“I guess she means well.”
“Yes, she has a good heart. It’s just that her social skills need work.” She motioned toward the living room. “Come in, dear. Do you want something to drink?”
“No, thanks.” She gazed at her mother closely. “You look tired.”
“I haven’t been sleeping too well. I suppose that’s natural.”
“That’s exactly what I came to talk to you about.” Nicole took her mother’s arm and led her into the living room. “Sleep.”
“You’re not sleeping well, either?” Phyllis sat down on the couch, crossing her long, sleek legs. “You should have been a Rockette with those fabulous legs,” Clifton used to tell her. “Or maybe in the Folies-Bergère. You would have made hearts melt in those scanty little outfits.”
“Clifton, you are full of more nonsense than any man alive!” Phyllis would huff, but she couldn’t hide her pleasure at the compliment. Nicole had always been aware that her mother made a special effort to look nice for Clifton, careful to change clothes and freshen her perfume and makeup before he came home. And once, when she was fourteen and alone in the house, she’d sneaked into her parents’ room to look in the dresser drawers. When she opened one drawer, her mouth literally dropped open at the sight of her mother’s nightwear. She’d been both astonished and embarrassed by the sexy negligees with labels from Christian Dior. For the next two weeks she kept picturing her mother in the scanty nightwear and, to Phyllis’s bafflement, Nicole couldn’t look at her without either blushing or bursting into torrents of adolescent giggles.
“I’m sleeping all right,” Nicole said, deciding not to mention her strange dreams or the intruder. The latter would elicit an unending campaign to make Nicole and Shelley move in with her. “It’s Dad’s sleep that I’ve been wondering about. Mom, was he having trouble sleeping in the weeks before…”
She stopped when she saw Phyllis’s face pale. “Nicole, do we have to talk about this? It’s so upsetting.”
“Yes, Mom, we do,” Nicole said firmly. “Every time I ask questions about Dad, you put me off. Now I insist on getting some answers.”
“I really don’t think it’s your place to insist.”
“I was his daughter, for God’s sake. It is my place and I’m not leaving until I get some answers.”
“Aren’t you the charming one this morning!”
“You’re not going to put me off with sarcastic remarks. I want to know. Was Dad sleeping badly?”
“All right, yes.”
“How about nightmares?”
Phyllis gave her a penetrating look. “Why are you asking me these things?”
“Kay. She told me Dad said he wasn’t sleeping well. He kept falling asleep in his office, and a couple of times he woke up in the middle of a nightmare. He was saying my name and something about how I could have been killed.”
“Kay shouldn’t have told you that.”
“I think she should have, and don’t you dare get angry with her because she did.”
“Nicole, I’m not quite the ogre you think. I’m not going to get angry with Kay. And yes, the same thing was happening here. Nightmares, calling out your name, waking up drenched in perspiration.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t think it was any of your business.”
“My father was in torment and you didn’t think it was any of my business?”
“Oh, Nicole, sometimes you simply wear me out. I get tired of arguing with you.”
“I get tired of it, too, Mom,” Nicole said softly. “Why can’t we, just for once, have a normal mother-daughter conversation?”
Phyllis stared at her. Nicole was aware of a mental battle going on behind her bright blue eyes. Then she sighed. “All right. If you want the truth, I’ll give it to you. Your father was still deeply troubled about your attack.”
“But why was it still troubling him? It happened so long ago.”
A tiny crease formed between Phyllis’s perfectly penciled brows. “Nicole, a parent never gets over their child being brutalized. I know I’m not open with my emotions like your father was, but do you think I haven’t suffered for you, too? Good lord, I can still barely stand to talk about it.”
Nicole looked at her in amazement. “I thought that’s because I’d embarrassed you.”
“Embarrassed! You thought my main concern was embarrassment?” Her mother closed her eyes and shook her head. “You and I have never been close, but I didn’t realize just how little you thought of me.”
“It’s not that I don’t love you, Mom, but I’ve never understood you,” Nicole said meekly.
