Life Sentences (10 page)

Jane eased alongside Pilar like a best friend and asked, “What are you doing this weekend up here in the wilderness?”

“I’m going home to Grosse Point Shores.” As soon as those words came out of her mouth, Pilar regretted them. When would she learn not to speak without thinking? Jane’s expression conveyed what Pilar dreaded. Jane no doubt thought Pilar was a rich wimp who would run back to her wealthy parents every chance she got. She didn’t particularly want to be Jane’s friend, just accepted as a good doctor and without any hassle. She’d have to learn to govern her tongue.

At least she had already decided to ditch the Mercedes. A less ostentatious and more practical car for that northern climate would change the prison employees’ first impressions, and make her more like them.

“Don’t blame you for going down. Not much to do up here on this side of the bridge but drink. I’d tag along with you, but …” Jane swept her hand from her head down her body as though she was showing off a new outfit. She didn’t have to finish her statement. Her narrowed and suddenly mean eyes revealed what she thought. Someone of her race wasn’t usually welcomed in the Pointes.

“After you met my father, you’d change your mind about the best place to spend your time,” Pilar said.

Jane pursed lips and remained silent. Was she waitingfor Pilar to feed her more information about her private life? Jane finally laughed. “We all have our crosses to bear.”

Jane was right about the drinking habits in the north country. From what Pilar had heard, when the men weren’t at work, they hunted and fished. If they weren’t doing any of those, they were in the bars drinking and fighting. It didn’t matter who you were, either: lawyer, doctor, prison guard, or police officer. Those guys were on equal turf when in the woods, on a stream, or downing a couple of beers.

Jane lingered nearby. She appeared to wait for more details about Pilar’s weekend. Pilar was not about to share that with anyone. “What are your plans?” Pilar asked in an attempt to change the direction of the conversation.

“Me? Same ol’, same ‘ol.” Jane laughed. “Pizza Hut with my husband and the kids. Maybe pick up a movie at Blockbuster.”

“Sounds cozy,” Pilar remarked with a wee bit too much sarcasm. “But, I’ve got to get going if I intend to make those two-hundred miles tonight.” Pilar hoped to avoid the Labor Day weekend traffic.

Jane grimaced at the brush off. “Have fun,” she said, but not with any sincerity.

“See you Monday.”

Pilar smiled. Monday couldn’t come soon enough. She dreaded the family reunion. Though she had promised herself to stay away, once again Pilar had let Celeste talk her into going home to celebrate her first month on the job. It was one more silly idea among many Celeste had over the years, one more time when against her own wishes, Pilar gave into her mother’s lonely appeals. Now that Celeste was a rape and victim counselor, shouldn’t her mother be too busy to worry about her? Celeste’s weekly calls ought to have been a clue.

Pilar glanced at the menacing prison towers fading into the dusk and backed out of the parking spot. She was sure her mother had hoped that after a month on the job, she’d be ready to work with her father, or at the very least find a place in a more suitable practice. Pilar still heard her father’s final words when she left for the UP. “You know being a doctor is tough work, more suited for a man.” Too bad he hadn’t seen Pilar’s performance in the ER. As for his parting shot, what did she care? “Besides,” he sneered, “you won’t find a suitable husband at Hawk Haven.”

Marcus’ words repeated over and over like a mantra. Pilar tapped her fingers against the steering wheel in rhythm. While she waited for the light to change, Pilar tried to forget his comment and examined her nails; the ragged tips flicked up and down. She analyzed the cuticle on one nail. Where would she get a manicure in the Upper Peninsula? Who cared anyway?

A
S SOON AS
P
ILAR
glimpsed the moonlit waves lapping the shore of Lake St. Clair, the tension lessened in her shoulders. But, despite that brief sweet moment, loneliness creptback when she opened the front door to her parents’ house. How that prodigious mansion had been wasted on an only child. Pilar’s illegitimate half-brother might have enjoyed romping through the rooms. At least the noise would have been a welcomed change.

From out of nowhere, the maid rushed to Pilar’s side and took her jacket and attache. “Ah, home, sweet home,” Pilar snipped as she practically grabbed them back.

The maid smiled, ignored the irony, and greeted Pilar cheerfully, “It’s good to have you here, Miss Brookstone.” Then she fled to her appropriate place in the back of the house like the servants on “Upstairs, Downstairs.”

