What Mother Never Told Me

by Donna Hill

  "I'm only the driver. I wanted to be sure she had a place to stay before I left."

  She turned to Parris. "There are still kind men in the world that will not take advantage of a young woman." She looked them over one more time. "Come in out of the rain."

  Amin carried Parris's bag inside. She turned to him.

  "I can't thank you enough." She went into her purse and took out another thirty American dollars. "Will this be enough?"

  "More than enough." He dug in his pocket and took out a battered card and handed it to her. "Keep this. Call whenever you need a ride around town."

  "I will."

  "I hope you find Ms. Emma tomorrow."

  Parris swallowed. "Yes, so do I."

  He gave her a slight nod of his head and turned to leave. The woman locked the door behind him then returned to Parris.

  "Let's get you checked in. My name is Marie."

  "Parris."

  She glanced at Parris from behind the desk, her fine brows arched in appreciation. "Like our beautiful city of lights?"

  "Yes."

  Marie looked her over. "It suits you." She opened the register to a blank page and turned the book toward Parris. "The room that I have available is the Orangerie. It's on the second floor. It has a lovely balcony with an exquisite view of the Cher River." She paused. "It is 110 euro. It includes breakfast until noon," she quickly added.

  "That's fine." Parris signed her name.

  "Perfect!" She took the book with a flourish and swept from behind the desk as if walking onstage for her close-up, Parris thought with amusement. She would discover later that Marie once had a fledgling career in theater before a scandal ran her out of town.

  "Follow me and I'll show you to your room."

  Parris trailed in Marie's heavenly scent as she was led to the end of the hallway on the second floor. Magically, Marie produced a key and turned it in the lock. Parris smiled inwardly, trying to recall the last time she'd stayed in any type of hotel setting where the room required a real key. Her purse was filled with key cards from an assortment of hotels from her various out-of-town trips.

  Marie opened the door in another grand gesture and switched on the light. Parris inhaled a soft gasp of delight. The room was adorned in warm earthy colors of gold, brown and burnt orange with sprinkles of sunshine yellow. The heavy drapes were pulled back in an arc on either side of the French doors that led to the balcony. She could just make out the halo of the moon from between the rain and clouds setting gingerly atop the fingers of trees and the curve of the hill in the distance. The centerpiece was the four-poster bed that stood high above the floor with dozens of pillows atop a thick satin quilt that captured all the colors of the room.

  "The bath is this way." Marie walked to what Parris thought was a closet and opened the door.

  The bathroom, complete with tub, shower, sink and bidet, was actually a level below her. Once the door was opened, one stepped down into the expansive bath that was nearly the length and width of the bedroom.

  She turned toward Marie, feeling her first moment of delight since she'd landed hours earlier. "It's wonderful. Thank you."

  "Breakfast is served in the dining room from six in the morning to noon. And we offer light refreshments from two until six. There's a heated pool, a car service to take you farther into town or to the rail. The remote for the television is on the nightstand. I'll have your phone turned on in a moment. The charges will be added to your bill. Uh, you didn't mention how long you would be staying?"

  The air of her momentary elation was sucked out of her. "I'm not sure. A couple of days."

  Marie waved her hand. "That is fine." She looked around. "Well, enjoy the rest of your evening." She swooshed out and closed the door softly behind her.

  Parris sat down on the embroidered footstool at the end of the obscenely large bed and looked around at her new home away from home. For the past three months she hadn't been in a place she could actually call her own. Although she'd stayed in her old room back in Rudell, it wasn't the same as having your own. Then it was on to Nick's place and now here. She expelled a long breath, shrugged out of her damp coat, took off her shoes and wiggled her tired toes. What she longed for was a nice hot bath, to ward off the chill and hopefully relax her muscles, which had tangled themselves into bands of anxiety. Then she would call Nick.

