Chapter 8: Come Alone
My mother arrived at four thirty.
She was alone.
She was carrying nothing — no takeout coffee, no bag, nothing in her hands at all, which was so unlike her that I noticed it immediately.
Diane Calloway always had something to hold.
A purse, a scarf, a dish for someone's dinner.
Empty hands meant she'd left in a hurry, or that she'd left everything at the door on purpose.
I thought it was the second one.
Grace and Carrie had gone.
Julian had left shortly after, pressing a card into Carrie's hand and telling her to call if anyone from Derek's firm made contact.
The room was quiet, the late afternoon light making a long rectangle across the floor.
My mother stopped just inside the door.
"Marisol said you'd asked for the chair to be moved closer," she said.
Her voice was careful.
"I did," I said.
"Sit down, Mom."
She sat.
She folded her hands in her lap, and she looked at me, and for a long time neither of us said anything.
She looked tired.
Not the tired of a long drive or a bad night's sleep.
The tired of someone who has spent years managing a version of events that no longer holds together.
"How long did you know?" I said.
"About Derek's firm?" She shook her head.
"I didn't know.
Not really.
Lauren said you'd given Derek permission to reference Vantage in some materials.
A consulting pitch.
I thought it was small."
"You thought it was small," I said.
"Miranda, I didn't ask questions I should have asked." Her hands tightened in her lap.
"I know that."
"Why didn't you?"
She was quiet for a moment.
A long moment.
"Because it was easier," she said.
"When Lauren was happy, she was manageable.
When Lauren was worried or upset or felt like things weren't fair—" She stopped.
Started again.
"She has always been harder when she feels like she's getting less than she deserves.
And she always feels that way."
I listened.
"You were always the one I didn't have to worry about," my mother said.
"You handled things.
You succeeded.
You never asked for much.
So when Lauren needed something, I gave it to her, because it was easier than the alternative." She paused.
"I told myself you didn't mind."
"I didn't mind until I was alone in a hospital bed," I said.
"Counting calls."
She closed her eyes.
"Nine," she said softly.
"Nine," I said.
She opened her eyes.
They were wet.
"I am so sorry," she said.
"Miranda.
I am so sorry."
It was the most direct thing she had said to me in years.
No softening, no qualifier, no pivot toward explaining herself.
Just the words, plain and true, sitting between us in the late afternoon light.
I didn't say it was fine, because it wasn't.
I didn't say I forgave her, because I wasn't sure yet.
What I said was: "I know, Mom."
And she nodded, like that was enough for now.
Like she understood that enough for now was more than she'd expected, and she was going to be careful with it.
"What happens to Lauren?" she said.
"That depends on Derek's attorney," I said.
"Grace thinks Derek will push for a settlement to avoid a crjminal referral.
If he does, it'll be substantial.
If he doesn't—" I stopped.
"He will.
He doesn't want a crjminal case."
"And Lauren?"
"She's named in the civil complaint," I said.
"The emails show she knew.
What happens to her depends partly on how far Derek tries to protect himself by separating his decisions from hers."
My mother absorbed this.
Her hands were very still.
"She might let him take the blame," she said softly.
"She might," I said.
It wasn't an accusation.
It was just true.
My mother looked at the window.
The pigeon was gone from the ledge.
The sky outside had turned the deep grey of early evening.
"Your father wants to come," she said.
"He didn't feel right about coming uninvited."
"Tomorrow," I said.
"He can come tomorrow."
She nodded.
"Mom," I said.
"The will.
The decisions I made last night — I'm not reversing them.
I want you to know that clearly."
"I know," she said.
"But I'm not — I don't want to cut you off," I said.
"What I wanted, when I made those calls, was for you to come.
That's all I wanted.
Not the money, not the estate.
I just wanted someone to be there."
She made that sound again.
The low, quiet one.
"I should have come," she said.
"Yes," I said.
"You should have."
We sat with that for a while.
She was still there when the dinner tray arrived.
She stayed without asking if she should.
She handed me the cup when I couldn't reach it, and she didn't make conversation, and that was exactly right.
Before she left, she stood at the door and looked back at me.
"Will you call me tomorrow?" she said.
"Yes," I said.
"In the morning."
She left.
The room was quiet again.
Outside, the city was doing what it always did, indifferent and continuous.
I lay back against the pillow and stared at the ceiling and thought about nothing in particular for a long time.
My phone buzzed once on the blanket.
A text from Grace.
*Derek's attorney called at 5 p.m.
They want to open settlement talks.*
I read it twice.
Then I set the phone face-up on the blanket so I could see it if it lit up again, and I closed my eyes.
May you like
Tomorrow, I thought.
Tonight I was just going to rest.
