Kelly came over Tuesday, mad as ever, because Verona had sent Mandy a new dress for her birthday. Verona's sent things anonymously for years—at Christmas she writes "Santa Claus" on the tag. First, it was rattles, then stuffed animals. The last few years it's been clothes, school clothes.
"You've got to do something about it, Mom," Kelly told me.
She stood at the door and didn't even unbutton her jacket, left the car running on the driveway, the boys inside. "It's driving me nuts, I swear it. Mandy's getting old enough to where I'm going to have to explain it, you know. Here's this big package comes in the mail." She draws the lines with her arms. "The boys don't get anything extra. Mandy's going to wonder—you know she will."
"What can I do?" I said.
"You know her. You talk to her everyday at school. Tell her she’s got to stop—it's for Mandy's own good, Mom."
Like I say, I've seen Verona's long face whenever that darling Mandy walks by with an empty tray. Ever since the girl's been in kindergarten I've seen that look on Verona’s.
"I've talked to Reg's lawyers—the business, you know—and they claim I can get a court order—"
"My goodness, Kelly," I said.
"Listen to me! They said I can get a court order that would keep her from contacting Mandy in any way. It's the law."
"You going to arrest her for sending a pair of socks?"
"If I have to," she said.
Somewhere it's written, I think, that once they leave the nest a mother's supposed to stop worrying. You think that's the way it's going to be, but it isn't.
"You want me to tell her?" I said.
"I'm right about this, Mom. Maybe someday when Mandy's old enough, you know, when she can take the truth. But she's only eight years old." She ran her fingers through her hair like she always does, front to back, her father's thick dark hair. She's beautiful, my prettiest daughter. I've never quite figured out where she came from—such a beautiful girl at the end of the line.
"Mom, " she says, "please? I just can't think of Christmas in another two weeks. Besides, she's getting so extravagant. This outfit must have cost forty bucks."
"What was it?" I said.
She rolled her eyes. "What difference does it make?"
"Really?" I said. "Tell me about it."
She let out this long, grieved breath. "A black, cotton jumper with suspenders and a bright yellow tube belt—"
"Sounds cute," I said.
"She even sent a pair of panty hose and a turtleneck."
I waited for her critique. "Well?" I said.
"I just won't have it anymore," she said. "I don't care if it's cashmere. You've got to tell her."
"Why me?" I said.
"It's either you or the lawyer," she told me.
Her father used to say that if Kelly got up a head of steam, she could carry the Chicago Bears on her back and still get where she wants to go. In her entire life, the only thing she wanted but never got was Jeff Worth.
"You've got to do something about it, Mom," Kelly told me.
She stood at the door and didn't even unbutton her jacket, left the car running on the driveway, the boys inside. "It's driving me nuts, I swear it. Mandy's getting old enough to where I'm going to have to explain it, you know. Here's this big package comes in the mail." She draws the lines with her arms. "The boys don't get anything extra. Mandy's going to wonder—you know she will."
"What can I do?" I said.
"You know her. You talk to her everyday at school. Tell her she’s got to stop—it's for Mandy's own good, Mom."
Like I say, I've seen Verona's long face whenever that darling Mandy walks by with an empty tray. Ever since the girl's been in kindergarten I've seen that look on Verona’s.
"I've talked to Reg's lawyers—the business, you know—and they claim I can get a court order—"
"My goodness, Kelly," I said.
"Listen to me! They said I can get a court order that would keep her from contacting Mandy in any way. It's the law."
"You going to arrest her for sending a pair of socks?"
"If I have to," she said.
Somewhere it's written, I think, that once they leave the nest a mother's supposed to stop worrying. You think that's the way it's going to be, but it isn't.
"You want me to tell her?" I said.
"I'm right about this, Mom. Maybe someday when Mandy's old enough, you know, when she can take the truth. But she's only eight years old." She ran her fingers through her hair like she always does, front to back, her father's thick dark hair. She's beautiful, my prettiest daughter. I've never quite figured out where she came from—such a beautiful girl at the end of the line.
"Mom, " she says, "please? I just can't think of Christmas in another two weeks. Besides, she's getting so extravagant. This outfit must have cost forty bucks."
"What was it?" I said.
She rolled her eyes. "What difference does it make?"
"Really?" I said. "Tell me about it."
She let out this long, grieved breath. "A black, cotton jumper with suspenders and a bright yellow tube belt—"
"Sounds cute," I said.
"She even sent a pair of panty hose and a turtleneck."
I waited for her critique. "Well?" I said.
"I just won't have it anymore," she said. "I don't care if it's cashmere. You've got to tell her."
"Why me?" I said.
"It's either you or the lawyer," she told me.
Her father used to say that if Kelly got up a head of steam, she could carry the Chicago Bears on her back and still get where she wants to go. In her entire life, the only thing she wanted but never got was Jeff Worth.
_________________
Tomorrow: the problem is addressed at school.
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