Chapter 5 - Mother's Blind Eye
The sound of tires crunching on the gravel driveway shattered my paralysis. Headlights swept through the sheer curtains of the dining room windows, illuminating the walls in blinding streaks of white.
Someone was back.
I shoved the sealed plastic evidence bags into my purse, yanked off my latex gloves, and stuffed them into my pocket. I barely had time to slide behind the heavy velvet drapes flanking the French doors to the patio before the front door swung open.
Voices echoed down the hallway.
"I told you I needed to grab his overnight kit, Richard!" Mother’s shrill voice cut through the stillness. "The ICU rooms are freezing, and he needs his cashmere socks and his phone charger."
"Eleanor, the boy is in an induced coma," my father sighed, his heavy footsteps trailing behind her. "He doesn't know if his feet are cold or warm. We should be at the chapel, praying."
"Praying won't keep his circulation going!" Mother snapped as she hurried into the dining room. I heard the sudden *click* of the light switch, and the glare of the chandelier penetrated the velvet fabric hiding me. "Look at this mess. Look at what she did to my holiday."
"Valerie didn't do this, Eleanor," Dad said wearily. "Valerie saved his life. You saw the doctor’s face. He told us straight out: without that shot in his thigh, Julian would have had permanent brain damage before the bus even reached the street."
"She brought that pen into my house on purpose!" Mother cried, her voice escalating into that familiar, unhinged register she reserved for defending Julian. "Who carries an injection needle to a family Thanksgiving dinner? She knew! She orchestrated this whole theatrical stunt just to humiliate Julian, to make him look small, to make herself look like the hero!"
"She carries the pen because she’s severely allergic to seafood, Eleanor! You made crab soup!"
"It was a joke! A little festive humor!" Mother shrieked. "Julian was teasing her! Brothers tease! But Valerie... Valerie has always had that dark, calculating look in her eyes. Just like your sister Clara. Always keeping score. Always waiting to punish us for giving Julian what he deserves."
Through the tiny gap between the curtains, I watched my mother pace around the dining table. She stopped beside Julian’s plate.
"I’m throwing this away," Mother said suddenly, picking up Julian’s plate. "I can't stand looking at it."
"Wait, Eleanor," Dad said, stepping forward. "The emergency room physician said the toxicologist might want a sample of the meal to determine what caused the reaction."
"Nonsense!" Mother marched toward the kitchen. "I’m not letting some state lab run tests on my home cooking and file reports that get leaked to the society blogs. Julian is a partner at the firm now, Richard! His name cannot be associated with a poisoning scandal. It was food poisoning or bad poultry. End of story."
I heard the scrape of a fork against the kitchen trash can, followed by the heavy thud of porcelain being dropped into the sink.
She was destroying the evidence. Not because she knew someone had tried to murder her son, but because her pathological obsession with family reputation overrode every instinct of maternal survival.
Behind her, standing in the arched doorway of the kitchen, Bianca appeared.
She had ridden back with them. She was still wearing Julian’s scarf, but her coat was open. She stood watching my mother wash the remaining scraps down the garbage disposal.
A slow, serene smile spread across Bianca’s lips.
"Don't worry, Mrs. Vance," Bianca purred softly, walking up behind my mother and placing a comforting hand on her trembling shoulder. "I’ll make sure the kitchen is spotless. You go upstairs and pack Julian’s things. I’ll handle everything down here."
Mother turned, her eyes swimming with tears, and embraced Bianca like a daughter. "You are an angel, sweetheart. Julian is so lucky to have you. What would we do without you?"
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"I don't know," Bianca whispered into Mother’s hair, her eyes drifting toward the dining room. Toward the empty space where the poisoned dish had sat. "I really don't know."
***
