim khaki pants and a navy-and-white-checked shirt.

  “That’s me,” Paige’s mother said, lifting her hand into the air and wiggling her fingers. She’d changed out of her pajamas into the clothes Paige had brought along.

  “I’m Dr. Barelli.” The doctor sat down behind his desk, smiling at the two women sitting across from him. “How are you feeling?”

  “I feel fine,” Joan Hamilton said. “A little foolish. My eyes are…well, they seem to be…fine.”

  Dr. Barelli opened the folder in his hands, scanning its contents as Paige and her mother watched him expectantly. Not that there was anything else to look at—the pale green walls were bare except for a generic reproduction of a boring landscape; the furnishings were minimal and strictly utilitarian; the desk was void of personal touches or family photographs; the window behind it overlooked a brick wall. Probably some sort of communal space, used for quick discussions and consultations. Still, the room was a welcome respite from the endless corridors and plastic chairs Paige had been sitting in since they’d arrived at Mass General. If she never saw another ancient edition of Star magazine, it would be too soon.

  It was approaching one o’clock in the afternoon. They’d been at the hospital almost five hours. Her mother had undergone a multitude of tests, including an MRI and a retinal scan, as well as a series of examinations to determine whether her heart was operating as it should. Technicians had drawn so much blood, Paige marveled that her mother had any color left at all.

  “Well,” the doctor began, looking up from his folder and smiling again. The smile sent creases up his cheeks to his eyes. “It’s all good news, from what I can see.”

  “Good news?” Paige and her mother repeated simultaneously.

  “Your blood tests are normal, boringly so, if you don’t mind my saying. Your blood pressure’s a little high, but nothing to be overly concerned about. Both your retinas are exactly where they should be. Your vision is excellent for a woman your age. As is your brain function and just about everything else that we tested for. In fact, you just might be the healthiest person in this place.”

  “Well, isn’t that lovely,” Joan Hamilton said.

  Paige gasped with relief. “But…her eyes…”

  “Classic ocular migraine,” the doctor explained.

  “A migraine?” Joan repeated. “But I didn’t have a headache.”

  “You’re lucky,” Dr. Barelli said, dark eyes sparkling.

  “I don’t understand,” Paige said.

  “Your mother experienced the aura that often accompanies migraines. They involve lots of squiggles and flashing lights, usually starting small and then building in intensity before petering out, usually in twenty to thirty minutes.”

  “That’s exactly what happened,” Joan Hamilton agreed.

  “They’re not uncommon, especially as you get older. And the good news is that they’re not serious. More of a nuisance than anything else. You might not have another one for years,” the doctor continued, speaking directly to Paige’s mother, “or you might have one tomorrow.” He went on to say that although there were many theories as to what caused them, no one really knew for sure, and that while medication could be taken, the auras usually disappeared before such medication could take effect, so it was preferable just to wait them out. “Of course, if you’re driving, I’d advise pulling over.”

  “That’s it?” Paige asked as her mother rose to her feet.

  “That’s it.” Dr. Barelli extended his hand across the desk for the women to shake.

  “An ocular migraine,” Joan said, almost proudly, as they waited for the elevator. “Who knew?”

  “You must be starving,” Paige said, speaking for both of them as they stepped onto the street moments later. She’d been surviving on black coffee since they’d exited the ambulance and, as far as she knew, her mother hadn’t had a thing to eat or drink since last night.

  “I’m famished,” her mother agreed. “Let’s go somewhere nice for lunch. Do you have time?”

  Paige checked her watch. She had a job interview at three o’clock, her first one in more than two weeks, so it was important she not be late. Normally she preferred being early, but she’d learned the hard way that being early wasn’t always a great idea. She closed her eyes, seeing herself tiptoe down the narrow hall of her old apartment toward the bedroom she shared with Noah, hearing the all-too-familiar laughter behind the bedroom door. “There’s a neat little café over on Charles Street,” she said loudly, trying to block out the sound of that laughter.

  “Why are you shouting?” her mother asked.

  “Sorry,” Paige said, hailing a nearby taxi.

