Chapter One
Corban Solsek's heart dropped and his stomach clenched
tight when he saw the B on his sociology proposal. The
shock of it made heat pour into his face and then recede
in the wake of cold anger. He'd worked hard on this
outline for his term project! He'd checked his information
and sources, reviewed the methods by which he planned to
present his ideas, and proposed a program. He should've
received an A! What gives? Opening the folder, he glanced
through the perfectly typed pages, looking for
corrections, comments, anything that might give an
indication of why he hadn't received what he knew he
deserved.
Not one red check anywhere. No comment. Nothing.
Stewing, Corban flipped open his notebook, wrote the
date, and tried to concentrate on the lecture. Several
times Professor Webster looked straight at him as he
spoke, singling him out from the other hundred and twenty
students inhabiting the tiers of desks. Each time Corban
stared back for a few seconds before looking down and
scribbling some more notes. He had great respect for
Professor Webster, which made the grade even harder to
take.
I'll challenge him. I don't have to accept this
without a fight. It wasn't a good proposal. It was
excellent. He wasn't a mediocre student. He poured his
heart and soul into his work, and he intended to make sure
he was treated fairly. Hadn't his father instilled that in
him?
"You have to fight for yourself, Cory. Don't let
anybody kick you around. They kick you, kick 'em back
harder. Knock 'em down and make sure they don't get
upagain. I didn't bring up my son to take any guff from
anybody."
His father had worked his way to the top of a trucking
company through hard labor and fierce determination. He'd
done it all, from truck driver to mechanic to sales to
administration to CEO, and finally to part owner of the
company. He was proud of his accomplishments while at the
same time embarrassed by his lack of formal education.
He'd never gotten further than the sophomore year of high
school. He'd quit to help support his mother and younger
siblings after his father died of a massive heart attack.
The same kind of heart attack that killed him the year
after he retired, leaving a wealthy widow and two sons and
a daughter with healthy trust funds.
"Focus on where you're going," his father had always
said. "Get into a good college. The best, if possible.
Stick it out. Don't let anything or anyone get in your
way. Get yourself a sheepskin from a big-name college and
you're halfway up the ladder before you have your first
job."
No way was Corban going to accept this grade. He'd
worked too hard. It wasn't fair.
"Did you have something to say, Mr. Solsek?" Professor
Webster stood staring at him from his podium.
Corban heard several students laugh softly. There was
the rustle of papers and the creak of seats as others
turned and looked back at him where he sat in the center
middle row.
"Sir?"
"Your pencil, Mr. Solsek," the professor said with an
arched brow. "This isn't a percussion instrument class."
Corban's face flooded with heat as he realized he'd
been tapping his pencil while his mind raced in
agitation. "Sorry." He flipped it into the proper position
for writing and aimed a quelling glance at two twittering
coeds. How did those airheads make it into Berkeley
anyway?
"Are we ready to proceed then, Mr. Solsek?" Professor
Webster looked back at him with a faint smile.
Embarrassment melted into anger. The jerk's enjoying
this. Now Corban had two reasons to feel indignant: the
unfair grade and public humiliation. "Yes, sir, any time
you are." He forced a dry smile and a pretense of calm
disdain.
By the end of the lecture, the muscle in Corban's jaw
ached from tension. He felt as though he had a two-ton
elephant sitting on his chest. He took his time stuffing
his notebook into the backpack already crammed with books
and two small binders. Thankfully, the other students
cleared out of the lecture hall in quick fashion. Only two
or three paused to make any remarks to Professor Webster,
who was now erasing the board. Corban kept the report
folder in his hand as he walked down the steps toward the
podium.
Professor Webster stacked his notes and tucked them
into a file folder. "Did you have a question, Mr. Solsek?"
he said, putting the folder into his briefcase and
snapping it shut. He looked at Corban with those dark,
shrewd eyes.
"Yes, sir." He held out his report. "I worked very
hard on this."
"It showed."
"There wasn't a single correction."
"No need. What you had there was very well presented."
"Then why a B and not an A?"
Professor Webster rested his hand on the
briefcase. "You have the makings of an excellent term
paper from that proposal, Mr. Solsek, but you lacked one
major ingredient."
How could that be? He and Ruth had both gone over the
paper before he turned it in. He had covered
everything. "Sir?"
"The human element."
"I beg your pardon?"
"The human element, Mr. Solsek."