  Wrapped in the thick white robe provided by Le Moulin, Parris ran a towel through her wild, freshly shampooed hair, feeling renewed after soaking in the lavender-scented water for nearly an hour. She turned on the little heater that sat in the corner near the French doors and within moments the room was warm and toasty. She stripped out of her robe, found her lotion in her suitcase and took her time kneading and stroking her skin until she felt the hours of weariness drift off and true sleepiness settle in. She stretched and yawned before putting on her nightgown and sliding down between the cool sheets. Turning on her side, she reached for the phone and was relieved to hear the dial tone. She dialed the operator and gave him Nick's number.

  She curled on her side, listened to the phone ring on the other end and felt the pound of her heart bump back and forth between her chest and the thick mattress. The sound of his voice only escalated the banging.

  "Parris!"

  "Hi," she said on a breath, wishing she could see the expression on his face.

  "I've been going crazy waiting to hear from you. Is everything all right? Are you all right?"

  The questions were straightforward but they both knew they were laced with a multitude of meanings, from emotions that had yet to be fully verbalized, to the reason why she was a million miles away from anything familiar.

  "I'm fine. Tired but fine. I...I'm staying at a bed-and-breakfast. I went to the house," she began, hearing his question in the silence. "She wasn't there. But the cab driver knows her."

  "You're kidding."

  "Apparently she is well-known in town. She owns a bistro." She felt so odd talking about this woman, her mother, sharing kernels of freshly discovered details about her that others took for granted. Meeting people who knew who Emma was, what she did for a living, and she, flesh and blood, only knew hearsay. It was a sobering sensation.

  "At least you have a line on her, and the address that your grandmother gave you is still a good one."

  "Yes, that's true." She reached up and turned out the lamp on the nightstand. "Enough about me for now. How is everything with you?"

  He told her about taking Sam to the new club location and that he was as excited about it as they were. "Call me crazy," he said after spinning the details of the visit, "but if I didn't know better I'd swear something was popping between Sam and Celeste."

  "Get out of here! Sam and Celeste? Mr. 'The revolution will be televised' and Ms. 'Cover model for the uptown girl.'" She laughed at the incongruous image.

  Nick joined in the laughter. "I know, I know," he said, still chuckling, "But I was there. It was like watching one of those commercials where the couples are running toward each other across a grassy knoll in slow motion."

  Parris broke out into laughter again. "You need to stop."

  "I'm serious," he said, laughing even harder.

  "So...what did he say? I know you grilled him."

  "Actually, I didn't."

  Parris propped up on her elbow. "Why not?"

  "Sharing my suspicions with you is one thing, saying them to Sammy is a whole other story. He would flip if I was wrong and I'd never hear the end of it. You know how he is about 'crossing the line.'"

  "Hmm, that's true, which is why I find it so hard to believe that he would have the slightest interest in Celeste in the first place."

  "True. But...I know what I saw. It was the same kind of vibe when you and I are together," he said, his voice lowering.

  Parris felt her stomach flutter. "I wish you were here," she said on a breath of longing.

  "So do I. I had no idea how deep my missing you was going to get until I walked in this place and you we
ren't here. It's not the same without you."

  "I hope to get back soon. I wasn't sure about that before I left. I had this adolescent feeling that I'd meet my mother and she'd welcome me into her life with open arms and never want me to leave." She breathed deeply. "But after going to the house, having my hopes built up to a point that probably nothing could live up to them, I got brought down to earth...reality. No matter what happens, I have a life, too." Once the words were off her mind and out of her mouth, the truth warmed her like good brandy in front of a fire.

  "Baby, I couldn't be happier that you said that. But I want you to know that no matter how long it takes to work it out with your mother, I'll be here when you get back and if you need me, just pucker up your lips and blow."

  She giggled. "I'll keep that in mind." She squeezed her thighs together, remembering clutching Nick tightly between them. "I'd better go. No telling how much this call is costing. I'll call again when I can."

  "Give me the information of where you're staying. The next call is on me."

  Parris switched back on the light and read the information off of the phone.

