Page 56 of Summer Reading

“But we were interrupted,” he said. “Repeatedly.”

“Right.” I took another sip. I really hoped this wasn’t where he told me he had some kink that I was unprepared to deal with. It had happened before.

“The truth is I’m looking for someone,” he said.

“Someone?” I encouraged him.

He hesitated. He took a sip of wine. He let out a sigh and glanced out the window. I suspected this was an intensely personal matter for him.

“Not to push you,” I said. “But you know my deep dark secret. I promise you can trust me with yours.”

Ben met my gaze. His mouth curved up in one corner in a rueful half smile. It was an acknowledgment of the unevenness of our relationship.

“You’re right,” he said. He took a deep breath. “Have you ever heard of Moira Reynolds?”

“The artist?” I asked. “Who hasn’t? I mean, she’sprobably the most famous contemporary artist in New England right now.”

“She’s my mother,” he said.

I felt my mouth form a small O and my eyebrows reached my hairline.

He looked chagrined. “Yeah, that’s the usual reaction from anyone who knows her, which is anyone in New England.”

“I... she’s... really?”

He laughed. It was a full-on belly laugh. “Crazy, right?”

“She’s just, well, she’s a legend,” I said. “Being so talented and eccentric and all. No offense.”

“None taken,” he said. “You seem familiar enough to imagine what my childhood was like.”

I shook my head. “Nope, I really can’t. I mean, she chained herself to a lighthouse once.” I paused to lower my voice into a whisper. “And she was naked.”

“Yeah, going to school the day after that happened was brutal,” he said. “Being raised by her was like being hazed for a frat. I never knew what to expect, and it was usually unpleasant. Actually, I think I would have preferred a frat.”

“Ooh, and I thought I had ‘stuff’ from my childhood,” I said.

“Fair to say we both do,” he said. “But I did have my grandparents, my mother’s parents, who weresupportive and loving and, thankfully during my teen years, exceedingly normal.”

“Your mother is known for her sculptures, isn’t she?” I asked.

He nodded.

“And if I remember right some were very...”

“Pornographic?” he suggested.

“I was going to say ‘sensual’,” I said.

“ ‘Pornographic’ would be more accurate. Yeah, that was a fun phase of her artist’s journey to go through,” he said. “Don’t get me wrong, I am proud of her, but she wasn’t like other mothers. There were no cookies after school, no chaperoning field trips, and no sitting in the stands when I pitched a no-hitter. In fact, from the time I could walk and form full sentences, she gave me complete autonomy. I can’t tell you how many times I had candy for dinner.”

“Really?” I asked. “Because as a candy freak, I have to say that’s pretty cool.”

“I thought so, too, until I started to catch on that other parents were a bit more invested in their kids’ health and well-being than my mom was,” he said. “It’s not that she didn’t love me, I knew she did and does in her own way.

“But it was as if she was tuned in to some other frequency, some wavelength that only Moira could hear. My grandparents took custody of me when I was tenbecause the truant officer reached out. I hadn’t been to school in a month. I stayed with them on the Cape until I graduated high school.”

“Did you see your mother during those years?” I asked. This seemed so sad, even sadder than my parents’ divorce.

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