A light from the library radiated a warm glow across the foyer floor. Pilar peeked into the book-lined chamber and found her mother asleep in the Queen Anne chair beside the fireplace. A magazine lay open in her lap. When Pilar kissed her forehead Celeste jerked awake. “You’re home.” She yawned. Celeste closed the magazine and set it aside.

Pilar took hold of both her hands and tugged her to a standing position. “It’s well past midnight. Let’s go to bed and talk in the morning.”

“Good idea.” Celeste stretched. “I doubt I’d make much sense in this drowsy state.”

After they embraced outside Pilar’s bedroom, Celeste reached for the door knob. Pilar grabbed her hand. “I know what you’re thinking,” she giggled. “But you’re not tucking me in.” Pilar nudged her mother toward her own quartersacross the hall from her father’s room. How long had it been since they’ve shared the same bed? When Pilar switched on the light and closed the door to her own bedroom, she realized she hadn’t asked about her father.

At breakfast, Celeste told Pilar that Marcus wouldn’t be home that weekend. “Urgent business,” she explained. She averted her apologetic eyes from Pilar.

“Same ol’, same ol’.”

Celeste lifted her head and stared at Pilar. “What did you say, dear?” she asked.

“Oh, nothing. Just repeating something a nurse said to me recently.”

“Umm,” Celeste said, and turned toward the lake. She still held a forkful of eggs as she slid the lace curtains to one side and gazed dreamily out the window, staying in that position for several moments, like a mannequin.

Posing there was the resplendent woman of Pilar’s childhood. Her fine chin proudly raised, exposing a long neck like Audrey Hepburn’s. Beautiful, high cheekbones, full lips, and a Greek profile. As a child Pilar’s friends envied her for having such an enchanting, devoted mother, who would give up tennis, bridge, and lunch at the club to be a part of her daughter’s life. Over the years Pilar learned the real truth. Beneath Celeste’s handsomeness lay a lonely person who, like the women prisoners Pilar had once worked with, had no way out of a life-style known from birth. Celeste Brookstone had played the role of ahigh society mom and perfect wife well. Now, though, Pilar hoped she was finding her way to more rewarding pursuits.

Pilar half-wished her mother would turn to her, find a teenager, and say, “Hurry up or we’ll be late for your sailing lessons,” or wherever they would go on such a flawless day. Instead, Celeste remained immobilized by deep thoughts which seemed to distance her from that time and place. She looked proud yet wounded, like an abandoned fawn alone in the woods, lost and incredibly tired.

“Mother, is there something wrong?” Pilar finally asked.

Celeste snapped out of her dreaminess as though a loud sound startled her. She blinked while she examined Pilar at the other end of the table. “I don’t know. I guess I’m uneasy about you working in that prison. I have this vision …” She didn’t complete her thought.

For a moment, Pilar wished she hadn’t come home. Her mother’s darkened eyes gave Pilar an eerie sensation. Celeste was troubled by more than Pilar’s job. But, what?

Celeste’s eyes drifted upward, above Pilar as though something else caught her attention. She put her fork down, eggs untouched. She dabbed her mouth with a napkin and asked, “What should we do today?” The question seemed to drift across the placemats and silver.

“It’s your call.” Pilar finished her coffee. She pushed away from the table and waited for her to answer. When none came, Pilar asked, “Mother, do you have any plans?”

“No, not really,” she said in a wispy, unfamiliar, Marilyn Monroe voice.

“My new apartment needs everything and there are few decent stores up north.” Pilar waited for a response. “How about we shop for some of the basics I need? Then, we could have lunch.”

“That would be fun, like old times.” Celeste raised her fingers to her cheek as an unexpected tear released. “Where should we go?” she asked, yet appeared to slip again into another world.

Pilar wanted to press Celeste about her mood, but relented and answered, “I think to Eastland Mall. It’s close and everything’s there.” Pilar waited for Celeste’s endorsement.

Celeste scrunched up her nose as though she were smelling spoiled milk. “That mall? But if you want …”

“I do want,” Pilar whined as though begging for a candy bar. “I’m not buying expensive items. I’d be more of an outsider than I already am driving a Mercedes when all the other Yupers drive 4×4 pickups. And,” she added more forcefully than she intended, “we are not eating lunch at the club!”

Celeste placed a hand over her lips and appeared to process the day Pilar planned. Then she bolted up from the table and retrieved her purse from the hall stand. Pilar followed.

