“I mean the argument is over, Mom. He said he was sorry, and I forgave him.”
“Okay, well that’s . . .” Again, Nora picks up her empty cup and sets it down. “That’s just terrific.”
“What?”
“You know it’s offensive to judge people based on what they look like, whether you’re talking about the color of someone’s eyes or hair or skin or—”
“Yeah, I know that. I’m not stupid and insensitive!”
“And you know you’re not adopted.”
Her daughter says nothing, toying with her phone.
“Stacey, you can’t possibly—”
“I’ve never seen any pictures of you pregnant with me. Or, like, holding me as a newborn.”
“No pictures? You think that means I wasn’t pregnant with you and I’m not your biological parent?”
“No, but . . . I mean, you have pictures from when you were pregnant with Piper. You have pictures holding her in the hospital, right after she was born.”
“I’m sure I have the same pictures with you, somewhere.”
“Really?”
No. Not really.
Be that mother, Nora. You need to fix this. You don’t need to tell her the whole truth, but a small truth is the only way to fix this.
“All right, so . . . maybe Lennon was right about me being . . . what did he say, shallow?”
“Superficial. And plastic, and fake.”
“The thing is . . . I hated having my picture taken. It was because of my nose, okay?”
“What?”
“I hated my nose.”
Stacey looks at her. Really looks at her, examining her as though she isn’t just taking in her features, but as though she’s seeing who Nora used to be.
The scrutiny is unnerving. She forces herself not to squirm in her seat, forces herself to maintain eye contact, to be the mother, that mother, the one her daughter needs right now.
“Your nose is perfect, Mom.”
“This isn’t the nose I’m talking about. I mean the one I had—the one I was born with . . .”
“I broke it when I was a kid, and . . . it didn’t heal properly.”
“How did you break it?”
“Skiing.” Nora shrugs. “And every time I looked in the mirror, I remembered . . .”
“The accident? Did you fall? Or ski into something?”
“Right. Yes.”
“Which?”
Is Stacey asking because she’s trying to catch her in a lie, or because she’s curious?
“Both. I skied into a tree, face-first, and fell.”
“That must have been really painful.”
“It was. Finally, when you were about a year old, Dad said that if I hated it that much, I should have cosmetic surgery and get it fixed. So I did.”
“And that’s why there aren’t any photos of you with me, or pregnant?”
“What can I say? I was vain. I’m not proud of it, but it’s the truth. You can ask Dad. He’ll tell you. And he’ll also tell you that you’re not adopted and that we are both your parents. Okay?”
She’s quiet, digesting this. Nora reminds herself that she can’t possibly know the rest of the story. The real story. Even Keith doesn’t know that.
Stacey’s phone, face up on the table, lights up again.
“Lennon?”
Her daughter quickly darkens the screen.
“It was just a guess. Don’t worry. I couldn’t see it. And I’m not trying to pry.”
Stacey puts her phone into her pocket and shakes her head, mouth pursed, eyes on the ceiling.
After a moment, she asks, “Why don’t you like him?”
“I only met him once. I never said I don’t like him.”
“No, but he felt that. Right away.”
“Well, that’s a shame, because I can’t think of anything I did to make him think—”
“Really, Mom? Seriously? You just said you were glad when you thought we broke up.”
Nora looks down and closes her eyes, seeing Lennon, a sharp-eyed stranger. She hears him telling her daughters about the murders at 104 Glover, saying, I know everything.
She hears Jules saying, He won’t break your daughter’s heart, but if that’s what you’re worried about . . .
It isn’t. Not entirely.
“I’m your mother, Stacey. I don’t want you to lose yourself—your self, who you are—in a relationship. I want you to pursue the things you love to do, find new interests, make other friends. And I don’t want you getting hurt by some little creep who’s not good enough for you.”
“Based on what? That he’s not perfect like you? He’s . . . he’s imperfect, and he’s real. Like me.” She shoves back her chair. “And I know why he had the feeling that you don’t like him, because I have the same feeling every day of my life. Every time you look at me, I see it all over your face.”
“Stacey . . .”
“Whatever.” She stands. “I have to go.”
Nora watches her walk away, and she doesn’t stop her.
Stacey
“Hello?” Stacey calls, letting herself into the house. “Anyone home? Dad? Piper?”
Silence. Kato isn’t the kind of dog who races to greet anyone.
She takes one last look outside before closing the door, making sure there’s no sign of the man who’d confronted her earlier. And no sign of Lennon. There wouldn’t be, because he’s in Manhattan at his guitar lesson . . .
Unless he’d lied.
She can’t think of a good reason why he would, but she’s not sure she trusts him. Or anyone, at this point. Not even her mother.
If she is my mother.
Does Stacey really doubt that, based on some stupid theory of Lennon’s?
Of course not. Of course Mom is her mother, based on . . .
What, though? That story about having her nose fixed?
It’s not like Mom hasn’t had her share of cosmetic procedures over the years. Dad, too. Back home, they were always making the rounds of doctors and dentists, salons and spas, getting nips and tucks, treatments, veneers, injections. Everyone else’s parents did the same thing, and so did half the kids at school.
Stacey had never paid much attention.
Now Lennon has made her second-guess everything she ever thought she knew about her family, and herself.
Back in the park, Stacey couldn’t wait to get away from him after he said that. But he draped that possessive arm over her shoulders, saying he was going to get her home before he went to his guitar lesson.
“You don’t have to ‘get me home,’” she protested, “like I’m . . . I don’t know, a little kid or a little old lady or something.”
“I’m just keeping you safe.”
“Well, I appreciate it, but I have a few things I need to do on Edgemont, so . . .”
“Do you think that’s a good idea? With that lunatic killer running around thinking you’re a dead girl?”
No, she did not. But she didn’t appreciate his proprietary attitude toward her.
They parted ways at the Boulevard Apothecary. She told him she had to pick up a few things.
“You’re not sick, are you?”
“No, I just need some stuff for school.”
He frowned a little, like he thought she was lying, and she was. He didn’t need to know she’d decided to get some cigarettes of her own, along with cosmetics and hair product so that she wouldn’t have to keep borrowing her mother’s and sister’s. Her mother didn’t need to know that, either. Or anything else.