And bitter.

He’d been the love of her life, she’d adored him and his betrayal had destroyed her.

It wasn’t until six years ago that she met Steve. Steve, who for the first year she saw all the time but insisted he was her “friend”. Then she gave in and for the next two years she called him her “companion”. Now she called him her husband and she’d never been happier, not ever that I could remember.

“You don’t even know him,” I said softly into the phone, staring at the mountains.

“I know he has an amazing voice.”

Max had an amazing everything pretty much or at least as far as I could tell.

“Yes, well, he does have that.”

“And I know he’s got good enough manners to answer the dratted phone when your mother calls.”

“Mom –”

Her voice got gentle when she finished, “And I know he talks real quiet when he thinks you’re sleeping.”

My stomach melted and my eyes drifted closed.

“Mom,” I whispered.

“Honey, life has enough obstacles planned for you, stop putting up your own and just live it.”

I opened my eyes and blurted for no reason whatsoever, “He built his own house.”

“What?”

“With his own hands.”

“Really?”

“On land his father gave him, land his father always wanted to build on but he died before he could do it so Max did.”

“Wow,” she whispered.

“I know,” I whispered back.

“Are you there now?”

“Yes.”

“Is it nice?”

“Oh yes.”

“Where’s he?”

“Taking care of some business in town.”

“So the place you rented is just sitting there?”

“No, I rented his place. There was a mess up with the reservation, I arrived and he was home but I had a really bad flu and Max took care of me while I was sick and… well… then I just –”

She interrupted me and asked, “You found this on the internet?”

“Yes.”

“Give me the website,” she demanded.

“Sorry?”

“The website, Neenee Bean, I want to see photos.”

I tried to decide if I wanted my mother to see photos of Max’s A-Frame.

Then I decided I wanted my mother to see photos of Max’s A-Frame.

I gave her the website but warned, “The photos aren’t that good. The place is better.”

“Oh hogwash, the photos are always better.”

“Trust me, Mom,” I looked from the view through the house, “they don’t do it justice.” Then I cried, “Oh! And Jimmy Cotton lives in town and Max and I were out on his land, Cotton ran into us and took our picture.”

“You’re kidding!” she screeched, excited since she took me to my first Cotton exhibition at The Met and she loved his work nearly as much as me.

“I’m not!”

“You have to send me the picture. Send it to Steve’s e-mail.”

Mom didn’t do the internet or e-mail or at least she told everyone in a superior way that she didn’t do the internet or e-mail. That said, she was on Steve’s e-mail all the time if the many jokes and lessons on “sisterhood” and heartwarming stories she forwarded were any indication.

I tried to decide if I wanted my mother to see Cotton’s photo of Max and me.

Then I decided I wanted my mother to see Cotton’s photo of Max and me.

“I’ll e-mail it in awhile.”

“Wonderful.”

I heard the door upstairs open and I said, “Mindy’s out of the shower, I have to go.”

“Mindy?”

“Max’s best friend’s little sister. She’s having some… um… difficulties and Max is helping her out. I promised her a facial, I’ve got to go.”

“Okay, honey.”

“Love you, Mom.”

I heard the taps of fingers on a keyboard in the background over the phone and she said distractedly, “Love you too… erm, what’s the town you’re in called?”

“Gnaw Bone.”

A pause then, “Gnaw Bone?”

I laughed. “Why do you think I chose it? I had to stay in a place called Gnaw Bone.”

“I love it!” she cried.

She’d love it more if she saw the shops.

“Neens?” Mindy called. “Do you want to do the facial upstairs or down there?”

“Upstairs!” I called back then said to Mom, “Now I really have to go.”

“Love you, sweetie.”

“Love you, bye.”

I touched the screen to end the call and yelled to Mindy, “We’ll need a towel and washcloth!”

“Got it!” she yelled back.

“Do you want another cup of coffee?”

“Yeah, if you don’t mind!”

“Okay!”

Then I put my phone on the counter, poured Mindy a cup of coffee and prayed that facials could induce skip-dancing in recently raped, brokenhearted, twenty-four year old girls and, I figured, I had my work cut out for me.

* * * * *

“What’s your Mom like?” Mindy asked, it was post-facial and she was sitting in the rocking chair that she pulled up next to the roll top while I fiddled with the card reader I’d brought. I was sending my mother the Cotton picture of Max and me as well as the photo of Max I surreptitiously took.

“She’s a nut,” I answered.

“Like you?”

Surprised, I turned my head to look at her and stated, “I’m not a nut.”

“You spent, like, a gazillion dollars on clothes and all sorts of shit yesterday and then ate more pizza than any girl I’ve ever met and then you laughed until you nearly fell off your bar stool about, I don’t know, a gazillion times and then you got right in Damon’s face and no one, except someone as big as Max, gets right in Damon’s face, not even Arlene and Arlene’s ornery,” she replied then, having stated her case, she summed up, “You’re a nut.”

“Well, I’m on vacation,” I replied haughtily, haughty and vacation being my only two defenses and seeing the attachment had loaded on Mom’s e-mail I hit send.