“I couldn’t complete the assignment,” Phoebe told Brock the following Wednesday. “All I said was that I wished she’d keep her ugly old souvenir pillows in the bedroom. I didn’t turn it into a personal attack. Well, maybe a little, but I didn’t tell her she was ugly and stupid and worthless and use every insult I could think of like she did when it was her turn. I can’t take it. I’ve listened to that all my life, and it flattens my ego. She knows it, too. It’s her weapon.”
“Hmm,” Brock said as he wrote in his notebook. “Perhaps this is a little more serious than I thought.”
“Now you’re getting the picture. Do you know what her pet name for me is? Ugg-face.”
“Let me assure you that you are not an ugg-face.”
“Thank you.”
“Do you think your mother is emotionally disturbed?”
“At least.”
Brock crossed his big feet on the coffee table and leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers thoughtfully. “So you feel it’s utterly impossible to improve your relationship with your mother?”
“Well, no, actually. If I gave up any idea of ever having a life of my own, if I decided I was put on this earth to support Felicia Hooks and keep her happy, then I’m sure our relationship would improve a little. She’s not quite so nasty if I do everything her way.”
“What do you think she’d like you to do for her?”
“She’d like me to get a bigger, nicer apartment in a complex with a swimming pool and all the extras. She’d like me to buy her a new car and put her name on all my credit cards. She’d like me to give her a generous allowance so she wouldn’t have to spend her Social Security. She’d like to go to Europe at least once a year.”
“Could you afford to do any of those things if you wanted to?”
“Not if I’m going to make my escape again in another few weeks. That’s why I wear old clothes and drive a junker. Every extra dime goes into my escape fund.”
“But if you wanted to...”
“I’m a computer troubleshooter — I fix computers, in other words — and I make good money. I guess I could probably do some of those things.”
“Then why don’t you?”
“What?”
“Send her on a cruise. A long one. Send her to Europe.”
“Are you serious?”
“Perfectly. Wouldn’t it be cheaper than uprooting yourself again?”
“Well, I suppose it would... But why should I give her a nice vacation?”
“Think of it as
“But she’d come back.”
“True, but maybe with an improved disposition.”
“Fat chance.”
“Look at it from her point of view. When was the last time somebody did something really wonderful for her of their own free will?”
“Well... never, as far as I know. She doesn’t deserve it.”
“No, she doesn’t,” Brock said softly with a smile lighting his baby blue eyes, “but you do. This is for you, Phoebe, not for her. You see, she’ll always be your mother, and you’ll always have to deal with her. Regardless of how badly she treats you, you won’t be able to abandon her without suffering for it emotionally. I know you.” He reached out and took her hands. “You’re far too fine and decent a person for it not to be that way. You’ve run away before, haven’t you, and yet you always take her in when she shows up homeless at your door. Do something that will make you both happy.”
Promising to give his suggestion some thought, Phoebe urged her aging car homeward. Brock did know her pretty well, all right, but the fact remained that he did not know Good Old Mom. He hadn’t lived with her for the better part of thirty-two years, and he couldn’t know how it rankled to spend a dime on her. But still, the thought of sending Felicia Hooks completely out of the country — out of her life — for a month or two... That would be heaven!
Besides, it had occurred to her that travel could be quite dangerous. It seemed to be open season on Americans all over the world. Terrorists were abundant. Maybe, if Good Old Mom went traveling, she wouldn’t come back at all. Who knew?
Impulsively, Phoebe stopped at a travel agency. Her first thought was to send Mom on a tour of the Middle East, but no, she’d have to be a bit more subtle than that or she’d never get the woman off her couch. It was fortunate, though — maybe even a sign of some sort — that Felicia’s birthday happened to be only a week away. She had just missed being born on Halloween by a few hours, in fact. Obviously a small error. If anyone had ever been meant to be born on Halloween, it was Felicia Hooks.
Felicia Hooks scowled suspiciously at her daughter. The little pouches of discontent at the corners of her mouth were even more evident than usual. “England and Ireland?” she said.
“And Scotland. You’ve always wanted to go, haven’t you?”
“Well... yes...” For once Good Old Mom seemed at a loss for words. “But why would you do this, Ugg — Phoebe?”
“It’s your birthday, isn’t it? It’s a birthday present.”
“We never give each other presents.”
