Blackout by Chris Myers Page A

glass. She’d stay out in the shop for hours.”
    Did we have one here? I don’t recall that. “Did we eat out?”
    She shrugs. “You must have.”
    I get up and fetch the preserves from the fridge. When I sit down, I swirl the blueberries in my yogurt. “What was Mama like?”
    As she pats my hand, sympathy washes over her expression. “You don’t remember, do you? Do you recall anything about her?”
    A choking sob sticks in my throat. I force it down. She left us—no tears for her, ever. I don’t want to feel anything for her. I’ve never felt anything for her since she left Daddy and me. After a few deep breaths, the emotion evaporates.
    Lulu glances outside where the sun promises a sultry day, and the wind rippling over the waves ensures relief from the heat. “Your mother was beautiful—not just any ordinary beauty. She got that from me.” Her lips lift on one side, and she waggles her brows.
    “Is,” I insist. She isn’t dead. She’s probably off in Paris with Francois or whomever.
    “I told you. She wouldn’t have left you, not willingly. She loved you—very much so.” She watches me stir my yogurt. “Eat up or you’ll wither away. You may yet anyway. You’ve barely eaten since you’ve gotten here.”
    Lulu keeps telling me Mama didn’t leave us, but how can I believe her? Mama left. She didn’t even say goodbye that I remember. “She didn’t say anything to me.”
    “I don’t believe that.” She fumbles for the butter, so I pass it to her. “Thank you, sweetie.”
    She crunches on the toasted bagel then wipes her chin, crumbs dusting her blouse. “After you got out of the hospital, you told me she left without a word. You repeated it over and over again. I never understood why your mother would do that, and I hadn’t spoken with you in some time.”
    I was in the hospital? When? “Daddy said she returned to Paris. He said they were divorcing.” When he told me that, he wouldn’t look at me. I didn’t cry though. I remember that. I wasn’t upset, but I wasn’t happy either. Daddy hugged me and said we’d be okay, not to worry.
    Lulu twitches her nose and snorts. “You want to know your mom?” She slathers butter on top of the cream cheese then a dollop of preserves that spills off the side and dribbles down her chin. “Every man desired her. Your dad was no different. He shoveled out a lot of money to impress her—many men did. Your dad is handsome and very charming, and Lynn liked the high life and baubles…like me.” She dangles a diamond bracelet on her wrist. The diamond and emerald rings on her fingers that her husbands gave to her glitter in the morning sun.
    Lulu and Mama are materialistic. Then I glance down at the expensive clothes I bought in Paris. Am I like Mama?
    “After you were born, a peace settled over Lynn,” Lulu says. “She loved you and fussed over you.”
    She smiles as if at a distant memory. “She so loved to paint, and she loved her freedom, but she was good with her family. I was never any good at being a mom—too much spit and poop.” Lulu bats her hand.
    It’s my turn to laugh. She’s always been direct, and I appreciate that, no hiding behind false niceties.
    Lulu went through several husbands. Two of them died. Another three she divorced. The last one stuck until she buried him. He was much older than her.
    “I want to love her,” I whisper. I don’t know how. Was Mama nice? Was she a witch? There’s nothing there for me to hold onto.
    “You should remember her. You were eight when she disappeared.” She runs her fingers through my long hair. “The memories are still there.”
    When and if they return, can I survive them? Are they that horrible? “Is Mama the reason I feel so lost?”
    “Oh, sweetie, you loved your mom. You even look like her,” Lulu says, still fiddling with my hair. “Men will chase you, just like they did your mom.”
    “I don’t want that,” I snap, not understanding why. “I’m sorry. I didn’t