Tangled Truth(23)

“But you know, I wouldn’t have put it past him to exaggerate, to make the whole thing sound better. More respectable.”

It was like an optical illusion, he decided, fascinating by the difference between Ms. Damron’s genteel, almost coy tone and the implied sting of her words. Her quick sidelong glance at Drew however, strongly suggested she wasn’t really talking about the respectability of his employment. She suspected him of something. It was clear from her posture, from the tight set of her lips as she maintained her false smile. She might not know what it was she suspected yet, but she obviously wanted to find out. Drew wondered if what he and Eva had enjoyed over the past few weeks even remotely approached whatever level of depravity Ms. Damron imagined.

“Drew is perfectly respectable, Mom. Dad didn’t have to make anything up. I’ve never known him to make things up.”

“You remind me so much of him sometimes,” her mother said, in a fond tone that almost hid the implied insult. Almost. Drew was leaning toward mean, not merely crazy, as a diagnosis. But he was still undecided.

“Thank you,” Eva said, as if she’d been paid a compliment. Gracious. Drew admired her spirit, even as it unnerved him to see her playing this dysfunctional part so very well. “So are you flying home tomorrow, or staying in town for the holiday?”

“Flying home tomorrow. My sister Barbara lives here,” she explained to Drew. “In fact she would have been here tonight, but she had to go make sure the nativity scene at her church was still intact. They’ve had a rash of vandals. Should I even ask if you’re planning to attend a late service tonight, Eva?”

“Mom, don’t start. Please? Let’s have a nice dinner.” Eva was starting to look stiff again, with all her guards up. Drew hadn’t seen her looking so cold since before their first date. She looked astonishingly like her mother, he realized.

“Do you attend church, Mr. Brantley?”

“Mom!”

“Where exactly did the two of you meet, again? Eva’s father wasn’t clear.”

Things were escalating fast, despite Eva’s valiant attempts to keep the conversation light and pleasant. She’d been pretending all evening long that her mother wasn’t being catty. Her mother had been pretending, too, but not quite as well, because she couldn’t really hide the hostility beneath her words. She loved her daughter, Drew thought, and she was possibly genuinely concerned for her soul. But she didn’t like her. She wasn’t proud of her, obviously didn’t respect her. She didn’t seem to see Eva as the beautiful, strong, amazing woman Drew knew her to be, and under such censure Eva was freezing up again.

Drew wasn’t sure how to answer. He didn’t want to lie but he didn’t know what Eva would rather he say. He wished they would both stop pretending. It was ridiculous, this hinting around the edges. Better to lay it all out on the table. But that wasn’t his call to make.

“We met at an exhibit of photography by some mutual friends of ours. I help them out on photo shoots sometimes.”

“Oh, you’re interested in photography?”

And then, for a pleasant if surreal twenty minutes or so, Drew and Eva’s mother discussed photography like any two people might discuss a hobby they had in common. Eva relaxed visibly as she joined the conversation, and Drew felt some of his own strain dissipate. He was surprised by her mother’s knowledge about photography and art in general, and to learn that she was a former professional photographer. For some reason it had never occurred to him that Eva’s artistic predilections came from her mother’s side. He associated artists with open-mindedness, a willingness to accept alternative points of view.

Perhaps that willingness was really the important thing Eva had inherited from her father. It wasn’t the kink, it was the mindset that allowed for a world in which variance from the norm was an acceptable option. She’d had to overcome her mother’s influence in order to accept that trait in herself.

And she had started to overcome it. Drew had worried about this evening, worried he wouldn’t like watching Eva struggle to gain approval from her mother. He knew enough to know that adults who still seek that sort of approval are never able to find it, and the quest could be soul-destroying. But Eva’s goal, he came to realize as he watched her field her mother’s remarks, was not to fulfill some thwarted childhood need for praise. As far as he could tell, she simply wanted to maintain a connection with this lovely woman who charmed the waiter without even trying, who talked about art and fine wine with such clear enjoyment. This part of her mother, the good part she had kept. He could see that it was worth it to her, that at least for now the cost of dealing with the bad part was high but not impossible.