“Here you go, ma’am.” He hands me the phone.
“Thank you.”
He bows, then closes the door. Silence surrounds me as I close my eyes, drawing in a deep breath, trying to brace myself for whatever news awaits me.
But nothing could have prepared me for this.
“This is Nora Tremblay.”
“Well, look at who is so important as to have somebody else answer their phone calls.”
A sudden chill envelopes me, my stomach roiling at the sound of that grating voice. One I would have been happy to never hear again.
“Mom…” On shaky limbs, I lower myself into the ornate chair.
“Surprised? You are difficult to get in touch with. Have you not been getting my messages?”
I grit a smile, despite the fact she can’t see me. It’s become a habit. “I have.”
“Too busy to call dear ol’ mum back?” She mimics a proper British accent, much like the people speak with here.
I bite down on my lower lip. It would be so easy to hang up on her, tell her to never call again, then order my private secretary to make sure she’s unable to get through if she does. After all, there are only two reasons she’d ever get in touch with me. She either wants something from me, or needs to feel superior and wants to use me as a verbal punching bag for a few minutes. Perhaps both.
I need to address this, though. Not ignore it and allow it to blow up down the road. Need her out of my life, once and for all.
“Actually, yes. I am quite busy these days. But that’s not the reason I didn’t return your call. In case you’ve forgotten our last conversation, I’ve turned over a new leaf. I—”
“Yeah. Yeah. Yeah,” she slurs, evidence she’s been hitting the liquor hard tonight. “You’re removing all the negative energy from your life, or whatever New Age bullshit you’ve been fed.”
“It’s not bullshit. As a psychiatrist, I’d think you’d be happy to learn I’m taking steps to clear the clutter from my life.”
“Speaking of which, imagine my surprise when I turn on the news a few weeks ago and see my very own daughter making headlines across the world. Some call you the new Grace Kelly. You don’t want to hear what others are saying about you. Trust me. It’s not pretty at all. And it’s certainly not pretty for me to be associated with some gold digger American who’s only spreading her legs to be a princess.”
I clench and unclench my fists, trying to find my calm and serenity again, but it’s impossible with this woman.
Worse, she knows it.
I don’t know how she does it, but every time I’m having one of the best days in recent memory, she somehow senses it and decides to do everything in her power to make me feel inadequate. It’s a talent’s she’s had all my life.
“As enlightening as I find this conversation, I have a busy day,” I say, practicing all the refined speech and etiquette rules I’ve learned. “Why don’t you get to the reason for your phone call.”
It’s silent for a beat, then I hear the telltale sound of ice against glass, confirming my suspicions that she is, in fact, drinking. At nearly 3:30 in the morning. “I wasn’t sure who to call about this, but I wanted to find out my travel arrangements.”
“Travel arrangements?”
“For the wedding.”
“What wedding?”
“Your wedding, of course.”
“Oh. I see.” A conniving smile pulls on my lips. “Now that I’m about to marry a prince, you actually want to come to my wedding. Need I remind you that you showed zero interest in my relationship with my first fiancé, and even less in my wedding to Jeremy. In fact, you got married the same day, just out of spite.”
“Oh please, Nora. That’s always been your problem. You’re so self-centered. The world doesn’t revolve around you.”
I bark out a laugh. “Me self-centered? Do you even listen to yourself? Since Dad died, you’ve done nothing but criticize and berate me. You’ve never supported me. Never loved me. Like I said, I’ve made it a goal to keep all negativity out of my life. And you’ve never been anything but negative. So no, you’re not invited to our wedding.”
She inhales a sharp breath. I can sense her exasperation from across the ocean. “Excuse me? I’m your mother. How do you think it’s going to look if you don’t invite your own mother to your wedding?”
“It’ll look like I’ve grown the backbone I should have years ago. I will not have you there to ruin the most important day of my life.”
“Until the next wedding.”
“There won’t be another wedding. I’m not you.”
“We’ll see about that.”
“We certainly will. But you still aren’t invited.”
“I can make life extremely difficult for you. Don’t forget. I know all your secrets. I’d hate for the world to learn them, too.”
“At one point, that might have been enough to scare me into caving to your demands. But not anymore. Go ahead. Tell the world my secrets. Anderson’s the only person I care about, and he already knows everything about me. So you lose. Goodbye, Elaine,” I say, refusing to call her mother.
“He’s not Hunter,” she says before I can end the call.
I grind my teeth, resisting the urge to scream. She always has a way of saying the precise thing that will cut me deeper than anything else.
“That’s not why I’m marrying him.”
“Are you sure about that? That’s why you married the last one. What was his name again?”
“I just mentioned his name,” I hiss. “It’s Jeremy.”
“Right. Jeremy. And he only looked like Hunter. But this one… Well, in my line of work, you learn that relationships born out of a shared tragedy never survive.” Her voice softens, oozing with sympathy. Except I know it’s about as real as her latest lip enhancement. “It won’t bring him back.”
“I don’t need to bring Hunter back. He’ll live on where he’s meant to be. In my memories. Which is where I plan on keeping you. At least the memories I have when you cared about me. You haven’t in years. So, for the last time… Goodbye.”
I punch the end call button on the screen, then shoot to my feet as adrenaline winds through me. Agitated, I pace the length of the room, trying to work off some of this anxiety.
With every step I take, another painful memory of my childhood comes to the surface. How I was never good enough. How I was never smart enough. How I was never pretty enough.
It all becomes too much. A lifetime of being made to feel incompetent and lacking burns within until the only way I can find relief is to let it all go. So that’s what I do.
Forgetting where I am and any sense of decorum, I dig my hands into my hair and bend over, releasing all my pent-up frustration with a piercing scream.
When the door bursts open seconds later, I straighten. O’Kelly’s panicked eyes find mine, Lieutenant Thomas close on his heels.
“What happened?” O’Kelly asks, scanning the room for any perceived threat, his hand on the gun in his holster, ready to immediately draw and fire.
Smoothing a hand down my hair, then my dress, I take a moment to compose myself. Grabbing my phone off the desk, I return it to Lieutenant Thomas. Minutes ago, I hated that he controlled who had access to me. Now I’m grateful for it.