Эд Макбейн - Mothers and Daughters

Oh, my dear Mandy, I wish you every happiness in the world. You are so dear to me, did I ever tell you? I know you don’t care for sentimental hogwash, but Frank and I have often talked about how wonderful you are. Will the graduation be outdoors? That should be wonderful, everyone in white. You will wear white, won’t you? I wish I could be there. But you know how difficult it would be to leave Kate. She’s so young, and I am her mother. It’s so strange being a mother, Mandy, really I must explain it to you some day. When you get married, perhaps. But then you’ll have children of your own, won’t you? And you won’t need any advice from your old decrepit sister. You know, I miss you a lot. I miss all the talks we used to have. I can remember things so clearly lately. I sometimes sit for hours and things are so clear they seem to be happening all over again. I sometimes tell Kate about all the things we did together, but of course she’s just a child, it’s not like having someone to really listen to you. Frank was such a good listener. Do you remember him? I sometimes have the feeling that I’m the only one who still remembers him. And Kate, of course, because she was born then. You know what I mean. So close together and all, the birth. So I’m sure she remembers. But no one else. It would make me feel so good.

Well, I must take Kate in for her nap now. She still takes afternoon naps, you know. Mandy dear, please don’t worry. I’m sure Mother and Dad will come to the commencement. It’s just a question of convincing them that everything will be all right here at home while they’re gone. You know how they are. They worry about every little thing. I’ve had a little cold lately. I don’t think I’ll be able to come. But we’ll see, Amanda, you will be lovely, I know it.

Your sister,

She read the letter again now in the June-streaming sunshine of her dormitory room, sitting on the edge of the bed, her blond hair caught in a glittering trap. She wore a blue robe, and her head was bent as she studied the letter and nibbled at her pencil. She moved her writing pad onto her lap and wrote: “Dear Penny,” and then put down the pencil and reread Penny’s letter for the third time. It sounded like Penny, and yet it didn’t. It seemed to ask a hundred questions that required no answers, seemed to hint without stating, seemed to ramble indecisively, and yet it was surely Penny writing the letter, but it didn’t altogether sound like Penny. “I seem to be remembering a lot of silly things lately. I suppose Mother has written to you.” Well, yes, Mother had written, but she hadn’t said anything about Penny remembering a lot of silly things, what sort of things did she mean? Or were the two thoughts even connected? Did the reference to her mother have anything at all to do with her statement about remembering silly things? Or, when you considered it, what was so terrible about remembering silly things? Of course, no one had said anything at all was wrong with it, but... that was it... that was what she felt about the letter, its... its implication, but surely it was an innocuous letter, chatty and loving. Still, it made her feel uncomfortable. And the fact that she could not pinpoint her discomfort only increased the feeling. She put down her pencil and walked to the window.

She heard the telephone ringing downstairs, and she thought instantly, I’d better call home. Maybe something is wrong. She was starting for the door when she heard a girl’s voice yelling, “Amanda Soames! Telephone!” She tightened the belt on her robe and went into the corridor barefooted, running down the three flights of steps to the reception room. She lifted the phone, pushed the hair back from her ear, and put the receiver to it.

“Hello?” she said.

“Amanda?”

“Yes?”

“Well, I did it.”

“What did you do?” she asked, annoyed. “Who is this?”

“I won the war.”

“I’m very glad you did. Would you mind telling me who—”

“Matthew Bridges.”

There was a long silence on the line.

“Amanda?”

“Yes?”

“I want to tell you something.”

“What is it?”

“I love you.”

“What?”

“I love you.”

“What? What did you say?”

“I love you.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m in New York. I’m coming up to Talmadge as soon as I can rent a car.”

“Why?”

“To see you, of course.”

“Don’t bother.”

“I’ll pick you up at eight.”

“I can’t go out,” she lied. “University rules.”

“Don’t kid me, Amanda. You’re a graduating senior.”

“All right, I just don’t want to see you.”

“That’s too bad. I have a lot of things to tell you.”

“I don’t want to hear anything you have to—”

“Eight o’clock,” he said. “Wear a pretty dress,” and he hung up.

“Now, listen—” she started, but the line was dead. She stared at the telephone receiver. “He’s crazy,” she murmured. She shrugged. “Well, he’s just crazy, that’s all.” And all at once she was blushing furiously. She put down the phone and ran up to her room. She slammed the door behind her and then went directly to her bed and sat on its edge with her hands clenched tight in her lap, staring at the closed door, biting her lip.

At eight o’clock on the dot, the knock sounded on her door.

“It’s open,” she said.

A freshman in sweater and skirt opened the door and leaned against the jamb, smiling. “There’s someone to see you, Amanda,” she said. “A soldier.”

“Thanks,” she said. “Would you tell him I’ll be down in a minute?”

“He’s got ribbons all over his chest,” the freshman said.

“None in his hair?” Amanda answered, and shot an angry glare at the girl. “Close the door behind you, would you?”

She went to the mirror and studied herself. Well, she thought, he’s here. He really came. So what do we do now? Now we go downstairs and smile a very cold smile and say, “It was very nice of you to come all the way up here, Major Bridges,” although it’s probably Colonel Bridges by now, or maybe even General Bridges. “It was very nice of you to take such a long journey, General, but I’m afraid it was an impulsive gesture on your part. I really have no desire to spend any time at all with you, and I’m sorry if anything in our past relationship gave you any notions to the contrary. I certainly cannot recall offering you the slightest encouragement, and I don’t intend to offer any now. So, if you’ll excuse me.” Yes, that was well put, that was exactly the way she would say it. She smoothed the pleats on her white skirt, tucked her blouse into it, pinched her cheeks, and then went downstairs.

He did not see her when she entered the room. He was sitting on the couch at the far end, facing the door, as if embarrassed by the indignity of having to wait for a girl in a college dormitory. “All this undergraduate nonsense gives me the willies,” he had said once, that first time in Brian’s car. Well, that was just too bad, General Bridges, but no one asked you to come here. He looks older, she thought, no he just looks more mature, why there’s gray at his temples, but, and she wondered about war for the second time in her life, the first time when her brother-in-law was killed, and now again, wondered what it did to men, and then squashed whatever sympathetic curiosity she was feeling. As she approached, she saw that he was wearing a gold maple leaf on his collar. Still a major, she thought, and felt as if she’d won her first small triumph. He rose suddenly, as if sensing her approach, rose with a clean swift motion from the deep couch. She did not remember him as being so tall. He looked leaner and harder, and she saw the battle ribbons on his blouse and wondered where he had earned them, and then told herself, I don’t care where. He grinned suddenly, his mouth twisting under that same silly black mustache, why in the world doesn’t he shave it off? If he tries to kiss me, I will knock him unconscious.