"I heard you, sir. I just don't understand what you
mean. The entire paper is focused on the human element."
"Is that so?"
Corban stifled his anger at Webster's sardonic tone.
He forced himself to speak more calmly. "How would you
suggest I make it more apparent, sir?" He wanted an A in
this course; he wasn't going to accept less. Sociology was
his major. He had maintained a 4.0 for three years. He
wasn't going to break that perfect record now.
"A case study would help."
Corban flushed with anger. Obviously the professor
hadn't read his paper carefully enough. "I incorporated
case studies. Here. On page 5. And more here. Page 8." He
had backed up everything he had proposed with case
studies. What was Professor Webster talking about?
"Collected from various volumes. Yes, I know. I read
your documentation, Mr. Solsek. What you lack is any
personal contact with those who might be most affected by
your proposed programs."
"You mean you want me to poll people on the street?"
He couldn't keep the edge of disdain from creeping into
his voice. How long would it take to develop a proper
questionnaire? How many hundreds of people would he have
to find to answer it? Wasn't that thesis work? He wasn't
in graduate school. Not yet.
"No, Mr. Solsek. I'd like to see you develop your own
case study. One would do."
"Just one, sir? But that—"
"One, Mr. Solsek. You won't have time for more. Add
the human element and you'll earn the A you covet. I'm
sure of it."
Corban wasn't quite sure what the professor was
driving at, but he could sense an undercurrent of
disapproval. Was it a personality clash? Did his ideas
offend? How could that be? If the programs he proposed
were ever put into practice, they'd solve a lot of current
problems in government systems.
"Do you have anyone in your own family who might fit
the lifestyle scenario you've presented, Mr. Solsek?"
"No, sir." His entire family lived in Connecticut and
upstate New York, too far away to do the number of
interviews he'd need for a paper. Besides that, his family
had money. His father had broken the chain of middle-class
mediocrity. Corban's paper zeroed in on those who were
economically challenged. Nobody in his family depended on
social security to survive. He thought of his mother
living in Switzerland part of the year with her new
investment-broker husband.
"Well, that presents a problem, doesn't it, Mr.
Solsek?" Professor Webster lifted his briefcase from the
table. "However, I'm quite sure you'll work it out."
"Quit grousing, Cory," Ruth said that afternoon in their
shared apartment a few blocks off University Avenue. "It's
simple. If you want an A, do what Professor Webster wants
you to do. It's not like he's asking you to do something
terrible." Raking her fingers through her straight, short
black hair, she opened a cabinet in the kitchenette. "Are
we out of coffee filters again?"
"No, there are plenty. Look in the cabinet to the left
of the sink."
"I didn't put them there," she said, closing the
cabinet where she'd been searching.
"I did. Made better sense. The coffeepot is right
underneath where the outlet is. I moved the mugs too.
They're on the shelf above the coffee and filters."
Ruth sighed. "If I'd realized how difficult you are, I
would've had second thoughts about moving in with you."
She took the can of coffee and pack of filters down from
the cabinet.
"One case study." Cory tapped his pencil. "That's all
I need."
"A woman."
He frowned. "Why a woman?"
"Because women are more ready to talk, that's why."
She made a face. "And don't ever tell my advocacy friends
I said that."
"A woman, then. Fine. What woman?"
"Someone with whom you can develop some rapport," Ruth
said, adding a fifth heaping scoop of French roast to the
basket.
"I don't need to get that personal."
"Sure you do. How do you suppose you'll get answers to
the kind of questions you want if you don't make friends
with your subject?"
"I haven't got time to develop a friendship, Ruth."
"It doesn't have to be lifelong, you know. Just long
enough to finish your paper."
"I've got a few months. That's it. All I need is
someone who meets my criteria and who'll be willing to
cooperate."
"Oh, I'm sure that'll impress Professor Webster."
"So, what do you suggest?"
"Simple. Offer an incentive."
"Money, you mean?"
"No, not money. Don't be so dense, Cory."
It annoyed him when she spoke to him in that
condescending way. He tapped his pencil again, saying
nothing more. She glanced back at him and frowned
slightly. "Don't look so ticked, Cory. All you have to do
is offer services in exchange for information."
He gave a hard laugh. "Sure. What kind of services
could I offer?"
She rolled her eyes. "I hate it when you're in one of
these moods. You can't be such a perfectionist in this
world. Good grief, Cory. Just use your imagination. You've
got one, haven't you?"
