What Has Mother Done?

by Barbara Petty

  Thea raised her right hand to her neck. She felt a thin gauze covering it. Tried to swallow. It hurt.

  Aunt Dorothy reached for Thea’s hand and lowered it to the bed. “And you were dehydrated and suffering from exhaustion.”

  “Huh.” Thea wasn’t interested in this litany of her injuries. She knew all about them. But there were things that hurt worse. Don’t think about Beryl. Don’t. Too painful.

  Then another memory pushed its way into her consciousness. Something surprising. And nice. She ran her fingers over her lips. That kiss. Had it really happened? “Uh, Jerry Anderson,” she said weakly. “Has he been here?”

  Aunt Dorothy pulled Thea’s hand away again, then patted it reassuringly. “Dorothea, I told that young man not to bother you until you were fully recovered.” Then she added, “You need rest, not an interrogation from the police.”

  Thea struggled to sit up in the hospital bed, tugging at the IV attached to her left hand. “But I need to see him,” she said with as much urgency as she could muster. Then added, “I’ve got to tell him about Mattie. She was mentally disturbed. Her mother died, and she must have gone off her meds. Then she saw Fred Collins push George—”

  “You don’t have to talk about that now,” Annie cut her off, and with a gentle but insistent hand pushed her back down on the bed.

  Thea studied her friend’s face. Gone were the heavy dark circles under her eyes and the constant worry line etched in her brow. Gone was the haunted look. Relief had smoothed her face now that she knew it wasn’t her daughter who pushed George off Rivercliffs.

  “Try not to think about any of that stuff,” Annie continued.

  “But,” Thea protested, “I have to tell him about Cousin Bud and why Mattie did everything—”

  “Later,” Annie cut her off again. “You need to rest. Jerry Anderson can wait.”

  Thea stared at her. “He can?” She wondered if Annie could read her disappointment.

  “Well, he’ll be back soon enough to interview Beryl when she’s up to it,” Annie said.

  Thea sat up, then regretted the movement, but she didn’t care. “Beryl! She’s alive?”

  This time it was Aunt Dorothy who put a hand on Thea’s shoulder and gave her a gentle push. “Yes, dear. She’s up in Intensive Care. Her doctors were worried that she might need surgery, but she seems to be getting better without it. So we’re all optimistic about her condition.”

  Thea leaned back. “Thank God. I tried to call 911 for her—”

  “You did,” Annie broke in. “You got the call off before Mattie attacked you. The operator could hear you when you went down, and she already had the location from your phone. That’s what saved Beryl’s life. The paramedics got there fast enough.”

  “What about Mother?” Thea said. “Who’s taking care of her?”

  Annie and Aunt Dorothy exchanged a smile. “Oh, she’s fine,” Annie said. “She spent the night here, too. The nurses and the orderlies are all fussing over her—she’s a celebrity. You know, she survived what the tabloids are calling,” her voice changed into that of a mock news announcer, “Kidnapped by a crazed killer!” Annie chuckled. “She’s eating it up.”

  “Does she remember any of it?” Thea said.

  “Yes,” Annie said, her voice brightening. “Oh, yes. She remembers what you did for her. ‘Dottie saved me,’ she keeps telling everyone. ‘My Dottie saved me.’”

  “Oh!” Thea said, tears springing to her eyes. From somewhere deep inside her a warm fountain of emotion came welling up. It rose up from her muscles, her sinews, her very cells. She could feel it in the space between her atoms; she had opened up, had loosened the restrictions and resentments holding her back all these years. She welcomed that feeling with all her being. It was love, that intense, fierce love which had enabled her to fight Mattie for her mother’s life.

  It was still there—it hadn’t left her. It hadn’t just been the result of the situation. Now she knew it was a feeling that was a part of her even when the stakes weren’t a matter of life and death. It flooded through her. The love that had swept everything aside, all the past bitterness and anger toward her mother gone, forgotten in the determination to save her. It was the love that had changed everything. The love that had changed her.

  Aunt Dorothy stroked the back of her hand. “Did you say something, dear?”

  Thea gave her a wispy smile. “I’m glad she remembers,” she said. Tears were streaming down her cheeks and she let them flow. “So glad.”

  Auntie D. leaned closer. “What was that?”

  “When can I see her?”

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Barbara Petty was born and educated in the Midwest. After a sojourn in Paris during college, she went bi-coastal, starting in New York and then moving on to Los Angeles. She has been a newspaper reporter, a magazine editor and written animation scripts for TV shows such as Transformers, G.I. Joe and My Little Pony. She's also worked in the film industry, both on staff and behind the camera. What Has Mother Done? is her fourth published novel, and the first of the Thea Browne Mystery series.