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“Some bread?” Barbara requested as she tore into the chicken and ravenously stuffed it in her mouth like a caveman.

“And soup. You need more sustenance, Barbara,” I said, running back into the kitchen. I always have a can of soup handy for moments like these. As I waited for the soup to warm, it occurred to me that no one was questioning how I knew where these things were. That was how tired Barbara and Frida really were.

“Oh, my shoulders,” Frida cried now, so I continued to massage her. “Now really dig in there,” Frida instructed me as I
massaged her other shoulder. “Yes,” she said, breathing heavily. “Oh, the pain, the pain!”

“Oh, Frida, these knots,” I exclaimed as I dug in. “It’s a wonder how you do this to yourself. Now what else can I do?” I asked. “How about your feet? Your bunions must be killing you.”

“Yes, some warm water for my feet,” Frida cried softly. “Ellie has a pan she uses . . .”

“I’ll get it.” I ran into my kitchen and grabbed my large roasting pan and filled it with hot water.

“Now, how’s that?” I asked her as she dunked her feet and ate her soup.

“Better, but not much,” she said.

“Do you want me to take you up to your apartment?” I asked her.

“No,” she said. “I don’t want to leave here until Ellie gets back. I’ll be up all night worrying.”

Silence filled the apartment. I was out of things to do, but when your family is sick, you just want to keep doing and doing. Also, I didn’t want the commotion to stop for fear of what would come next, which it inevitably did.

Lucy took the plate from Barbara, who was literally licking it clean.

“Lucy,” Barbara called to her as she took the plate into the kitchen. “We have to get to the bottom of what is going on here. I’m going to ask you for the last time. Please tell me that you know where your grandmother is.”

Lucy looked at me for any kind of clue as to what to say, but I was out of lies.

“I don’t know,” she said in a tone I hadn’t heard her use since she was a child.

“You know,” Barbara snapped at her, pointing, “you know something, and I don’t want to be kept in the dark anymore.”

“Mom, I really don’t know,” she told her.

“I’m going to count to three. If you don’t tell me the information you know about your grandmother I will never speak to you again.”

“Now come on, Barbara, don’t you think you’re being just a little dramatic?” I butted in.

“You stay out of this!”
she jumped up and roared at me.

Oh, boy, did
that
shut me up.

“But as long as we’re on the subject, just who the hell are you? Lucy has never mentioned you to me before. And do not call me Barbara. I am Mrs. Sustamorn.”

“They were playing with me when they said she was the cousin,” Frida interjected, sounding hurt.

“All that I know is that the trouble started the second you came into the picture.” Barbara now glared at me.

“Mom, you need to calm down.”

Barbara started breathing heavily, unable to stop.

“Jesus, Lucy, she’s going to have a heart attack,” I said, panicking.

“I have some smelling salts in my bag. If I had my bag. Or if I could move a muscle in my body to go to my apartment and get my bag,” Frida mumbled, tired but concerned.

“Lucy, this is too much,” I said. “Barbara, you need to calm down.” But she just kept breathing erratically. “Barbara,” I instructed her again, “pull yourself together.”

“Stop.” Lucy waved her hand at me. “She does this. I know what to do.” Lucy calmly went over to her mother and helped her back into her seat. “Mom, you need to sit back down and take a few deep breaths, because you’re getting to that place you don’t like. Take a deep breath for me, Mom, in . . .”

Barbara looked into Lucy’s eyes and took a deep breath.

“And out . . .”

Barbara exhaled.

And then I witnessed something I’ve never seen in the entire time I’ve known my child. Barbara started to cry. Sure, she’s cried before, but not in this way. Barbara was heaving and sobbing in a way that was completely new to me.

Lucy took Barbara in her arms as Frida and I looked on.

“I don’t understand what’s going on here. Why can’t anyone give me a straight answer as to where my mother is?” Barbara moaned.

“Mom, breathe, just like we always do. Breathe in . . . and out . . . and in . . . and out.” She continued to cradle her mother in her arms.

This wasn’t the daughter I knew. This wasn’t a person I was familiar with. But Lucy knew her. Lucy knew exactly who this person was.

“If anything has happened to your grandmother, I swear to you, Lucy, I’ll go out the window. I swear it to you,” Barbara cried.

