The Other Side - J. D. Robb [149]
“No, you’re not . . . but if you knew what it was like, you might.”
“Ho! Well, lucky for me I have the face only a mother could love.”
“Now that’s not true either,” Adeline scolded. “You were a lovely child, and you’ve become a beautiful woman . . . except that you don’t realize how beautiful.”
Truly uncomfortable in the spotlight, M.J. made for the stairs with Imogene. She intended to go back to her mother’s room and take up where they’d left off when the Doyles arrived. Adeline shook her head and followed.
“After your daddy died you became so . . . quiet . . . confused, I guess. You were so young. I tried my best. I bought you the prettiest, hippest clothes, pushed you to go out and socialize, join clubs, have fun . . . and you fought me constantly. You were always so angry with me for some reason, and you did everything you could to be the very opposite of me . . . despite all our commonalities.”
Commonalities? Aside from half her DNA and a weakness for Almond Joy candy bars, she was hard put to list any more commonalities between them, but before she could mention this, her mother spoke again.
“And you’ve done a fine job of it. You’ve spent your time filling your head with an education and making a living for yourself, a name for yourself . . . isolating yourself with your independence—”
“I’m not iso—”
“And you have no idea how very beautiful you are, so if you ever choose to marry, it might not even occur to you that your husband wants you only because of the way you look beside him. If he cheats on you, you won’t automatically assume it’s because you’ve lost your looks. You’ll never feel like you have to use your looks alone to get a man to spend time with you because you’re lonely . . . or marry because you don’t know who you are unless you’re somebody’s beautiful wife.”
By now M.J. had come to a full stop midstep on the staircase, staring at her mother as if she’d never seen her before . . . and maybe she hadn’t.
“Is that really how you’ve always felt?” Her voice was weak in a tight throat. “I didn’t . . . I mean, I had no . . . ”
She shook her head, not knowing what to say. She’d considered her mother’s vanity a failing, an annoying character flaw, not a survival mechanism—and a very sad one at that. Had her mother really been so insecure? So lonely? So lacking an identity that she had to use someone else’s—the men she married?
Her mother smiled and raised a hand as if she wanted to touch M.J.’s face, then, knowing neither of them would feel anything, lowered it again, saying, “If old age doesn’t give you perfect hindsight, sweetheart, death certainly does. I’m aware of the mistakes I made, and why, and I’ve accepted them. I can’t even regret them if they were partly responsible, even in a roundabout way, for the outstanding woman you’ve become.”
“Are you drunk? Can ghosts get high?”
“Don’t be flip. I’m trying to pay you a compliment.”
They’d reached Adeline’s bedroom at the top of the stairs, and she sailed through the closed door without hesitating, leaving M.J. in the hallway, sputtering in disbelief. Falling back on her heels, she shook her head and wondered if she’d ever understand her mother . . . alive or dead.
She glanced down the hall to see Imogene’s form, which had preceded them up the stairs, disappear into the room at the far end of the hall. It was a huge room, hers the times she’d come to stay as a child. A room that served as both bedroom—with small, child-sized furniture—and playroom, as her toys weren’t to be left about. Later, they replaced the furniture to make it a guest suite. It was also the only room that had windows overlooking the backyard . . . and Ryan’s backyard where Jimmy played.
She was tempted to remind Imogene of her promise but held her tongue. Her aunt had given her word, and she had no reason to doubt her.
Besides, she was still dealing with her mother. . . .
“Since when do you pay me compliments?” She opened the door and sailed through