  Unfortunately, the small café was crowded with tourists, drawn to the street’s reputation for quirky fashions and charming antiques shops, and they had to wait for a table.

  “Dr. Barelli was very cute, didn’t you think?” her mother said when they were finally seated and their order taken.

  “A little young.”

  “They’re all young. You’re young.”

  Paige’s cellphone rang before she could think of a suitable response. She reached into her beige canvas bag and extricated the phone, grateful for the interruption. Her mother meant well, but Paige wasn’t in the mood for one of her patented you’re a smart, beautiful girl, there are plenty more fish in the sea pep talks. “Chloe, hi,” she said to her oldest and best friend.

  “Can you come over?” Chloe said, wasting no time on unnecessary pleasantries.

  “Is something wrong?” Paige pictured her friend pushing her straight blond hair away from her pale blue eyes and chewing on her full bottom lip.

  “Only everything.”

  Shit, Paige thought, understanding the source of Chloe’s problems without having to be told. “I have a job interview at three. I can come over after that.”

  “Great. See you then.”

  “Something wrong?” her mother asked, repeating her daughter’s question as Paige returned the phone to her purse.

  Paige shrugged. “Only everything,” she heard Chloe say.

  “About the doctor…” her mother began. “I just meant—”

  “I know what you meant, Mom,” Paige interrupted. “But it’s not like I’ve locked myself away in some tower. I’m putting myself out there. I’m on a dozen dating sites. I’ve gone out with six guys in as many weeks…”

  “Maybe you’re being too picky.”

  “Maybe,” Paige said, too tired and hungry to argue. Was it being too picky to expect a man to be…honest? Were all men liars? “What about you?” she asked, turning the tables on her mother.

  “What do you mean, what about me?”

  “It’s been two years since Daddy died. Have you ever considered…?” She could barely finish the thought, let alone the sentence, the idea of her mother being interested in any man other than her father too ridiculous to contemplate.

  “Don’t be silly, darling. I’m an old woman.”

  “Seventy is hardly old. Not anymore. And you look fantastic. Dr. Barelli said you’re in great shape.”

  “For a woman my age,” Joan Hamilton qualified, although there was something in her tone that said the idea of her dating again might not be so preposterous after all. She patted the side of her stylish blond bob.

  “Maybe you should go on Match Sticks,” Paige said, feeling increasingly uncomfortable
and wondering why she was persisting. She looked around the restaurant’s small, dark interior for the waiter, wondering what was taking so long with their food. “Oh, God,” she said, suddenly burrowing down in her seat and covering the side of her face with her hand. Could this day get any worse?

  “What is it?”

  “Don’t look.”

  Her mother immediately twisted in her chair to look behind her.

  “I said don’t…”

  “Sorry, darling. It’s an automatic reaction when someone tells you not to look,” Joan Hamilton said sheepishly. “Did she see us? Is she coming over?”

  “Oh, yes,” Paige said, sitting back up and watching her cousin approach, reminded of the expression “it’s like looking in the mirror.” Except she was pretty sure that expression was intended to be ironic, whereas looking at her cousin actually was like looking in the mirror, so striking was their resemblance. Which probably wasn’t that surprising, considering that their fathers had been identical twins and the two girls had been born within days of each other.

  “Well, hello, you two,” Heather said, bending down to kiss her aunt’s cheek, seemingly unaware of the stiffening of Joan’s shoulders. “Fancy meeting you here.”

  Paige wondered whether the cliché was deliberate or if her cousin couldn’t help it, never having had an original thought in her life. She cursed herself for having forgotten that the office where her cousin worked was only blocks away.

  Or maybe she hadn’t forgotten. Maybe she’d been daring fate and fate had taken up the challenge, raising an invisible middle finger in response.

  “No hellos?” Heather asked. “Okay, well. Have it your way. How goes the job hunt?” She smiled at Paige, as if she were actually expecting an answer.

  Paige fought the urge to punch her cousin in the nose.

  Heather shifted her weight from one foot to the other, tucking her shoulder-length brown hair behind one ear. “Well, okay, then. Nice bumping into you two. Guess I’ll see you at the party.”