Sweet Revenge

year before.
    Adrianne found her now, sitting by the window of her room, her red hair freshly washed and pinned back from her face. She was wearing a bright blue dress with a gold butterfly pinned to the collar.
    “Mama.”
    Phoebe turned her head quickly. The face she’d carefully composed in case a nurse should look brightened. She managed, with what acting skill she had left, to hide the desperation she felt as she rose, arms open wide. “Addy.”
    “You look wonderful.” Adrianne held on tight, drawing in the scent Phoebe wore. For a moment she wanted to wallow in her mother’s embrace, be a child again. She pulled back,smiling to disguise her careful study of her mother’s face. “Rested,” she said with some relief.
    “I feel wonderful, especially now that you’re here. I’m all packed.” It was hard to keep the edge out of her voice. “We are going home, aren’t we?”
    “Yes.” It was the right decision, Adrianne thought as she stroked her mother’s cheek. It had to be. “Do you want to see anyone before we go?”
    “No, I’ve said good-bye.” She held out a hand. She wanted out, and quickly. But she knew a good actress made her exit as beautifully as she timed her entrance. “Dr. Schroeder, it’s good of you to come. I want to thank you for everything.”
    “Take care of yourself, and that’s thanks enough.” He cupped her hand between his. “You’re a very special woman, Phoebe. And you have a very special daughter. I’ll see you next week.”
    “Next week?” Phoebe tightened her arm around Adrianne.
    “You’re going to come in for therapy,” Adrianne explained, soothing. “On an outpatient basis.”
    “But I’ll live at home, with you.”
    “Yes. I’ll drive up with you for your sessions. It’s a lovely drive. Then you’ll talk with Dr. Schroeder about anything you like.”
    “All right.” She relaxed enough to smile. “Are we ready?”
    “Just let me get your bag.” Adrianne lifted the small case, then because she felt Phoebe needed it, took her hand once more. “Thank you again, Doctor. It’s a beautiful day,” she began when they started down the corridor again. “It was wonderful to see all the trees in bud on the way up, and the flowers.” They walked outside into the sunshine and delicately scented air. “Every time I drive upstate I think how nice it might be to have a house in the country. Thank you, Robert,” she said to the driver as he took the bag. She slid into the back of the limousine with her mother. “Then I get back to New York, and I don’t see how anyone lives anywhere else.”
    “You’re happy there.” Phoebe swallowed hard as the car pulled away from the institute. Escape. They were escaping again.
    “I’ve always liked it, since the first time. Remember thefirst afternoon, when you and Celeste and I walked all over midtown? I thought it was the most fabulous place on earth.”
    “Will Celeste be there?” Celeste had had the tickets waiting. She’d met them at the airport.
    “She said she’d come over later today. She’s about to start a new play.”
    Phoebe blinked as she focused on Adrianne’s face. Her little girl was grown-up. They were only driving home, not running away from Abdu. No one was going to hurt Adrianne ever again. “I’m so glad you’ve had her while—while I haven’t been well.” She glanced out the window. Adrianne had been right. It was a beautiful day. Perhaps the most beautiful day she’d ever seen. “But I’m better now.” She gave Adrianne a quick, laughing kiss. “In fact, I’ve never felt better in my life. I can’t wait to go back to work.”
    “Mama—”
    She felt the adrenaline rise like champagne bubbles, fast and frothy. “Now, don’t start telling me I should rest. I’ve rested enough. I just need a good script.” She linked her hands together, certain there was one waiting. “It’s time I got back to taking care of my little girl. As soon as word gets out that I’m available, the offers will come in. Don’t worry.”
    She seemed unable to stem the flow of optimistic words about the parts awaiting her, the producers she should lunch with, the trips she and Adrianne should take together. Adrianne said little. She knew the excitement, the utterly unrealistic planning was as symptomatic of her mother’s illness as the deep depressions. But after seeing Phoebe’s misery, it was impossible to even try to crush her illusions.
    “I’ve hated to think of you living