The Sins of the Mother (20 page)

“I think I’m going to faint,” she said in a choked voice.

“Please don’t. Just hang on to your hat, and I’ll get back to you in a few weeks.”

“Thank you, thank you very much, Mr.… er … Andrew … just thank you, and good luck with it!”

He wondered if she was always that nervous, or if it was just with him, and about this book. He could tell how personal it was. It was a beautiful piece of writing that had come straight from her soul. He was sure he was going to do very well with the book. He hadn’t sold anything he liked as much in months, maybe even years.

After she hung up, Liz called her mother’s BlackBerry. She thought she’d been due back in New York the night before. And she was right. Olivia was in her office, going over some charts and e-mails, and she answered on the first ring.

“Oh my God, Mom, he liked it—he loved it—”

“Who did?” For a moment Olivia was confused and then she understood. “He did? The agent? What did he say?”

“That you were right. He thinks it’s ‘brilliant.’ He thinks he can sell it. He doesn’t even want me to change anything.”

“I’m so pleased,” Olivia said, beaming from ear to ear. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank you, Mom. How was the rest of your trip?”

“It was okay. I missed you all like crazy when you left. I came back late last night. How’s everything with you?”

“Fantastic. I’m going to sell a book.” As soon as she said it, she realized that was the next thing she had to worry about. What if he was wrong and no one bought the book?

“We’ll have to celebrate,” her mother said generously.

“Not until he sells it.”

They talked for a few more minutes, and then Olivia had to take a call from Europe. Their store in Madrid was in the midst of a renovation and something was going wrong. A plumber had soldered a pipe badly the day before and destroyed a new ceiling.

“I’ll call you in a couple of days,” Liz promised, and after she hung up, she decided to drive to Long Island and visit Maribelle. She was going to tell her about the book. She called Sophie and Carole after that. She missed them both terribly. And she knew it would be even worse when Carole moved to L.A. She would be so far away. But whatever else happened, she had a new agent, and he loved her book. All by herself, she did a little dance around the room.

In a mood of celebration, she drove out to see her grandmother that afternoon. Maribelle was sitting on a sunny patio when Liz got there. She was talking to two elderly ladies, and they were laughing at something. Maribelle was regaling them with funny stories, and she looked up with surprised delight when Liz walked in. She introduced her to the other women, and then she walked away with Liz, to sit in the facility’s well-appointed living room. She had her own apartment, but she liked visiting with people throughout the day in the common rooms. What she liked about living there was all the people she met, and when she wanted time to herself, she went to her own apartment. And most of the time, she took her meals in the dining room. She no longer liked to cook, and never really had. She had cooked for the children when they were young, but Olivia had very quickly gotten them a cook. She felt her mother was doing enough for her, without having to do the cooking too.

Liz’s childhood memories of Granibelle were that her grandmother was a fabulous cook, which included spaghetti and meatballs, with sauce from a jar, hamburgers, meat loaf, and waffles she popped into the toaster. It was only when she grew up that she realized her grandmother’s culinary skills were no better than her own, or perhaps even less stellar. Her grandmother had other, more impressive virtues. A quick mind, a warm heart, a great sense of humor, and tireless dedication to her daughter, son-in-law, and grandchildren. Liz literally could not remember her grandmother getting angry. She always had simple explanations for things, made reasonable requests of them, and the only thing she wouldn’t tolerate was their being unkind to each other, or critical of their mother, whom she portrayed as a saint to her children, as did their father. At times, they’d all found it irritating.

“Lizzie!” she said as she put her arms around her and hugged her. “You came all this way from Connecticut to see me?”

“Of course! I missed you.” Liz was sincere when she said it. She always missed her. Her grandmother had been one of the important foundations her life was built on. She had been one of three beloved parents.

“What a wonderful trip you all had! Your mother told me all about it. She called me almost every day. I wish I had been there when you all went dancing!” Her grandmother had always loved to dance, and still did, on rare occasions, although not in nightclubs like the Billionaire or Jimmyz. Her grandmother had danced all night at all their weddings. She was a happy, fun-loving person, who always saw the bright side of things. Olivia had inherited that trait from her, along with her father’s dogged determination and perseverance.

