The year of the Lucy
- Автор: Маккефри Энн
- Язык: английский
- Жанр: Научная фантастика
Электронная книга - «The year of the Lucy». Краткое содержание книги:
"Mother said you forced liquor down his throat."
"Forced is not the right word. He needed a quick stimulant because of the cold and the doctor approved of the bourbon. Ralph, you know how narrow-minded your mother is about drink…"
"I did not call you to discuss alcoholism…"
"I'm not discussing it. I'm telling you what happened and your mother's hysterical reaction to an emergency. Anything beyond that you will have to discuss with your brother. He knows what happened prior to your parents' departure. I do not. Nor do I care what happened. But I will say this. MY son could get up off his face and walk home for help when he was injured. And I'm very proud of him."
She slammed the phone back onto the receiver, trembling, hurt and humiliated. Ralph knew as well as anyone else how unreasonable his mother could be. His wife certainly spared no details of the naggings, bickerings and pettiness that ensued during her state visits in Greenville. But then, Ralph was the favored older son and would presume to call his younger brother to task.
But how could she have been cruel enough to make even an oblique reference to Ralph's unfortunate experience! She doubted that Ralph would ever speak to her again, and right then she didn't care. She'd had enough of the Martins' suffocating righteousness and social pretensions. Damn it! She'd been a good wife. A good mother! What more was expected of her? So what if she'd been illegitimate! That had not been her fault. At least she'd not paraded either her parents or her bastardy in plain sight, as they'd marshalled their secondhand opinions and miserable prejudices.
Mirelle was shaking so violently that she lurched to the cabinet and, not taking time to find a glass, swallowed a stiff jolt of bourbon, glaring her defiance at the silent phone.
"Mother," Tonia said in a whine, running into the kitchen, "Nickie and Roman won't…"
"If you can't be quiet, you can go to bed!"
"But, Mommie, it's my turn…"
"Go to bed! Now! No back talk or I'll slap you." Mirelle was startled by the savagery in her voice as well as the terrified look on Tonia's face. Weeping in earnest, Tonia dashed out of the kitchen and pounded upstairs, slamming her bedroom door behind her.
Mirelle buried her face in her hands, recognizing that she had lashed out at the child just as Steve had: pure fury looking for the nearest victim.
The phone rang again, and Mirelle regarded it with loathing. It couldn't be Ralph, back for another go at her. Could it be Steve? Neither of whom she wished to speak with. But this time it might be Sylvia. The phone rang stridently, its demand cutting into her subsiding anger and returning anxiety. If she answered the phone, she'd be required to control herself, and that was preferable to this terrible internal violence.
"Mirelle? G.F. just told me you'd called," Sylvia said with brittle brightness.
"SOS," Mirelle replied with matching false cheerfulness.
"Oh?" Sylvia's answer came out in a long drawl. "I'm not sure, dearie, if I have proper lifesavers on hand."
"But you promised you'd come to Howell's concert with me Friday, and he actually came up with the tickets."
"Concert?" Sylvia's voice settled to a more normal level. "Do you require a chaperone, dear?" Now she purred with amused malice.
"Don't be silly. But I'd like company. And I thought you wanted to hear Jamie play." Mirelle had the notion that her request met a vacuum.
"Friday," Sylvia said at length. "To be candid I forgot the date of the concert, but I have to be in Philly during the day. I expect we can meet. Why don't we have dinner together, somewhere?"
"Well, I'm leaving Roman to baby-sit."
"That cast should be just perfect for subduing restless elements."
"I didn't want to leave until 7:00."
"Not long enough for a decent dinner, then." There was a long pause on the other end. "I'll meet you at the Concert Hall. Why don't you take the train? I'll have the car."
Something about the quality of Sylvia's voice disturbed Mirelle when she hung up. She had the distinct feeling that Sylvia had been speaking for someone else's benefit. It must be her imagination. All her nerves were a-jangle.
Mirelle got out a Coke as a weak peace offering for Tonia. When she opened the girl's door, she was relieved to see that the resilient Tonia was dressing her Barbie dolls.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Friday started as a cold crisp morning, brilliant with sunlight on the snow. The novelty of Roman's injury had not worn off and he was helped solicitously onto the bus by classmates. The driver winked goodnatured reassurance at Mirelle before she trudged back to the house. She heard the phone as she reached the front walk and ran, slipping on the walk where ice had formed in the night. Never will understand why the phone has to be answered, she thought to herself. She slithered past the dining room table, arm outstretched to flip the instrument off the hook before the caller gave up.
"What took you so long?" Steve demanded.
"Loading Roman on the bus. Ice on the walk." She got the answer out in spurts.
"What did you say to Ralph?"
"Ralph?"
"Yes, Ralph Martin, my brother," Steve said acidly. "He tracked me down, hotel by hotel, until he found the right convention. Got me up at 12:30. Out of a sound sleep, I might add."
"He didn't ask me which hotel. He was upset." Mirelle resolved to keep her temper.
"I know that! I want to know what you said to him."
"He wanted to know what had upset his mother, because she was being hysterical, and then he tried to tell me that she isn't the hysterical type…" Despite her resolve, Mirelle felt her anger rising. "So I told him what happened when Roman got home, and then he said something about us treating the injury casually, and us forcing alcohol down Roman's throat."
"He said you called Mother hysterical and narrow-minded."
"Oh, Steve, do I have to defend myself to you, too? You were there! I'm not ashamed of giving Roman a shot of bourbon when he needed the stimulant. Nor are we an insensitive and alcoholic household. And I'm so proud that our son could get up and walk himself home…"
"That's it! Is that what you said to Ralph?"
"Steve, for God's sake…"
"Can't you imagine how that would make Ralph feel?"
"I don't care how Ralph feels. I know how I feel! Damned for doing the right thing at the right time in the right way! Do I have to use the same warped precepts your mother uses?"
"I didn't realize you hated my mother so." Steve's voice was low and bitter.
"I don't hate her, Steve," Mirelle said wearily. "I'm sorry for her, sorry that we're so different we can never be friends at all. But most of all, I'm sorry for us. Because every time she comes, she rips us wide open."
"I know, I know," Steve answered irritably but suddenly he wasn't fighting her anymore. "But damn it, Mirelle, you just don't tell your own mother that you don't want to see her again."
Mirelle stifled her surprise. Steve's remark had been more to himself than to her, but it clarified Ralph's attitude and his purpose in contacting Steve. She leaned a little weakly against the wall. She had won her long grim battle against the domineering Marian Martin. It gave her no sense of triumph, certainly no pride in having had to force the issue. And it would not be easy for Steve to live with his conscience, now that he had made his stand. Mirelle hoped that Dad Martin wouldn't become an enemy, as Ralph had. Surely the old man had seen and understood, even if he hadn't intervened.
"Mirelle? Are you still there?"
"Yes, Steve," she said, frantically wondering if there was anything she could say.