Secrets in the Shadows (Secrets 2)

I stared at her through the mirror. Was this a dream? Or a trap? She was treating me with such kindness and talking to me as if she were my older sister. I really was at a loss for words. My thoughts were spinning on a merry-go-round in my head. I even felt a little dizzy.

"Where did you learn all this?" I finally managed.

She laughed.

"Are you kidding? In my family the women were determined to be on the covers of magazines. I had aunts who went into mental depressions so deeply over a new wrinkle, they were nearly committed. In my family we put aside money for plastic surgery the way other people put aside money for life and fire insurance. Growing old, losing your looks was as horrible a conceit as watching your home burn to the ground. That was the world in which I was raised."

"But you don't seem that way now," I told her, not sure if that was the right thing to tell her. She liked it; she smiled.

"For some stupid reason I can't fathom, most of the women I know think they have to make a choice between brains and looks. I know other female attorneys who deliberately dress as masculinely as they can before they go to court. They think it matters. Maybe it does, but I won't ever give into that. I have to have the judge, the jury and my witnesses not see me only as a woman but as an advocate equal to any other in the courtroom. You should never give into that sort of narrow thinking," she added. "You're a full person. Don't let anyone put you into a comfortable stereotype. I never did."

I just sat there listening. She saw the look of amazement on my face.

"Sorry," she said. "I don't mean to lecture, but it's one of my pet peeves. Do you think you can handle this by yourself from now on?" she asked, nodding at me in the mirror.

"Yes."

"Good. Don't forget. Let your hair fill out and see about using a conditioner from now on as well:" she added, fingering some strands. "You could soften it a bit. How often do you wash your hair?" she asked.

"Not very," I said.

"Change that to very. You know, I have a pair of emerald earrings that will look good on you. I'll leave them for you," she said. They were going back to California in the morning.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome," she said and turned to leave. "Oh, your makeup kit," I called to her when she reached the doorway.

She turned and shook her head.

"No, that's your makeup kit now. I bought it for you the other day when we were all shopping."

My jaw seemed to lock at the hinges. She didn't smile. She nodded and walked out.

I turned and looked at myself in the mirror. It was as if someone else sleeping inside me had been awakened. I could almost hear her say, "Hello. Let me introduce myself" Only it was my mother and not me.

"I'm Karen Stoker."

I pushed myself back from the table and seized the sponge to bring it to my face so I could wipe away all the makeup, but something stronger seized my wrist and kept me from doing so. I sat there staring at myself for nearly a full minute before putting down the sponge and closing the makeup kit. Then I rose and went downstairs, walking as if in a trance.

Aunt Zipporah had returned to New Paltz two days after she had come because she was worried about leaving Tyler at the cafe so long. Of course, I promised to call her more often. I didn't know what new headlines she expected, but I could see she was hoping for some.

Rachel was putting the twins to bed, but my grandparents and my father were in the living room, talking softly, when I descended. They paused and looked up with surprise as I entered. I was most interested in my father's reaction. His eyes widened, and then he smiled. If I did look like my mother, it didn't frighten him or put him off.

"Well, who's this?" my grandfather joked. "I didn't know we were having guests tonight."

"You look terrific, Alice," my father said. "Rachel knows her stuff, huh, Mom?"

"Yes, she does. Very nice. It's not too much and it's not too little."

"Maybe you should have Rachel give you a lesson, too, Elaine," my grandfather said. The second he said it, we could all feel what he felt. He had put his foot squarely in his mouth.

I couldn't recall Grandmother Elaine's face that deep a shade of crimson. I was sure I saw two puffs of smoke emerge from each ear. My grandfather threw himself to the floor and pleaded for forgiveness. He started to kiss her feet.

"I was kidding. I was joking."

"Get up, you idiot," she told him.

My father was laughing hysterically. Even I started to laugh, and for a moment, a long and precious moment, we were all truly like a family, enjoying each other for our weaknesses, our foolishness and our love.