by Livia Ellis
I pull a long breath of air into my lungs. Because I don’t want to give anyone all of myself ever again. When I do that they leave me or they die.
She won’t leave me and she won’t die.
She doesn’t know that.
She does. A gypsy woman told her that she’d live to be a hundred and three. She’s not going to die for a very long time. So I can be vulnerable with her and not be afraid she’s going to leave me.
I don’t want to talk. I’m tired and my nerves are raw. This is not the moment for a talk. I also need to think. I started the day thinking I had it all figured out. As it comes to its end at long last, I know I am far from seeing the path ahead. I’m like a man driving on a road in the dark. All I can see is the briefest area in the circle of the beams. Whatever lays beyond is concealed from me.
I don’t know what or who that future holds.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
10:00am
I think I’ve slept three hours when the car comes for me.
My texts were received and the answer is yes.
There is a large envelope waiting for me in the car.
Inside is a smaller envelope which contains a birthday card. The message on the inside is simple. Happy birthday one day late. There is a handmade coupon for one good day. It’s sweet. I never appreciated my birthday coupons before. Now I do.
I pull the papers out of the envelope. There is a yellow sticky note with a message – guaranteed to give me one good day. She’s given me my money back plus interest. Everything I had to give her to settle the lawsuit is mine once again. It’s all there. Every penny plus interest accrued over the past year. She never closed one of our joint accounts. It might have been there all along. It might not have been. Either way it doesn’t matter. It’s there now. My appreciation for the money I inherited has never been so great. It’s no longer just numbers on the page. Someone worked hard for this money and it wasn’t me.
I call her. She’s on her way to the airport. She’s leaving for Brazil.
Please can she not go? I want to talk.
She must go. Did I like my present?
Yes. Please can she not go? She was always going. For once can she just stay when I need her? I need her. I want us to talk.
She’s sorry. Plans can’t be changed. She’ll be back in a few days. We can talk then. She promises.
She’s never going to change, is she? I’ve changed but she hasn’t.
Did she need to change?
Never mind. She’s done a wonderful thing. I truly appreciate it.
We’ll talk when she’s back.
The car takes me from the house to a helicopter. The helicopter takes me from London to Wold Hall. The helicopter will wait until I am ready to return to London. I need to be back for a 6pm appointment with the Latin Pop Star. I have obligations beyond needing to honor my mother’s commitments. These are the people we are now. We’re responsible.
A new day has dawned for the Adairs.
My entrance is purely that. An entrance. I’m certain cameras are taking every moment of my arrival. There are groups of people herded into corralled off areas. I find Israel Ruben. Why do directors always dress like they’re evacuees from a grunge rave?
They need to pay him more if he can’t afford t-shirts without holes.
He pays extra for the holes. He didn’t think I was coming near the place during the filming.
My mother had her heart surgery during the night.
His face drops. My mother was marketing gold for him.
I’m taking her place.
I think he ejaculates in his ratty tan shorts.
This is not a permanent arrangement. My mother will be well sooner than he knows it and she’ll take my place. This is temporary.
Whatever I want I can have.
Yes. That’s exactly what I expect.