Софи Келли - Final Catcall

I rubbed the space between my eyes with two fingers. “I’m sorry. I feel as if time has somehow slowed down today.”

“‘We are time’s subjects,’” a voice said behind me.

I turned around to see my mother standing just inside the door, smiling at me. She was the only person I knew who could quote a line or two from Shakespeare in the middle of a conversation and not sound pretentious.

“‘And time bids begone,’” I said, grinning back at her. I didn’t give her a chance to quote anything else from Henry IV , though. I crossed the few feet between us and threw my arms around her. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

She smelled like lavender and she didn’t look like she’d spent close to four hours on a plane and more than another hour in a car. She was wearing black trousers, a soft cloud gray sweater with a wide, flat collar and heels. Her silver hair was a bit shorter, chin length. If anything, it made her look younger.

“I’m so glad I’m here, too,” she said. She pulled out of the hug, kept her arm around my shoulders and looked around. “Oh, sweetie, this is even better than the photos.”

She caught sight of Mary then and smiled. “You must be Mary,” she said, walking over to the desk and offering her hand. “I’m Thea Paulson.”

They shook hands, Mary smiling back. “I’m glad you’re here,” she said. “We’ve heard a lot about you.”

“All of it good, of course,” Mom said, a sly look in her eye.

Susan was coming from the stacks with an empty book cart. Mary made the introductions. I heard my mother ask a question about the building and I knew that within five minutes she’d have its history and a fair amount of Mary’s and Susan’s as well.

I turned to Ben. “Thank you for picking her up.”

He shook his head. “The pleasure was truly mine. I can’t tell you how glad I am she agreed to come.”

“Me too,” I said.

Abigail breezed through the door then.

“Hi,” I said. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to fill in for you so you can take your mom home.” She held up a hand. “Don’t even think about arguing with me.”

I held out both hands. “Okay, I won’t.”

I introduced Abigail to Mom and she was immediately pulled into the conversation with Susan and Mary. I’d given Ben my keys so he could put Mom’s suitcase in the truck. “I’m just going up to my office to get my things,” I said.

“Could I see your office before we go?” she asked.

“Of course,” Susan said. She had a pink plastic cocktail fork stuck in her updo. I was never quite sure if the odd things she used to secure her hair were her way of thumbing her nose at convention or if she really did just grab the first thing she saw on any given morning.

“Kathleen has a beautiful view of the water and of course the gazebo that’s at the back,” Mary said.

“You have a gazebo?” Mom said.

Abigail nodded. “One of the performances is going to take place out there.”

Mom’s eyes lit up. “What a wonderful idea! I love performing outside. John and I did Bard in the Park last year. How big is this gazebo?”

“It’s about, what, twelve feet across?” Abigail looked at Mary for confirmation.

“Fifteen,” I said.

“Small, but not impossible to use as a stage,” my mother said. “Could I take a peek at it?”

Susan nodded. “Like Mary said, you can see the gazebo from Kathleen’s office.”

“Splendid,” Mom said. “Let’s go take a look.”

They all moved toward the stairs.

I cleared my throat. “Someone has to stay at the desk,” I said.

Mary shook her head. “I’ll stay.” She leaned forward and smiled at Mom. “It was wonderful to finally meet you, Thea.”

“You too, Mary,” Mom said, reaching out to squeeze her hand. “As soon as I get my schedule sorted out I’ll call you and we’ll have tea.”

“Looking forward to that,” Mary said. She brushed past me on her way to the checkout desk. “I like her,” she said softly as she went by.

Susan and Abigail gave Mom a quick tour of the second level and showed her the gazebo from my office window. I gathered my briefcase and jacket and only managed to steal her away from them by promising to bring her back the first time she was free.

“I like your library and I like your staff,” she said as she settled on the passenger side of the truck. Her carry-on was at her feet and her suitcase was in the bed of the truck, covered with a tarp because it was spitting rain.

“You cut your hair,” I said as we drove up the hill.

“What do you think? It was the executive producer’s idea.”

“I like it.”

“I’m supposed to look rich and ruthless,” she said with a laugh. “When I e-mailed your father a photo, he said I looked like Helen Mirren.”

I shot her another quick look. She actually did look a bit like the British actress. They had the same hair now and the same beautiful posture. “Maybe a little,” I said.

She brushed a bit of lint off her sweater. I hoped it wasn’t cat hair. “He’s just trying to charm me into doing a British accent. He’s always thought a British accent is sexy.”

I shook my head. “Way, way more information than I need to have.”

She laughed and the sound filled the truck.

I smiled at her. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Me too, Katydid,” she said.

Owen and Hercules were waiting for us in the kitchen. Mom walked over to them, stopping a couple of feet in front of them. “Hello,” she said. Both cats eyed her, whiskers twitching.

“Merow,” Owen finally said.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, too,” Mom said. “You’re even more handsome than your pictures.”

Owen knew what the word “handsome” meant. He did his I’m-so-modest head dip, watching her with one golden eye.

“And, Hercules, you look like you put on your best tuxedo to welcome me. Very dashing.”

Hercules wasn’t immune to compliments, either. He sat up a little straighter and gave Mom a look of kitty affection.

“What would you like first?” I said. “A bath or a cup of tea?”

She straightened up and stretched. “Oh, sweetie, a cup of tea would be wonderful.”

I reached for the kettle.

“Is it all right if I look around?” she asked. “I do like your house.”

I nodded. “Of course.”

She headed to the living room with Owen and Hercules right beside her. I put tea bags in the little china pot I always kept for Maggie and set a couple of Rebecca’s blueberry muffins on a plate. By the time Mom came back to the kitchen the tea was ready and I’d made a cup of cocoa for myself.

She sank into the chair opposite me and reached for her cup. “Umm,” she said after taking a sip. “That’s lovely tea.”

“It’s Maggie’s favorite, so I keep some in the house,” I said.

“When do I get to meet Maggie?”

“Probably tomorrow. She’s in Minneapolis at a meeting.” I reached for one of the blueberry muffins. “What time are you meeting Ben in the morning?”

Mom pulled up one leg and tucked it underneath her. “Eight thirty. That’s almost civilized compared to the time I have been getting up.”

“We could ask Maggie to join us for breakfast,” I said.

“Yes,” Mom said, putting the other muffin on her plate.

I got up and went to the cupboard for the small bottle of orange marmalade I’d gotten for Mom from the Jam Lady. I gave her the jar and watched her unscrew the lid, put a dab on her plate with her knife and then take a tiny taste with one finger. She reminded me of Owen. He and his brother were sitting between my chair and Mom’s, probably hoping one of us would drop something.

Mom took another taste of the marmalade. “This is good,” she said. “Where did you get it?”