Mother's day

by MacDonald, Patricia J

  “And your husband,” said Phyllis.

  “Hmmm?”

  “Your husband must be very upset, too.”

  “Oh, yes,” said Glenda. She was warming to Phyllis. She seemed like a nice girl. A little naive, maybe. But being a reporter was a good job. Glenda hoped that Tiffany would get a good job someday and not be dependent on some man to support her.

  Phyllis’s face was a study in innocent curiosity. “Do you know why she left Bayland?”

  Glenda hesitated. What difference did it make to tell? She really couldn’t see why Bill was being so close-mouthed about it. He was putting on a good show about being upset, but, really, he was more ticked off at Linda than anything else. It was all going to come out in the wash anyway. And in this day and age, it was no disgrace to have a baby outside of marriage and give it up for adoption. Heck, with all the people having abortions, it was practically a noble thing to do. Oh, Bill would be mad at her when he found out she had told. But she could probably tell it a lot more kindly than he would. Besides, Glenda thought defiantly, I believe in freedom of the press.

  “Well, as a matter of fact,” she said, “I do know why she left. And it’s kind of an interesting story.”

  Phyllis leaned forward, a wolfish gleam in her eye.

  Greg Newhall opened the door with an attempt at a smile on his face. “We’ve been expecting you,” he said.

  “May we come in?” Walter asked politely.

  Greg ushered them into the house and pointed to the living room. “My wife and daughter are in there,” he said.

  Karen sat in the corner on the sofa. Jenny was slumped in the rocker, staring at the empty grate in the fireplace.

  “Sit down,” said Karen anxiously.

  Walter sat in an armchair. Larry stood in the doorway. “We’re here to ask you a few questions about Linda Emery.”

  Greg walked over and stood behind Karen. “We thought you might be wondering. I guess you know by now that she was the…that she was our daughter’s biological mother,” he said.

  Walter smiled thinly. “How long have you known about this?” he asked.

  Karen glanced up at Greg. “About two days now, I guess,” he said. “Three, if you count today.”

  “And you had not known the identity of the child’s mother before that time?”

  “No,” Greg said with a shade of disapproval in his voice. “I know these ‘one, big, happy family’ arrangements where everybody gets together and bonds are in vogue these days, but no…that was thirteen years ago. The mother’s identity, and ours—so we thought—remained anonymous.”

  “So, did you seek her out, or did she find you?”

  “She found us,” said Greg shortly.

  “Did she say how she found you?”

  “She mentioned a private investigator,” said Karen.

  “I see,” Walter murmured, making notes on his pad. “So, essentially she just called you out of the blue and said she was Jenny’s real mother.”

  “She showed up here, actually,” said Karen. “On Sunday, Mother’s Day.”

  “Were you angry about that?” Walter asked smoothly.

  Karen was finding it difficult to smile or keep a tremor out of her voice. She could feel Greg’s hands pressing down on her shoulders, as if to steady her. It was a good thing he had warned her to anticipate these questions. Greg was right—she felt guilty and apologetic under police scrutiny, even though she had nothing to hide.

  “Well,” she said carefully, “a little notice would have been good, I suppose. But, you have to realize, this was someone Jenny had wondered about her whole life. It was a great thing for her to finally meet her biological mother.”

  Jenny wiped tears away from her eyes but avoided looking at her parents or the policeman.

  “Is that right, Jenny?” Walter asked. “Were you happy to meet her?”

  “Yes,” said Jenny in a small voice. She was pushing the rocker back and forth with one foot.

  “And your parents didn’t mind,” he said.

  Jenny’s eyes flashed angrily and she pursed her lips. “I guess not,” she said.

  “Detective, do you have children?” Karen asked. From his spot in the doorway, Larry let a little exclamation of dismay escape his lips. Like everyone on the force, he knew about Walter’s tragedy. Karen looked up at the young officer, puzzled by his reaction.

  Walter hesitated and then said, “No, ma’am.”

  “Well,” Karen stumbled on, flustered by the offended expression on Officer Tillman’s face, “when you have a child, you want whatever makes them happy. That becomes your number one priority.”

