"In the sunroom, I think, since I spend so much time there."
She carried the vase of the flowers away, came back to the kitchen, poured herself a cup of coffee, and stood drinking it near the sink. After a moment she said, "I liked that woman your father brought by yesterday. Miss Reece-Jones. Is he going to marry her?"
I shrugged. "Don't ask me, Nora, I've no idea."
"Pity, if he doesn't. They seem well suited."
"I think they are." I studied her over the rim of my mug. Nora had always had a way of zeroing in on people, making quick and accurate assessments of them. She was rarely wrong.
After rinsing out the mug, she said, "Got to get down to the café kitchen. See you later, Mal."
"Thanks again for the flowers, Nora. It was so thoughtful of you and Eric."
She nodded. "Try and have a nice day," she said quietly, then hurried out.
Over lunch at the café, I said to my mother, "Do you think Dad will marry Gwenny?"
My mother stared at me for the longest moment before answering. Finally, she said, "No, I don't think he will. But I wish he would. She's very nice."
"Yes, she is, everyone seems to like her. But why do you think he won't get married?"
My mother bit her lip, looked reflective for a moment, then she said slowly, choosing her words with care, "Because your father's a bachelor at heart."
"Oh, so it's nothing to do with Gwenny, you just think he prefers to be single?"
"Put succinctly, yes."
"But he was married to you."
"True, but he was never there-" She cut off her sentence and gave me an odd look.
"Dad wants his cake, and he wants to eat it too, is that what you're trying to say, Mom?"
"No, I'm not, actually. I don't mean to imply that your father is a womanizer, or that he's promiscuous, because he's neither. He's just… a bachelor at heart, as I told you a minute ago. He prefers to be on his own, free to roam the world, digging about in ancient ruins, doing as he pleases. He's a bit of a loner, you know. If some woman comes along, and he likes her, well, then, I suppose he gets involved. But basically, he doesn't want to be tied down. I think that sums it up."
"I see. Well, I guess you should know," I murmured, pushing my fork into the Cobb salad.
My mother watched me for a moment or two and then said, "Yes, I really do know all about your father, Mallory, and perhaps now is the time to discuss my marriage to him. I know it's bothered you for years, I mean, the fact that we separated when we did."
"No, not that, Mom, not that at all! I don't understand why Dad was always away when I was a child growing up. Or why we didn't go with him."
A small sigh escaped her. "Because he didn't really want us to go along on his digs, and anyway, as you got older you had to go to school. Here in the States. He insisted you were educated here, and so did I, to be truthful."
"So he went away on these extended trips for his work, and came back when he felt like it. How could you put up with that, Mom?"
"I loved him. And actually, Edward loved me, and he loved you, Mal, he really did. You were the apple of his eye. Look, I strove very hard to hold our marriage together, and for a very long time."
"You say he went off on his digs, and I understand. After all, that's his work. But there were other women when I was little, weren't there?"
"Eventually," she admitted.
I confided in her then. I told her about my memories of that Fourth of July weekend so long ago, when I had been a little girl of five; told her how that awful scene in the kitchen and their terrible quarrel had stayed with me all these years. Buried for so long because it was so painful and only recently resurrected, jolted into my consciousness four years ago.
She listened and made no comment when I finished.
My mother simply sat there silently, looking numb and far away, gazing past me into space.
At last she said, in a low, saddened voice, "A friend, I should say a so-called friend, told me Edward was having an affair with Mercedes Sorrell, the actress. I'm ashamed to admit that I believed her. I was young, vulnerable. Poor excuses. But anyway, I became accusatory, vile, really, and verbally abusive to your father. You remember that only too well, it seems. It was jealousy, of course. Later I discovered that it wasn't true. It had been a lie."
"But there were other women. Mom," I persisted. "You said that yourself."
"I suppose there were sometimes, when he was away on a dig for six months or longer. But it was me he loved."
"And that's why you stayed with him all those years?"
She nodded. "Anyway, your father fought hard against the separation, resisted it for a long time, Mal."
"He did?" I said, my eyes opening wider. I stared at her.
My mother stared back.
"Don't sound so surprised," she said after a second's pause. "And yes, he did resist the separation; what's more, he never wanted a divorce. Not only that, we continued to have a relationship for a long time after we separated."
"Do you mean sexual?" I asked, pinning her with my eyes.
She nodded, looked suddenly slightly embarrassed.
"Mother, you didn't!"
"I'm afraid so. In fact, your father and I remained involved with each other, off and on, until I met David."
"Good God!"
"Mal, I still love your father, in a certain way. But I knew years ago that he and I could never be happily married."
"Why not? Obviously you continued to sleep with him for years after you split up. You could have fooled me; you always behaved as if he didn't exist."
"I know. A defense mechanism, I'm sure. Why couldn't I be happily married to him? Possibly because I don't want to be with a man who has to wander the earth. Endlessly."
"You could have wandered with him, after I'd grown up."
"It wouldn't have worked, not in the long run."
"But you did have a strong sexual bond-"
"We did. But sex doesn't necessarily make a successful marriage, Mallory. There are so many other factors involved. Your father and I couldn't have made it work, take my word for it."
"Oh, I do, Mom," I said, and I reached out and squeezed her hand. "I've wanted to say this for a long time. Mother, thanks for always being there for me. I know Dad never was."
"In his own way, he was, Mallory. Believe that."
"If you say so, I do, and I love him, Mom, and I love you too, and lately I've come to understand, that I'm quite separate from your marriage. What I mean is, I'm outside your personal relationship with him. What went on between you and Dad never had anything to do with me."
"That's right. It was just between us."
"When I look back on my childhood, I realize that we were a dysfunctional family…" My voice trailed away; I looked down at my plate, then at her.
My mother sat there waiting, as if she expected me to say more.
I shifted slightly in my chair, cleared my throat, then took a sip of iced tea. I felt slightly uncomfortable.
Eventually, I said, "I hope you don't mind me saying this, Mom."
"No, I guess not. Actually, if I'm honest, I have to admit it's the truth."
"We were a dysfunctional family, and let's face it, I did have an odd childhood. I think that's why I wanted to have the perfect family when I got married. I wanted to be the perfect wife to Andrew, the perfect mother to Jamie and Lissa. I wanted it all to be… to be… right…"
"It was, Mal, it really was. You were the best wife, the best mother."
I looked at her intently. "I did make them happy, didn't I, Mom?"
Her fingers tightened on mine, "Oh, yes, Mal, you did."
CHAPTER FOURTY
Connecticut, November 1992
It was a cold Saturday morning at the beginning of the month. The first snap of frost was in the air, after a mild October of Indian-summer weather. But nonetheless, it was a sparkling day, sunny, with a bright blue sky.