  "Got it. I'll call you tomorrow."

  "Okay." She gripped the phone.

  "I know everything is going to be fine with you and your mother. So don't worry."

  "I'll try not to."

  "Good night, sweetheart. Rest well."

  "You, too."

  Emma paced the polished living room floor, intermittently peeking out from between the curtains to see if the girl had returned. She knew her the instant she saw her silhouetted against the rain and waning light. Why didn't she invite her in? Why did she lie? A strangled sob stumbled in her throat. For weeks since she'd received the letter from her mother, telling her that the decades-old lie had been revealed, she'd expected yet dreaded the moment when she would come face-to-face with her daughter. Parris. That's what Cora said she'd named her.

  It was fear that seized her mind and twisted her thoughts. No longer an emotion but an entity, some real thing with a power greater than her own will. The same fear she'd felt the night when she gave birth to her alone in her apartment. Her brown baby. The night when she'd recognized that everything she'd done, all she'd worked for, the love she'd finally found, would be destroyed, stripped from her, leaving her with nothing, the same nothing she'd endured all her life. She knew she wasn't strong enough to go back down that road.

  "Emma, honey..."

  Emma turned away from her ugly past. She'd never told Michael what she'd nearly done to their child. And she never would. He may have forgiven her for keeping the truth of their daughter's existence for all these years, but that he would never forgive.

  She forced a smile.

  "Are you all right, sweetheart?" Concern carved a line between his sleek black brows. "You've been out of sorts all evening." He came up to her, stroked her cheek with a brush of his fingertip.

  She sighed at his familiar touch and clasped his hand to her face, closing her eyes. "I'm fine. A bit tired."

  He draped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. "Then let's have an early night." He kissed the top of her head.

  Suddenly she clung to him, pressing her head to his chest, seeking comfort in the steadying beat of his heart. Michael was her life. Everything she'd done, every decision she'd made, had been for him. His love for her had been the only love she'd ever known. The only kindness she'd ever been given. She'd grown up an outsider, scorned and snickered about in that little backward town of Rudell. She hated it there almost as much as they hated her--almost as much as she hated her mother. But so much had changed since then. Everything except her fear. Her fear of confronting her daughter and confessing not what she had done, but why.

  Emma tilted her head up to gaze into the dark pools of his eyes, the edges lined with concern. The jangling of her nerves began to quiet like a church bell that had rung out the hour. Even after all these years, Michael remained incredibly handsome. The same endearing smile that won her heart still had the power to make her stomach seesaw and her pulse pound. His touch continued to stoke the fire within her. Michael was her life. She'd given up everything to live forever in the halo of his love. It was his love that gave her sustenance, flowed through her veins, pumped through her heart.

  Emma's entire being suddenly overflowed with emotions so powerful that her eyes filled and glistened. "I love you so very much," she whispered. "So very much."

  Michael held her close. "I love you, too, Em." He stepped back, holding her shoulders. He looked into her eyes. "Tell me what's bothering you."

  She turned her head away to hide the betrayal. "I'm fine, really." She took his hand. "Let's eat and go to bed."

  Throughout the night Emma couldn't dispel the image of her daughter standing in her doorway. Each time she closed her eyes Parris's eager face loomed before her. Her voice echoed in her mind. She'd grown into a beautiful young woman. A beautiful young woman without her. The woman she'd scorned and turned her back on was responsible for raising the woman that Parris had become.

  There'd been so many times throughout her life in Europe that she'd doubted her decision, regretted what she'd done. And her guilt would wake her from sleep, guide her through the darkness of the chalet to the kitchen table, put a pen in her hand and pull her fingers across the paper to find out how she was doing, was she well, was she happy, did she ever ask about her? Too many letters were warped by her tears, the ink flowing in black and blue rivers of sorrow. With the new day the ocean's tide of guilt would recede. That is the prayer she whispered throughout the night, that the bright light of morning would blind all those in her path to the sorrow and the fear she held in her heart.

