Condemn Me Not (10 page)

“I
know it is, but…”

But
what? Claire thought.  It was the “but” that hung between them, dragging down
the mood of conversation.

Rebecca
had broached the subject with a cool head and a sweet apology.  She had
tempered her tone and stuck to her points.  She even offered to attend
part-time so she could work to help pay the bills.  Claire was the one
persisting in opposition.  She was the one refusing to yield, to compromise.  Her
breathing grew shallow as she traced the piping of the throw pillow next to her. 
Her heart felt compressed.  But what...

But
why
?  Slowly releasing her breath, unwinding the knot of objection wound
so tightly in her chest, Claire knew the reason behind the “but.” 
But she’d
miss her
.  Horribly, miserably.  She couldn’t afford to travel to Paris
once a month, couldn’t afford to fly her daughter home.  If Rebecca lived in
Paris, Claire would be lucky to see her for the holidays!

Visions
of Thanksgiving dinner trickled in, and her mind’s eye zoomed in on the vacant
seat at the table.  Plump, golden turkey with all the trimmings, fine china
arranged in layers of gold-rimmed plates and crystal stemware...  The magic of
Christmas morning followed quickly, Jim and the boys making their way around the
stack of unopened presents off to the side.  Without Rebecca, the holidays
wouldn’t be the same.  They’d have holes, bare spots.  Melancholy bloomed in
her heart with a welling ache.  Claire’s nest would be missing an egg, her warm
cozy den missing a cub.

“Don’t
you trust my decisions?” Rebecca asked.

“Of
course,” Claire responded, the reply automatic—and undermining to her argument.

“Well
then?”

She
pressed her lips into a thin line.  Burrowed into the corner of her sofa, Claire
felt trapped. 
It wasn’t what we discussed
. 
It’s not what we planned
. 
She brought pillow in hand over to her lap and hugged it close. 
You’re
reneging on your part of the deal and leaving me hanging
.  Lost in her
thoughts, she peered at Rebecca in silence.

“I
want a life, Mom.”

“You
don’t have to go to Paris to get a life, honey.  Your life is wherever you
are.”

“But
I want opportunity, excitement.  I want to go places, see the world.  You went
to Paris when you were in college.  Why can’t I?”

Claire
hated that her own youthful dreams were being used against her.  It made her
argument against the same impossible.  “Yes, I did.  But times were different
back then.”

Rebecca
slipped into a knowing smile, the first sign she felt secure enough to relax. 
“That’s what every generation says.”

Touché
.  A small smile
crept onto Claire’s lips.  “But they were,” she defended.  “We didn’t have
terrorism and unsettled governments back when I was in college.  We didn’t have
the level of security we have now, where they make sure you’re not hiding
things in your privates, your
bones
.”  Screeners were so invasive; it
felt like they could see straight through her skeleton as they searched for
explosives, weapons.  “We didn’t need it.  Times were different.”

From
her perch on the chair, Rebecca set hands to her thighs and looked down at her
mother.  “Mom, terrorism has been around since the sixties.  Whether it was in
response to the civil rights movement, the war in Vietnam or plain old
Capitalism, we’ve always had groups out there intent on disrupting the peace.”

Claire
cradled her daughter within her gaze and marveled at her intelligence, her
sensible, rational outlook.  Rebecca didn’t work from a perspective of fear. 
She worked from practicality.  And she was right.  But in those days it was domestic
terrorism, citizens with a beef against their government.  Today the threat was
international in scope and far more dangerous, emblazoning the backs of
American citizens with targets you couldn’t miss.  “That’s true to an extent,
but it doesn’t negate the reality of compromised security.  You have to be
careful.”

“I
am.  I’m always on the lookout for signs of danger, situations that might be
unsafe.  I carry my keys in my hand, stay in well-lighted areas, keep to a
crowd.”  Rebecca plowed her gaze into her mother, willing her to trust her.  “I
understand what’s out there.”

