My breath hitched. Because they were true. Our mother was dead. Nothing I said or did could ever make up for that one, deep, terrible loss.
“I can’t remember her voice.” I tried to recall things Mom used to say, little phrases or advice. What were the stories passed from my mother to me? The lessons written in my heart, the things that made me her daughter? I was not like her. Was I?
Was Toni?
“I want to be an artist.”
I’d been proud that our mother wasn’t like the ordinary mothers I saw, withering away on the Kansas prairie or stuck in some suburban rut. Our mother was always on the move, making larger-than-life installations in far-flung exotic locations. The celebrated Judy Gale: ambitious, brilliant, dedicated.Irresponsible. The word snuck in and stuck.
She loved us. She did. But never enough to stay.
“All my life, I’ve missed somebody I never knew. This is my chance to know her.” I swallowed hard. What would it be like, to follow in Mom’s footsteps? To see her from the perspective of her friends and peers? To be seen as Judy Gale’s daughter. A talent, a genius, an artist like our mother.
Maybe, I reflected, it was better not to know. But I understood Toni’s choices better now.
I smoothed the covers over Toni and crept out of our sharedroom. I felt itchy and empty and wired with a weird energy, unable to keep from moving, as if there were someplace I needed to be. I thought again of Tim, alone in his big bed downstairs. I missed his solid strength, his reassuring warmth. I reached for my phone and then pleated my fingers together to stop from texting. This hollow space inside me... Even Tim couldn’t fill that.
Besides, it was really late. What would I say?Am I bothering you?like Gray? Or whatever it was Charles messaged at three thirty in the morning.Help me. Save me.
I winced. I didn’t want Tim to feel I was using him, for sex or anything else.
It was only nine thirty in Kansas. Late for farmers, but maybe not too late to call.
Em answered on the third ring. “Dorothy.”
“Hi, Aunt Em. Were you in bed?”
“Your uncle’s sleeping. What’s the matter?”
“Does something have to be wrong for me to call?”
“Usually. How’s Toni?”
I cleared my throat. “Fine.”
“She’s not sick? They haven’t canceled her flight?”
“No.” I waited for her to ask about me.
“Right, then,” Em said. “Tell her I’ll be at baggage claim.”
“Aunt Em... She’s talking about going to New York. To stay with Mom’s friends.”
“Better than going off on her own. Leslie’s not a bad sort.”
I gripped the phone tighter. “You knew?”
“Toni asked me for her number.”
I ignored for the moment the realization that Em had kept contact with our mother’s life and friends in New York. “Aren’t you worried?”
“Of course I’m worried, Dorothy. But I learned my lesson with you.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I was scared to death when you were that age. All those colleges, sending you things. What if something went wrong? You’d be halfway across the country, all on your own. Naturally I was afraid. But I made you afraid, and I’m sorry for that. I never meant to hold you back.”
“I thought you wanted me to go to Kansas because it was cheaper.”
