Killing Hour - Lisa Gardner [13]
“Hey, Ma,” she tried with forced enthusiasm. “How are you?” Her gaze went to the front door. She willed Betsy to reappear so she could signal she needed a minute longer. No such luck. Tina tapped her foot anxiously and was happy her mother was a thousand miles away in Minnesota, and couldn’t see her guilty expression.
“Well, actually I’m running out the door. Yeah, it’s Tuesday. Just the time zones are different, Ma, not the days.” That earned her a sharp rebuke. She grabbed a napkin from the kitchen table, swiped it across her forehead, then shook her head when it immediately became soaking wet. She patted her upper lip.
“Of course I have class tomorrow. We weren’t planning on drinking ourselves silly, Ma.” In fact, Tina rarely drank anything stronger than ice tea. Not that her mom believed her. Tina had gone away to college—egads!—which Tina’s mother seemed to equate with choosing a life of sin. There was alcohol on college campuses, you know. And fornication.
“I don’t know where we’re going, Ma. Just . . . out. It’s like . . . a gazillion degrees this week. We gotta find someplace with air-conditioning before we spontaneously combust.” Lord, did they.
Her mother was instantly concerned. Tina held up a hand, trying to cut off the tirade before it got started.
“No, I didn’t mean that literally. No, really, Ma, I’m all right. It’s just hot. I can handle some heat. But summer school is going great. Work is fine—”
Her mother’s voice grew sharper.
“I only work twenty hours a week. Of course I’m focusing on my studies. Really, honestly, everything’s fine. I swear it.” The last three words came out a smidgeon too high. Tina winced again. What was it with mothers and their internal radars? Tina should’ve quit while she was ahead. She grabbed another napkin and blotted her whole face. Now she was no longer sure if the moisture was solely from the heat, or from nerves.
“No, I’m not seeing anyone.” That much was true.
“We broke up, Ma. Last month. I told you about it.” Kind of.
“No, I’m not pining away. I’m young, I’ll survive.” At least that’s what Betsy, Vivienne, and Karen told her.
“Ma—” She couldn’t get in a word.
“Ma—” Her mother was still going strong. Men are evil. Tina was too young to date. Now was the time to focus on school. And her family, of course. You must never forget your roots.
“Ma—” Her mother was reaching her crescendo. Why don’t you just come home? You don’t come home enough. What are you, ashamed of me? There’s nothing wrong with being a secretary, you know. Not all young ladies get the wonderful opportunity to go off to college . . .
“Ma! Listen, I gotta run.”
Silence. Now she was in trouble. Worse than her mother’s lectures was her mother’s silence.
“Betsy’s out in the car,” Tina tried. “But I love you, Ma. I’ll call you tomorrow night. I promise.”
She wouldn’t. They both knew it.
“Well, if anything, I’ll call you by the weekend.” That was more like it. On the other end of the phone, her mother sighed. Maybe she was mollified. Maybe she was still hurt. With her, it was always hard to know. Tina’s father had walked out when she was three. Her mother had been going at it alone ever since. And, yeah, she was bossy and anxious and downright dictatorial on occasion, but she also worked ferociously to get her only daughter into college.
She tried hard, worked hard, loved hard. And Tina knew that more than anything in the world, her mother worried it still wouldn’t be enough.
Tina cradled the phone closer to her damp ear. For a moment, in the silence, she was tempted. But then her mother sighed again, and the moment passed.
“Love you,” Tina said, her voice softer than she intended. “Gotta run. Talk to you soon. Bye.”
Tina dropped the phone back on the receiver before she changed her mind, grabbed her oversized canvas bag and headed out the door. Outside, Betsy sat in her cute little Saab convertible, her face also shiny with sweat and gazing at her questioningly.
“Ma,” Tina explained and plunked her bag in the backseat.
“Oh. You didn’t . . .”
“Not yet.”
“Coward.”
“Totally.” Tina