“I
know you do,” Claire replied, hating that any of this was necessary.  But women
weren’t safe anymore and if Rebecca lived abroad, who knew what danger lay in
wait for her.  Paris was a big city.  Like Boston and New York, it had its
dangerous elements, and wasn’t it only a few years ago that curfews were put in
place to contain angry bands of young men as they roamed the streets in search
of trouble?  Claire shuddered at the thought of Rebecca being accosted by a
group of unruly thugs.  Who knew what the police in France would do to protect
her, if they’d even come to her aid at all.  She never had to test their
performance during her summer in Paris.  She’d been sheltered by Jacques.  “I
just worry.”

“I
know you do.”  The teen slumped with a sigh, combed fingers through her hair.  “But
I promise you—I’ll be careful.”

“But
really, honey,” Claire said, undaunted in her quest for reconsideration. 
Rightly or wrongly, she couldn’t stop herself from trying to change her
daughter’s mind.  “What can you get in Paris that you can’t get at Rhode
Island?”

Rebecca
stilled and Claire got the eerie sensation she was about to learn.

“The
opportunity to travel.”

A
surge of turbulent emotion rattled her.  “Travel?”

“Yes,”
she said quietly.  “I want to travel, and a home base in Europe will make my
getting around a lot easier than if I tried to go from here.”

Claire
clutched at her pillow.  “What kind of traveling are we talking?  Where do you
plan on going?”

“I
want to go everywhere.”  Sparks of enthusiasm warmed the brown of Rebecca’s
eyes.  Her expression brightened and Claire dreaded her next words.  “I want to
see England, Ireland, Spain, Italy, maybe Greece.  I want to travel to Germany
and Russia…  Ultimately I’d like to see China, India—the world!  Just think of
it,” she continued wistfully.  “My eye for design will be fine-tuned by the
exposure to incredible diversity in culture and it will make me better than I
ever could be otherwise.”

Oh
my God
,
was all Claire could think. 
Travel the world
?  Rebecca would be gone
from her forever!

“I
don’t want to limit my options, Mom.  I want the power to dictate where I go,
what I become.  I want a career and I want it on my terms.”

Her
baby sounded so strong, so determined...  For a moment, Claire saw Simone in
her daughter.  This was the kind of talk her friend would relish—coming from
Mariah.  Simone would treasure this desire to travel the world, yet she could
not.  Yes, Claire wanted her daughter to be independent, but not so
self-contained that she severed all ties with home.  “
What about family
?”
Claire cried.  “Marriage, children…  Traveling doesn’t suit motherhood very
well, you know...”

Rebecca’s
demeanor cooled.  She pushed off the armrest and paced.  Claire could only
watch helplessly as her child came to terms with her future.  Stopping behind
the wingback chair, Rebecca folded her forearms across the rounded top and
announced, “I’m not sure I want children.”

“What?” 
Not sure she wanted children?  Pressing the soft foam cushion to her
midsection, Claire absorbed the declaration.  Her daughter was contemplating a
life on her own, and didn’t intend it to include a husband and family?  Where
was this coming from?  Nerves sputtered and popped.  “But you can have both,
Rebecca—you don’t have to choose.  Not in today’s world, you don’t.”

“Can
I?”  She hardened her stance.  “Can I really?”

“Sure. 
Women do it all the time.”

“You
didn’t.”

“Me?” 
Claire gaped at Rebecca, surprised by her inclusion.  “Well, sure I did.  I
have a career, in a sense...”  She fumbled, and thought distantly,
I have
you, and the boys
. 
You’re my career, my life
.  But even as she
thought the words, Claire realized they’d ring hollow to her adventure-minded daughter.

“And
look at Mariah and her mom.”  Rebecca whisked an arm toward the front door. 
“They don’t even get along.”

“Don’t
get along?  Why, sure they do,” Claire replied instinctively.  “One little
disagreement doesn’t denote ‘not get along.’”

Rebecca
rolled her eyes.  “If you say so.”

