“Is this about the torn page of the legend?” she asks me in low tones. “Oh, my heart just dropped into my toes when you got that scar. I had only found Vivian’s clue the year before, and then, you brave thing, jumping in to play the heroine because your sorry excuse for a father couldn’t grow up. Just like Mr. Woodhouse in Emma. I know you always argue me that Emma’s father was different because he wasn’t a drunk or a philanderer, but I can sense the similarities. I’ve always felt a common bond between your daddy and Emma’s—they both even have ‘Wood’ in their surname. Very formal and masculine, don’t you think?”
I gesture for her to wrap up her soliloquy.
“I just felt so terrible when you got hurt.”
“Mama, I know. You’ve apologized like a million times. It’s fine.”
“Nobody knows about the link to your scar and the Darcy legend, so don’t worry about that. I knew it would ruin your reputation if it got out. As I said, secrets don’t keep in this town, so I never even told your daddy.”
I give her a look until she admits, “Okay, that part may have been for me. Your daddy would kill me if he knew I’d tampered with Vivian’s diary.”
“Well, he’ll never know, so no worries.”
I wonder how much longer it’s going to take her to finish that glass of wine.
“Baby, you really do seem ornery. Are you starting to panic?”
“I am not panicked.” I take a breath. “First of all, the legend isn’t real. Second of all, even if it were, other women in our ancestral Cowherd lineage most likely have scars, and some of those women were probably the oldest child of the jailkeeper. The fact that I have a scar doesn’t signify anything. Third of all, I personally couldn’t care less about the dumb threat to the eldest daughter. You know why? Because I think all guys suck.”
Mama takes another sip of wine and glances down at the bar. Her eyes light on the divorce papers peeking out from underneath the dish towel. Before I can grab them away, she lifts up the towel and taps the papers with her long painted nails. “How’s it going with these?”
“Mama, please take off your sunglasses.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“Mama, the shades.” I sigh.
She sighs right after me, but she removes her sunglasses. Her face is all done up from her audition with heavy rouge and eye makeup, but she still looks tired and worn. Older than she should. I take pity on her and tell her about my meeting with Gigi.
“She sounds like a big nightmare if you ask me,” Mama says when I’m finished. “But what a beautiful girl. Logan dropped by the theater with her to see his mother.”
I twirl a piece of my hair with my index finger. “Yes, we all know she’s a freaking goddess. You and Daddy got yourselves a great fake couple of soul mates to tout around town and boost your profits.”
Mama glances down again at the divorce papers sitting in front of me.
“I’m worried about you, baby.”
I pick up an empty glass and try to keep it steady as I pour myself some orange juice.
“Seriously,” she says as she eyes my shaky hand. “Does this news of Logan marrying sit all right with you?”
“It sits great.” I put down the glass and cross my arms over my chest. “He and I swore we’d never marry each other, anyway.”
“Why on Heaven’s earth would you do a silly thing like that?”
I’m not sure at the moment, but I can’t tell her that. “He wasn’t supposed to marry anyone. I wasn’t either. We had a silly pact.”
Mama frowns. “Well, be that as it may, it seems like things changed on his end. And I don’t want to see you end up alone.”
“Mama, I don’t need a man. I can stand on my own. I have for a long time now.”
“I know that. But you want a man beside you, don’t you?”
“No. That’s why I’m never getting married.”
At her eyes on the papers lying between us, I snap, “Again!”
“Sometimes, I still wish Daddy and I had opened that cell door.” Mama exhales loudly.