Her tone grated. He leaned back in his chair, shoving
his proposal away from him on the table, wishing he had
taken a different avenue with his project. The prospect of
having to talk with people made him nervous, although he
wasn't about to admit that to Ruth. She had a double major
in marketing and telecommunications. She could talk to
anybody, anytime, on any subject. Of course, it also
helped to have a photographic memory.
"Quit stewing about it." Ruth shook her head as she
poured herself a cup of black coffee. "Just go down to the
supermarket and help some little old lady carry her
groceries home."
"With my luck, she'll think I'm some mugger after her
purse." He took up his pencil and started tapping
it. "Better if I go through some community organization."
"There. You came up with a solution." She leaned down
to kiss him on the lips, then took his pencil away and
tucked it behind her ear as she straightened. "I knew
you'd figure it out."
"What about dinner?" he said as she moved away from
him. "It's your night to cook."
"Oh, Cory. I can't. I'm sorry, but you know how long
it takes me to put a meal together. If I'm going to do it,
I have to do it right, and I've got two hundred pages of
reading and some materials to review before a test
tomorrow."
No less than what he had to do most nights.
She paused in the doorway. Leaning against the jamb,
she gave him a winsome smile, her dark hair framing her
perfect, oval face. She had such beautiful dark eyes and
the kind of smile toothpaste advertisers liked on
billboards. Her skin was flawless, like an English lady's.
Not to mention the rest of her from the neck down. Ruth
Coldwell came in a very nice package, and underneath it
all, she was smart. Not to mention ambitious.
One date was all it had taken for Cory to know she was
a match for him. Even more so after the second date and a
passionate night in his apartment. She made his head spin
and sent his hormones into overdrive. A month after their
first date, he was having trouble concentrating on his
work and wondering what he was going to do about it. Then
providence had smiled on him. Ruth had spilled out her
money worries to him over coffee. In tears, she said she
didn't know where she was going to get enough money to
finish the semester. He suggested she move in with him.
"Really?" Her beautiful brown eyes had glistened with
tears. "You're serious?" She'd made him feel like a knight
in shining armor saving a lady in distress. Money was no
problem for him.
"Sure."
"I don't know, Cory ..."
"Why not?" Once he made up his mind, it was a matter
of finding the best way to achieve his goal.
"Because we haven't known one another very long," she
had said, troubled.
"What don't you know about me that you need to know?"
"Oh, Cory. I feel as though I've known you all my
life, but it's a big step."
"I don't see that it would change much. We spend every
spare minute together as it is. We're sleeping together.
Save time if we lived together."
"It's sort of serious. Like getting married. And I'm
not ready for that, Cory. I don't even want to think about
marriage at this stage in my life. I have too many things
I need to do first."
The word marriage had sent a chill through him. He
wasn't ready for that kind of commitment either. "No
strings," he had said and meant it. "We'll share expenses
and chores right down the middle. How's that?" He grimaced
now as he remembered saying it. But then, he'd said a lot
of things to convince her. "It'd cut expenses for both of
us." Although money was no problem for him, he had been
worried about hurting her pride.
She'd moved in the next afternoon.
They'd been living together for six months, and
sometimes he found himself wondering ...
Ruth came back into the kitchen and leaned down to
kiss him again. "You have that look again. I know it's my
turn to cook. I can't help the way things fall sometimes,
Cory. School comes first. Didn't we agree on that?" She
raked her fingers lightly through the hair at the back of
his neck. Her touch still made his blood warm. "Why don't
you order some Chinese food?"
Last time she'd called in an order, it had cost him
thirty bucks. It wasn't the money that bothered him. It
was the principle. "I think I'll go out and have some
pizza."
Straightening, she grimaced. "Whatever you want," she
said with a shrug.
He knew she didn't like pizza. Whenever he ordered it,
she ate it grudgingly, pressing a paper towel over her
slice to soak up the grease. "I need my pencil," he said
as she headed toward the doorway again.
"What a grouch." She took it from behind her ear and
tossed it onto the table.
Sitting alone at the kitchen table, he wondered how it
was possible to be so crazy about someone and still feel
things weren't quite right.
Something was askew.
Raking a hand through his hair, he stood up. He didn't
have time to think about his relationship with Ruth right
now. He needed to figure out what he was going to do about
his report. Snatching the telephone book, he slammed it on
the table and flipped it open to the yellow pages. There
was a long list of charity organizations offering services
to seniors. He spent the rest of the afternoon calling
them and asking questions until he found the one that
might suit his purposes.
