“I don’t have to think,” I said in my smart-ass way, and she laughed. “And I can still play ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.’ ”
“Of course you can.”
“I wanted this song to play at my wedding,” she said softly as “Spring” from Vivaldi’s Four Seasons played.
“I didn’t know that.”
“There are many things you don’t know, son.” She increased her pace and I followed suit. “I’d already picked my wedding dress out. It wasn’t white. I wasn’t a virgin. It was a cream, eggshell color, lots of lace. Demure yet sophisticated. I . . .” Her voice caught. “Well, that was the past, it wasn’t meant to be.”
“I’m sorry, Mother.”
“Don’t be, I have so many regrets. So many things that should have been different. If I could go back, there are so many things I would say to them.”
“Say to who?” I stopped abruptly and my mother shook her head in displeasure.
“The Londons.”
“Who are the Londons?” I asked softly.
“The couple who ruined my life.”
“Oh?”
“Nicholas London worked with your father at Bradley. In fact, he was one of the founders. His wife, Angelina, was a busybody, always in everyone’s business. She thought everything had to be a certain way. She didn’t want me around. She was jealous of me.”
“Why was she jealous of you, Mother?” I asked softly.
“She wanted what I had. She wanted the love that I shared with Nicholas. She couldn’t stand it that he had fallen for me. But she had her chance. She . . .” Her voice caught. “She ruined everything. And Nicholas wasn’t strong enough to stand up to her. He didn’t stop her. He felt guilty about everything and then, well, then everything was too late.”
“What are you talking about, Mother?”
“Don’t worry yourself, son. What’s in the past should be kept in the past.”
“I wish you didn’t still hurt, Mother. I wish I could take your pain away.”
“You have taken my pain away. You’re starting college in the fall. You’re a smart, handsome, brilliant son. The best son I could hope for. You’re all my dreams come true, Jakob. And you made it on your own, with no help from your father. You’re smarter, more handsome, and more accomplished than David, who had everything given to him on a silver platter. Your father could only wish that you were his heir.”
“I’m sorry he hurt you, Mother.”
“I’m sorry for many things.” She sighed. “I must go and lie down now. The dance has worn me out.”
“Okay, do you need anything?”
“No, just a small rest.” She kissed the top of my head. “Thank you for the dance. I do so love remembering my days on the dance floor, but I’m no longer a sprightly young thing.”
“Mother.”
“Don’t Mother me.” She smiled and walked out of the room. I watched her walking slowly, her body already fading away into the night as I stood in the middle of the room, listening to the piano recording reverberating throughout the room. I vowed to myself that I would make the Londons pay for their hand in ruining my mother’s life. I wasn’t sure what they had done or said to make my father end his relationship with my mother, but it didn’t matter. They would pay, one way or another.
*
I went to the coffee shop and sat in the corner at a table facing the front door so I could watch as people arrived and left. It’s scarily easy to stalk people. At least it had been easy to stalk Bianca London. She had a Twitter account linked to her articles and she basically tweeted every time she was at a coffee shop or restaurant with a photo of the drink she was having or meal she was eating. The fact that she checked in on Yelp as well had proven to be very helpful. There were two coffee shops she seemed to favor and one that she had been frequenting more recently. I wanted to see her in person. I knew it wasn’t smart to come into contact with her now, but I needed to see the face of the woman causing so much turmoil for me and David—though the turmoil was for different reasons.
I looked at the novel in front of me and sighed. I was having a hard time focusing on my book, A Confederacy of Dunces, because I was so preoccupied, but I would look suspicious if I just sat there watching the door. I knew her as soon as she walked into the coffee shop. She had a green canvas messenger bag slung over her shoulder and her hair hung down her back, unkempt. She bounded into the coffee shop with a wide smile on her face as she stared at the baristas. I jumped up from my table and headed toward the counter to order a drink. I knew it was a risk to be so close to her, but I couldn’t stop myself. I watched her as she stared at the menu, nibbling her lower lip as she surveyed the options. I wondered why it was taking her so long—there weren’t that many choices on the board and she came here almost daily. Did she really need to study it that hard?