Page 72 of Suddenly Dating
“Where do you think, genius? At the hospital.” She laughed that thick, wet laugh that was beginning to make Lola nauseous. “Don’t look at me like that,” her mother said, gesturing for some water. “You’d do the same if you had to live with the zombie in this dump.”
Lola probably would have killed herself by now. But tonight, she had to get out of here before she did something very wrong, like strangle her very ill mother. Visits with her always ended with Lola feeling miserable on so many levels. A rush of old, dusty emotions would come crawling up from the crypt to torment her. Fear and revulsion, resentment and uncertainty. Duty. Responsibility. The need to make sure everything appeared fine, just fine. “Are you comfortable?” she asked curtly.
“Hell no, I’m not comfortable. Look around you—I live in a shit hole.”
Lola put her hand on her mother’s arm. “You know what, Mom? When I finish my book, if I can sell it, I’m going to find you a new place.”
“Oh, sure,” her mother said, chuckling. “You’re going to come to the rescue. Another empty promise, that’s all I need. My whole life has been empty promises,” she said, and closed her eyes. She was fading.
Lola knew a little something about empty promises, too, courtesy of the woman in this bed. She picked up her purse. “Good-bye, Mother.”
Her mother didn’t answer.
Lola’s mother was a hateful, bitter woman, and she deserved no sympathy from any of her children. But dammit if Lola could quit her. She was driven by that sense of duty and compassion, and every single time, she was slapped in the face for it. In the space of a few hours, her mother had insulted her, had derided her desire to be writer, and to add insult to injury, had taken so long to be discharged from the hospital that Lola was stuck in a bad part of town with several blocks to walk to the subway in the dark.
She was spent. Her mother drained her spirit from her.
On the way to Manhattan, Lola pulled out her phone and looked at the text Harry had sent her. The address was on East 72nd. She debated asking him for that ride. She’d relied too much on him in the last few days. She didn’t want to be a burden, or the kind of woman who couldn’t handle the slightest bit of drama. But Lola was also emotionally exhausted, and it was already six o’clock. She’d have to change trains twice, and then there was the problem of getting a ride from Black Springs to the lake house. Harry was going the same way—was it really such an imposition?
Or was the truth that she could use a bit of his strength and a shoulder to lean on right now? Was that one of the allowed benefits? Should she even go down that road? Last night had left her feeling so...right.Now what was she going to do with that feeling and with him? She didn’t know... but catching a ride wasn’t going to change anything.
With her doubts raging, Lola got off the train at Grand Central and grabbed a cab uptown. In the cab, she texted Harry.Offer still good?
He answered almost immediately.You bet.
I’m in your hood.
Close?
A few blocks away.
Come up.
Don’t want to disturb your family.
?! Come up, you little lunatic.
Lola smiled. She directed the driver to let her off at the corner of 72nd and Madison, where the buildings had doormen and stone carvings for window casings. In fact, when she reached Harry’s building, the doorman surprised the hell out of her by greeting her by name. “Good evening, Miss Dunne,” he said.
“Oh. Wow. Good evening,” she said with surprise.
The doorman escorted her to the elevator banks and pushed the button to send her up to the fourteenth floor. The doors slid silently shut, and Lola saw her hazy reflection in their highly polished fronts. She tried to comb her hair with her fingers as best she could in that blurry reflection. She was standing as close as she could to examine her face when the car stopped and the doors slid open.
She jumped back. And then stepped out gingerly onto thick carpet. And a mirror, thank God, a mirror! Well, not a mirror, exactly, but a painting behind glass, and if Lola stood a certain way, she could just make out her reflection. She groped around the bottom of her bag for a lipstick. She had a red one. It was too red for someone who had come from her mother’s bedside in intensive care, she figured. And besides, she couldn’t even see if her mascara was smudged beneath her eyes, much less manage to get lipstick on straight. Her normal face would just have to do.
“Stop acting like he’s your boyfriend,” she muttered under her breath. She didn’t have to impress him.
At apartment C, Lola knocked.
Harry was the one who opened the door. His gaze swept over her, top to bottom, and then he smiled so warmly that Lola’s heart did a little pitter-patter.
“Rough day?”
“Oh, it wasgreat,” she said sarcastically.
“How’s your mom?”
“She’s okay for now,” she said, and looked past him, unwilling to speak of Lois Dunne.
