“Squawk! Pick up the phone. Come on, pick up the phone.” The high-pitched whistle of my mother’s African Grey parrot, Reggie, woke me from a wonderful dream. I’d been sitting on a beach, where a fine-looking Polynesian brought me a fluffy drink and offered to apply suntan lotion.
“Squawk! Pick up the phone. Come on, pick up the phone.” I rolled over and slapped my hand around the bedside table in search of the offending noise.
“Woof, woof!” Sirius decided to get in on the action. A wet nose pushed against my arm as his tail ricocheted back and forth between the bed and wall. Thwack, thwack, thwack.
Originally, I thought it would be amusing to use one of Reggie’s clever sayings as my mom’s ringtone. At 7:07 on a Saturday morning, its charm was lost to me.
I wiped slobber off my hand onto Sirius’s head, which calmed him down and rasped, “Hello, Mom.”
“Happy, happy birthday! Happy, happy birthday! Happy birthday, my dearest Sophia. Today you are thirty. Wake up, sleepyhead.” Dorothy Hartland’s sunny voice bounced off I don’t know how many satellites to bring me my regularly scheduled birthday greeting. Every year, without fail, Mom called at exactly the time I was born on October second. She did the same to my sister on her birthday. Luckily for Holly, she was born at 2:23 in the afternoon. Luckily for me, Arizona didn’t observe daylight saving, or the phone would be ringing an hour earlier.
Scrubbing the sleep from my eyes, I yawned. “Thanks, Mom.”
“Did you get my card?” Mom’s voice was anxious.
“Yes, it came yesterday, but I haven’t opened it yet.”
“Well, there’s a gift card for Nordstrom in there, so go buy yourself something nice.”
I yawned again. “Gee, Mom, thanks. That’s great.” My mother might have some annoying quirks, but she had a generous heart. The Nordstrom card was liable to be $200 or $300, and worth quite a bit of her receptionist paycheck.
“What are you doing for your birthday?”
“Nothing much. Poppy held a surprise party for me last week, so I don’t have any plans.”
There was a pause. “So … are you seeing anybody?”
I cringed. It must have been a record, a whole sixty seconds before she asked about men. “No, Mom. I’m not seeing anyone right now.”
“What about that nice man who took you out to the movies last month?”
Puzzled, I yawned. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
“Last month. You told me you went to the movies with some friends.”
I combed my brain to determine whom she referenced. “Greg?”
“Yes, Greg. What happened to him?”
“Mom, Greg was dating my assistant, Michelle. A bunch of us went out to see the new Matt Damon movie. It wasn’t a date.”
“Well, if Michelle isn’t dating him anymore, why don’t you ask him out?”
“Maybe because he’s at least a half dozen years younger than I am and comes up to my chin.”
“Don’t knock short men. I hear they can be very generous in bed.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, “You know, like they’re trying to make up for something.”
I choked back a laugh. “I’ll give it some thought.”
“It’s been four years since you and Michael divorced.”
“Five,” I corrected.
“Well, you should find yourself a new man. Sign up on that Internet dating site and find someone who’ll take care of you.”
After my divorce from Michael, he left me $10,000 in credit card debt, struggling to pay the mortgage, without health insurance, and my self-confidence in tatters. I removed myself from the dating-go-round and determined never to “allow a man to take care of me” again. I was able to take care of myself just fine, thank you.
“Work’s real busy right now. I don’t have time for dating.”
“You can’t snuggle up with your laptop at night, Sophia. Besides, you’re thirty. Don’t you want to try again to have a child? Your eggs are starting to get dusty.”
I ground my teeth. First Poppy, now Mom. Why is everyone suddenly so worried about my reproductive nether regions?
“Are you dating anyone?”
Mom’s gusty sigh came across the line. “No. But Peggy wants me to get on that new dating site Ourtime.com, you know for fifty and older. I just don’t know if I’m ready.”
My gut twisted with remorse for putting her on the spot, but I knew if Mom found someone else to focus her maternal urges on, she’d leave me alone. So, I pressed onward. “Daddy’s been gone for two years, and you’re only fifty-seven. Maybe Peggy’s on the right track. I bet a lot of men on Ourtime are looking for companionship.”
“Don’t you believe it. Men at that age only want two things: a woman to clean their house and Viagra sex.”
“Mom!”
“Besides, men on those sites aren’t looking for women their own age. They’re looking for a plastically enhanced woman twenty years younger than they are. I’ll be getting messages from seventy year olds with saggy butts, a hearing aid, and prostate issues.”
I couldn’t contain my laughter. She was undoubtedly correct. Immediately after Michael and I split, I perused the singles ads, thinking I’d find someone to have meaningless sex with, to get back at him for cheating. The women sought men in their age range or slightly older. The men searched for women younger and in “fit condition.”
