Page 59 of Gone Tonight
But there’s no way I’ll be able to get my mother into a church. She told me once that I was welcome to pick a religion for myself, but she was an agnostic.
So I’m going to bring a bit of church to her.
My mother worked the early shift today and is due home from Sam’s around 2:30 p.m. I have the day off. I already stopped by Sunrise at lunchtime, but no fax had come in from RJ’s. I plan to check again toward the end of the day.
I’m freshly showered and on the couch with my hair drawn up in a loose, damp bun when my mother walks through the door. She’s right on time.
I’ve made a bowl of buttered popcorn for us to share, for old time’s sake.
“Hey.” I turn down the volume on the TV show I’ve been pretending to watch. “How was your day?”
She pauses in the doorway. I can tell she’s trying to gauge my mood.
“The usual.” She slips off her shoes and sighs as she flexes and curls her toes against the carpet. “What’re you watching?”
I turn off the TV. “Would you believe a dumb Christmas movie?”
My mother’s forehead creases. “In May?”
“There’s a channel that shows them year-round.”
She rolls her eyes. “Tell me we’re not paying extra for it.”
I hold out the bowl of popcorn. “Want some?”
I need my mother close to carry out my plan. She’s better than me at the art of subterfuge. I’ll have a split second to read her expression before she creates a diversion or masks her true feelings.
“Yeah, let me just go change into sweats.”
She heads into her bedroom, and I shift position, stretching out with my head against the armrest. She likes to put her feet up when she gets home from work, so it isn’t unusual for us to lie head to toe on the couch, facing each other while we talk—or I study and she plays a game of solitaire on her phone.
She comes back out a few minutes later, her hair loosened from its headband. I catch a whiff of the clean, soapy scent of the Dove bar she uses to wash her face.
I start to hum as she enters the living room.
My mother pushes my legs over an inch, then climbs onto the couch and stretches out.
I keep humming, concentrating on making every note clear and distinct.
My mother reaches for the popcorn bowl and crunches a handful. “Pretty song.”
“It’s ‘Ave Maria.’ I’ve got it in my head from the movie I just saw. You know, it’s the song they always play at Christmas… I think it’s originally from that famous opera?”
I look into her eyes as I say the words. And it’s what I don’t see that gives me the confirmation I both need and fear.
My mother shrugs. There’s no flash of recognition or knowledge, no effort to correct me.
“Madame Butterfly,that’s it,” I continue.
“Uh-huh.” She nods and takes another handful of popcorn. “So how wasyourday?”
I feel my cheeks begin to burn.
“Ave Maria” is a prayer. I researched it just this morning. If you translate the lyrics, they begin, “Hail Mary, full of grace.” Anyone who grew up in the Catholic Church would know the song is associated with their religion.
Still, I give my mother one final chance.
“My day was pretty interesting. I went into work for a bit.”
