I’m partially surprised he didn’t overrule the vote anyway.
Before he dismisses the meeting, Reed assigns more tasks and announces we’ll meet on Friday.
The words have barely left his mouth, and he’s immediately up and out the door. I suspect he doesn’t want a repeat of our last meeting.
Greg doesn’t waste time following Reed out of the room. I’m sure he’s wondering how he got stuck in this sea of estrogen. Megan and Renee fall into step with Wendy as they leave the room discussing ideas they have to get the word out on campus.
Lexi stands next to her seat, waiting for me. “As I mentioned, tomorrow I’m going to see the director of the Middle Tennessee Children’s Charity.” She pauses. “I was wondering if you’d like to go with me?”
“Sure, but why me?”
She tilts her head with a half-shrug. “You just seem like you’d have an affinity toward the organization.”
My heart stutters. Does Lexi know about my past? How could she?
She must see my momentary shock. “It’s just that with your hybrid designs, it’s something underprivileged girls could do to spiff up their own wardrobes.”
Instead of making me feel better, her assessment hits too close to home.
She senses my hesitation. “It will look great on your resume if you have direct involvement with the organization.”
I doubt this is true, but Lexi really wants me to go with her. Everything in me screams to tell her no, but I can’t bring myself to do it. “Okay, what time is the meeting?”
Her face lights up with excitement. “Tomorrow at four. Can you get away then?”
I nod. “I have an open lab tomorrow, but I can get away.” Especially since I haven’t come up with any designs to work on.
“Great! How about we meet at the statue of Andrew Jackson at the edge of the west student parking lot, at three forty-five. We can go together.”
“Sure.”
“About last night.” She pauses. “I know I’m too dependent on my family.”
I shake my head. What had I been thinking? Lexi’s life is none of my business. “I’m sorry. Forget I said anything. I was totally out of line.”
She stops and turns to me. “You were right, but I’m not sure I’m ready to lose their support yet.
That’s part of the reason I’m here, though. To learn to be a bit more independent.”
If this is more independent, I’d hate to see what it was like before. My phone vibrates in my purse, and I pull it out. “It’s me today.” I laugh, but the smile falls off my face when I see the number.
Ice water flows through my veins. I consider not answering, but I haven’t seen that number on my caller ID in over three years. “I’m sorry … I have to take this.
“Of course!” Lexi waves and continues toward the stairwell. “See you tomorrow!”
I lean my back against the wall and take a deep breath, unsure if I’m ready to face what’s on the other side of the phone. My curiosity wins out. “Hello?”
“Carol Ann.”
My mother’s voice slams into my head, taking every ounce of confidence I’ve built up since coming to Southern. “Yes.” My voice is tentative. How did she get this number? I changed it when I moved away.
“It’s your momma.”
I want to say I know, but my mind is too muddled.
“I’m sick, Carol Ann.”
My breath sticks in my chest. My mother is the healthiest woman I know. When I was younger, the few times she was sick she went to work anyway. Her philosophy trickled down to her children.
The Hunter children didn’t stay home from school unless they had a fever over one hundred and two.
“I didn’t want to call you, but your father insisted.” Her voice has always been gravelly from years of smoking, but there’s a raspy tone I’m not used to hearing. My father’s voice is muffled in the background, encouraging her to continue. “They say it’s not good. I only have a couple of months.”
I’m not sure what to say. I’m standing in the busy hallway of the administration building, students streaming past me, and my mother has just told me she’s dying. I know I should feel something, but there’s nothing.
“Your father thought you should know.”
“What is it?” That’s an odd way to ask, but it’s the first thing that pops into my head.
“Lung cancer.” She laughs, but it sounds like a bark when she starts to cough. “Guess you were right after all.”
Back in fourth grade, we learned about the dangers of cigarette smoking from our DARE officer.
When I went home and begged my mother to stop smoking, worried her lungs would turn black like the ones in the photos he showed us, she told me to mind my own damn business. My feelings had been hurt for days, and I’d be justified to say I told you so, but the words stay deep in my chest.
“Okay.” I know I should say something else. Feel something else.
“All righty then. That’s it.” And then there’s silence. She’s hung up.
I stay propped against the wall, not trusting my now shaky legs. Of course, she’d call me out of nowhere in the middle of the day and drop this bombshell on me. She hasn’t said the one thing I’ve been waiting to hear since the day I drove out of Shelbyville: I’m sorry.
But she’ll never be sorry. She may have admitted I was right about smoking, but she’ll never admit that she treated me like dirt when I left home.