“All right, Mom. Let’s make a deal. I won’t bother you about Ourtime, and you stop bothering me about dating.”
“But, Sophie, you’re young. Like any mother, I only want what’s best for you. Don’t you want to give me grandkids before I get too old to play with them?”
“Mom,” my voice warned.
She heaved a sigh. “Okay, I’ll stop.”
“Besides, you can look to Holly for more grandkids.”
“Mmmhmm. Perhaps.”
That sounded loaded. My sister had a beautiful little girl named Eva. Mom doted on Eva, and I had hoped her birth would keep my mother’s constant matchmaking at bay.
“Speaking of Holly, have you heard from her?” Mom asked.
“No, not recently.”
“When was the last time you two spoke?”
“Like on the phone?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know. Maybe a few weeks. Why? When was the last time you spoke to her?”
“Two months.” My mother’s voice was solemn.
“Two months? Haven’t you called?” I was shocked. Mom and I spoke every week, and I assumed she and Holly did, too. Now that I thought about it, I wasn’t at all sure when I’d last spoken with my sister. Between Twitter, Facebook, and texts, it was easy to keep up with someone’s life with little or no verbal interaction. However, my mother didn’t text, wasn’t on Facebook and thought Twitter was a bird call.
“Of course, I called.” She sounded indignant. “Every time I call I get the answering machine. Except the one time I got Omar. Eva was crying. Omar said it wasn’t a good time, but Holly never called back.”
“Well, I’m sure she’s just busy. Eva’s a two year old, and you can remember what a handful a toddler can be.”
Mom was silent.
“Right?”
“If you say so.”
“What aren’t you telling me?”
“Nothing. It’s just … I can’t put my finger on it, but the last time I visited things were odd.”
“Odd in what way?”
“It started out with Holly suggesting I stay at a hotel because Eva wasn’t sleeping through the night.”
“Really? Where did you stay?”
“At Omar’s hotel. He got me a nice suite and picked up the tab.”
“Oh.” Mom was probably overreacting. Omar worked security for a swanky hotel and casino in Vegas. He probably wanted his privacy. Mom could be a little overpowering. “Did you use the spa?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I got a massage and mani-pedi. Anyway, Holly seemed jumpy and strange.”
“Perhaps she was sleep deprived.”
“That’s what I figured. Time and again, I told her I could take Eva to the pool at the hotel and let her have an afternoon to nap. She wouldn’t have it. One day I puttered around the house baking and preparing a nice dinner, and she did get a nap on the couch, but it’s like she wouldn’t trust me alone with Eva.”
“I’m sure she was just exhausted. When did you go?”
“At Easter during Eva’s birthday.”
Easter was six months ago. “You haven’t been back since?”
“No. I was planning to go out at Labor Day, but Holly never returned my calls.”
It sounded strange. On the other hand, Holly was a very sweet person and didn’t like conflict. If she was overburdened by her job, toddler, and new marriage, it suited her personality to avoid my mother’s probing questions.
“Tell you what, I bet she’ll call to wish me a happy birthday today. If she doesn’t, I’ll call her tomorrow and check up on her. Okay?”
“Thanks, sweetie, I appreciate that. Have a relaxing birthday.”
Sad to say the rest of my birthday was uneventful. I spent the morning shopping for one of my smaller clients who was redesigning her master bedroom. In the afternoon, I tackled the design plan for Ian’s main living area. Like a teenager waiting for a boy to call, I checked my phone hourly waiting for a text, e-mail, or phone message from my sister. Nothing. Friends called and Facebooked with well-wishes, and I missed a call from Ian confirming our next meeting while I chased Sirius around the house in an effort to rescue one of my favorite ballet flats from his slobbery mouth. The late afternoon still brought nothing from my sister. I wasn’t overly concerned by the evening because I figured she’d call after the baby was in bed for the night.
At half past eight, with a glass of wine and a bag of potato chips, I hunkered down in front of the TV and fired up LA Heat. The program followed the usual cop show formula. Jodie was right; the credits showed a beautiful beefcake shot of Ian, a.k.a Ryder, coming out of the ocean wearing tight board shorts dripping wet. I paused the recording for a moment to enjoy the perfection of his hairless six-pack abs. Ryder’s colleagues included a curvaceous Hispanic detective named Maria, who reminded me of Selma Hayek, and a pair of uniformed cops, Birk and Diego, who provided comic relief. As for the episode, it was fascinating to watch Ian drop his Irish accent and become an American. After one episode, I was hooked. Believe it or not, my client almost looked better on TV than in person. Ryder’s personality came off as a high-risk, larger-than-life cop. Additionally, the director must have used special camera tricks to highlight Ian’s aqua eyes, giving them a luminosity that popped off the screen. I fell asleep in front of a Friends rerun around eleven thirty.
