I nodded once in agreement and Mom gave me a reproachful look that suggested I was getting far too friendly with the enemy.
The waitress brought Mom another merlot and refilled our water glasses. I was surprised that she didn’t even glance at the odd medallion as she approached the table—it isn’t something you see every day. The glow turned the water a shimmering baby blue as it streamed from the pitcher. I thought she’d at least look back over her shoulder as she left, the way you do when you’re curious about something but don’t want to seem rude or, in this case, jeopardize your tip. But she headed to the kitchen, stopping only to chat for a moment with Cute Guy with Ponytail.
We had gotten most of the way through our entrees when I accidentally hit another conversational landmine. “Is your hotel nearby?” I asked, thinking perhaps I might be able to finagle a visit somewhere with a nice indoor pool and sauna.
“I’m not at a hotel,” Katherine said. “I bought a house. Not far from your school, actually.”
Mom paused, a forkful of risotto halfway to her mouth. “You… bought… a house.”
“Yes. Connor and I have been camping out there for the past few days, but the movers are finally finished and now we just need to get things organized. Harry pointed me toward a very nice realtor.”
“Harry.” Mom’s mouth tightened and I had a feeling that Dad was going to be on her list for a while. She continued, enunciating each word very precisely—the tone of voice that usually came just before I was grounded. “So you’ve been in town for several weeks, and you didn’t bother to call me, but you did call my ex-husband, who was kind enough to find you a realtor. And keep it a secret.”
“I wasn’t sure how you would react to my decision,” Katherine said. “Harry, on the other hand, likes me. And I asked him, as a special favor, to keep things quiet. I’m sure it’s been tough on him. Secrecy really isn’t in his nature.” I mentally agreed on that point—Dad is a wide-open book in most respects.
“Okay. So you bought a house.” Mom set the fork back down with the risotto still uneaten and pushed her chair from the table. I was worried that we were about to make a dramatic exit, but she just said, “I’m going to the ladies’ room. When I get back, maybe you can tell me exactly who Connor is.”
As soon as Mom was out of earshot, Katherine leaned forward, pushing the glowing blue circle toward me. “They can’t see it, dear. No—that’s not quite right. They see the pendant, but they don’t see it as we do. What color is the light for you? Blue, right?”
I raised an eyebrow. “Of course it’s blue.”
“Not for me. I see a lovely shade of orange. A bit like an orange Creamsicle.”
“It’s blue,” I repeated. I’d never seen anything more vividly blue in my life.
She shrugged. “I don’t understand the physics of it. But I have only known a few dozen people in my lifetime who really see this light, and each of us sees it a bit differently.”
Katherine paused and glanced over her shoulder to see if Mom was headed back, before slipping the medallion into her purse. “We can’t discuss this in any detail right now—there’s so much you need to know.”
The urgent tone of Katherine’s voice was setting off alarm bells in my head. But before I could ask exactly what she thought I needed to know, she reached over and grabbed my hand, holding it between both of hers. “But I do want you to know this, Kate. Those were not panic attacks.”
I blinked, surprised that she knew about the two episodes that had shaken me so badly. The “counselor” Mom had taken me to see back in February, just after the second occasion, called them panic attacks, probably triggered by my move to a new school in the middle of the school year. That didn’t make sense. If I were going to have a panic attack, it would have been during the five months at Roosevelt High, when I was adjusting to metal detectors and security guards after two years in sleepy, middle-of-nowhere Iowa. It also didn’t explain the episode while we were still in Iowa, although I suppose that could have been triggered by sheer boredom.
Both times, I had been gripped by the sudden and powerful sense that something was very, very, horribly wrong, but I couldn’t pinpoint what that something might be. My body kicked into full “fight or flight”—heart pounding, hands shaking—and nothing around me seemed real. During the last attack, I ran out of class and straight to my locker. I called Mom, interrupting a meeting. She was fine. Then I went to Dad’s office. He wasn’t there, and I wasn’t sure of his teaching schedule, so I ran up and down the halls, stopping to peer through the rectangular windows at the door of each classroom. Several raised eyebrows and annoyed stares later, I found him. He was fine, too. I sent a text to my best friend, Charlayne, although I knew she was in class as well, and there was no way she could respond.
And then I went to the girls’ bathroom and puked up my lunch. The feeling that something wasn’t right had persisted for days.
I was just opening my mouth to ask how Katherine knew about the panic attacks when Mom returned to the table, a small, tight smile on her face. I know that smile well—Dad and I refer to it as the “Let’s-See-You-Explain-Your-Way-Out-of-This-One-Look,” and it never precedes anything pleasant.
“Okay, you’ve bought a house. In Bethesda. With someone named Connor.”