Even at ninety-five, Maribelle was an elegant-looking woman. She had the same snowy white hair as her daughter—and in her case it had turned white in her twenties, like her own mother, a trait that none of her grandchildren had inherited. But it gave her a fairy godmother look, with her sparkling blue eyes. She had flawless skin, lovely hands, gentle ways, and was always immaculately put together. She had been tireless when she was younger, climbing trees with the boys, helping all of them with homework, taking care of them when they were sick. They had never had a baby-sitter in their lives or been cared for by an outsider. Granibelle had done it all.

And somewhere in her fifties or sixties, time had simply passed her by. She had changed very little since and looked much the same as she always did. She seemed a little smaller and a little frailer, but she was still lively, agile, and energetic. She would have cleaned her own apartment if they let her. She was still totally clear-headed, and gave them sound advice when they asked her. She was practical and down to earth, and generous of spirit. She still read the newspaper every day, and everything she could lay her hands on, and she had taken computer classes in her eighties. There was nothing old-fashioned about her, except her ethics. Her values were very clear, but she had a sensible view of things too. She told them to follow the most reasonable course, with as little damage as possible to all concerned. She understood the gray shadings of life, and the things one had to do to compromise sometimes. She was never judgmental, and had told them all that forgiveness was always the right answer. And she applied that to her own life as well. She held no grudge against those who had disappointed or hurt her. And Granibelle was nobody’s fool. It had been nearly impossible to pull the wool over her eyes when they were children.

“We had a great time, Granibelle,” Liz confirmed, sitting beside her in the living room, while tea was served from a large silver tray. “What have you been up to?”

“I played poker with some friends yesterday, and won twenty dollars.” Her eyes sparkled as she said it and she giggled. “I went to a wonderful Mozart concert in New York last week, but I couldn’t get anyone to go with me.” Olivia provided a car and driver for her outings, whenever Maribelle wanted one. “Most of my friends just don’t like classical music.” And neither did her grandchildren, except Phillip. “Cass came to visit me when you were all away. She looks awfully thin to me, but she seems happy. She brought me the latest CDs of all her clients. Some of it is really very good.” She loved to play cards and gamble, and had organized a trip to Atlantic City among some of her friends at the residence. She was always busy, engaged, and up to minor mischief.

“One of these days, you’re going to get thrown out of here, for turning it into a casino,” Liz warned her with a chuckle.

“They’re actually very nice about it,” Maribelle reassured her. “I play bridge on Tuesdays with the director.” She was sharp as the proverbial tack, and interested in all their lives. Liz told her about her new manuscript then, and the reaction of her new agent. “I don’t think Sarah sees beyond the kind of literature she teaches. I recommended three books to her last year, and she hated all of them. I think it’s a good sign that she didn’t like yours,” Granibelle said sensibly. “Your mother told me she loved it. You’ll have to e-mail me a copy. I can download it on my computer.” Liz looked at her in amazement. It was like talking to a contemporary. Maribelle loved having all the latest gadgets.

They spent two wonderful hours together, catching up, talking about the trip, and Maribelle mentioned that Olivia was coming out to see her that weekend. “She still works too hard, but I really think it will keep her young forever. There’s no point slowing down—your mind just slows down with it. And what are you going to be writing next?” she asked with interest. Liz hadn’t thought about it yet. It had taken her three years to come up with this one, even if she wrote it in six weeks. Granibelle was never idle, and had never been physically or intellectually lazy. She set an example to them all, and Liz knew her mother was a great deal like her. She couldn’t imagine her mother slowing down either. She had stopped expecting that years before. And at seventy, she was no different than she had been at forty or fifty, just like her own mother. None of them could believe that their mother had just turned seventy. She’d made very little fuss about it on the boat, it was a birthday like any other. Olivia said she didn’t like the sound of the number, but she certainly didn’t look it. And it was just as impossible to believe that Maribelle was ninety-five. They were all sure she’d easily reach a hundred. Time had stood still for her. They were good genes for all of them to inherit.

