Mother Dearest

Chapter 2

I sit at the kitchen table of my mom's condo, reading the file Max faxed me on Laura Sidle. It's fairly thin, as files go. Yes, she killed her husband, and yes, it seems to have been in self-defense. She served six years for it, which makes me cringe. Juries haven't always been as schooled in domestic violence as they are now.

But other than the stabbing, her record is clean. Not even a speeding ticket. She and her thirteen-year-old daughter live in a modest home in Culver City, right off the San Diego Freeway. She's worked as a pastry chef out in Beverly Hills for the past fifteen years.

Sighing, I close the file and rub my eyes. For the life of me, I can't figure out why Sara doesn't want me to meet her mother. On paper, she's a battered woman who managed to turn her life around. What's more admirable than that?

"You're quiet."

I look up to see my mom standing by the stove, watching me.

Smiling, I reply slowly, "Everything's quiet to you."

"Ha ha," she says, smirking back as she sits across from me.

The truth is, I'm not here just to visit you, I sign to her finally.

She just nods, rolling her eyes as if to say Duh.

I'm trying to calm some fears that Sara has, before we get married, I finish.

Does she know you're doing this?

My guilty expression tells her all she needs to know.

Just remember, she signs, getting up from the table, A right born from a wrong is never really right.

o-o-o-o-o

I haven't planned this out well enough. Or at all, really.

And so I find myself here, sitting in my car. Parked several houses down from the Sidle home, chewing on my lip and wondering how to do this. Sara hasn't talked to her mother in nearly two years, so it's not like she'll know we're engaged, or even dating. Maybe I'm springing too much on her at once.

But I get out of the car anyway. The memory of Sara's tears still weighs heavily on my mind. This is for her, I remind myself.

Glancing down, I scowl a little, wishing I'd worn something different. A man shouldn't meet his future mother-in-law wearing jeans and old sneakers. At the very least I should have put a sweater on. There's a small hole forming in the sleeve of my sweatshirt. I'm halfway up the Sidles' walk when I stop, deciding to go back to my mom's place and change.

Just then, the front door creaks open. "Hi there!" comes a hearty call, and I look up into chocolate brown eyes that I'd know anywhere. "Are you Bill?" the woman asks.

"Gil," I call back, bewildered.

"Oh, sorry about that." The door swings open, and Laura Sidle emerges. She's tall and lean, like Sara, but with jet-black hair. Her mouth is smaller, and her nose bigger. But there's no doubt, this is my Sara's mother. "I thought your boss said your name was Bill. But then I also thought he said you couldn't come today after all, so what do I know?"

She gives me a sweet smile, which I return despite my confusion. "My boss?"

"Don't worry about it," she laughs, waving a hand. "Come on in."

Taking a deep breath, I follow her into the house. It's nice inside, nicer than it looked from the street.

"Can I get you anything?" she asks. "We have Coke, iced tea-"

"No, I'm fine," I say quickly, hoping to get to the bottom of the mix-up. "I came here. to, uh, see Laura Sidle."

"Laurie," she says, her eyes twinkling in an all-too-familiar way. "No one but my lawyer and my CPA calls me Laura. Anyway, yes, I'll show you the room."

She's off before I can reply, and I follow her through the living room and dining room, both of which are decorated in soft pastels. We pass a small bedroom, to which she motions and says, "My daughter April's in there. Thirteen years old, but you'd think she was forty." Then around a corner, and we're standing in a bathroom.

It's a good size, with a footed tub and full vanity. But unless she's about to request a urine sample, I have no idea why we're in here.

"Now, I have all the supplies already," she's saying. "Enough tile for the floors and the walls, plenty of grout, tile cutters, scrapers. The walls will be a light shade of pink - April has taken to calling it Pepto Bathroom - and the floor will be white. Where should we start?"

I stare at her blankly. "We. what?"

"Oh," she says, her cheeks coloring slightly. "I've taken the next couple days off from work, to help with the project. I couldn't afford two workmen, and I figured if I helped, then we'd be done faster. As it is, this retiling is kind of steep for my budget. but the bathroom needs it desperately."

Good lord, I think, closing my eyes briefly. She thinks I'm, what? A contractor? When I open my eyes, she's watching me nervously. And that's when it occurs to me. this could be a good thing. I can help her retile her bathroom for the next few days, saving her a ton of money. I can talk with her the whole time (clearly, she's chatty by nature) and get to know her. Sure, she might be shocked when I finally tell her who I am, but hopefully by then we'll get along well enough that it will all work out okay.

And if we get along well, what better way to allay Sara's fears?

"Glad to have the help," I say finally, and she lets out a breath of relief. "I'm thinking we start with the walls, how about you?"

"Sounds great," she says, grinning. "I'll get the tools."