After the GUESTS LEFT, MARGOT AND CARLA DEBRIEFED AS they cleared the dining room table. “Mom was good, don’t you think?” asked Carla.
“Good, I don’t know,” replied Margot, appearing to consider the question. “She didn’t say anything odd, if that’s what you mean. But she was kind of quiet.”
Before they could continue their analysis of their mother, Jessie herself came out of the kitchen. She stood near the door for a moment, wiping her hands on a dishtowel, and then proceeded to sit down at the head of the table and fold her hands. “Can I have a word with you girls before Margot leaves?” she asked.
Her daughters sat down on either side. “You were kind of quiet tonight,” said Margot, seeing that her mother, though clearly wanting to speak, seemed at a loss for words. “It was a great dinner, but you didn’t seem to be involved.”
“Except when you reminded us that Hal Pearson went to Yale. That was a surprise,” added Carla with amusement.
Jessie cleared her throat at this. “Which brings me to what I have to tell you. I have an announcement.”
“There you are!” said Margot to Carla. “I knew there was
something up her sleeve. She’s been acting very sly and secretive lately.”
Jessie ignored this and continued. “I want you to know that I’ve been meeting Hal Pearson for lunch for the past few weeks. Tuesdays and Thursdays,” she clarified, “when Carla was at the office.”
The sisters looked at Jessie, stupefied. “You’ve been meeting Stephanie’s English teacher for lunch!” exclaimed Carla. “What is this, Harold and Maude? The man’s forty years younger than you are, for God’s sake. It’s perverse!”
“Carla,” said Jessie with exasperation, “I have not been meeting Mr. Pearson that way. What do you take me for?”
Both women relaxed perceptibly. “Okay,” said Margot, the first to take the measure of the situation. “Obviously you’ve been meeting that man to discuss your delusions about Shakespeare. He’s probably been encouraging them. I think that’s highly irresponsible, if not outright criminal. I thought he was odd, but I didn’t think he would exploit the fantasies of an elderly woman behind her family’s back.”
“He’s not exploiting,” protested Jessie. “He’s interested in what happened, and he’s helped me put it all together very nicely. I owe a great deal to him.”
“Yeah, you owe him a ticket to the loony bin along with you,” said Margot angrily.
Carla cut in at this point. She, too, was appalled that her mother would sneak around behind her back, but she could not feel as outraged as Margot. She felt partly responsible for leaving her mother alone two days a week. “Mom, I realize you were lonely, but you could have asked me to stay home. It’s not absolutely necessary that I help Mark at the office, especially now that things are going so well.”
“It has nothing to do with you staying home,” said Jessie in an irritable tone. “I needed to talk to Hal about what I remembered. And then, of course, we had to make plans.”
“Plans?” said Carla with trepidation.
“For the trip. That’s why I felt I had to finally speak to you. We’re going to Venice in three weeks. Just a short trip—four days. It’s all I’ll need. But I can’t tell you what it will mean for me to go back.”
“Okay, now I get it,” exclaimed Margot, growing more irate. “The man’s a fortune hunter. He wants to bilk you of your savings. You take him on a nice trip to Venice to explore your roots, and he gets to go along.”
“He’s not taking my money,” said Jessie calmly. “His friend has a grant that’s covering everything.”
“His friend? It must be some sort of kidnapping racket,” said Margot, turning to Carla. Then, to her mother: “Who’s his friend?”
“His friend is a professor of Renaissance literature at Yale,” Jessie sniffed. “Professor Patel is not kidnapping anyone. He happens to have research money that can pay for the trip. If we find them, he can write about them for his journal.”
“Find them?”
“The lost sonnets. The ones Will wrote me for my birthday, after the mean ones and before that nasty play.”
Carla and Margot looked at each other. “So Mr. Pearson and the alleged Yale professor think you can lead them to some lost sonnets in Venice,” Margot said. “Do I have this right?”
“Yes,” said Jessie. “And I must say it’s rather sad that people as important as Hal and Professor Patel take me seriously when my own family doesn’t.”
Her daughters were silent for a moment. Then Carla spoke: “I’m sorry, Mom, if we’ve been neglectful or—dismissive—of your ideas. But put yourself in our shoes. It’s not reasonable to believe in what you’re saying. Mr. Pearson and this professor, if he is one, perhaps have their reasons for wanting to. They’ve made the study of Shakespeare their life’s work. Perhaps they’re willing to grasp at straws. But it’s hard for us. And to have you trekking off to Venice
less than two weeks before the bat mitzvah, at your age, with some men you barely know, well, we can’t very well support it.”
“I’m sorry, Carla,” said Jessie, pulling herself up into a posture not unlike the one Margot took in court after putting forward a risky line of defense that she was determined to stand behind. “I’m sorry, but I don’t care what you think. I’m going to Venice with Hal and his friend, and that’s the end of the story.” With this, she got up from the table and went upstairs to bed.