Celeste yelled over her shoulder, “Let’s go. I’ll powder my nose in that Mercedes.” She was out the front door before Pilar found her keys. Her sudden devil-may-care attitude surprised Pilar. After all, her mother still dressed fordinner, and never, ever went anywhere without her makeup applied. Celeste’s abrupt mood change promised a pleasant day, yet her overall demeanor that morning concerned Pilar. What was really going on in her mother’s head?

T.G.I.F
RIDAY’S WAS NOISY, INCONSPICUOUS
, and delightful for their lunch. The two women feasted on hamburgers and french fries, forgetting about their usual constant calorie counting. They tattled about everyone they knew from the club. Celeste glowed like a teenager sharing a morning at the mall and secrets with her best friend. “You remember that Muffy girl you went to high school with?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“She had her nose done. Weren’t you thinking about that, too?”

“How dare you bring up changing a part of me I’ve grown to love?” Both women laughed. It was an old joke. Pilar had fretted about her nose all through high school. Gradually, it became less of an issue. “If Ms. Streisand can live with her distinctive breather, so can I.”

“Good for you,” Celeste cheered. “You were the only one troubled by it anyway.” She paused, then added, “This is so much fun. I wish we could do this more often.”

As they sipped their ice teas, it seemed like the old days when Pilar and her mother shopped for school clothes. “This has been a great day,” Pilar finally agreed. “I miss being with you.” With few friends and Julie so far away, Pilar was happy to have her mother to talk to.

“We must do this more often, no matter how far apart from each other we live,” Celeste affirmed. They clinked their tea glasses in agreement.

They devoured their food. They giggled like girls, heads bent close together as Celeste revealed the latest Pointe gossip. Once freed from her Gothic prison, she was self-assured, even flamboyant, outspoken, and young again. At that moment the two beauties passed for sisters, rather than mother and daughter. Marcus wasn’t there to tell them, “Don’t be so silly”, or “Act your age.”

Pilar sighed. Her father would have made a fine Puritan. Like the Puritans, a few righteous men wandered from the fold as Marcus had. He spent his life rationalizing his sinful behavior and projecting his guilt onto Celeste and Pilar. That anger, deception, and rigidity aged him while it destroyed Celeste’s confidence and Pilar’s trust — their real selves forever lost to him. His loss. Pilar grinned at her mother.

Celeste’s face became serious as she dabbed her napkin around her mouth, a familiar and perpetual habit. “Are you happy at the prison, dear?” she asked.

Pilar sensed an ulterior motive to her question. “Yes, I suppose,” she answered. “But, it’s hard to tell. I haven’t been there that long.”

Celeste leaned forward. “Give me your word that you won’t let your pride get in the way if you decide that prisonwork isn’t for you.” Celeste paused and bit her lower lip, a more recent habit than the napkin routine. “You are always welcome in my home.”

“Thanks.” Pilar made a mental note about how she emphasized “my home.” “But if I decide to change jobs, I will live in my own place. I think I’m old enough for that.”

Celeste laughed. “I guess you are, but I don’t want to believe it.” She surveyed the restaurant and focused on the young couple snuggled together at the bar. “Have you made any friends yet, Pilar? It can be very lonely without friends.”

Believing Celeste spoke about her own life as well as her daughter’s, Pilar answered, “That will take a little time.” She followed her mother’s gaze to the couple. “There is one person. Jane. A nurse. She’s about my age, married with two children. She seems to be bright and fun. She doesn’t take the job personally.” Surprised that she didn’t hesitate to tell her mother about Jane, Pilar was nevertheless careful not to let on that she was suspicious of Jane’s overly friendly relationship with Tommy Johnson. If Jane wasn’t careful about her flirtation, she’d get fired. And as her supervisor, would Pilar also be accused of being an accomplice?

“She’s married?” Celeste stirred a spoon in her tea and appeared caught in a dream.

“Yes, why?”

“It would be nice to have grandchildren, that’s all.” She shrugged.

“You sound like Father, except he only wants grandsons.” Pilar frowned at the direction the conversation had taken. “The best thing I could give him, no doubt.”

“No. Not I.” Celeste tilted her head and peered at Pilar as though she looked over the top of reading glasses. “You have always given me your best. Grandchildren would just be the frosting. Besides, I’d be a wonderful grandmother.”