"It's wonderful that you're interested in
volunteering, Mr. Solsek," the lady on the other end of
the line said. "We have very few college students among
our ranks. Of course, you'll need to come down for a
personal interview, and we have forms for you to fill out.
You'll also need to take a weekend orientation class. Do
you have a CPR certificate?"
"No, ma'am," he said, stifling his irritation.
Personal interview? Forms? Orientation classes? Just to
volunteer to take some old lady to the bank or grocery
store?
Jotting down the pertinent information, Cory gave a
deep sigh. A pox on you, Professor Webster, for getting me
into this!
"You will do no such thing, Anne-Lynn! What ever made you
even consider anything so utterly ridiculous?" Nora was
positively trembling. Just when she thought everything was
perfect, her daughter threw a monkey wrench into the
works. Well, she wouldn't have it! Everything was going to
move forward as planned.
"I've tried to tell you how important—"
"I'm not going to listen, Annie." Nora rose from the
table, picking up her cup and saucer. They rattled,
revealing her lack of control. She forcefully steadied her
hands and carried the dishes to the tile sink counter,
setting them down carefully. "You can just call Susan and
tell her you've come to your senses."
"Mom, please. I've thought it all through very
carefully—"
"I said no!" Nora refused to look at her daughter. She
didn't want to see how pale she was, how pleading her blue
eyes could be. Emotional manipulation, that's all it was.
She wouldn't fall for it. Striving for calm, she rinsed
the cup and saucer, opened the dishwasher, and placed them
carefully on the rack. "You're going to Wellesley. That's
been decided."
"You decided, Mom, I didn't."
Nora slammed the dishwasher door at the quiet comment
and turned to glare at her daughter. "Someone has to have
a little common sense. For once, even your father agreed.
Didn't he tell you a degree from a prestigious college
like Wellesley will open doors for you?"
"He said Cal would do the same."
"Oh, Cal. Just because he went there."
"Dad said he wants me to do what will make me happy."
Nora's heart pounded in anger. How dare he undo all
her work. Just once couldn't he think of someone besides
himself? The only reason he wanted Annie to go to Cal was
to keep her on the West Coast. "He wants your best, and I
don't? Is that what he's implying? Well, he's wrong! Love
means you want the best for someone."
"This is best, Mom. I have a job. I'll be able to make
it on my own."
"As a waitress. Earning minimum wage. You're so
naïve."
"I know I won't be living as comfortably as I do here with
you and Fred, but I'll have a place of my own—"
"Shared by a hippie—"
"... and food and—"
"Do you think I've sent you to the best private
schools so you can wait tables? Do you have any idea how
much it's cost to educate you? Music lessons, dancing
lessons, gymnastics lessons, deportment classes, modeling
classes, cheerleading camps. I've spent thousands of
dollars, not to mention thousands of hours of my time,
bringing you up with the best of everything so that you
would have the opportunities I never had. I've sacrificed
for you and your brother."
"Mom, that's not fair—"
"You're right. It's not fair. To me. You will not go
off and live in San Francisco like a hippie in that cheap
little flat of Susan's. You are not tossing your
opportunity to go to Wellesley to the wind just so you can
take some art classes. If you had any real talent, don't
you think I would have sent you to Paris to study?"
She saw the wince of hurt flash across Annie's face.
Good. Better to cut clean and make reality come clear.
Better to hurt her a little now than see her daughter
throw away all her chances for a bright, affluent future.
She could continue her silly art classes as elective
courses.
"Mom, please hear me out. I've prayed for a long time
about this, and—"
"Anne-Lynn, don't you dare talk to me about God again!
Do you hear me? The worst thing I ever did was send you to
that church camp. You haven't been the same since!"
Tears welled in her daughter's eyes, but Nora refused
to weaken. She couldn't if she were to see her daughter
beyond these crossroads. Anne had to take the right path.
Nora knew that if she gave in for one moment, every hope
she had ever had for Anne would be lost.
"I love you very much, Anne-Lynn," she said, taking a
soothing tone. "If I didn't, I'd let you do whatever you
want. Trust me. I know what's right for you. Someday
you'll thank me. Now go up to your room and think things
over again." Seeing Anne open her mouth to speak, she
raised one hand. "No more right now. You've hurt me enough
as it is. Now please do as I've asked."
