The Perfect Mother Read Online Free PDF Page A

of course, but maybe that could be explained somehow, and it seemed like the least of her problems, given the circumstances. But Emma’s mood was also confounding. Of course she’d expected her to be upset, maybe even in shock, but she thought her daughter would have been more relieved to see her, bolstered by her presence, comforted in the way she had been all her life. Instead, Emma almost seemed angry at her. She must be steeling herself, Jennifer thought, because if she allowed herself to express need or weakness, she would cry and then she would never be able to stop.
    She opened the window and turned on the fan. She found a glass in the bathroom sink, washed it, and filled it with cold water. She knocked on Emma’s door, and when there was no answer, she entered anyway.
    “You need to come out now, Emma,” she said, offering the water to her daughter, who took it and, habit overcoming mood, even mumbled a soft thank-you. Emma reluctantly led the way into the living room and plopped down on a faded, stained couch. José joined them and Jennifer offered him a glass of water and took one for herself. They found chairs and sat down. There was a brief, awkward silence.
    “Now, Emma,” José said quietly. “From the beginning. Tell us again. What happened?”

CHAPTER 4
    M ark had made reservations at the Hotel Alfonso XIII, the oldest and most beautiful hotel in town, and José offered to drive Jennifer and Emma there. Jennifer suggested that Emma pack a few things and she complied, emptying her drawers into a duffel bag and adding items strewn around the apartment. As they got out of the car, José reminded them to contact him immediately if there was any further communication from the police.
    The hotel was beautiful and gracious in an Old World way. In better times, Jennifer would have loved it. Now, she barely took in the Andalusian mosaics in the lobby and the central fountain with its romantic Arabian motif. They waited as the porter earned his tip by explaining the air-conditioning and other of the hotel’s amenities. “At last,” Jennifer said, when she had closed the door behind him. “We’re alone.”
    Emma seemed glum. No wonder, Jennifer thought, but still, there was something else, an edge.
    “How much is this place a day?” Emma asked, looking around disapprovingly at the formal floral curtains and matching bedspreads, the plush carpeting, high ceilings, and elaborately carved crown moldings.
    “I’m not sure. Dad made the reservation.”
    “Well, I’ll bet it’s at least four hundred euros a day, more than many workers here earn in a month, if they’re lucky enough to have any job at all. It’s kind of obscene to pay that much in this economy.”
    Jennifer started to answer but thought better of it and said nothing.
    When Emma noticed her duffel bag next to her mother’s near the door, she looked surprised. “Don’t I have a separate room?” she asked.
    Jennifer couldn’t suppress a sardonic reply. “No, honey, as you pointed out, that would be obscene.”
    Emma bristled. “Whatever. But I still have to have some privacy.”
    This was a throwback to adolescence, Jennifer thought: the irrationality of wanting contradictory things. Emma had almost never behaved this way, but Jennifer had seen it often in her friends’ children. She was perplexed and beginning to lose her patience.
    “Well, just think how long poor families could live on what it would cost for
two
rooms,” she snapped. Emma glared at her and she held her temper and, speaking calmly and rationally, tried again. “We’ll both lose our privacy, Emma, but we’ll have to make the best of it until this is over. We don’t know how long this will take, and we can’t afford two rooms. You’ve made it clear that you don’t want to go back to that apartment, and I don’t blame you.”
    Emma sat on one of the beds, found the remote, and flicked on the television.
    Jennifer asked her to turn it off, and Emma did, sighing