“I suppose that’s partly my fault for always being distant with you. As I said, I’ve never been good at expressing emotion. But it’s partly your father’s fault, too. From the time you were born, you were his child. I know I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but he did everything he could to cut me out of your life. Maybe it was because he knew I couldn’t have more children, so he wanted the one we did have to be his alone.”
“That’s a terrible thing to say!”
“I’m not saying it’s true. I’m only speculating. But you must remember, Nicole, that your father wasn’t a saint. He dominated your time and constantly countermanded my rules.”
Nicole shifted uncomfortably. What her mother was saying was true. “Well, I certainly was Daddy’s girl,” she admitted reluctantly. “I wish I’d gotten a chance to know you better, Mom, but you didn’t make it easy.”
Phyllis seemed tense during the exchange, intimacy with her daughter still difficult. Perhaps forever impossible after so long, Nicole thought. She decided a quick change of subject was necessary before her mother retreated into her usual unapproachable shell. “Back to Dad’s nightmares, Mom. Why did he suddenly start having them? Was he sick?”
Phyllis abruptly stood and paced around the room, fingering the diamond stud earrings she wore. “I can’t believe that if your father were seriously ill, he wouldn’t have told me. Even if he wouldn’t, Harvey Weber, his doctor, would have. Considering how your father died, Harvey wouldn’t have clung to the ethic of privileged information between patient and physician.”
“You’re sure?”
“Absolutely. I talked to Harvey the day after Clifton killed himself. He assured me that there was nothing organically wrong with your father, although at his last checkup, just two weeks before he died, Clifton was showing signs of anxiety and depression. He said he suggested your dad see a therapist. Obviously the problem was even more serious than Harvey realized.”
“You didn’t tell me.”
Phyllis raised her hands in resignation. “I couldn’t talk about it. I didn’t want to talk about it.”
Nicole sat in silence for a few moments, absorbing what her mother had told her. Then she made a decision. “Mom, Kay says Dad was getting some strange mail.” She told her about the envelopes marked “Personal” and the final one which he had set on fire, but she couldn’t bring herself to divulge that a partial photograph of Paul Dominic had been left.
“I can’t imagine what could have been in those envelopes,” Phyllis said, coming to sit beside Nicole. “Could someone have been blackmailing Clifton?”
“Blackmail! Who? Why?”
“I don’t know. It was just a thought.” She sighed. “I wonder if all this letter business is as important as Kay is making it seem. Perhaps there’s no connection except in Kay’s mind.”
“I’ve never known Kay to imagine things, Mom. She’s fairly literal.”
“Usually, but you can’t have missed the fact that she’s not well.”
“Hardly. She looks awful.”
Phyllis hesitated. “She didn’t want anyone to know this, but your father found out. She has cancer, Nicole.”
“Cancer!”
“Yes. She has a brain tumor and she let things go on too long. It’s inoperable. She took chemotherapy treatments for a while. You’ve probably noticed her hair is always suc
h a perfect little cap of curls—it’s a wig. She only has about four months to live.”
Nicole felt as if she had been kicked in the abdomen. “Oh, no,” she moaned.
“That’s why I’ve decided to sell the store. If she were in good health, I’d keep it and take it over myself. After all, Kay is only forty-nine and the store is her life. That and her cats. But with Clifton dead and Kay so soon to go—well, I just couldn’t bear to walk into the place with both of them gone.”
“I understand,” Nicole said sadly. “She doesn’t know that you know?”
Phyllis shook her head. “I try to act as if everything is perfectly normal. I even sat here and let her help Carmen put away the food after your father’s funeral because it’s what she would expect of me.”
A tear trickled down Nicole’s face. “It just isn’t fair, Mom. She had such an empty life—just the store and a few kids she gave piano lessons to, and some cats.”
“She had your father.”
Nicole looked at her mother warily. “You don’t suspect an affair between Dad and Kay?”
“No, but Kay was in love with him. She always has been.” Nicole’s eyes widened. “Oh, don’t look so surprised, dear. Even you knew it long ago. When you were a little girl, I happened to be passing your room and heard you telling Carmen you thought Kay had a crush on Daddy.”
