Free Lifelines: Kate's Story by Vanessa Grant

arm. As they walked together into the kitchen, Kate
glanced at the living room sofa and wished she could suggest they sit here in
the living room, but Evelyn avoided using her own living room, and Kate would
be doing enough to irritate her mother today.
    “I
can’t make supper for you,” said Evelyn. “You said tomorrow, for lunch. I don’t
have energy to cook a big meal.”
    “I
don’t expect food. I just dropped in to talk for a few minutes.”
    Evelyn
released Kate’s arm and gripped the kitchen counter on her way to the table.
Perched over her chair, she rested one hand on the table and pointed the other
at an empty chair by the window. “Sit there.”
    Kate
felt her muscles tense. “I’ll make coffee. Would you like a cup?”
    “Oh,
yes, that would be lovely.”
    Kate
felt her own tension ease as Evelyn sank into her accustomed chair and began to
rearrange the cigarette container, lighter, and ashtray on the table. Kate
stepped to the cupboard and deliberately slowed her breathing.
    She
filled and plugged in the kettle. Evelyn refused to own a coffee machine, and
bought the cheapest brand of instant coffee. While the kettle made sounds, Kate
opened a cupboard to search for cups. She found an unmatched assortment,
cracked and stained.
    “Where
are the mugs I gave you for Christmas?”
    “Oh,
honey, I don’t want to break them. They’re so pretty.”
    “I
gave you the mugs to use. Why don’t we use them now? Where are they?”
    “Oh,
honey ...” Evelyn made a familiar click with her tongue. The kettle creaked and
began to hum. How could kettles hum without moving parts?
    Evelyn
said, “Don’t be difficult, Kate.”
    “Am
I being difficult?” Either her mother didn’t know where she’d put the mugs, or
she’d given or thrown them away.
    “Not
that mug, Kate. I don’t like the brown one.”
    “OK.”
Kate returned the brown, chose instead the pale blue. “How have you been, Mom?”
    Evelyn
made a clicking sound with her mouth. “Fine. Just fine.”
    The
kettle hummed more loudly, maybe noisy air bubbles inside. Kate crossed the
kitchen and pulled out a chair at ninety degrees to her mother—not the one
she’d been instructed to use.
    “Have
you played any bridge lately, Mom?”
    “They
all take it so seriously, it’s no fun any more.” Evelyn placed a cigarette in
her mouth, then picked up a lighter and flicked it three times before it
flared.
    “Remember
how we used to play every Saturday night?” Kate laced her fingers in her lap.
“Remember the Robertsons when we lived in Indonesia, she always bid three no
trump, and he would overcall her bid? And the Tanners in Brazil—”
    “That
awful woman.”
    “What
woman? You mean Joy Tanner?”
    “She
made up to your father whenever I left the table.”
    “Did
she?” Kate remembered Mrs. Tanner’s curly red hair, a too-loud laugh. The image
of Joy Tanner making up to Dad wouldn’t form, but another memory stabbed
sharply under her breastbone. “I used to sit in Dad’s lap and he’d explain his
hand and make me memorize the cards as they were played.”
    “I
don’t remember,” Evelyn muttered.
    Kate’s
eyes skittered away from her mother’s pursed mouth. Every scrap of maturity
slipped away and she wanted out of this room, away from this woman. The
familiar sensation wouldn’t yield to her years as a counselor.
    “The
kettle,” she said, and fled the chair for the counter. Not quite boiling, but
she stared at the steam and finally pulled the plug when she couldn’t wait any
longer. She needed the hot mug to hold onto, steaming liquid to stare into. A
prop.
    She
should have started with the money, saved the family memories for later.
    “Kate,
the kettle has to boil.”
    “It
reached a boil just as I pulled the plug,” she lied as she placed a steaming
mug in front of her mother.
    “It’s
too hot.” Evelyn struggled to her feet. “I’ll put it in the fridge for five
minutes.”
    “You
want to put your coffee in the