“Mom, Grandma is a strong woman, and so are you. You must know deep in your heart that she’s fine. She’s fine, Mom, she’s fine.”

“She’s fine!” I shouted. “She’s fine! She went away for the day and she didn’t want anyone to know!”

“But who are you?” Frida asked.

I looked at Lucy again.

“She’s my friend!” Lucy answered. “How many times do I have to tell you? You know, Mom, you don’t know everything about my life. Did you ever stop to think that maybe I have a friend you don’t know?”

Barbara thought about this for a moment.

“But we talk every day,” Barbara replied.

“Look,” Lucy said, pointing to me. “Does she really look like someone who did something bad to Grandma? For god’s sake, be rational.”

“But it was so strange this morning,” Barbara told her. “Mom saying she saw a mouse, and then lying and saying that she was having lunch with Frida.”

“And then telling me that she was having lunch with Barbara,” Frida added.

“So that means that she was kidnapped? That means she is hurt? That means you have to go to the police?” Lucy asked both of them.

Barbara and Frida had nothing to say. Their worrying really did sound crazy when Lucy put it that way. I wanted to tell them to leave me alone, to stop worrying and being so ridiculous. But I could also see the hurt in my child, and I wanted to make that right. It was my day. My one day. And chances were if I tried to tell them the truth, I’d spend the rest of it locked in a mental ward.

“Mom, Aunt Frida, I’m going to say something to you right now that you might hate me for, but I have to say it.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t say it then, Lucy.” Frida sounded worried.

“No, I’m going to say it even if it hurts you, Aunt Frida.”

“Well, I don’t know why you’d want to hurt me, especially with what I’ve been through today, but if you feel you have to . . .” Frida went on, cheerless.

“Well, it’s not going to hurt you that much.” Lucy smiled, patting Frida’s shoulder.

“Well, okay.”

Lucy turned away from us as if she were preparing her words. When she turned back around, she was dead serious.

“Mom, Aunt Frida, get a life!”

“What on earth is that supposed to mean?” Barbara asked, offended.

“Mom! You put yourself and Aunt Frida into a tailspin today, and for what? So what if your mother wanted to get away for a day? What is it to you anymore?”

“Exactly!” I exclaimed. “Thank you, Lucy.”

“Now watch it!” Barbara said to me. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. This is my mother we’re talking about.”

“Exactly. She’s your mother!” Lucy shot back. “She’s your seventy-five-year-old mother. If there’s anything I see in Gram that I don’t see in you, it’s that she’s got a life of her own. You’re a fifty-five-year-old woman who is still obsessed with trying to do right by your mother. Don’t you think it’s time that you just cut that out already?”

“I think ‘obsessed’ is overstating it just a bit,” Barbara told her.

“No, Mom, I think that’s the perfect word,” Lucy said with a bit of anger.

“Well, I think really what Lucy’s saying is,” I put in, “maybe this family should stop looking at one another as daughter, mother, and grandmother, and start looking at one another as people.”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I mean.” Lucy threw her hands up. “Mom, would you take a good look at yourself? Do you know what it was like coming to that bar and seeing you there? And for what?”

“I wanted to know what happened to Grandma. You wouldn’t pick up your phone all day!” Barbara cried.

“Because I had a very big day today! I had probably one of the biggest days of my life, and I didn’t have time to talk to you. I should have that right.”

“When I told you that I was worried sick about Mom—”

“No, you didn’t say that you were worried sick. You said that Aunt Frida was worried sick.”

“Which I was,” Frida said.

“And you’re just as bad, by the way,” Lucy said to Frida.

Barbara looked at her daughter with tears in her eyes.

“Mom, I’m telling you this because I love you.”

“Well, I love you too, Luce.”

“But Mom, you have to grow up already. You just have to grow up.”

“I mean”—Barbara paused as she thought about it—“I suppose that maybe I could start to look at things from another point of view.”

“That’s all I’m asking here,” Lucy said. But I knew there was another person who could take Lucy’s advice: me. I knew that the best thing I could do was cut the cord with my daughter. She would always be my child, no matter what age she was, but
I needed to stop judging her. I needed to try to see things from her point of view. I needed to act more like her friend than her mother.

Barbara and Lucy fell into a hug as Frida and I looked on.