“Secrets certainly weren’t safe with me.”
“I wouldn’t say that. You certainly kept your involvement with Paul Dominic a mystery.” Nicole flushed. “You also kept quiet about the problems in your marriage.”
“There weren’t really any until—”
“I know what you’re going to say,” her mother interrupted, “but you’ll never convince me there was nothing wrong until Roger suddenly met this young slut at the university.”
Nicole smiled ironically. “Okay, Mom, you’re right. Things had been going downhill for about three years. Nothing major. As far as I know Lisa is his first affair and there was never any violence, but lots of arguments, then lots of silence.” She hesitated. “Mom, as long as we’re being so honest, Roger said he thought you were more angry than grief-stricken about Dad’s death.”
“Well, score one for Roger. He’s brighter than I thought.”
“Then it’s true? You’re angry about Dad’s death?”
Phyllis looked away. “His death. You mean his suicide!” she said vehemently. “And yes, I am angry. I’m furious!” She twisted her hands, looking out the window. “I know what everyone thought. ‘How does genial, gentle Clifton put up with that tartar of a wife?’ ”
Nicole took a breath, wanting to deny what her mother said, but she couldn’t because it was true. “Well, today you want honesty so you’ll get it,” Phyllis went on. “It was your father who was the strongest one of us. When we were dating, most people believed my father would disapprove of him. General Ernest Hazelton, the man of iron, wanting his daughter to marry a man whose dream was to own a music store?” She laughed harshly. “The other officers at Fort Sam Houston thought it was either a joke or that Father was losing his mind.
“But Nicole, your grandfather saw something in Clifton that the other officers didn’t—his strength. He also saw Clifton’s intelligence and his devotion to me. He’d raised me to be strong because my own mother was so fragile, but he knew I was too strong for most men, that they would not tolerate me and the marriage would be destroyed. Father was a devout Catholic, so when I married, he wanted me to marry for life. He wanted for me someone who appreciated my strength but could control it. He also never wanted me to be a military wife, moving from base to base. And most important, he wanted someone who would put me, not his career, first. That’s what Father did, moving us all over the world, always putting his career above everything, and it broke my mother. She was the saddest woman I’ve ever known. I think she was relieved to die when I was only fifteen. My father didn’t want the same fate for me.”
“You never told me all this,” Nicole said in wonder.
“We’ve never really talked. But maybe now you understand why I’m so angry. Clifton was ideal for me. He put up with all my idiosyncrasies and bossiness and critical nature and old-fashioned ideas and loved me anyway. It may not have looked like it to outsiders, but our marriage was just about as perfect as a marriage can be. And then, the man I’d depended on, leaned on, adored for thirty-seven years, crept out of our house one night while I slept and shot himself in the head. He didn’t even leave a note, Nicole.” For the first time in her life, Nicole saw her mother’s blue eyes fill with tears although her voice turned fierce. “Clifton Sloan, loving husband and father, didn’t even have the decency to leave his family a goddamned note!”
Eight
1
“And thus ends our section on Hawthorne.” Avis Simon-Smith, fiftyish, reed thin with large dark, baggy eyes, gave the students a narrow-lipped, insincere smile. “Dr. Chandler will be back tomorrow. I do hope you’ll all be especially nice to her after the tragic suicide of her father. As if she hasn’t had enough trouble this year.”
Miguel Perez closed his notebook and threw the woman a baleful look. Did she have to emphasize that Dr. Chandler’s father had committed suicide? Couldn’t she just have said “death”? And by mentioning Nicole’s “other” troubles, she was purposely reminding everyone of Roger Chandler’s affair. Miguel had taken Dr. Simon-Smith for one other class and not cared for her. Now he positively disliked her.
“I hope you’ve gained something from our sessions,” Avis went on in a falsely pleasant voice. Students had begun to rise from their seats but now collapsed back into them when they realized she wasn’t ready to shut up. “I’m sure you all know I walked into this class cold, no time for preparation, and I am teaching four other sections, which is a full load. It has been quite a strain, let me tell you, but I was glad to help out Dr. Chandler.”
