Lina tried to think of what to say, how to say it. “I… I’m sorry, Mom.”
It was an excruciating length of time before her mother answered. She looked confused, as frightened as Lina felt. “I’m sorry, too.” She took a hesitant step forward, reached out one small hand.
It wasn’t enough, just the offer of the hand. Lina wanted to be engulfed in her mother’s arms, but she didn’t know how to ask for such a thing, and she was afraid of making a fool of herself.
Madelaine stopped. Her hand fell slowly back to her side. “I guess we’d better go home and do some serious talking.”
Lina stared at her mother, feeling further away than ever, more alone. Tears were so close, she had to turn her head. She stared at the floor through stinging eyes. “Yeah, sure. Whatever.”
Madelaine knew that Lina was afraid, but for once, she had to be a parent, not a friend. She had to lay down the law and mean it, and if she failed—again—she would be hurting her daughter.
“Get your things,” she said in a thick voice. “We’ve got to go home.”
Side by side, in an almost unendurable silence, they walked out of the building. Late afternoon sunlight, weakened to chilly gold by the season, splashed their faces. Still quiet, they slipped into the Volvo and drove to the drugstore. Madelaine watched from a distance as Lina apologized to the manager for stealing the mascara, and when Lina finally turned away, Madelaine saw the tears swimming in her baby’s eyes.
God, how it hurt to see her daughter’s pain. Madelaine wanted to take Lina in her arms then and hold her and comfort her, but by sheer dint of will, she remained motionless and dry-eyed. Then, wordlessly, she led Lina back to the car and they drove home.
By the time they reached the house, Madelaine’s nerves were stretched to the breaking point. It was one thing, she knew, to decide to become an enforcer of rules—it was another thing to look at her daughter, whom she loved more than her own life, and say no. Mean no.
Flicking the car engine off, she grabbed her purse. Lina bounded out of the car and ran up to the house, disappearing inside.
When Madelaine walked into the house, Lina was already on the telephone. Her daughter’s voice was a loud, lively chatter, punctuated by ringing laughter.
“And then they locked me in this little room…. Yeah, it was way cool. Just like what happened to Brittany Levin…”
Madelaine stared at her daughter in disbelief. It was one of those crystallizing moments in life, tiny heartbeats of time that pass and leave you changed. Lina had gone through that terrible time in Juvenile Hall, she’d been terrified and apologetic, but the emotions were leaving her now, slipping away on the tide of the distance between her and the detention cell.
And she was counting on Madelaine to keep the memories away, counting on her mother to create some fantasy world in which the shoplifting had never happened.
Madelaine felt a stab of anger so swift and sudden, it surprised her. Lina was sure that Madelaine would want to sweep the whole messy incident under the rug, that the shoplifting could be yet another of the endless stream of things that Madelaine was afraid to talk about.
Not this time.
Madelaine forced her chin up and strode across the kitchen. Wordlessly she grabbed the phone from her daughter’s hand and crashed the receiver down.
“Wha—huh?” Lina stammered, slamming her hands on her hips and glaring at her mother. “Nice, Mom. Now I’ll have to call Jett back.”
Madelaine stood her ground. “No, you won’t,” she said evenly. “You have no phone privileges anymore.” She shoved her hand toward Lina, palm out. “Bike lock. Now.”
Lina stared at her mother in shocked amazement. “You must be kidding.”
“Do I look like I’m kidding?”
Lina frowned suddenly. She took a step backward. “Hey, Mom, come on….”
“Give me the lock and keys.”
She fished them out of her book bag and tossed them to Madelaine. “Fine. Jett can drive me to school.”
Madelaine shook her head. “I’ll take you to school every morning and pick you up. You will go nowhere—nowhere—without permission from me.”
Lina barked out a laugh. “Yeah, right. Mrs. Never at Home is gonna regulate my social life.”
“I can make myself be at home, Lina. I can take a sabbatical from work and be home all the time. Is that what you want?”
“I want my father,” she shouted back.
Madelaine should have known. It was only a matter of time before Lina used the incredible unknown father to wound her mother—but still it hurt. “Let’s talk about him, Lina. That’s what you want, right? You want to know about your father. Well, fine. Your father was a reckless, angry young man who didn’t want a family.”