Page 38 of Double Exposure

I shake my head. “Sorry to disappoint, but they should have divorced a long time ago.”

“That's too bad,” says Carter. “Must be hard on you.”

“I'm sorry. No, it's fine.” I sigh and lean my head into the seat. “She doesn't care about him. He doesn't care about her. They each live totally separate lives. I don't get it. But he's my dad and she’s my mom and I love them both.”

I want to leave it there. I’m also afraid I’ll sound like a brat if I keep going. I could have had it so much worse. My parents don’t fight, don’t yell at each other and would never hurt each other. I do make this clear to him before we exit the car.

“They’re just not in each other’s orbit,” he says, slamming the door for me after I step out.

“That’s it exactly,” I say.

“I’ll walk you up,” he says and takes my hand again.

I’m strangely nervous this time. He must have sensed this and squeezes my hand in the elevator. I think I’m afraid he’s suddenly going to turn into a different person outside my door and ask to stay.

A slender percentage of me wants this to happen, but it’s not the real me—the part I have to live with.

When we reach the door, all he does is take the key card from me after I fail at the swipe and runs it through. I move to push the door open but he reaches around and turns on the lights first. Then he strides across the room to make sure the heater is working.

When everything seems to check out okay, he turns and asks, “Pick you up in the morning for the hospital?”

I agree. Nine o’clock.

When the door closes behind him, I feel oddly alone. Not abandoned—just horribly alone. What did I want? To fall into bed together? For him to hang out with me? For us to sleep together?

I swear, I’m my own worst enemy. I do not want to expose any part of my psyche to possible harm.

Twenty minutes later, I’m rinsing my mouth out when there’s a knock at the door. Glancing at the digital clock in the bathroom I tighten my complimentary robe and move toward the door. It’s nearly ten at night. I’m nervous. For a moment, I flash on Carter and then realize he would never boomerang back without telling me.

Standing next to the door, I tilt my head back slightly and raise my voice. “I didn’t call for room service.”

There’s a pause and then a shuffling sound.

“This isn’t housekeeping. It’s your mother.”

WTF.

In a jangle of security chains and levers, I open the door and my mother steps inside, dragging a single carry-on behind her. She shuts the door because, apparently, I’m too much in shock to move.

“What are you doing here?” I finally ask before I hear how rude this sounds.

“I need a drink,” is all she says and moves to the wet bar.

΅

Making a few observations while my mother sips a drink seems familiar. What’s not, is the Scotch in her hands. Clad in flowy linens like a Dalai Lama groupie, she is not dressed for the cold. Her feet, in nothing but low-cut loafers, must be freezing. At least she brought a coat.

She fiddled with the zipper, hung up the coat and poured herself the Scotch when I disappeared to get dressed.

“You didn’t have to get dressed, Jade. I’m exhausted. I’m going to bed.”

I shrug. Yes, I did. I need to be on equal footing. “Mom you’re not dressed for Colorado in winter.”

“I understand. I didn't really have time to go shopping.”

“You didn’t have to come. I told you I’d take care of him.”

“It's not your job.”