Cindy stood outside her mother’s suite of rooms on the sixth floor and took a deep breath. She hadn’t seen her since the memorial and suddenly felt badly about it. Their relationship had been so distant and sketchy over the years, Cindy needed time to for it to change. And, besides, solving Ann’s murder was top priority. After that, Cindy would take the next steps towards her mother. Out of respect for Ann, Cindy would try to fill in for her – be more like the daughter her mother had lost.
Cindy lifted her hand to the door tentatively and softly knocked. No answer. She leaned closer to the door and listened in to see if she could hear anything. By now it was early evening and all was quiet inside. Unwilling to be deterred, Cindy made a fist and knocked hard.
“What? What?” a thin voice answered from a distance. “Who’s there?”
It was her mother. Perhaps Cindy had awakened her? No matter, she was relieved. Mattheus was right. They had to get her mother to help.
Her mother opened the door swiftly and peered out, looking both sleepy and confused.
“I hope I didn’t wake you,” said Cindy, suddenly remembering that her mother always took late afternoon naps.
“What if you did? It’s about time you showed up. Come in,” her mother pulled the door opened fully.
Preparing herself for the worst, Cindy took a few careful steps inside.
“To what do I owe this great honor?” her mother’s voice grew stronger as she pushed her beautiful, thick, sand colored hair off her face. Her mother’s hair, which was only slightly grey by now, had always been her great pride. Mostly she wore it up off her face, carefully coiffed. It was unusual for her to have it hanging loose like this.
Cindy said nothing, just watched her mother rearrange herself, try to put the pieces back together.
“Well, say something!” her mother demanded. “Where have you been? What are you doing? Hanging around with that grimy detective?”
“You mean Mattheus,” Cindy replied, wanting to refer to him by name, to give him the respect he so dearly deserved.
“Whatever his name is, it doesn’t matter,” her mother pulled her lounging robe around her.
“It matters to me,” said Cindy.
“Is that what you came here for? To fight with me now?” Her mother threw her hands up in the air. “At a time like this?”
“No, just the opposite,” said Cindy. “I’ve come to ask for your help.”
Her mother grew silent. “My help? How?”
“With the investigation,” murmured Cindy.
“Is that all you can think of? Are you obsessed?” the idea of an investigation seemed to enrage her mother. “It means more to you to find Ann’s so called killer, than to spend time with me?”
When have we ever just spent time together, thought Cindy as she watched her mother’s lower lip tremble. How could it be different, just like that? Cindy decided not to get caught in that discussion, but to stay on careful track. She’d approach the whole matter naturally, working up to the request to get Frank’s password.
“I so badly need to know more about Ann,” Cindy started, walking further into the room.
Her mother could relate. “Of course you do, you’ve barely had time to be with her.”
Cindy looked around. There were several gift baskets filled with fruit and candy placed on the coffee table and a large bouquet of flowers on a side table near the patio. Probably from friends back home, thought Cindy.
How were things between Ann and Frank?” Cindy continued casually then, walking to the settee.
“What kind of question is that?” Her mother turned and followed Cindy to the small, ivory settee and sat down beside her.
“I’m trying to understand everything,” Cindy let herself look at her mother’s face fully for the first time. To Cindy’s surprise, it suddenly seemed older than Cindy remembered, more fragile and lost. “The more I understand, the more I can help,” Cindy continued.
Cindy’s mother turned away from her gaze, shaken by the softness in Cindy’s tone.
“What is there to understand?” she replied, sadly. “Can something like this ever be made sense of?”
“Yes,” replied Cindy, “in some ways it can. Once we put the pieces of the puzzle together it will help us restore order in our lives again.”
“And what about Ann’s life?” her mother’s strong chin protruded.
“It’s what Ann would want for us, mom,” Cindy said. “Ann always wanted a life that was ordered.”
“Mom?” Cindy’s mother looked startled. “That’s the first time you’ve called me mom for a very long time.”
Cindy never really saw her mother as a mom, she’d rarely called her that.
“What I’m trying to say,” she once again evaded her mother’s comment, “is that the more we can understand and share information, the better it will be for all of us.”
“Okay, okay,” her mother stood up suddenly, and began wrapping her hair up on her head.