Bumps In The Road / Paul Lahote

24. Sneaking Around

Chapter 24

Anita West had been groomed, since her sixth birthday, to be the wife of an accomplished corporate man.

Her parents, both successful in running a business, felt it was important for their daughter to understand the etiquette of the new world success had introduced them to. It begun with correcting her on the choice of language she spoke with, dressing her only the nicest of clothes, teaching her how to cook, showing her the ropes of the business and eventually how to host luncheons and get involved with the community. Even the smallest of details were rectified to the standard that they held in their minds. While, their motives had Anita's best interest in heart, ultimately they raised a daughter who sought for a breath of fresh air.

At least that was the story my dad told me one night when I begged to hear the truth about mum's upbringing. She had never given many detailed recounts of her childhood, so he offered me a small insight that shone a new light over my mother and offered another angle that led to some understanding.

"It is twelve-thirty in the afternoon and, while I understand you were hurt, I'm wondering why you aren't at school?" Her eyes darted to Paul with little expression, "Are you struggling to heal?" The hint of a worry made me forget for a second that I was in an awkward situation of my mother almost catching me in an intimate position. But the judgmental look in her eyes, as she glanced back at Paul instantly brought me back to reality. She stood in the doorway of the living room, a Chanel suitcase by her side, and dressed as though she was about to head into the office.

"I'm healing slowly, it won't properly heal for a couple of days. I wasn't feeling well, however, so Emily said it'd be okay for me to stay home and rest." I attempted to sit up, so that I could feel a little less undermined in this conversation. My mother's brow lifted.

"I don't suppose you still go to school then?" She directed this question to Paul, who glanced back at her, also sitting up in a more proper position.

"Yes, ma'am."

"So, I suppose that you are also sick today, coincidentally?"

"He's just keeping me company..." I grumbled, standing from the couch, attempting not to wince as a dull ache pushed through the area of the wound. My eyes glanced at Paul, whose glare was very well focused on my mother. This wasn't exactly how I'd hoped they would meet, then again how had I expected my mother to react to Paul. Here I was in La Push, where I was sent to supposedly recuperate and relax my 'behavioral issues', and avoid romantic ties. My mother had perfected her business face and often used it in her personal life, and this moment was one of those moments she wore that face. The one where her lips are relaxed, not lifting a corner into an easy smile or pursing her lips in distain, and there is a shield in her eyes that don't give even the smallest of hints as to how she is feeling.

Now, I've seen this look for most of my life, more often in the more recent years than my younger days. I've discovered, through trial and error, that trying provoking her doesn't break the face; otherwise she wouldn't have perfected it. I'd tried yelling things at her that I think will upset her, which have not been my proudest moments, and have even brought up Dad and shouted false statements that I thought would make her eyebrows pull together and her eyes narrow and her face scrunch, all indications that would tell me she was angry. Yet, none prevailed. Henceforth it was a face she had mastered.