Liz had brought her a stack of new magazines and left them with her. Maribelle subscribed to some of them, like
Time, Newsweek
, and
Fortune
, but she loved foreign fashion magazines too, and Liz had brought some home for her. She read
The New York Times
and
The Wall Street Journal
every day. She always warned her contemporaries never to stop keeping abreast of the news, which was good advice. And she was also grateful for good health. Life was so different if you fell ill. She got regular checkups and a clean bill of health every year. Her own grandmother had lived to a hundred and two, in surprisingly good health, and she seemed to have inherited her vitality from her.

“Give the girls my love,” she said as she walked Liz to her car. She had a sure step and a straight back. She still had the perfect posture she’d been taught as a young girl. “I know you’ll miss her, but I think L.A. will be very good for Carole. She has a lot of illusions about her father, I think it will ground her to add some reality to it, and I don’t think she’s happy in New York. The art scene is just too much for her.” She had analyzed the situation perfectly, and Liz agreed with her. She was sad to see Carole leave, but in some ways she was relieved. Her youngest daughter seemed a little lost, just as she herself had been. “And don’t forget to send me your book,” she reminded her.

“I won’t, Granibelle, I promise. Try to behave yourself, and don’t fleece your friends here out of too much money. You’re a card shark,” she accused her, and they both laughed. She had taught them all card games when they were children, and now her grandchildren loved to play cards as much as she did. Cass had always been the best at games and beat them all. And Olivia was pretty good too, although she didn’t love playing cards as much as her mother. She had played every day on the boat with Alex, but for Olivia it was a pastime, not a passion. For Granibelle, it was nearly a vice, except that she’d never had a gambling addiction—she just loved the game.

“Take care of yourself,” Granibelle said as she kissed her goodbye. It was warm out, and Liz told her to go back to the air-conditioned rooms. “And get back to work on a new book,” her grandmother exhorted, wagging a finger at her. “You’ve done a good job with this one. Now you need to get on to something new.” Liz saluted as she got into the car, and blew her a kiss as she drove away, and she saw Maribelle walk back into the building with a sure step through the rearview mirror. She was one of the greatest blessings in all their lives, and a strong role model for them all. The woman for whom time had stood still.

Chapter 12

O
livia’s first days back after the trip were hectic beyond belief. It was to be expected. She had stayed on top of everything through faxes and e-mails, and occasional calls from the boat, but it was still different being home. There was always more to do. The boys had felt it too. She had scarcely glimpsed Phillip since she got home, and John had taken a few more days for his trip to Paris with Sarah and Alex.

There were threatened strikes in a couple of locations, construction issues, and a new line in production, and she was keeping a watch on the human rights issues. A monsoon in India had caused a flood that destroyed six of their warehouses, and a small earthquake in Mexico had caused considerable damage to their store, but fortunately no one had gotten hurt. When things like that happened in areas where they did business, they donated heavily to local relief, and sent in medical supplies where needed. Olivia had made enormous charitable donations for years, often anonymously. She wasn’t seeking publicity, she wanted to provide help, particularly to children in jeopardy. She had come up with a motto years before that she tried to live by: “Our customers are our friends.” And it wasn’t friendly to cheat customers, sell second-rate goods, or exploit children to keep their prices low. Her own high moral standards were used in the business.

She was reading a report on a potential lawsuit in their Stockholm store. A woman had refused delivery service, and dragged a dining table up four flights of stairs herself. She had injured her back doing so, and was threatening to sue them, because she said the table was heavier than it should be. It was a bogus suit, and she was obviously looking for a settlement, but she was making so much fuss about it that the legal department had brought it to Olivia’s attention. She wasn’t sure yet what she wanted to do. She was thinking of giving her the eight chairs that went with it as a gift. It was the sort of claim that required that kind of attention. The woman was either poor or cheap if she had refused to pay for delivery. Olivia was making a note about it when Peter Williams walked into her office. She smiled when she looked up at him. She was happy to see him, and also mildly amused about the suit. The woman had written her a letter personally, and had said that using such high-quality wood made the table too heavy and dangerous for their customers to carry. Dragging it up four flights of stairs hadn’t been their intention when they made it. It was from one of their Indian factories, and Olivia knew the piece. It was a good-looking table at an incredibly low price, and John had designed it.