The Perfect Mother Read Free

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CHAPTER 2
    J ennifer had two hours to kill after she checked in for her 9 P . M . flight, so she called home. Aricelli, their longtime housekeeper and babysitter, answered the phone. Mark must have known he’d be late and called Aricelli to fill in. Lily would be furious—she considered herself much too old to have someone in the house to look after things, even though she couldn’t be counted on to get off the phone long enough to get Eric to sleep on time or make sure he ate his dinner. Jennifer felt a wave of disappointment and, as usual, she worked hard to suppress it. She listened to Mark’s cell ring unanswered and left a message, her voice cold but controlled.
    “Mark, I called home and was surprised you weren’t there yet, especially today. I’m at the airport. I’ll board in about an hour. Please call me, and please go home. Oh, and don’t forget that Eric does soccer after school tomorrow. He’ll need his ball and uniform, which are in the sports closet, top shelf. Please put them in his backpack so he doesn’t forget them. If I don’t talk to you before I leave, I’ll call when I arrive.”
    Mark didn’t call. Jennifer boarded the plane, and just as she settled into her seat, her cell phone rang. Mark. She didn’t answer and turned it off. She thought again of Emma, alone and scared in jail, and felt the already familiar ache. Being a mother is like being held hostage, she thought, with no prospect of release—even when your children are grown, probably even when they have children of their own.
    Her mind wandered to what only yesterday had seemed like pressing problems: helping Eric make an erupting volcano for his third-grade science fair; finishing
The Sun Also Rises
so she could help Lily write a paper on it for her junior English class. This business, this middle-of-the-night phone call, was absurd. Ridiculous. It would probably be cleared up by the time she arrived, she thought, but it was good she was going. Emma must be so upset. What a terrible thing for her to go through.
    The drinks cart stopped in front of her and she asked for a Scotch, pushing away the memory of her daughter’s shaking, frightened voice. It wasn’t Jennifer’s usual drink—wine was more her style—but she took a sip, grimacing at the strong taste and feeling a comforting warmth in her throat. She took another sip.
    She thought about how proud she had been of Emma when she got accepted to Princeton and then last summer when she started interning for the International Rescue Committee. That was so lucky, she mused. She had met a woman at a dinner party who happened to be on the board, and Jennifer told her how bright and committed Emma was. Of course once Emma went for the interview, they hired her. How could they not?
    When she told Mark about it, he had said, “If I come back in a second life, I want it to be as your child.” Jennifer had answered that he had her as his wife, wasn’t that good enough? But he just laughed.
    She took another sip of the Scotch. It went down smoother this time.
    Emma had always been passionate about social justice. She’d done volunteer work with the Innocence Project when she was in high school, and of course she believed that just about every prisoner was actually innocent. How bitterly ironic it was that she was herself now falsely accused.
    After a restless night, rumpled and groggy, her breath stale, she disembarked in Madrid, went through customs, and set off for the domestic terminal for her connecting flight to Seville. After landing in Seville, she found her way to the baggage area, where she spotted a man bearing a sign with her name on it. He was probably in his early thirties, wearing a black leather jacket. But she soon noticed that he was accompanied by a dignified-looking man of about fifty whose dark brown hair was flecked with gray and who was dressed in an immaculate navy blue suit, sky blue shirt, and red and blue tie.
    “Mrs. Lewis?”
    She