“Well, it’s been a process. What would you advise us to do?”
“Do?” Rochelle sat up. “I’d advise you to talk to your mother. It’s the only thing you can do.”
“But I have,” I said. “Weeks ago. She insisted she knew nothing about it. Refused to discuss it further.”
“Well, I’m no therapist, and I don’t even know you, but I have to say, I’m surprised you’d take that without a fight. Talk to her again. Tell her you won’t let her off until you understand what it means. Tell her if she’s trying to protect you, she can stop. Tell her that if she’s trying to be vindictive, she should stop for her own sake. You could tell her you love her, too. That might accomplish more than anything else, since you’re the youngest and, as you put it, about to ‘take off.’ You’d be amazed. A lot of intractable issues suddenly become very pliable when people start telling other people they love them. Assuming it’s true, of course.”
I thought about it. It was true. Of course it was true. Only just at the moment it had gotten lost behind a couple of other truths. After a moment I said: “Can I ask you something?”
“Keep it short,” Rochelle smiled.
“Are you married?”
Rochelle didn’t say anything right away. I could tell that she was weighing a kaleidoscope of potential implications as they slipped in and out of position. “I was,” Rochelle finally said. “I’m not. Now.”
“Huh.”
We sat in less than comfortable silence.
“It’s a personal question,” Rochelle Steiner said.
“Yes, and I appreciate your answering it. Why did you, by the way? Answer it. If I may ask another personal question.”
Rochelle went silent again. It was interesting, I thought. I resolved to be more like this, myself: not to speak until I was ready. Obviously, people waited for you.
“My mother died,” Rochelle said. “About four months ago.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“You asked why. I think that’s why. I’m not at my usual strength. I’m wobbling a bit.”
“You were close to your mother?”
“Very close. But she wasn’t a well woman. She needed a lot of care.” She shook her head. “Now we’re really off the tracks.”
I nodded. “It’s okay. I mean, it’s okay with me. Did she have … cancer? Or something like that?”
“No. Well, yes, at the end, but she’d been ill for many years. Since I was a child. And I was responsible for her. Now I’m not, so it should all feel easier, but somehow it doesn’t. Also, I’m her executor, which ought to be very straightforward since there’s not much money involved, but I can’t seem to close out the estate. My mother filled up her house with absolute junk, for years. Just packed it in. And every time I go out there, to make a start on it, I end up opening the front door and just looking at it, for hours, and then closing the door and leaving. Okay!” she said brightly. “That’s enough. Let’s get back to your problem.”
“But you solved my problem. At least, you gave me something to try. Actually, I’d like to return the favor. Help you solve yours.”
“Well, thanks,” Rochelle said, getting to her feet. “But I prefer the usual formal invoice for services rendered, which comes to zero in your case, since we’re calling this a pre-hire consultation. Besides, as I said, my mother’s gone. And her illness, unfortunately, couldn’t be fixed with declarations of love. I can attest to that.”
I got to my feet, too.
“I wasn’t thinking of that part,” I told Rochelle Steiner. “I was thinking about the house. I mean, if it’s all right with you, I know a person who could help with that.”