Free Calling Home by Michael Cadnum Page A

I had an interest in books and new information. I guess you could say, before I started to take a real interest in drinking. I believed my mother didn’t know the full value of what she had.
    I knew it was wrong, and I knew I could never go through with it but I saw the topaz and thought: money. Money, so I can run away. The plan was simple, even when I knew I could never carry it through. I would steal the topaz, and sell it to one of the criminals—one of the elegant, sophisticated, dangerous students on campus.
    I had, of course, nowhere to run, and I would not have left under the best of circumstances. I had to stay where I was to take care of Mead, and Mead’s parents. But the mind is a busy monkey, and never rests. It makes up plans the way bored hands toy with clay, first one shape, then another.
    â€œI’m going out,” my mother said.
    â€œObviously.”
    â€œI got a new job today. I’m going to be selling coffee machines to offices. You didn’t know I had a new job, did you?”
    â€œNo, I didn’t even know you were looking. I mean, seriously looking.”
    â€œWe both live in our own worlds. Mother and son, in the same house, but on different planets. I’ve sold a lot of things in my life. I have a knack for it. Remember last year I sold copiers? Until the sales force got cut back. I set a sales record for the month of February.”
    I remembered. We had gone out to dinner, and I had eaten lobster for the first time.
    â€œAnd February’s not the greatest month for business, usually. We could survive on alimony,” she continued. “But I don’t want to just survive. Besides, I have some pride.”
    Sometimes I didn’t like my mother, but I’ll say one thing for her: she does have pride. “So you’ll be able to set records,” I said, “selling coffee machines.”
    â€œThat’s right. Coffee machines and dried soups. And coffee, of course, and tea.”
    â€œCongratulations.”
    â€œI can’t tell when you’re sarcastic anymore. I’ve lost touch with you completely.”
    â€œI mean it—congratulations. Really.”
    She picked up an eyebrow pencil, a worn-out stub. “I thought my life would be different than this. I thought it would make sense. Of course, I’m proud of how I’ve made it—of how we both have made it, you and me.”
    I smiled. It was rare that she would talk about herself, and talk about me, in a thoughtful way.
    â€œSometimes I feel mean,” she said. “It’s because I’m tired. Sometimes I feel tired the first thing in the morning, and tired all through the day, and then I can’t sleep at night. And it all starts over again.”
    Perhaps she was simply trying to make me feel guilty. It certainly worked. If she knew the truth about me, it would kill her.
    â€œI don’t know when I’ll be back. Very late.” She fluffed her auburn hair with both hands. “What’s in the bag?”
    I rolled it tight, so she couldn’t see into it, but told the truth. “Paints. Colored pencils. I thought I might do some drawing.”
    â€œI used to think you’d be an artist. A person with talent. And drive. A person with a lot of drive.”
    â€œI don’t have much drive.”
    She looked at me, almost a Lani-quality stare for a moment. “I worry about you.”
    â€œNo need to worry. No problems here.”
    â€œYou spend a lot of time with Lani. What’s she like?”
    â€œShe’s a good friend.”
    â€œSo is Mead, and you know I’ve never quite liked him. Too quick on his feet. He always looks like he’s about to disappear.”
    â€œLani is a good person.”
    â€œI wonder. You know I’m not prejudiced. But I wonder what sort of person Lani is.”
    â€œYou don’t like her because she’s black.”
    She threw down her eyebrow pencil, and it skittered