Chapter Five
Gillian
I called my mom as soon as I was home, safe in the confines of my apartment.
“Gillian,” she said coolly when she picked up, “so good to hear from you.” I heard the comment for what it was. Part delight but mostly criticism. I rarely called.
“Sorry it’s been a while,” I said dutifully. “I’ve been busy.”
“You’re always busy,” she replied. “A phone call every now and then wouldn’t go astray, you know. Just so we know you are still alive.”
I bit my tongue, biting back the retort I had. There was no point getting into an argument with her. I would never win. “Anyhow, how are you?”
“I’m good,” she said, “and your father is well, too.”
I never asked about my dad, but my mom made it a point to tell me. A therapist had once suggested it might be best if I cut all ties with my mom and dad, that I needed to focus on building healthy relationships and not wasting time on dysfunctional ones. I’d considered it, thought long and hard about it, but eventually decided I couldn’t do it. Even after everything, my mom was still my mom. She was still the woman who’d driven me to countless after-school dance classes, who’d paid for extra art tuition, who’d baked cakes for the PTA stall and volunteered as a soccer coach when no one else would. We lost every game that season, but it was still my favorite time of my short-lived soccer career. And besides, there was more than just my mom and dad to give up. If I gave up on them, then I would also be giving up my sister Catherine and her family. I might not have any affection for my parents anymore, but I still loved my sister.
“Good. I was wondering—”
“Are you going to be here for Christmas? Your Aunt Bernie is flying in to spend Christmas with us. She’s making the effort.”
Again. Another dig. “I’ll see. What I really want was to ask you about the Sayers.”
I held my breath and heard the long silence that accompanied my statement on the other side of the phone. It had been years since I’d mentioned their name to my mom and I wasn’t sure how she’d react.
“Why do you ask?” Her voice was tight.
“I was just wondering.” I paused. “You know, it’s coming up on another anniversary—”
“When are you going to stop rehashing all this, Gillian?” she interrupted. “Honestly, I don’t think it is at all healthy for you to be constantly dragging up the past.”
“I just want to know,” I replied tightly, “if you’d heard anything about them. About Alex.”
Again, there was silence on the other end of the phone. I had no idea how my mother did it, but she had some uncanny ability to transfer her moods over the phone without saying a word. It wasn’t body language because I obviously couldn’t see her and it wasn’t anything she said. It was like she was psychic, able to transcend across two hundred miles and ten years.
And I knew, right now, my mother was angry.
“Mom, I’m just asking…”
“I know you’re asking,” she snapped. “And you’ll be asking after that god-forsaken family for the rest of your life. I don’t know anything, okay? I heard a while back that he was out of the army and that his brother was out of prison. You knew his brother was in prison, didn’t you?”
“Yes.” I knew Dylan had been in prison, and my mom knew I knew this. She just liked to say things repetitively to make a point.
“He went to prison”—she wasn’t done on this point yet—“for armed robbery.”
“It was a toy gun.”
“No one knew that! For all anyone knew he could have been brandishing a real weapon. Is this the family you are so fixated on, Gillian? Is this the family you would choose over your own?”
I bit my tongue and stared at the ceiling. Then I counted to ten. Then I tried to think of three things that made me happy. The beach. The stars on a cloudless night. My baby.
I started again. The beach. The stars. Alex.
Third time lucky. The beach. The stars—
“Gillian? Are you still there?”
I refocused on the phone call and my purpose. “Yes. I’m here. So, you don’t know anything about Alex? Why he left the army?”
“He probably left because he couldn’t be bothered anymore.” She snorted. “He was always selfish. I only wish you’d been able to see it.”
I was getting nowhere in this phone call and regretted even reaching out to my mom. I should have known better. I did know better, but I hadn’t been thinking clearly. I’d reacted, which is what I always did when it came to Alex.
“I’ve gotta go, Mom.”
“What? That’s it?”
“Is there anything you wanted to say?”
“Are you coming back for Christmas? It’s been years since you had Christmas with us. We are your family, you know, whether you like it or not. And we’re all you’ve got.”
I rung off.
Then I opened the fridge and searched through the contents until I found what I was looking for. Wine. After speaking to my mother, I really, really needed a glass of wine.