What a Mother Knows Read Online Free PDF Page B

brushed the tears from her cheeks. “She’s fine, Michelle.”
    â€œHow do you know that?” She opened her eyes and looked up at him. Drew’s face settled into deep lines of pain. She clutched his pocket and pleaded. “Drew, talk to me. How can you say she’s fine if you don’t know where she is?”
    â€œBecause she calls. Every couple of months, I get a message. Short and sweet, like the ones you got.”
    The relief she felt wasn’t enough to make her chest stop aching. “Call her now, tell her I’m home.”
    â€œI did. I left a message, but she hasn’t called back. It’s an Internet number, untraceable.”
    â€œThen how can you be sure she’s all right?”
    â€œBecause I can’t bear to think of her any other way!” Drew pulled free of her and pounded down the hallway.
    Michelle looked back at the postcards, then spied the get well card half hidden by the bed. The front showed a bunny carrying a basket of daisies. She picked it up and pressed it to her chest. Please, don’t let it be a trick, she prayed. She opened it and listened closely to the familiar recording.
    â€œHello, Mother. I feel awful about what happened.
    But I can’t see you like this. I hope you understand.
    Love, me.”
    Michelle sighed. That was Nikki’s voice, all right. Who else called their mom such a formal name—besides Michelle? It had started as a joke and then it stuck.
    The message was simple, but maybe it explained why she left. Michelle had looked awful after her surgeries, with all the tubes and machines that kept her alive. Nikki must have been so traumatized by the sight of her mother as a vegetable that she couldn’t bear to see her. Michelle shut the card quickly, as if to keep her daughter safe.
    She wondered about the postmark and went to ask Drew, but was winded by the time she reached the foyer. She leaned against the corner to catch her breath.
    The afternoon sun blasted through the French doors, casting a harsh light across the living room. Without the crepe paper and cake, the room looked bigger than she remembered. She looked around, then realized that it wasn’t bigger, it was emptier. The leather couch was gone, and the rest of the furniture had been rearranged so that the plaid armchairs flanked the fireplace. The coffee table was also missing, leaving faded squares of green carpet. Only the bookshelves looked the same, stuffed with files and photo albums and parenting books. Except, now there was a film of dust on them. The sight was upsetting.
    She crossed the hall to the kitchen where Drew sat with his head in his hands. Her voice trembled. “Is that why the furniture is gone—the police are dusting for prints?”
    â€œNot exactly,” he said. “Remember the apartment I rented in New York for that miniseries? I’ve been working as a local for the past year.”
    â€œIn New York?” Michelle tried to understand. “You’re telling me that Nikki hasn’t been here in over a year—and you’re living it up in New York?”
    Drew’s voice rose in anger. “She’s not the only one I have to take care of, Michelle. I need union hours to qualify for benefits. Your insurance was tapped out long ago. You’ve had the best care possible and I flew back to visit as often as I could. Should I have put you in a cheap convalescent center to waste away?”
    â€œI just find it hard to believe there are no jobs in LA.”
    â€œThere aren’t enough that pay union,” he explained. “Reality shows pay shit. You can’t count on a series like you used to, the state film commission is broke, and locations are cheaper in Canada. Half the guys I know are on unemployment.”
    There was a knock on the French door. Michelle backed up and spied Tyler through the glass. “Is that the real reason why Tyler is in boarding school? To be close to