  “Even if it’s someone else claiming to be their mother,” said Walter.

  Karen took a deep breath. “She was Jenny’s mother.”

  “But surely this must have been very upsetting to you,” Walter persisted.

  “Stop baiting my wife,” Greg exclaimed, “She told you how we felt. We were happy for Jenny’s sake.”

  Walter glanced up at Greg, his eyes wide. Then he proceeded calmly. “Did she tell you who the father was?”

  “She didn’t say,” said Karen. “We didn’t ask.”

  Walter nodded. “And when was the last time you saw Linda Emery?”

  Karen looked at Jenny, who refused to meet her eyes. “I guess when she brought Jenny home yesterday afternoon. They had lunch together at Miller’s restaurant.”

  “Did you see or talk to Miss Emery after that?” Walter asked Jenny. “Did any of you?”

  “No,” said Jenny. Greg and Karen shook their heads.

  Walter stood up. “I think that will be all for now. We may be back later, however.”

  Greg stiffly led the two men to the front door. Karen looked at Jenny, who was rocking furiously in the chair, her face dark as a thunderhead.

  The voices receded, and then they heard the front door slam. Jenny stood up from the chair and met Karen’s eyes for the first time. “You hypocrite,” she said. “I hate you.”

  Greg came into the room. “I think that went pretty well,” he said.

  “Excuse me,” said Jenny bitterly. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  Mary Duncan stretched in her bed and yawned. Sometimes she thought the best thing about owning a restaurant was that you got to sleep late in the mornings. Miller’s only served breakfast on weekends, so weekday mornings were the most leisurely time she had. Sam generally got up first and went out for the paper and doughnuts for them, while Mary made the coffee. Of course, everything would change if they had a baby. No sleeping in for them. No more late nights at the restaurant, either. At least not for Mary.

  Mary rolled over and buried her face in the pillow. Who am I kidding? she thought. We’re never going to have a baby. With Sam it was always some excuse. The timing was wrong, finances were tight, something. Sometimes she could not believe that they had been together all these years and still no children. And these days there wasn’t much chance of her conceiving anyway, since they hardly ever found the time to make love. Seeing Linda with that child had thrown her into a blue funk. It reminded her of how the years were passing. And what did she have to show for it. Her father’s restaurant and a husband who was obsessed with the business. She had been sure that Sam really loved her when they got married. They were young, of course, and Mary was inexperienced, but still. He was no Romeo. He just announced his love for her, and that was it. But, over the years, sometimes…If Miller’s restaurant hadn’t been part of the bargain…

  Mary heard the front door of the condo open, and she forced herself to get up and out of bed. She pulled on her bathrobe and tied it, calling out, “I’m sorry about the coffee. I’ll put it on now.” She shoved her feet into her slippers and padded out into the kitchen. The bag of doughnuts and a newspaper were on the table. Sam was standing by the sink, looking out the window onto their view of the harbor.

  “I’m sorry,” said Mary again. “I just couldn’t seem to get myself out of bed.”

 
Sam turned and looked at her, and his round face was very pale.

  “What’s the matter?” she said. “You look awful.”

  “I heard some bad news at the bakery.”

  “What? Sam, don’t make me nervous. Tell me.”

  “You better sit,” he said. “It’s about your old friend Linda Emery.”

  “Our old friend,” she corrected him. “She was your friend, too, back then.” Sam glanced out the window again, as if pained by her remark. Mary felt a sudden chill run through her. She took her husband’s advice and sat down. “What is it, Sam?” she said. “Tell me quick.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  The Bayland Library was a Federal-style brick building, surrounded by flowers and shrubs, which sat on the corner of an intersection across from the Washington Street Park. Jenny rode up on her bicycle and lifted the bike into the rack beside a bed of geraniums alongside the building. Peggy had called her from school and offered to meet her there after school got out. Jenny jumped at the chance to get out of the house and away from her parents. She needed to talk to a friend, someone she could confide in, anyone but her mother and father. Every time she thought of that interview with the police that morning, she wanted to hit something. Or someone. It was as if she were seeing a side of her parents that she never knew existed.