Anne rose slowly and stood at the table, her head
down. Nora watched her, measuring whether she was going to
have to fight more to make sure Anne didn't throw her life
away. She was such a beautiful girl, tall enough to be a
model, hands perfect for playing the piano, grades high
enough to go to any college in the country, but not a bit
of common sense. Nora's eyes burned with unshed tears she
didn't bother to hide. What cruel irony was this? Did Anne
now mean to strip her of all her dreams?
"Mom, I have to start making decisions for myself."
Nora clenched her teeth, sensing the gulf widening
between them. "Since you're so fond of the Bible these
days, perhaps you should look up the part about honoring
your father and mother. Since you have an absentee father,
you're to honor me. Now go to your room before I really
lose my temper."
Anne left quietly.
Trembling again, Nora leaned back against the kitchen
counter. Her heart was drumming a battle beat. It had
never occurred to her that Anne would resist the plans
made for her. Perhaps she shouldn't have been so pleased
about Anne's graduating from high school early. That had
given Anne too much time to think of other things to do.
Relaxing slightly, Nora sighed. She'd been so proud of
Anne, eagerly telling her friends how she had graduated in
January with a 4.0 GPA, actually higher than that with the
few college classes she had completed. But how can you
have a better-than-perfect average?
She should have gotten Anne into something to keep her
mind occupied. Then Anne wouldn't have had time to go
visiting Susan in her flat and thinking how grand and
exciting an independent, poverty-stricken life would be.
"I'm going to move in with Susan...."
Susan Carter! That girl would never amount to more
than a hill of beans. The Carters were nice enough, but
they lacked class. Tom and his blue-collar job, and
Maryann with her low-paying nursing job. How they managed
to feed and clothe six children was beyond Nora's
understanding. It was a pity Tom Carter didn't have more
ambition so Maryann could have stayed home and minded her
children. Their son Sam had landed in jail, and Susan was
trouble waiting to happen.
Nora went into the dining room and took a crystal-
stemmed wineglass from the mahogany china cabinet.
Returning to the kitchen, she opened the refrigerator and
took out a bottle of chilled white Chablis. She needed
something to calm her nerves. She filled her glass, then
recorked the bottle and replaced it before going out into
the sunroom. She sat on the white wicker chaise lounge
with the plump flowered cushions and stretched out her
slender legs.
The old resentments bubbled. What Nora would've given
to have the opportunities she was giving Annie. And did
her daughter appreciate them? No. Like a spoiled child,
Anne-Lynn wanted her own way. She wanted to make her own
choices. She hadn't yet said, "It's my life and I want to
live it." But it all came down to the same thing.
"I won't allow it. She's not going to ruin her life."
Inhaling through her nose, she released her breath
slowly to calm herself. Then she sipped her wine. She
needed to think about Annie and what she would do if this
pipe dream continued. There was the rest of spring and
summer. Anne-Lynn had too much time on her hands. That was
the problem. Well, that could be solved easily enough.
Nora would make sure Anne was committed to something.
Tutoring at the middle school through June and then
helping during summer school would look good on her
records.
Her head ached. She could feel another migraine coming
on. If Anne came downstairs again, she'd have her make up
a cold compress. Maybe that would make it clear to her how
this stress affected her mother.
Oh, why did Anne-Lynn have to rebel now? Just because
she had turned eighteen last week didn't mean she was
ready to run her own life! It was Susan planting ideas in
her head. Or Anne's father. Nora had a good mind to call
him and tell him what she thought of his latest
interference. Cal! Middle-class people go to Cal. Perhaps
if he had suggested Stanford ...
The last four years had been so wonderful. Anne had
buckled down after the turbulent, emotionally charged
preteen years when Nora had often wondered if her daughter
was going to run away and live on the streets. Anne had
excelled at everything, pleading only once to quit ballet
and music. But when she was told no, she went along with
the program laid out for her. She had studied and worked
hard at school, was popular with the other students, and
received more than her share of calls from male admirers.
But there were only a few Nora had allowed her to date.
After all, she didn't want Anne marrying some ordinary Joe
from the Bay Area.
Wellesley. That's where Anne-Lynn would meet quality
people, where she would mix with students from Ivy League
colleges—and marry the right kind of person.
Why did Anne-Lynn want to throw it all away now?
"I've prayed ..."
Those words grated more every time Nora heard them.
She downed the rest of her wine and rose to pour herself
another glass.
