“I had no idea you knew him. Why didn’t you tell me?”
Kathleen laughed. “I thought you’d lecture me on having unsuitable friends.”
Liza felt an uncomfortable pressure in her chest. Was she really that bad?
“I’m sorry you feel you have to censor things you tell me. If I nag you, it’s because I love you.” She knew her mother didn’t feel comfortable with demonstrations of affection, but she felt the need to say it.
“I know you do, dear.”
Liza held her breath. Waited. Hoped. “Are you still there?”
“Yes, I’m here.”
But she wasn’t going to say it back.
Liza knew she should have accepted that by now. “How’s Martha? Where are you both now? It must be, what—” she checked h
er phone “—ten o’clock in the morning where you are?”
“Nine. We’re about to eat breakfast before we hit the road.”
Liza smiled at the description. “I’m pleased you’re having fun. By the way, that nice policewoman called. Given that your intruder was drunk, apologetic and apparently had no previous convictions, she thinks it’s unlikely that you’ll be called in this matter.”
“That’s it?”
“Seems like it.”
“Well, good. Poor man. Now what are you doing this afternoon? Please don’t say you’ll be cleaning.”
“No cleaning. I’m going to the beach with my sketchbook and paints.” She hadn’t felt the urge to paint in years, but she felt it now. She was excited at the prospect, and that excitement grew as she heard her mother’s murmur of approval.
“Promise me something? Whatever that painting looks like, I want you to leave it for me.”
“Why?”
“Because I’d like another of my daughter’s paintings in the house.”
“Another?”
“To go with the others, although they were painted a long time ago of course. Too long. You’ve neglected that talent.”
Her mother had kept her paintings? Liza felt a warm glow and then felt irritated with herself for being so needy.
“I’ll leave you a painting.”
She didn’t mention that Finn had asked if she took commissions, or that he was coming to dinner at the end of the week. “I wanted to ask you—you know those old DVDs of your shows? Where are they? Can I watch them?”
“Why? You were never interested in the show. You always hated that part of my life.”
Liza felt a twinge of guilt. She could hardly say that talking to Finn had piqued her desire to look back at the way her mother had been back then. “I was young. I missed my mother, that’s all.”
There was a silence and she wondered what her mother was thinking.
“Are you still there?”
“Yes! Sorry. I was distracted. The DVDs are in my study. On the shelf, I think, beneath the travel guides. The key to the study is in the drawer by my bed. But Liza—”
“What?”