The whiffling of a cold nose in my ear awoke me the next morning. I rolled over to be greeted by Sirius’s happy doggie eyes; he licked his chops and lifted my arm with his snout. This was dog speak for one of a few things: “pet me,” “get up, I need to go out,” or “feed me.” Since it was almost nine, I interpreted it as, “I need to go out.” Stiffly, I rolled off the couch and shuffled to the back door. Sirius barely took two steps off the back patio before lifting his leg, and our morning routine began. I poured kibble into his silver dog dish to the gurgle of the coffeemaker. Once the dog was fed, I dropped a piece of bread in the toaster and browsed the fridge for a fruit product that wasn’t growing a green beard. No such luck, so I settled for a cup of yogurt—a food I only ate when desperate. While I slurped down the slimy breakfast, I scrolled through my calls and texts once again, looking for something, anything from my sister. Nothing.
A niggling concern started to itch at the back of my brain—Mom’s anxieties must have been rubbing off. At ten, I called Holly. Her home phone went straight to voice mail. I hung up and called her cell.
“Hello,” she answered breathlessly after the first ring.
“Holly?”
“Soph! Oh damn, I forgot to call yesterday didn’t I? Happy birthday, big sis! Sorry I’m late.”
“It’s okay. I just wanted to check on you. How’s everything going?”
“Oh, you know. It’s fine. Eva’s growing up so fast. Walking and talking.”
“Is she sleeping through the night now?”
“Eva? Oh yes, she’s a good sleeper.”
I was stumped. “Mom told me she was having trouble sleeping when she visited at Easter.”
Holly paused. “Right. The doctor said it was night terrors. All toddlers go through it.”
“Good, good. So, how are things at the gallery?”
“Oh. I quit the gallery.”
“I thought you were still part-time.”
“No. Omar felt it would be better for Eva if I stayed home with her until she goes to school.”
I was stunned. My sister loved her job at the gallery and was really upset when they cut her back to part-time soon after she married Omar. “I thought your job was important to you. What do you think, Holly?”
“Oh, I agree with Omar. What’s best for Eva is what’s most important. You don’t have kids. You don’t understand.”
I felt as though I’d been sucker punched. During my divorce from Michael, I’d been relieved my one pregnancy had ended in a miscarriage. It was hard enough terminating the marriage; I couldn’t imagine tearing a family apart and becoming a single mother. However, it didn’t mean I never wanted children.
Realization must have hit her. “Soph, I’m sorry. That came out wrong. That’s not what I meant. Seriously, I’m really sorry.”
“I know what you meant. Forget it.”
There was silence. I had a strange feeling my sister was holding back.
“Listen, Omar just drove up. I gotta go. We’ll talk later.” Click.
I stared at the phone, shocked by my sister’s rudeness. I couldn’t decide whether Mom was right and something strange was going on with Holly, or if she was just being incredibly selfish and inconsiderate.
An hour later, “Squawk! Pick up the phone. Come on, pick up the phone,” interrupted my commune with the fridge as the last unidentifiable vegetable landed in the trash with a satisfying splat.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Did you talk with your sister?”
“I sure did.”
“And?”
“And nothing. She’s fine. Just busy with Eva. By the way, did you know she quit the gallery?”
“Hmm, I wondered. At Easter she told me she took time off.”
“Mom, what exactly are you worried about?”
No answer.
“Mom?”
“I don’t know exactly. I thought she might be taking something.”
“Taking something?”
“Her behavior was jumpy and erratic. Omar watched her and she got frazzled. I’m worried she’s taking drugs.”
“Drugs? Are you kidding? What kind of drugs?”
“I don’t know. I thought maybe some prescription meds.”
Mom’s suspicions seemed so far out of left field, I had a hard time believing them.
“Have you called Omar directly?”
“No. I’ve thought about it but don’t know what to say. Omar never really warmed up to me. I feel like he puts up with me because I’m Holly’s mom.”
I’m embarrassed to say, my relationship with Omar was non-existent. I’d seen him rarely and remembered him as a medium height, stocky, guy with mahogany hair and deep-set eyes so dark they were almost black. He worked odd hours at the casino and was a bit straight-laced for my taste. “Okay. Mom. I’ll start calling her regularly. I’ve just landed an important account, so it’s impossible for me to get away right now. I’ll make some plans to fly out in a month or so. The next time I talk to Holly, I’ll make sure to tell her to call you.”