“No, Deborah. I bought a house in Bethesda by myself. Connor is my employee and my friend. He is a wonderful archivist and a whiz with computers, and he has been a great help to me since Phillip died.”
“Well, that’s better, I suppose. I thought perhaps you’d moved on as quickly after Phillip’s death as you did after Dad’s.”
Ouch. My eyes darted toward the bar, in the hope that Cute Guy with Ponytail was there to offer a distraction, but he was nowhere in sight. I then looked at the chair next to me—anything to avoid catching either set of eyes at the table. Sharp pinpoints of light from the medallion were shining out from the tiny holes in the weave of Katherine’s bag. It looked like an ice-blue porcupine sitting in the chair, and between that silly image and my already-frayed nerves I struggled to keep a straight face.
It seemed for a moment that Katherine was going to let Mom’s snarky comment pass, but she finally gave a long sigh. “Deborah, I don’t want to hash through old history with you, but I’m not going to let you toss out snide remarks in front of Kate without giving her my side of the story.” She turned to me and said, “I married Phillip three years after your grandfather died. Clearly, your mother felt that was too soon. But Phil was my friend and colleague for many years, and I was lonely. We had fifteen good years together and I miss him very much.”
I decided the safest course was just to smile politely. From my perspective, three years was a pretty long time.
“Why don’t we focus on the issue of the house then, Mother? Why buy a house if you’re so ill? Wouldn’t it make more sense to check into an extended-care facility?”
I thought that was a pretty cold statement, but I kept quiet. Katherine just shook her head, and then reached for her handbag.
“I have my library to consider, Deborah. They don’t have much space for books in old-folks’ homes. And I’d like to enjoy the time I have left. Shuffleboard and penny-ante poker aren’t on my to-do-before-I-die list.”
She opened the purse and blue light flooded the table. I watched Mom closely. I could see light reflected in her eyes, but her expression didn’t change at all. I didn’t understand how it was possible, but it was clear that she really couldn’t see the light from the medallion.
“Here’s the situation in a nutshell. I have a brain tumor. It is inoperable.” Katherine didn’t pause for reaction but continued, her voice brisk and emotionless. “We’ve tried chemotherapy and radiation, which accounts for the lack of hair.” She ran her hand across the top of her head. “I’m told it would have been considered chic a few years ago. The bad news is that I probably only have a year—a bit more if I’m lucky and a bit less if I’m not. The good news is that with a few exceptions, the doctor says that I’ll be able do pretty much anything I want in the time that I have left.”
She pulled a long envelope from her bag and removed the contents—several sheets of paper, very official looking. “This is my will. I inherited a substantial sum when Phillip died. Everything I own goes to Kate, including the house. If I should die while she is still a minor, Deborah, I am asking you to be executor of the trust until she turns eighteen. There is only one stipulation. You must continue to employ Connor so that my work goes on. Kate will be free to change that once she is of age, but I hope he’ll be allowed to stay as long as he wishes. If you decide that you do not want to be executor, I will ask Harry.
“I also have one request,” she added. “I would not want to make this a requirement. The new house is huge and is less than a mile from Kate’s school. I am hoping that you’d both be willing to move in with me.” Katherine stared for a long moment at Mom, who had flinched visibly at the suggestion, before continuing. “If you’d prefer to stay closer to the university, Deborah, then I’ll make the same request of Harry. Either way, Kate would be with me for part of each week and that would give us time to get better acquainted.”
Katherine pushed the papers toward Mom. “This copy is for you.” She squeezed my hand, then stood and picked up her purse. “I know that you need to think about all of this. Please, finish your dinner and have dessert, if you’d like. I’ll take care of the check on my way out.”
And then she was gone, before Mom or I could say a word.
“Well, she hasn’t lost her flair for the dramatic.” Mom picked up the legal document by one corner, as though it might bite. “I do not want to move in with her, Kate. And don’t look at me like I’m evil incarnate. If you want to fulfill the ‘one year in a haunted house’ clause in your grandmother’s will, you’ll have to work it out with your dad.”
“Now who’s being dramatic? Me staying there isn’t part of the will. She said it was just a request. And I don’t think you’re being ‘evil’—but jeez, Mom, she’s dying. She’s not a monster and she seems very…” I paused, looking for the right word. “Interesting, I guess. And maybe if you spent some time with her, you two could work out your differences so you won’t feel guilty when she’s dead.”
That earned me a dirty look. “Kate, I’m not in the mood for amateur psychoanalysis right now. There’s a lot that you don’t understand, and probably won’t understand until you’re a parent. Truthfully, I’m not sure I want you even visiting her, much less staying there. She’s manipulative and selfish, and I don’t want you getting hurt.”
“I don’t see how you can say she’s selfish when she’s leaving us a lot of money. At least, I assume it’s a lot of money.”