In the beginning, Nora hadn't thought much about
Anne's "conversion." True, the word had rankled. It was
like a slap in the face, an insult. What did the girl
suppose Nora was? A heathen? Hadn't she made the family
attend church services regularly? Anne's biological father
had been a deacon once, and though Fred didn't have time,
he gave generously to the church. Nora frowned in
annoyance thinking about it again. She had served on
women's committees many times and filled bags with canned
goods whenever there was a food drive.
And then, all of a sudden, after one summer camp, Anne-
Lynn comes home and says, "I've become a Christian, Mom. I
accepted Christ Jesus as my Savior and Lord at camp.
Pastor Rick baptized me. I'm so happy, and I want you to
be happy, too."
She'd become a Christian? What did she think she'd
always been? A pagan?
Nora had let it go. Although she viewed it as a silly
proclamation, she did begin to notice some welcome changes
taking place in her daughter's attitude and behavior. If
Anne wanted to attribute it to Jesus, fine. As long as the
rebelliousness and stubbornness ceased, that's all that
mattered to Nora. Anne listened and did as she was told.
She even said thank you, kept her room neat and clean, and
offered to help around the house. A blessed change,
indeed, after several years of fits of preadolescent
moodiness. If Anne came home from camp a young lady
willing to do what she was told, well, then, thank God for
it.
Only occasionally did Nora see a look come into her
daughter's eyes that indicated she was caught in some sort
of inner battle.
Everything had been so wonderful over the past few
years. Anne had become the daughter Nora had dreamed she
could be. All of Nora's friends envied her such an
accomplished, lovely girl—especially when their own
daughters were talking back, experimenting with drugs,
sneaking out with boys, running away, or getting pregnant
and having to have an abortion.
Anne was perfect.
Anne was her pride and joy.
And she was not going to be allowed to make any
foolish mistakes.
Upstairs in her sunny room, Annie sat cross-legged on her
bed, beneath the lacy, crocheted canopy. Clutching a pink
satin pillow against her chest, she fought the tears
spilling down her cheeks. Why did her mother always have
to make her feel so guilty? No matter how hard she tried,
no matter how well she did, it was never enough. One
mistake, one thought out of line with what her mother
wanted, and Annie knew she'd be told again how ungrateful,
rebellious, stubborn, and stupid she was. When words
didn't prove strong enough to maintain control, a migraine
came on with a vengeance. Her mother was probably
downstairs right now tending herself with a glass of white
wine and cold compresses while lying on the chaise lounge
in the sunroom.
And it's my fault, Annie thought, feeling hopeless.
Every time I try to break away, this happens. When will it
stop?
Oh, Lord, You know how hard I try to take captive
every thought and focus on You. Mom knows how to press
every button. Why is she like this? Jesus, You know I've
tried to understand my mother, tried to please her, but
nothing is ever enough. Worse, nothing made sense anymore.
Her mother complained about how much money and time she
spent on Anne, but she wouldn't allow her to get a job or
live on her own. She's the one who insists I go to
Wellesley. You know how much that costs, Lord. I can't go
when I feel You nudging me toward studying art, but Mom
won't even listen. Lord, she says she likes Susan, but now
she's calling her a hippie and saying she's not good
enough to be my roommate. How could her mother say she was
proud of Anne's scholastic achievements one minute and in
the next breath tell her she was stupid and incapable of
making decisions about her own life?
"Since you're so fond of the Bible these days, why
don't you look up the part about honoring your father and
mother?"
Did honoring mean to do everything you were told
without question? Did it mean swift capitulation? Did it
mean giving up yourself for the sake of living out someone
else's dreams? No matter what that dream was?
Annie knew if she went to Wellesley as her mother
wanted, the plans for her future wouldn't end there. Mom
would be calling and asking whom she was dating, if the
young man had "potential." Of course, what that meant was
high test scores, excellent grades, and a major that would
guarantee a financially healthy career. Law. Medicine.
Business. Her mother would want to know if the young man
came from a "good backgound." Someone descended from a
passenger on the Mayflower. Someone with a family tree.
Someone whose successful parents had lots of old money and
high social standing.
She shook her head. Mom could be open-minded. She
wouldn't mind it if her daughter dated a descendant of
immigrants as long as the family was well respected and
well known.
A Kennedy, perhaps?
Guilt gripped her. She was being irrational. Her
mother wasn't that bad.
