Public Secrets

“Now it’s just too much sugar.”

“Brian and I were always afraid you’d be fat and toothless with your penchant for sweets,” Bev began, then winced and struggled to find an easy topic of conversation. “So, tell me about your photography. What sort of pictures do you like to take?”
“I prefer shots of people. Character portraits, I suppose, more than abstracts or still lifes. I’m hoping to make a career of it.”
“That’s wonderful. I’d love to see some of your work.” She cut herself off again. “Perhaps the next time I’m in New York.”
Emma studied the Christmas tree in front of the window. It was covered with hundreds of tiny handpainted ornaments and lacy white bows. She hadn’t bought a present for Bev, no shiny wrapped box that could sit under the tree. But perhaps there was something she could give.
“Why don’t you ask how he is, Bev?” Emma said gently. “It would be easier for both of us.”
Bev shifted her gaze to meet Emma’s eyes. Those beautiful dark blue eyes so like her father’s. “How is he?”
“I wish I knew. His music’s going better than ever. The last concert tour … well, you probably know about all of that.”
“Yes.”
“He’s scoring a film and talking about doing a conceptual album. Then the videos. You could almost believe music videos were made with Da in mind. Everything comes across, just as it does in concert.” She paused, then blundered on. “He’s drinking too much.”
“I’ve heard that, too,” Bev said quietly. “P.M.’s worried about him. But they—for the last few years their relationship’s been strained.”
“I want to talk him into a clinic.” Emma gave a quick, restless shrug. “But he won’t listen. He can see it in Stevie—but then it’s so hard to miss there. It’s difficult to reason with him about it because it hasn’t affected his work, his creativity, or even his health to this point. But—”
“You’re worried.”
“Yes. Yes, I am.”
Bev’s smile was softer, easier, a ghost of the one Emma remembered. “Is that why you came?”
“Partly, I suppose. There seem to be a lot of parts to why I came.”
“Emma, I swear to you, if I thought I could help, if I thought there was anything I could do, anything at all, I would.”
“Why?”

She picked up her cup to give herself time to choose her words. “Brian and I shared a great deal. No matter how long it’s been, no matter how much hurt, you don’t forget all those feelings.”
“Do you hate him?”
“No. No, of course I don’t.”
“And me?”
“Oh, Emma.”
With a quick shake of her head, Emma rose. “I didn’t mean to ask you that. I didn’t mean to bring all of this back. It’s just that all at once I’ve felt … unfinished somehow. I don’t know what I thought I would accomplish today.” She stared down at the fire that crackled sedately in the hearth. “I went to see Jane.”
Bev’s cup clattered against her saucer before she managed to still her hands. “Oh.”
With a laugh, Emma dragged at her hair. “Yes. ‘Oh.’ I felt that I had to, that seeing her would help clear up my feelings. And foolishly, that I might influence her to put a stop to the film they’re making from her book.” She turned back. “You can’t know what it’s like to look at her, to see her for what she is and know she’s my mother.”
“I don’t know what to say to you, Emma, but the truth.” She studied Emma a moment. Perhaps there was something she could do, some small thing to redeem the mistake she had made all those years ago. She set down her cup, folded her hands. When she spoke, her voice was very calm and very sure.
“You’re nothing like her. Nothing. You were nothing like her when you came to us, nothing like her now.”
“She sold me to Da.”
“Oh God.” Bev pressed both hands to her face, then let them drop. “It wasn’t like that, Emma.”
“He gave her money. She took it. I was like some piece of merchandise they passed between them, and foisted off on you.”
“No!” She sprang up, clattering china. “That’s a cruel thing to say, and a stupid one. Yes, he paid her. He’d have paid her whatever it took to keep you safe.”
“She said he did it to preserve his image.”

“She’s a liar.” She walked over, took both of Emma’s hands. “You listen to me. I remember the day he brought you home, the way you looked. The way he looked. He was nervous, maybe even frightened, but he was determined to do what was right