Page 136 of Intermission

“And it’s a jazz club, right?” Her voice is soft. “That sounds... interesting.”

She’s trying. She’s actually... trying. “It’s a cabaret club. We do a little jazz, a little blues, some standards, a few show tunes...” I shrug. “It’s fun. Good experience, too. A few other students from the program work there. It’ll be nice starting school in a couple of weeks, already knowing some people.”

“Yes, I suppose it will.” Mom takes a deep breath. “I guess I should let you get dressed.”

“Do you think I could borrow a robe or something? Everything in my backpack is soaked.”

“Sure. Actually, I just washed one of mine.” She opens the dryer and sorts through, pulling out a white terrycloth robe and hands it to me

“You can bunk down in the family room with me. This storm front probably has a couple more hours of energy in it, and there’s no sense taking any more chances with your safety tonight than you already have.”

“Okay.” I nod. “Can Janey come, too?”

She sighs. “I suppose. She’ll just lie at the top of the stairs and whine, otherwise.”

It’s true. Janey hates storms almost as much as my mom does. “We’ll be down as soon as I get this cleaned up.”

“Leave it. It’ll be there in the morning.”

“But—”

“It’s after eleven, Faith. It just hailed half an hour ago, and we’re under a tornado watch. We should be in the basement.”

“Okay.” Back when I lived here, the house could have been on fire, and Mom would have expected me to stay on task until every last germ was sanitized. Now, it seems almost as if Mom cares more about... me.

Maybe the distance was good for both of us.

My eyes burn. I blink them. “I’ll just throw the towels and my clothes in the washer. I’ll be down in a minute.”

Mom nods and leaves me to it.

I set the robe on top of the washing machine. With the towel still wrapped around me, I grab more towels and try to dry my wet mop of a dog before wiping down the areas where noticeable mud has clung. When I’m satisfied, I slip into the robe and throw my clothes and the dirty towels into the washing machine.

Taking a deep breath, I gaze around the bathroom and mudroom. There’s nothing here that can’t wait until morning, no other tasks to put off my trip downstairs.

It’s time to face my mother.

“You painted.”

Mom looks up from the photo album in her lap. “Mm-hmm. New carpet, too. Do you like it?”

“Yeah.” I tuck a leg and sit on the leather sofa. “It’s kind of soothing.”

“The color is ‘Vermont Olive,’ whatever that means. But I think it’s more of a sage.”

“It’s nice.”

“Gretchen hates it.” Mom glances back down at the album. “She said this color went out of fashion a decade ago.”

“Doyoulike it?”

She tilts her head and looks at the walls, as if seeing them for the first time. “Yes. I do.”

“That’s what matters. It’s your house, not Gretchen’s, right?”

“You’re right.”

I snort softly. “Never thought I’d hearthatstatement come out of your mouth.” I clap a hand over my lips. “Sorry. It’s been a long day. I guess my verbal filter took a break.”