  Parris awoke with a start.

  She sat up and put her feet on the floor. She walked to the window and peeled back the white draperies. The town was still very much asleep. The few signs of life were the occasional car or abandoned cat or dog scurrying for shelter. In the morning dimness, houselights and the illumination of the streetlamps resembling probing cat eyes appeared to float, disembodied against daybreak.

  There was still at least an hour before breakfast would be ready in the main hall. Nervous energy pushed her back and forth across the room. Noon was an eternity from now. She was certain she would leap out of her skin long before then.

  Fishing through her suitcase, she pulled out a red pullover sweater and a pair of jeans. She needed some air.

  Chapter Eight

  Parris stood beneath the overhang of a wine and spirits store watching the entrance to Voile Bistro on the opposite side of the street, as if the very act of staring would make something magical happen. She tugged the short brown leather jacket a bit tighter around her slender body, willing mind over matter to chase the morning chill away. She wasn't certain what she hoped to accomplish by standing there, perhaps divine a sense of her mother, the woman who'd given her up for a life that she could not live with a child hanging on her hip.

  Did she have other children? Did she ever marry? Where and who was her father? The plate glass window of the shop revealed nothing more than what appeared to be a successful business tucked on the other side. Successful enough that Emma was known by name. Travanti. Her father's name or the name of the man she'd married? Or the name she'd taken for reasons that only she would know?

  Questions tumbled through her mind as she witnessed the sleepy town stretch its limbs and take its first steps into the new day. The heavens were streaked a magnificent purple from the night of heavy rain and already the dew drops, resembling eager beachgoers, were stretched out into thin layers of water waiting to be dried by the sun.

  She'd been emboldened when she'd stepped out of Le Moulin du Port and began the half hour walk toward the center of town. The streets were barely lit by the sleepy sun struggling up and over the mountaintops, while trying to snuggle back down into its blanket of clouds.

  For the past hour she shared duties with the lamppost, holding up the corner, and she was sure th
at soon someone would call the authorities to report the loud noises coming from her empty stomach. Feeling more foolish by the moment and increasingly hungry she turned to leave, but slowed her step when a car pulled to a stop in front of the bistro.

  Her nerves popped as a woman got out of the car, fumbled with a set of keys and opened the front door. Parris stood rooted in place as the woman turned to close the glass door and their gazes collided.

  The woman's eyes widened ever so slightly then settled, in resolve or perhaps resignation. She didn't move as Parris crossed the street and came to stand in front of the door.

  It was the woman from last night. She was sure of it. Did she work here, as well? Were they friends and business partners? "I wanted to see the owner," she said, speaking slowly so that her words could be made out through the glass that separated them. "Emma."

  Emma's heart pounded so ferociously in her chest she struggled to breathe. What was she to do? Turn her away again? Pretend...pretend what? Her temples throbbed as a sliver of perspiration trickled down the center of her spine. Her nostrils flared as she drew in air. Holding on to the doorknob, she was certain, was the only thing keeping her from crumbling to the ground.

  "Do you know what time she will be in?"

  This was her escape. She could say that Emma was out of town for several weeks. She could tell her...

  The door slowly opened and Parris stepped gratefully beneath the threshold. "Thank you." She assessed her with curiosity. "We met last night, didn't we? At Ms. Travanti's house." When she didn't get a response she pressed on. "I was told this was her restaurant. Is that true?"

  Emma turned away, drew up her shoulders and exhaled the one word Parris longed to hear. "Oui." She heard the breath of relief puff on her back. "Are you a friend of hers?"

  "I'm her daughter." She pulled the yellowed letter from her purse. "She wrote this letter to my grandmother many years ago after she'd come here to live."

  Emma flinched. She walked to the pastry counter, keeping her back to Parris. "She never spoke of a daughter. Ever. Perhaps you have the wrong person." Slowly she turned around. "How can you be sure?"