  She sat down on a bench under a flowering pink dogwood tree to wait for Peggy. When Peggy called from the school cafeteria she said all the kids were talking about the murder. Of course none of them but Peggy knew about Jenny’s connection to the victim. Peggy had assured her that she didn’t mention anything about it. She was a good friend like that. Besides, she was someone you could really talk to. She had problems with her own parents that were pretty bad.

  “Jenny?”

  Jenny looked up, startled, and saw a woman she did not recognize approaching her. She had short, blondish hair and a friendly smile. Jenny frowned at her. Yeah?”

  “Excuse me, Jenny,” said the woman. “I’m sorry to bother you. Your mom said I might find you here.” Oh,” said Jenny.

  My name is Phyllis, Jenny. I…I was a good friend f Linda Emery’s from way back in grammar school days,” Phyllis Hodges said, lying with practiced ease. She was counting on the fact that Jenny would not be able to judge the age difference between herself and Linda Emery. All grown-ups looked alike to a kid, she figured. Phyllis had been watching the Newhall house ever since she talked to Glenda Emery, and when she saw Jenny pedaling away, she had followed her to the library. “Linda called me the other night when she got to town,” she went on in an unctuous tone, “and we had a great conversation. It was so good to hear her voice ‘ again.”

  Jenny smiled wanly. “That’s nice,” she said.

  L “She told me all about you, Jenny. About coming back here to find you and all.”

  “She did?”

  “She was very proud of you. She said she wanted me to meet you, but, well…you know what happened. I’m just so heartbroken.”

  “Yes,” said Jenny glumly.

  “Look, Jenny, I know you’re probably on your way into the library to study…”

  “My girlfriend’s meeting me here, actually.”

  Phyllis sighed. “Linda and I used to meet here when we were your age. We’d sit and talk, or go get a soda or something. Those were the days.”

  Jenny felt awkward. “Well,” she said, “it’s nice to meet you.”

  “I wonder, Jenny…I mean, if it wouldn’t be too much of an imposition…”

  “What?” Jenny asked warily.

  Phyllis pointed to the spot on the bench beside Jenny, as if requesting permission to sit down. Jenny shrugged. Phyllis perched gingerly on the seat beside her. “Well, it’s just that I never did get to see her, and I feel so bad about it. I feel like I missed my opportunity and now I’ll never have another chance to see her again. If you could spare a minute, tell me what she was like, fill me in a little on her life and all that. I mean, I know this is a bad time for you, but it would mean so much to me.”

  Jenny glanced at her watch. Peggy wouldn’t be along for a little while yet. And the idea of sharing what she knew about Linda with this old friend was appealing. Here was someone who really cared. And Linda would want her to do it.

  “Okay,” she said. “Sure.”

  “That’s great,” said Phyllis. She exhaled a little sigh and sank back against the bench. Jenny gazed across the street at the park, abloom with azaleas and flowering fruit trees. Her eyes suddenly filled with tears. Sometimes she and Peggy would walk through the park and toss pebbles in the pond and talk about their deepest secret thoughts. She suddenly pictured Linda there, at her age. “Did you two tell each other your private secrets and stuff?” she asked Phyllis.

  “Oh, sure,” said Phyllis. “We’d talk about our fantasies, what we wanted to be and all that. I didn’t even get around to asking Linda on the phone what she was doing.”

  “She worked in a big store, in the clothing department,” Jenny said promptly. “In Chicago. She worked her way up to a manager.”

  “That sounds like a good job. She always liked clothes,” said Phyllis blandly, taking a stab that seemed pretty likely to hit the target.

  “That’s what she said,” Jenny exclaimed. Then she said warmly, “What did you become?”

  Phyllis hesitated. “Well, actually, I became a writer.”

  “That’s neat,” said Jenny. “What do you write?”

  “All kinds of things. I’m working on a book,” said Phyllis airily. “But let’s talk about Linda. Did she look the same?”

  “I don’t know how she looked when you knew her,” said Jenny.

