“Of course it’s okay!” Too eager, Cath. “Yes. I mean, yeah. I’m glad. I mean, you should be a part of this.” I’m rambling again. Because mixed in with my dread over this interview is excitement. I’m going to see Brett again. Today.
“Good.” I hear the smile in his voice. “See you this afternoon, then.”
We hang up and I begin surveying my house, wondering if I can actually make it, and myself, presentable in time. And figure out what to do with Brenna.
Maybe Vince would babysit an almost six-year-old.
Chapter 13
“You didn’t have to do all this,” I tell my mother as she fusses over the fresh bouquet of plum-colored tulips that she brought, now sitting on a side table.
With Keith in court and Brenna’s regular babysitter in school, I was desperate. Almost desperate enough to ask Vince. But I decided to try my mother first, fully expecting her to say no because taking Brenna at three would require missing work, and her boss is the type to dock pay for each hour lost.
Surprisingly, she not only agreed, she left work at noon to hit up the Belmont Target for some décor items to “spruce up” my place. If I wasn’t so frazzled about this interview, I might be insulted.
“Don’t be ridiculous. You needed help.”
“Thank you. I was afraid I’d have to leave her with Vince.”
“I’m sure she wouldn’t have minded.”
“It’s not her I was worried about.”
“Hand me the scissors, please?”
My mom came not only with flowers but also with thick, warm gray wool curtains, her reasoning being that the current blinds and sheers don’t offer enough privacy against all these reporters. She can “almost” see into my living room from the outside, even with them closed. I don’t believe her, but on the off chance that she’s right, I’m not going to argue.
“There.” She steps back and eyes the living room, where we assume the filming will take place. “It’s not my style, but it doesn’t look bad with these added touches.”
That’s Hildy Wright’s way of offering a compliment. I’ve learned that I can’t take offense to it. And I have to admit, her added touches work well with my eclectic “décor.”
That doesn’t mean I want her here when Brett arrives, which is any moment now. I’ll have maybe thirty minutes alone with him, at most, before the news crew gets here.
It’s my only chance to talk to him, to tell him exactly what happened that night.
“You should probably head over to get Brenna. I called the office to let them know you’d be picking her up.”
She checks her watch with a frown. “It’s a five-minute drive, Cath. What am I going to do? Linger in the parking lot, twiddling my thumbs?” She grabs Brenna’s coloring kit and stuffs it into the end drawer, right on top of my sketchbook.
It’s obvious that she’s stalling. “Fine. I’ll be in the bathroom.”
“I could probably get your father to take off work and mind Brenna at home, so I could be here with you.”
“No, that’s okay.” That may have come out a tad too fast, but there’s no way in hell I’m doing this interview with my mother in the same room.
She nods. I can tell that’s not the answer she was hoping for, but this isn’t about her.
I turn toward the hall.
“Wait.”
She just stands there for a moment, her fingers tapping against her thigh. “I suppose you’ll be talking about Mr. Philips?”
I was wondering when she’d finally ask. “Kate Wethers will likely bring it up.”
She swallows hard. “I need to say something.”
Here we go.
What is she going to do? Give me a script? “Don’t worry, Mom. I won’t say anything disparaging about you. I told them that our relationship was off-limits.”
She sighs. “I was going to tell you that your father and I are one hundred percent on board with your decision to do this interview. And I hope you say whatever you feel you need to say to be able to hold your head up high. Just keep in mind that you recanted your statement, which means you have to be careful. Knowing that family, they’d launch a defamation suit against you. I . . .” She purses her lips. “If I could go back and do it all again, I still would have reported that man. But I’d like to think I would have done other things differently. I know you and I will never be best friends, but I hope one day you’ll see my intentions for what they were.”
I think that’s as close to an apology as I’ll ever get from her.
She turns to peek out the window. “I noticed that the toilet paper roll was near empty but I don’t know where you keep your extras. You should change it so your guests aren’t put out.”
“Right.” I leave her to do a quick scan of my tiny bathroom—and, yes, to replace the roll. And then I do a scan of myself in the mirror, of the silky powder-pink three-quarter-sleeve blouse and dark blue jeans I decided on after wrestling into everything in my closet, some things twice, wishing I still had my little black dress, a real miracle find for a secondhand store. I’ve run my flatiron through my hair and I’m wearing more makeup than I normally do, but I figured that the camera will dull it anyway.
All in all, I look a thousand times better than I did when Brett showed up at my door five days ago. Am I really ready for this, though? The tightness in my chest would suggest otherwise. In truth, I feel the overwhelming urge to call him and cancel the whole thing.
“A black Escalade just pulled up!” my mom hollers from the front window.
Too late now.
My stomach does a flip as I hit the light switch and approach, to watch my mother smoothing her hands over her dress and running a finger through her hair as she watches through a crack in the blinds.
“Wow.” She peers over her shoulder at me with a look. “He’s . . . Wow.”
“Yeah. I’ve noticed,” I say, tugging on the front of my blouse again.
She turns her focus back to the driveway. And suddenly her mouth drops open. “Holy shit!”
My eyes nearly pop out of my head. My mother never swears. Never. “What?”
“Did you know she was coming?”
“She?”
The porch steps creak, and my mom drops her voice to a whispered hiss. “His mother!”
Meryl Price is here?
I simply stare at the door, frozen in place as a knock sounds.
Thankfully, my mother has her wits about her, heading to flip the dead bolt and open the door. “Come in, come in!” She ushers them through, her voice more high-pitched than normal, her fingers that dangle at her thigh trembling slightly. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her flustered.