“And how often do you call your mother?” Frida asked me as she massaged her legs.

“My mother died a long time ago,” I told her.

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“Thank you,” I said. “But to tell you the truth, she was a lot like you, Mrs. Sustamorn,” I said, turning to Barbara.

“I’m hoping that’s a compliment,” Barbara said.

“She had a lot of love for me,” I replied. “She worried about me a lot. The one way Lucy is different from me, though, is that I really listened and minded what my mother told me to do.”

Frida stopped massaging her legs and looked at me.

“See, she listened to her mother.” Barbara nodded at Lucy.

“But I should have done what Lucy has done. I shouldn’t have let my mother’s word be the last word. I should have used her advice as part of weighing my options. Lucy and I are very different people,” I said. “Lucy has the sense to think for herself.”

Frida stared at me, extending her neck as if she wanted to get a better look. Barbara smiled and patted Lucy’s head.

“I hated my mother,” Frida spoke up out of nowhere.

“What?” We all turned to Frida.

“My mother was a bossy woman who never made me feel good about myself.” She looked squarely at me. “She died a long time ago, too.”

I know,
I thought to myself sadly as we looked at each other.

“I wish that I’d had the guts to stand up to her,” Frida said
softly. “She’s been gone for thirty years, and I can still hear her rants. I wish she’d cared more about herself than about running my life. You know what? I’m glad Ellie took this day for herself. Maybe I’ll take one, too. I’ve spent too many years worrying when I should have been living for myself.” A tear ran down Frida’s face. “Maybe it’s time I start thinking for myself, too,” Frida said.

“And I’m sure you will now,” I said.

I smiled at Frida, so proud of her, and she smiled back.

“I’m going to start spending my money!” Frida suddenly declared.

“Don’t go crazy now, Frida,” I told her, getting a little worried that she might be taking my advice too far.

“Oh, no, I don’t have to worry. I’ve got more money than King Solomon had gold in his mines.”

“You do?” we all asked her in unison.

“Yes, I do,” she answered firmly. “And I don’t care how much it costs, I’m going to do something I’ve always wanted to do.”

“Go to Paris!” I exclaimed. Frida always wanted to go to Paris.

“Buy yourself a new wardrobe?” Lucy guessed.

“I’m going to buy a cell phone!” Frida proclaimed.

This made us all laugh. We laughed and laughed. When the laughing quieted, Barbara took a deep breath and put her arms around Lucy.

“You know, I hate to admit it, but you’re right,” Barbara told me. “When Mom comes back, I’m not going to harp on her for not calling. I’ll just ask her if she had a good day.”

“She’ll think you had a lobotomy,” Frida said, perking up.

“And Aunt Frida, what can I say? I’m sorry that I dragged you around all day,” Barbara told her.

“And I’m sorry that I yelled at you before,” Frida said to her and smiled.

“What?” I blurted out. I couldn’t help myself; had Barbara really pushed meek little Frida to her breaking point? Frida’s stare was drilling holes in me, but Barbara didn’t notice my outburst.

“What’s the matter, Frida?” I asked her.

“Would it be okay if I spoke to you alone for a second?” Frida asked, again looking me squarely in the eyes.

“Sure,” I said.

Frida nudged my arm as we began to walk. She led me into my bedroom and slowly shut the door as I took a seat on the bed. Then she sat down next to me.

“Go,” she said, taking my hands in hers.

“Oh, no. I can’t leave you all here in such a state.”

“Go,” she said again, squeezing my hands. “Go and enjoy yourself.”

Now, I could have taken this conversation in a lot of ways. Frida might not have trusted this stranger; maybe Frida thought this stranger was up to no good and wanted her out of their lives. Maybe she was telling her:
Go, leave, and don’t come back.

Then again, maybe Frida felt that a young woman who didn’t know this family shouldn’t have to deal with their problems. Maybe the young woman had problems of her own and Frida was saying:
Go, you don’t need this.

But of course what she was saying was obvious, now that I thought of the way she’d been looking at me earlier:
I know it’s you. I want you to enjoy this gift you’ve been given. I understand. Go.

“Everything is fine here. Sometimes we all just need some time without questions or problems to solve for everyone else,”
she said softly. “Sometimes we just need to shut out the world and take some time for ourselves.”