Yeah, sure you were, Miguel thought.
The students started to rise again. Class was supposed to have ended two minutes ago, but Avis continued. “Now that I’ve imparted to you an appreciation of Hawthorne, I hope all of you will read The Scarlet Letter.”
“I think I’ll rent the movie,” one student wisecracked, leaving although they hadn’t formally been dismissed. “I’d rather see Demi Moore rolling around naked in the hay than read about some chick in a gown with a giant A sewed on her chest.”
Other students twittered, but Avis Simon-Smith was not amused. She was rarely amused by anything she hadn’t said, and she shot the student a withering look, which went unnoticed by almost everyone piling out of the room.
Later in the day, as Miguel prowled an upper hall of the Humanities and Business Building searching for Nicole’s office so he could slip a “Welcome Back” card under her door, he passed Dr. Simon-Smith standing in the hall talking to another professor whose name he thought was Silver. The woman looked slightly younger than Avis and carried a load of papers under her arm. Just as Miguel located Nicole’s door, Avis began speaking loudly.
“I simply get sick of all the breaks she gets around here, Nancy.” Fretful lines made her thin, plain face look almost ugly. “When I started here, I was allowed to teach only Basic English and Composition for two years. Two full years. But she prances in with her pretty face and blond hair and good figure and in the second semester she’s teaching Major American Writers.”
The other woman, balancing her own papers and a mug of coffee, gave her a placating smile. “Avis, you must remember that we had a different department director when you came. He had a few pets and they got all the good classes. The rest of us were treated like dirt. Thank God he didn’t last long.”
Miguel hovered at Nicole’s door, pretending to study the office hours posted. Then he stole a look as Avis shifted to her other foot, planting a hand on a razor-sharp hipbone. “Oh, Nancy, you know she’s getting preferential treatment. A whole week off because of a death in the family! And is it fair for a totally inexperienced teacher to be given
Major American Writers?”
Another stolen look told Miguel that Nancy Silver looked uncomfortable. “Avis, you got a week off when your mother died. And Nicole isn’t inexperienced.”
“Oh, that’s right,” Avis sneered. “She taught one whole year in Ohio.”
“And she had an article published on Fitzgerald in a prestigious journal.”
“I read it. Trash. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.” Avis paused. “I’m beginning to wonder if she’s as free with her sexual favors as her husband. If so, unlike Roger she has the sense to give herself to administrators, not students. Maybe that’s why she’s doing so well in the department.”
Miguel’s fists clenched. Jealous bitch. Suddenly he realized she was staring at him. “Did you need something, young man?”
He met her eyes, his own cold. “No. I was just leaving something for Dr. Chandler.” He bent to slip the card under the door.
“Stop! That should be taken to the office.”
“I’d rather leave it here.”
“I said it shouldn’t be left there.” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “Down the hall in the office.”
Miguel shoved the envelope under the door, stood, and walked past her without a word.
“Honestly!” Avis huffed. “Some of these Mexican kids are so arrogant!”
“Avis!” the other woman gasped. “What an awful thing to say. He heard you!”
“I don’t care. It’s true and he knows it.”
“Avis, you’ve been a friend for a long time, but you’re getting out of control. The department director has already spoken to you about your unseemly comments.”
“As if I care what he thinks! I should have his job and he knows it.”
Nancy Silver shook her head. “A word of advice, Avis. If you don’t tone yourself down, one of these days that bitter tongue of yours is going to land you in big trouble.”
2
Shelley was in her bedroom, supposedly asleep, but probably watching something totally unsuitable on television. Nicole knew she should check, but it was nine-fifteen and she sat at the kitchen table, frantically composing her introductory lesson on Melville. She’d planned to have it done an hour ago so she could go over material for her other classes, then get to bed early, but the talk with her mother had destroyed her concentration for the rest of the afternoon. She felt as if she’d had a conversation with a woman she’d lived with over half her life yet never knew.
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