Am I becoming like her, Lord? When I tear loose, am I
going to do to my children what she's doing to me? Or am I
going to lose all reason and find myself saying to them
someday, "I didn't have any freedom, so you can do
whatever you want"? Oh, Father, forgive me, but I'm
beginning to hate her.
The last thing Anne wanted was for anger and
bitterness to take hold of her, but it was so frustrating!
Her mother wouldn't even listen to her. And it was only
getting worse. I thought I could grow up and move out, be
on my own, but it's as though she has her claws sunk into
me. The harder I struggle, the deeper she wounds me.
"God, help me ... please."
Honor. What did it mean?
Maybe if she went to Wellesley ...
No, that would just delay the inevitable. Even if she
went to Wellesley, she would still hear how much her
mother had sacrificed for her future. And if she didn't go
to Wellesley, she would never hear the end of how
ungrateful she was for the opportunity she had wasted.
Lord, I'm in a no-win situation. What do I do?
Every which way she turned, Annie felt blocked. Like a
calf making a run from the herd only to have the drover
ride her down and nail her with a lasso. The fire was
burning and the iron red-hot, but it wasn't God's name her
mother wanted branded into her flesh. "Property of Nora
Gaines," that's what she wanted. But would that be enough?
Nothing she did was right unless it was done her
mother's way. "Get back in the corral, Annie. I know what
you were meant to be, and I'm going to make sure I drive
you to it." But did she know? What was it her mother
really wanted?
I don't know what to do, Lord. I feel You drawing me
one way, and Mom's dragging me back in the other. How do I
break free to do Your will without hurting her? Why can't
she let go?
Annie wanted to love her mother the way a daughter
should, but it was getting harder. She could barely stand
to be in the same room with her. If she hadn't come
upstairs, she would've exploded with words she'd only
regret later. She had kept her head down to hide her
feelings from her mother. She had held her tongue because
she knew it would be like a grass fire if she let loose
one word. She had to clench her hands to keep from rising
up and shouting, "Get out of my life, Mother! Nothing ever
pleases you! I'm sick of living like this. Why don't you
get a life, so I can have my own?"
The molten words would have come pouring out of her,
burning away the landscape of her relationship with her
mother, blackening everything. Some things Annie knew
about her mother, things she wished she didn't. One of
them was that Nora Gaines was good at holding grudges. She
kept a list of the hurts she had suffered over her
lifetime. And who had caused them. She never forgot
anything, never forgave. The past was like ammunition,
boxed and waiting. And she was quick to load and fire.
Annie knew the name of every person who had ever hurt her
mother and how they had accomplished it. Nora Gaines made
sure of it.
Sometimes the blame from past transgressions spilled
over onto Annie's head, and the litanies would begin.
"You're just like your father. He never had sense
enough to think about the future either.... You're just
like your father, dreaming all the time. You're just like
him...."
Or worse.
"You're just like your Grandma Leota. Always thinking
about yourself. Never caring about anyone else's
feelings.... My mother never had time for me. Look at all
the time I've made for you. I was never loved the way you
are.... My mother never gave me a thing. I had to go out
on my own at eighteen and make my own way.... I've always
wanted to make sure you had the best opportunities. I've
made sure you had all the things I never had."
Not once could Annie remember ever hearing her mother
say a nice thing about her own mother, Leota Reinhardt.
And it made Annie wonder. Was Grandma Leota to blame for
the way her mother was?
There was no way to measure cause and effect because
Annie only knew her mother's side. She'd never heard
Grandma Leota say much about anything. In fact, Annie had
seldom seen Grandmother Leota. Though her grandmother
lived right over the hills in Oakland, Annie could count
on two hands the times she had been taken for a visit. And
as soon as the family arrived, Annie and Michael were sent
out to play in the backyard so the adults could talk.
She frowned. It had never been her grandmother who
sent them out.
Her mother always developed a headache shortly after
they arrived at Grandma Leota's, so they never stayed
longer than an hour or two. On the way home, Mom would
fume and catalogue Grandma's failings.
Once, when her parents were still married, Annie had
overheard her father say he liked Leota. Only once. The
words had been thrown down like a gauntlet. A battle royal
had ensued, long and loud, with doors slamming, glass
breaking. The memory of that night was etched permanently
in Annie's brain. A memory of brutal accusations shouted
back and forth. Six months later, Annie's parents filed
for divorce. By the tender age of eight, Annie had known
better than to mention or ask questions about Grandma
Leota.
