Takeoffs and Landings(15)

“I know,” Mom said. “I saw her. We talked.”

And then she practically dived onto her bed, burying her face in her pillow. She lay without moving.

Things were getting really weird.





Locked in the bathroom, Lori slumped against the cold porcelain tub on the cold tile floor. She couldn’t cry with abandon anymore because Chuck was right there on the other side of the door. She tried to distract herself.

She remembered a story Gram had told her once about Mom.

When Mom was fourteen, she’d started showing off one day in the hog barn at the Pickford County Fair. She’d turned cartwheels the whole way down the barn’s aisle, not seeming to care at all that her hands and her sandals might easily end up covered in a stinky mess. She’d landed right at the feet of, as Gram put it, “that good-lucking Lawson boy.” And instead of being embarrassed, Mom had raised her arms high, victoriously, like a real gymnast.

The next thing anyone knew, Mom and Dad were going out.

But that wasn’t the end of the story. Pop had gotten wind of Mom’s feat, and he went around telling all his friends about it at Farm Bureau Council and down at the Pickford Farmers’ Exchange. Lori could just hear how he’d say it: Can you believe my own daughter doesn’t have the sense God gave her, not to go turning cartwheels in manure? But the Lord must truly protect the ignorant, because she came up with clean hands and shoes. A miracle, if I ever heard of one. Got herself a boyfriend out of it, too.

Mom had been embarrassed then. She’d refused to go into the Pickford Farmers’ Exchange for a whole year. She’d boycotted anything to do with Farm Bureau until she was out of high school.

“I think she was even kind of mad we insisted on inviting everyone on council to her wedding,” Gram had chuckled.

Lori had always liked that story. She liked imagining Mom so much younger, turning cartwheels and falling in love. It made her seem more like Lori—not like someone who belonged in hotels and up at podiums.

It also made it seem like maybe someday Lori might be able to cartwheel into someone’s heart and fall in love herself.

But Mom must not remember anything at all about turning those cartwheels and Pop embarrassing her. Because if she did, she wouldn’t be going around the country telling everyone horrible stories about Lori.

Someone knocked on the door.

“Lori?” Mom called softly.

Even though the door was locked, Lori scrunched back against the tub.

“What?” she said.

“If it bothers you so much, I’ll stop telling any stories about you,” Mom said. “I’ll cut you out of all of my speeches.”

Lori wondered why she didn’t feel the least bit triumphant. She felt almost rejected instead. Didn’t Mom want to talk about Lori?

Lori reminded herself Mom was giving in; Lori had won. She stood up and opened the door a crack.

“Promise?” she asked.

Mom nodded. “I—I remember being fourteen,” Mom said. “I remember how things can seem . . . out of proportion.”

Oh, so Lori was wrong to be upset? So Lori was just silly and sensitive? The anger flared again.

“What about the other kids? Chuck and Mike and Joey and Emma?” Lori asked. “Will you stop talking about them, too?”

Mom winced. Lori could tell Mom hadn’t thought of that.

“They haven’t asked me to,” Mom said stiffly.

“Mike and Joey and Emma haven’t exactly had a chance, have they?” Lori asked. “They don’t even know you’re talking about them.”

“They’re young enough that I can still judge for them,” Mom said.

Lori didn’t know what made her push the issue. If Mom had only said, I know how you feel. I got mad when Pop spread stories about me, too. Let me tell you about some cartwheels. . . . But Mom would never tell Lori the cartwheel story because it involved Daddy, and Mom didn’t talk about Daddy.

“Chuck’s here,” Lori said. “He heard your speech. Hey, Chuck. What do you think?”

Chuck was sitting on the far bed now, watching TV. He pulled his attention away from a soap commercial.

“Huh?” he said.

“Isn’t it unfair how Mom’s been telling stories about us in all her speeches, and she’s been doing it for years, and we didn’t even know?” Lori fought to control her voice, but it was useless. She was crying again.

“Well, that was certainly an unbiased account of the situation,” Mom said dryly. “Lori has asked me not to mention her in my speeches again, and we were wondering if you felt the same way.”

Lori glared at Mom. How could she stay so calm? She sounded as formal as the queen of England, ordering tea.