There Was an Old Woman Read Free Page B

in the hospital. All alone.”
    Right. Alone because one after the other she’d pissed off the friends she and their father had once had. Alone because she hadn’t been able to hold a job for years. Thinking about her mother made Evie furious and unbearably sad at the same time. Talking to her was even worse. And seeing her?
    â€œNo way.” Evie looked down at the pile of audio scripts, sitting on her desk, deadline looming. At her to-do list that only seemed to grow longer, no matter how much got checked off. “Come on, Ginger, I can’t take time off right now. This exhibit is my first. It has to be great. It’s opening in three weeks, and there is still so much to do. I promise as soon as I’m done, the very minute it opens, I will pitch in.”
    â€œPitch in?” There was a long silence. Then Ginger sniffed, and Evie realized she was crying.
    â€œGinger?”
    â€œI don’t want you to pitch in, ” Ginger said, her voice a harsh rasp. “I want you to take charge.”
    â€œI will. I will.”
    â€œAnd not in three weeks. Now.”
    â€œBut—”
    â€œSurely you’re not the only person who works over there. No one is irreplaceable.”
    â€œI . . . I just can’t. I’m sorry.”
    â€œSorry? Sorry? Sorry doesn’t cut it. I have a life, too. In case you’ve forgotten”—Ginger’s voice spiraled up—“I’m taking classes. The paralegal certification exam is in four weeks. Ben is working two jobs. Lisa’s got dance classes and soccer practice. And . . . and . . .” Ginger blew her nose. “And why is it that every time, every fucking time she crashes, I’m the one who has to drop everything?”
    There was a knock at Evie’s door, and Nick stuck his head in. He pointed to his watch. The voice-over actors must have arrived, which meant the meter was ticking—they charged for their time whether the script was ready or not.
    Evie put up her hand, fingers splayed. Five minutes. Nick nodded and disappeared.
    Ginger was saying, “—can’t do it, Evie. Not this time. I’m tapped out. Completely tapped out. It’s your turn. I’m sorry, but this time you don’t have the luxury of cutting her off unless you’re planning to cut me off, too.”
    In the silence that followed, Evie could hear the massive schoolhouse clock behind her desk tick-tick-ticking. The last time she’d seen her mother, they’d arranged to meet for brunch at Sarabeth’s in Manhattan, halfway between Evie’s Brooklyn apartment and her mother’s house at the edge of the Bronx. They were supposed to meet at noon. When Mom hadn’t shown up, and hadn’t shown up, Evie had tried calling her. No answer at home. No answer on her mother’s cell.
    As minutes ticked by, Evie had gone from being furious with her mother, late as usual, to being hysterical and in tears, imagining the worst as she tried to flag a taxi to take her to Higgs Point. Good luck with that. Three cabs refused before she snagged one that would.
    When she got to the house, her mother was passed out in front of the TV. “I must have lost track of time,” she said when Evie finally managed to rouse her. Later, as Evie made an omelet, she caught her mother sneaking some vodka into her orange juice. She’d tried to talk to her mother about her drinking, but her mother flat-out denied it, like she always had. Evie was the delusional one, she’d insisted, then screamed at Evie for butting in and trying to run her life.
    On the bus and subway ride home, Evie had seethed with anger. That was it, she promised herself. Never again. If her mother couldn’t stop drinking long enough to get herself to Manhattan for a lunch date with her daughter, wouldn’t even admit that she drank, then to hell with her. Evie was finished. Finished taking care of her. Finished talking