Lying back on her bed, Annie stared up through the
crocheted canopy. It had been a present on her fourteenth
birthday. Her mother had thrown a party for her, complete
with friends from school, ballet, and gymnastics. The
house had been full that day. Her mother had made sure her
present was opened last, then proceeded to tell everyone
how she'd seen the canopy covering in a home-design
magazine and called the publisher who put her in contact
with the company. "It came all the way from Belgium."
Everyone had oohed and aahed over it. One friend had even
leaned over to whisper, "I wish my mother would buy
something like that for me."
Annie remembered wishing she could throw it back into
its big professionally wrapped box with the massive silk
ribbons and flowers and hand it to the girl with her best
wishes. She wanted to scream, "I didn't ask for it! She's
going to use it against me. The next time I dare disagree
with her, she's going to say, `How can you be so
ungrateful? I bought you that beautiful canopy cover. I
had to call long distance to that magazine and then stay
on hold forever just to find out where it came from. And
then I had to write to the company in Belgium. Do you have
any idea how much that canopy cover cost? I would have
died to have something so beautiful in my drab little room
when I was a child. And now you won't do the simplest
thing I ask of you.'"
Something shifted within Annie, a subtle warmth, the
barest flicker of light. Just a spark, but it was like a
match lit in a dark room. She could see clearly, and a
chill went through her.
Oh, God ... oh, God. I'm lying here on my bed the same
way Mom is lying on her chaise lounge downstairs. I'm
nursing my grievances the same way she nurses hers. I
despise what she does, and I'm becoming just like her.
Annie sat up, heart pounding. I can't stay here. I
can't go on like this. If I do, I'm going to end up hating
my mother the same way she hates hers. Lord, I can't live
like that.
Slipping off her bed, Annie headed for her closet.
Sliding the mirrored doors open, she reached to the high
shelf and pulled down her suitcase. Opening her dresser
drawers, she took out only what she needed, packing
hastily. She had enough to get by until she was settled
with Susan. She took her Bible from her nightstand and put
it on top of her clothes. Closing the suitcase, she locked
it.
Should she speak with her mother? No, she didn't dare
risk it. She knew the scene that would come if she
confronted her. Sitting down at her desk, she opened a
side drawer and took out a box with pretty stationery. She
sat for a long moment, thinking. No matter what she said,
it wasn't going to change her mother's mind. Wiping her
eyes and rubbing her nose, Annie pressed her lips
together. Lord ... Lord ... She didn't know what to pray.
She didn't know if she was doing right or wrong.
Honor.
What did it mean anyway?
"Mom," she wrote, "I'm grateful for everything you've
done for me." She sat for a long time, trying to think
what else to say to make the blow easier on her mother.
Nothing came to her. Nothing would help. All she could
imagine was the anger. "I love you," she wrote finally and
signed it simply, "Annie."
She placed the note in the middle of her bed.
Nora heard the stairs creak once and knew Annie was coming
down. That's good. She's had time to think things over.
Nora relaxed on the chaise lounge, pressed the warming
compress over her eyes, and waited for her daughter to
come and apologize.
The front door opened and closed.
Surprised and irritated, Nora sat up.
"Annie?"
Growing angry, she threw the compress down and rose.
She went into the family room and called out to her again.
Annie was probably just going out for a walk to sulk.
She'd come back in a more pliable mood. She always did.
But it was aggravating to be made to wait. Patience wasn't
one of Nora's virtues. She liked to have things settled as
quickly as possible—and she didn't like to worry and
wonder about what Annie was thinking and doing. She liked
to know where she was and what was running through her
mind.
Why is she being so difficult? I'm only doing what's
best for her!
As she entered the living room, she saw Annie through
the satin sheers of the front plate-glass windows. Her
daughter was tossing a suitcase into the trunk of the new
Saturn her father had given her as a graduation gift.
Shocked, Nora stood staring as Annie slammed the trunk,
walked around to the driver's side of the car, unlocked
it, and slid in.
Where does she think she's going? She's never to leave
without asking permission.
As Annie drove down the street, two emotions struck
Nora at once. White hot rage and cold panic. She ran for
the door, throwing it open and hurrying outside. "Annie!"
Nora Gaines stood on her manicured front lawn and
watched the taillights of her daughter's car flash once as
she stopped briefly at the corner and then turned right
and drove out of sight.