ERICA IS IN THE CAR that’s taking her out to Dedham to see Jenny. She’s booked the jet to take her from Boston to Bismarck after the visit, giving her approximately two hours. Is that enough time to repair a mother/daughter relationship that seems rent at the seams?
As Erica looks out at the familiar New England landscape she feels a surge of nostalgia. This is where she got her start. This is where she became a star. Married a nice man. Had a beautiful daughter.
Beware of answered prayers.
This is where she started drinking at 9:00 a.m., this is where her marriage fell apart, this is where she appeared on air intoxicated, this is where she kidnapped and terrified her own daughter, driving her to a seedy motel and leaving her alone while she went on an “ice cream run” to the nearest liquor store.
Erica can feel her anxiety level spike as they approach Dirk and Linda’s house. And, yes, Jenny’s, it’s Jenny’s house, it’s where she lives. Not in New York with her mother. That’s where she used to live.
Beware of answered prayers.
She makes a pact with herself: today she will be absolutely honest with her daughter. Honesty is her North Star in her work—she must bring it to this table as well. She and Jenny have to understand and accept each other. It’s the only way forward.
The car pulls up in front of the modest house—and Erica feels a stab of envy. Wouldn’t it be nice to live in a small house and have small concerns and small pleasures?
So much for your pledge of honesty, Erica. You’d be bored out of your skull in twenty-four hours and you know it.
“I won’t be too long,” Erica tells her driver as she gets out.
Erica notices the car from Sentinel Security across the street. The detective is on his cell, but he duly notes Erica’s arrival. It’s reassuring. At least she can protect Jenny from some threats.
Dirk comes out of the house to greet her. He’s a nice man, a good man, but it’s hard to believe they were once married. They met so young, he was kind and smart and respectable and attractive, he represented what she longed for and had never had—a stable home life. They’re different people today, and their only commonality is their daughter. For better or worse, Erica is having a big life, bigger than she could have ever imagined. And that’s one genie you can never put back in the bottle.
“Thanks for coming,” Dirk says.
“Of course. How’s she doing?”
“She’s very moody. I can’t get her to say two words, and she rarely comes out of her room.”
“Okay,” Erica says as they step into the house. The staircase is right there, and Erica steels herself and climbs it. Jenny’s door has a sign on it that reads Entry by Permission Only. Erica knocks. “Hi, honey, it’s your mom. May I come in?”
“I’m busy,” comes the heartbreaking answer from behind the door.
“Well, I’ll just wait out here until your schedule frees up.” Erica sits on the floor and leans against the wall. In the quiet she can feel the awareness, the connection between them, it’s an invisible vein carrying . . . disappointment and anger and mistrust and hope and . . . love. “So . . . may I ask what you’re busy with?”
“What difference does it make?”
“Just mom curiosity, no big whoop.”
There’s a pause and then, “I’m reading one of the books on the summer reading list.”
“Cool. What is it?”
“Their Eyes Were Watching God.”
“I love that book.”
“You read it?”
“Yes. When I was just about your age. I found it at the library and devoured it. What do you think of it?”
“It makes me sad. And happy. I love it.” There’s a pause and then, “Okay, you can come in now.”
Erica stands up and opens the door. Jenny is on her bed, propped up on pillows. She’s wearing jeans and a T-shirt and she looks older somehow. And she’s so pretty, she’s going to be a beautiful young woman in no time at all. Her little girl has rounded a corner and is heading into a whole new phase of her life. How desperately Erica wants to be part of it.
Erica sits on the side of the bed. She and Jenny look at each other for a tentative moment and then Erica gives Jenny a kiss and a hug. Jenny hesitates and then returns the hug. Erica cups Jenny’s face in her hands. “You look very pretty.”
“I wonder where I got that?”
“Don’t say I never came through for you. So . . . how are you feeling about . . . ?”
“Being arrested?”
Erica nods.
“I feel rotten about it. I’m sorry to put you and Dad through this.”
“Can I tell you what worries me the most about it? What scares me the most?”
It’s Jenny’s turn to nod.
“I’m an addict. Susan is an addict. The gene is in the family.”
“I’m not an addict, Mom.”
“It can start small, with a little pot.”
“Yeah yeah yeah.”
Erica decides not to go any further down that path right now. “Just keep it in mind.” She takes one of Jenny’s hands in her own. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking . . . about us.”
Jenny looks down, but Erica can see that she’s listening carefully.
“I’ve put an awful lot of pressure on myself to be a good mom. So much pressure that it makes me insecure and bumbling, and then I do or say the wrong thing and make matters worse. Then I hate myself. You know I had a rotten, worse than rotten—I had a sick relationship with Susan, and I start to think there’s this legacy in our family of terrible mothers . . . And, well, you know, Jenny, I just go down some very dark holes. It’s painful. I love being your mom, and I love you more than I can say, but I think we both have to accept that I’m never going to be the mom you may want. Or even the mom that I may want to be. I have a lot of ambition and drive, my work is just terribly important to me, and I think the work itself is important. The truth is important. Justice and fairness are important.”
“But see, Mom, that bothers me. You want to save the world, but you don’t have time for your own kid.”
“I don’t have as much time as I wish. That’s true. The fact is we’re never going to have the kind of relationship a stay-at-home mom or a work-close-to-home mom and daughter have. Do you see what I mean?”
“Yes! We have a worse relationship.”
“Does it have to be worse, or can it just be different?” Erica stands up and takes a few steps and then turns around. “Oh, honey, I’m asking you to accept me for who I am. Because part of who I am is a woman who loves you with all her heart and wants to be the best friend you’ll ever have, who will stand with you and behind you as you grow into the amazing woman you’re going to be.”
Erica pauses and takes a deep breath.
“And part of me gets annoyed sometimes at the demands of being a mom, the emotional demands, the practical demands, who gets consumed by her work, who thrives on adrenaline and even danger, who is bored by domesticity. Who is neurotic and haunted and guilty. If you put it all together you have me. The one and only mom you’ll ever have.” Erica sits back down and takes Jenny’s hand in her own again. “And you know what I think?”
Jenny shakes her head.
“I think we’re pretty darn lucky to have each other. I think that we have a lot in common, that you’re unmistakably my daughter, and that fills me with so much pride sometimes I think my heart is going to burst right out of my chest.” She brings Jenny’s hand to her face and kisses it, holds it against her cheek for a moment. “Know something else?”
“. . . What?”
“I think there are a lot of moms and daughters out there who wish they could have what we have. Our connection, our commitment to each other, even at the low points. Our love. But we are kind of flying blind, there’s no rulebook for moms and daughters like us. We’re just two Sparks girls trying to do the best we can. And I think that’s a pretty darn wonderful thing.”
Jenny looks away and grits her teeth to try and stop it, but she can’t—a single tear runs down her left cheek.