Part 4 (1/2)
She was already dialing. ”You know, Devvy, the whole point of having a cell phone is always having it with you, so people can reach you.”
”Exactly.”
She laughed and gave me the phone.
”Rita? It's Dev. What's up?”
Those were the last words I got in edgewise in that call. Sanchez's voice kept rising and getting louder as she explained the situation, and by the time she read back the last message, she was almost shrieking. Then she hung up. Just like that.
I listened to the dial tone in solemn contemplation for a few seconds before I hung up too.
”She was yelling, wasn't she?” Ca.s.sie asked. ”I heard it all the way over here. What happened?”
”Mom called.”
Sympathetically, she reached across the table to squeeze my hand.
”Five times,” I added.
Ca.s.sie frowned. ”Is something wrong?”
”Not with her. Sanchez is going to need rehab, though.” Unhappily, I dug in my purse for the Advil. ”Go ahead and start without me when the food comes. I'll go outside to call her back. No point in both of us suffering.”
”It's snowing outside, sweetie.”
”Then that's the perfect place to do this. It'll be just like a Russian novel.”
”You're cute when you're paranoid, you know that?”
”I'm not cute.” I took one Advil, considered, and took another. ”Be right back.”
But Ca.s.sie locked both her feet around mine under the table. ”Stay put. We're in this together.”
”You don't know her.”
”After everything we've already been through,” she said, half-annoyed, half-amused, ”I think I can cope with one little mother. How bad can she be?”
Where would I start explaining? ”All right. It's your funeral.” I started punching in the number. ”Give me your phone bill next month, and I'll pay for this.”
”Forget it. My treat.”
I would have argued that ”trick” was more like it, but the phone picked up at the other end. ”Mom?”
Then I listened. For a long time. She gave me about a minute and a half on the indignity of not being able to reach one's own daughter at will, followed by a couple of minutes on the perfidy of said daughter, followed by a long recap of our conversation when I'd told her I wasn't coming home for Thanksgiving, and it could have gone on for hours, except that I would need more Advil. ”Mom? I'm kind of busy here. Can you get to what you wanted to talk to me about?”
Across the table, Ca.s.sie winced at the volume of the reply. In this together, are we? Smiling very faintly, I beckoned her closer and held the phone between us.
”...Christmas, at least. You could at least have taken the time to call your own mother and tell her when to expect you, not to mention that your Aunt Kitty keeps asking, but if you're too busy to make a phone call...”
This time, I said it loud. ”Mom. Stop. Breathe. Now.”
The silence on her end was brief but indignant. ”You're just like your brothers,” she grumbled. ”Insolent as the day is long, all of you. Your father will be very interested in hearing about this conversation.”
”Well, when you talk to Dad, be sure to tell him I said hi,” I replied, trying to sound cheerful. ”Now just let me say this, OK? I haven't called you about Christmas yet because I don't know my schedule yet. We've got people out sick, and I'm having to cover for them. But I think I can get away by the 23rd, so...”
”You're management,” Mom said frostily. ”That's what you have employees for.”
Ca.s.sie almost started laughing; not finding that funny, I pulled back enough to scowl at her. ”You brought me up to work hard, remember?”
The shot didn't even slow her down. ”I also brought you up to be part of this family. Christmas is not optional, Devlin.”
”Never said it was. I'll be there. Promise.”
”Don't get sarcastic with me, young lady.”
”I'm not being sarcastic. I mean it. When are Connor and Ryan coming home?”
”I don't know,” she said peevishly. ”Their wives haven't told them yet. At least you don't have that excuse.”
I was about to agree when Ca.s.sie moved slightly and put a small kiss on my temple. d.a.m.n, and in front of a whole restaurant full of strangers, too.
”Devlin? Are you there?”
”I'm here.” Cautiously, I looked around. No one seemed to have noticed. In fact, most of the other customers were busy on their own cell phones. Sometime, I'd have to worry what that said about us. ”Listen, Mom, what if I bring someone home with me this year?”
Stunned silence. ”Not a man,” she warned.
Ca.s.sie snorted; I had to smile myself. ”No. She's not a man.” Most definitely not. ”You remember my friend Ca.s.sie? You met her about a year ago.”
”The blonde girl? She had too much lipstick on. And that blouse! It showed everything. Does her mother know how she dresses?”
Now Ca.s.sie was indignant, and it was all I could do to keep her from grabbing the phone away. ”Since when are you the fas.h.i.+on police, Mother? I've seen that ratty old bathrobe of yours.”
”We're not discussing me,” she said, in offended dignity.
”Well, that's a nice change. Now listen -- Ca.s.sie's spending Christmas with me this year. That part's not open for discussion. We can come visit you and have a nice Christmas, or we can stay here and have a very nice Christmas. Your call. What do you say?”
She didn't say anything.
”Mom?”
Still nothing. Ca.s.sie leaned close again, the better to hear.
”She can stay in my old room. I'll sleep on the sleeper sofa. It won't be a big deal. All right?”
Finally, my mother sighed. ”I hope she's not one of those people who have to have turkey at Christmas. We always have ham. I'm not changing the menu.”
”No one's asking you to. Now, why don't...”