“Let me assure you that you are not an ugg-face.”
“Thank you.”
“Do you think your mother is emotionally disturbed?”
“At least.”
Brock crossed his big feet on the coffee table and leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers thoughtfully. “So you feel it’s utterly impossible to improve your relationship with your mother?”
“Well, no, actually. If I gave up any idea of ever having a life of my own, if I decided I was put on this earth to support Felicia Hooks and keep her happy, then I’m sure our relationship would improve a little. She’s not quite so nasty if I do everything her way.”
“What do you think she’d like you to do for her?”
“She’d like me to get a bigger, nicer apartment in a complex with a swimming pool and all the extras. She’d like me to buy her a new car and put her name on all my credit cards. She’d like me to give her a generous allowance so she wouldn’t have to spend her Social Security. She’d like to go to Europe at least once a year.”
“Could you afford to do any of those things if you wanted to?”
“Not if I’m going to make my escape again in another few weeks. That’s why I wear old clothes and drive a junker. Every extra dime goes into my escape fund.”
“But if you wanted to...”
“I’m a computer troubleshooter — I fix computers, in other words — and I make good money. I guess I could probably do some of those things.”
“Then why don’t you?”
“What?”
“Send her on a cruise. A long one. Send her to Europe.”
“Are you serious?”
“Perfectly. Wouldn’t it be cheaper than uprooting yourself again?”
“Well, I suppose it would... But why should I give her a nice vacation?”
“Think of it as your vacation. She’d be out of your hair.”
“But she’d come back.”
“True, but maybe with an improved disposition.”
“Fat chance.”
“Look at it from her point of view. When was the last time somebody did something really wonderful for her of their own free will?”
“Well... never, as far as I know. She doesn’t deserve it.”
“No, she doesn’t,” Brock said softly with a smile lighting his baby blue eyes, “but you do. This is for you, Phoebe, not for her. You see, she’ll always be your mother, and you’ll always have to deal with her. Regardless of how badly she treats you, you won’t be able to abandon her without suffering for it emotionally. I know you.” He reached out and took her hands. “You’re far too fine and decent a person for it not to be that way. You’ve run away before, haven’t you, and yet you always take her in when she shows up homeless at your door. Do something that will make you both happy.”
Promising to give his suggestion some thought, Phoebe urged her aging car homeward. Brock did know her pretty well, all right, but the fact remained that he did not know Good Old Mom. He hadn’t lived with her for the better part of thirty-two years, and he couldn’t know how it rankled to spend a dime on her. But still, the thought of sending Felicia Hooks completely out of the country — out of her life — for a month or two... That would be heaven!
Besides, it had occurred to her that travel could be quite dangerous. It seemed to be open season on Americans all over the world. Terrorists were abundant. Maybe, if Good Old Mom went traveling, she wouldn’t come back at all. Who knew?
Impulsively, Phoebe stopped at a travel agency. Her first thought was to send Mom on a tour of the Middle East, but no, she’d have to be a bit more subtle than that or she’d never get the woman off her couch. It was fortunate, though — maybe even a sign of some sort — that Felicia’s birthday happened to be only a week away. She had just missed being born on Halloween by a few hours, in fact. Obviously a small error. If anyone had ever been meant to be born on Halloween, it was Felicia Hooks.
Felicia Hooks scowled suspiciously at her daughter. The little pouches of discontent at the corners of her mouth were even more evident than usual. “England and Ireland?” she said.
“And Scotland. You’ve always wanted to go, haven’t you?”
“Well... yes...” For once Good Old Mom seemed at a loss for words. “But why would you do this, Ugg — Phoebe?”
“It’s your birthday, isn’t it? It’s a birthday present.”
“We never give each other presents.”
“I know. We’ve never gotten along very well. I always used to blame you for that, but then I got to thinking that maybe I could have been nicer.” Phoebe threw in the clincher. “Besides, I owe it to you, don’t I, for all the years you took care of me when I was growing up?”
Felicia looked at the travel folder. “I’d have to leave in three weeks. It’ll be cold in England this time of year.”
“So? It’ll be cold here, too. It’s the off season; that’s how I got such a good deal. Christmas in London, Mom! If you don’t want to go, I will.”
So Felicia had her roots bleached, bought some new clothes and some new luggage, and was gone, all within three weeks. Phoebe had worried about the passport, but as it was the off season, that went speedily, too. “It’s wonderful,” she told Brock during her first appointment after her mother’s departure. “A three month tour of the British Isles. Something to do with haunted houses to make up for the time of year. The accommodations won’t be luxurious by any means, but good enough to keep her happy. Oh, I feel like a new woman already!” And she really had no control over the visions of crashed airplanes and bombed-out hotels that flashed through her brain.
“You look like a new woman,” Brock beamed. “One that doesn’t need my services any longer.”
They both laughed and Phoebe came very close to fluttering her eyelashes.
She stopped seeing Brock professionally, and they started dating. He still wasn’t the man of her dreams, but she did like him very much. The thought of sharing a bed with him began to seem less funny and more intriguing.
She packed Felicia’s things up and stored them in a rented bin in the basement of her apartment building. It was wonderful to have her apartment back again, to sleep in her own bed and not have to look at the garish sofa cushions. She had to keep the parakeet, of course, but she found that she liked the silly little bird and even went so far as to buy him a new cage and a pale blue roommate. That was the extent of her splurging, however. Every spare dime went into her savings account for Good Old Mom’s next trip... should she survive the first one.
November passed into December and December into January. Phoebe began to dread her mother’s return at the end of the month. She couldn’t depend upon a storm at sea to put an abrupt end to Good Old Mom’s homecoming, so she began to think that Felicia might like to stay on in England for a few more months. On January seventeenth, she sent her mother a cashier’s check for two thousand dollars, suggesting that she might like to see spring in the British Isles. It would be cheaper that way, she figured, than to have her come home and then send her off again. The return portion of her round-trip ticket could be cashed in or rescheduled, and Phoebe could have another four months of peace.
So time wore on. Phoebe worked hard and put money in the bank. She spent much of her free time with Brock, and she did not hear from Good Old Mom — not so much as a postcard and certainly no hint of a thank you — but she hadn’t expected to. What she did kind of expect, or hope for, was a telegram informing her that Felicia Hooks had been hit by a double-decker bus or that she’d run afoul of an IRA bomb. No such luck.
At the end of March, Brock proposed and she accepted. She didn’t think he was funny looking any more, and she supposed that she came as close to loving him as was possible. Having been raised by Good Old Mom, she probably didn’t know how to truly love anyone, but she promised herself that Brock would never be sorry he had married her.