  “No, of course not. That was a silly question. I guess I just meant did she look healthy and happy.”

  “I don’t know.” Jenny shrugged. “Everybody said she looked a lot like me. And she had pretty clothes.”

  “Oh, it’s true. You really do remind me of her,” said Phyllis. “That’s how I knew who you were the minute I saw you.”

  Jenny smiled, pleased.

  “I’ll bet you were surprised to find out she was your real mother.”

  Jenny nodded, a faraway look in her eyes. “I’d always imagined what she’d be like. But she was even better than I’d imagined.”

  Good quote, Phyllis thought. This article was going to be a heart-wrencher. “So,” she said sympathetically, “it was a wonderful surprise for her to turn up. What did your parents think about her? Were they excited, too?”

  Jenny snorted derisively. “Yeah, thrilled,” she said.

  Phyllis’s antennae went up. Go slow, she thought. “Well, you know, parents can be touchy about certain things.”

  “Touchy,” Jenny exclaimed. “My mother practically threw her out.” She shook her head. “It really made me mad. I mean, here she was, my real mother, finally showing up, and Mom had a fit over it. She didn’t even try to be nice to her.”

  Phyllis proceeded cautiously. “Linda didn’t mention that. But, knowing her, it must have hurt her feelings quite a bit.”

  •

  “It did,” Jenny said, grateful for this sympathetic adult’s ear. “She tried not to show it, but I know it did. Me and Linda were a lot alike, and it made me feel horrible. But Mom didn’t care.”

  “Well,” said Phyllis, “maybe she just felt a little jealous of Linda. You know, another mom on the scene.”

  “It was a lot worse than that,” Jenny confided. “She didn’t even want me to see Linda or talk to her or anything.”

  “She didn’t?” Phyllis felt a rising excitement. A good tear-jerking sidebar was one thing, but this was something else. Jealousy and hate were better than sentiment any day of the week. This had both. And there was no telling what she could make of it with the right slant. “You know, moms can be very protective. Especially if they have only one child. Or do you have brothers and sisters?”

  “No,” said Jenny. “Well, my mom was pregnant, but she lost the baby.”

  “W
as that when you were little?”

  “Oh, no, it was only about a month ago. And she’s been really bummed out ever since.”

  “That’s too bad,” said Phyllis. Her palms were beginning to sweat. “Women can become very depressed, almost unbalanced, when they lose a baby.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Jenny agreed. “Having this baby was going to be like a miracle. And then when she lost it, she became like a zombie. I was really sad for her when it happened, even though it wasn’t even a real person and I couldn’t really understand why she wanted a baby, being so old and all. But I tried to be sympathetic and help her out around the house and everything. And then, when my real, actual mother gets murdered, my mom can’t even pretend to be sorry. I almost think she was glad.”

  “Oh, I’m sure that’s not so,” said Phyllis, squeezing the girl’s forearm. “Why would she be glad about such a thing?”

  “I think she was afraid I’d like Linda better than her,” said Jenny bluntly.

  Phyllis had all she could do to keep the elation she felt from showing on her face. This was beautiful. And the kid was just dropping it in her lap.

  Just then a pudgy girl with glasses rolled up on her bicycle and came to a stop in front of them. “Hey, Jen, she said, looking owlishly at Phyllis.

  Jenny’s face broke into a sweet smile. “Hey, Peg.” She turned to Phyllis, who stood up immediately. “This is my friend, Peggy. Peg, this is Phyllis. She was a friend of my real mom’s.”

  “Nice to meet you,” said Phyllis.

  “Hi,” said Peggy.

  “Listen, I’m going to leave you girls. I know you have a lot to talk about. Jenny, this has really meant a lot to me.”

  “It was nice talking to you,” said Jenny.

  “I’m very sorry for your loss,” she said, extending her hand.

  Jenny shook it and said gravely, “Thanks. I’m sorry for yours.”

  Phyllis felt the smallest twinge of guilt at that. But it vanished as she headed for her battered Volvo parked around the corner. A good reporter does what she has to do, she reminded herself. She could hardly wait to get;