Did
she
? 
Did Claire just defend Simone and her daughter, the girl who for years whined
and complained about her mother? 
She was never home
. 
She was always
working
.  Why, if her dad didn’t work from home, Mariah would have been
left to fend for herself, one more latch-key kid, abandoned from school
dismissal until dinner time.  And dinner.  Mariah hated that her mother didn’t
cook, that her father prepared the family meals.  If it weren’t for him, she
claimed she would have starved.

Although
Claire overlooked Mariah’s dramatizations, privately she thought there was
legitimacy in her issue with her mother.  Which didn’t negate the fact that
Simone loved her daughter and did the best she could by her.  Simone just
didn’t feel that doing her best required her physical presence.  She maintained
she was setting a good example as a happy and fulfilled independent woman, and
that
that
was most important.  Eventually kids went to school full-day,
they played sports, went to their friends’ houses and when they started to
drive...?

They
wouldn’t even know she was gone.  Why waste those early years waiting for the
same conclusion and watch her competitive edge in the marketplace dwindle to
nothing?

“But
sweetheart,” Claire said, batting away choices she didn’t own, “kids and family
are important.  It’s a connection you want to nurture, not excise from your
life.”  Why, Jim and the kids were the most important things in her world.  She
could forgo anything, but she couldn’t do without
them
.  Didn’t Rebecca
understand that?  “You don’t want to cut yourself off from the possibility. 
One day you may change your mind.”

Rebecca
shrugged and dropped a hand to the chair back.  It landed with a dull thud.  “Well
then, when that day comes, I’ll decide where to go next.  But it’s definitely
nothing I want to do any time soon.”

“What
about Matt?”  Rebecca’s boyfriend of two years came from a big family.  He
struck Claire as the traditional type.  “What does he think?”

“He’s
very supportive of my choices.”

“He’s
okay with you leaving him?”

Rebecca
frowned.  “Matt doesn’t look at it that way, Mom.  He wasn’t going to Rhode
Island with me.  He won’t be going to Paris.”

“But
he could visit you at Rhode Island.  I daresay he won’t be joining the frequent
flyers club to see you in Paris.”

“And
that’s okay.”

Okay
? Claire balked
at her child’s nonchalance over a boy she spent every day with for the last
sixteen months.  Were they breaking up?  “Are you two okay?”  Part of her
approved of Matt as suitable husband material.  Not that she wanted her
daughter to get married any time soon, but eventually, someday...

Looking
at Rebecca now, resolve ticking away steady as the hands of time in her sweet
young face, it appeared she was indifferent to all but Paris.  “Mom, Matt and I
are fine,” she said, as though reading her thoughts.  “He understands what
drives me and he’s good with it.  He wants me to chase my dreams, follow my
passion.”

Claire
felt the hit. 
Even if you don’t
.  The words went unspoken, but she
heard them just the same.

For
a moment, it was all that remained between them.  Caressing the silken fabric
of the throw pillow still clenched at her breast, Claire wanted to stomp her
foot down.  She wanted to demand Rebecca take a year to think about it, mull
over the decision that would change the course of her life.  But in the same
instant, knew she wouldn’t.  Couldn’t.  Rebecca’s thinking had been done.  In
her mind the subject was closed.  She was leaving.

“Do
you ever feel like you wasted your degree, Mom?”

Sideswiped
by the question, Claire reeled.  “What?”

“You
know, you spent four years of your life pursuing a degree and you never used
it.  You never became an artist, an art professor.  You never became an
interior designer.  You never became anything.”  She puckered her brow.  “Doesn’t
it bother you?”

“Oh
sweetheart,” Claire exclaimed, ignoring the fresh gash to her heart, “that’s
where you’re wrong.”  Encouraged by the opened path, she abandoned the pillow
and rose from the sofa.  She went to her daughter, engulfed by a slew of
emotion.  “I
did
become something.”  Drawing the long brunette ponytail
over her slender shoulder, she brushed the back of her hand along Rebecca’s
cheek.  The soft skin was warm to her touch, brown eyes trusting, inquisitive. 
“I have the best career of all.  I’m a mother to you, and Jimmy and Joe.”