"Calling her Mommy just makes her sound... older." she insisted. "At least do it in front of any guests we have," she requested.
Again. I looked at Momm
y to see if she would disagree, but she was silent and threw me a small smile.
"Is that what you would like me to do. Mommy?"
"I don't see why it's such a world-shattering thing," Charlotte pursued.
"You don't have a daughter or a son," I said sharply. "You're not a mother."
"Rose," Mommy chastised, shifting her gaze at Charlotte.
"That's all right, Monica," Charlotte said in her sweet Southern voice. "Rose happens to be correct."
She turned back to me, her eyes narrowing.
"No. I'm not a mother, dear." She laughed a cold, mechanical laugh. "But after seeing what most mothers, and fathers. I should add, put up with these days. I can't say I feel deprived and disappointed. Modern children are so unappreciative. They think everything is coming to them just because they were brought into this world. They almost want to punish their parents for having the nerve to conceive them. You know what I'm talking about, don't you. Monica? We were discussing it yesterday in the car after we saw that poor woman being nagged to death by her spoiled daughter at Tiffany's."
"Yes," Mammy said quickly. I turned to her sharply.
"Fine," I said. "From now on, I'll call you Monica, Monica. I'd better get on my way. I don't want to be late for my first day in my new, wonderful school, Am I dressed stylishly enough?"
"Oh. don't worry about that," Charlotte said with a small laugh that brought curiosity to my face.
"Go on. dear." Mammy said. "I'm sure you have a lot to do."
"Of course she does," Charlotte said.
I marched out of the dining room and almost fell over Evan who was sitting back in his wheelchair just outside the door. He smiled at me.
"Aunt Charlotte getting under your skin?" he asked.
"Like a tick," I said, and he laughed.
"I came out to wish you good luck today," he said. "I can't wait to hear all about it."
"Thanks," I said. I felt like fanning my face and imagined smoke pouring out of my ears. He wheeled along beside me as I walked to the door.
"Wait," he said when I opened the door and started to close it behind me. He wheeled out onto the portico. "I like watching you walk."
"What?" I started to smile.
"You have such perfect posture and you glide along as if you're always on some runway modeling clothes or something."
"You're embarrassing me. You just haven't seen that many girls. Evan."
"I've seen enough." he said, his eyes fixed firmly and full of conviction. "On television, over the computer, out there," he said, nodding at the road in front of the estate. "I've seen enough to know you're someone special. Rose. Don't let any rich, spoiled girl at school make you feel inferior. None of them can hold a candle to the fire you have," he added. He spun on his chair and wheeled himself back into the house with two swift motions, as if he had dared say something and wanted to flee from my reaction. The door closed.
I smiled to myself and suddenly became very conscious of the way I walked down the steps to the waiting automobile.
"Good morning, Miss," Ames said.
"Good morning, Ames. It's a beautiful day, isn't it?" I asked, gazing at the sky and the magnificent grounds for the first time this morning.
"Rather," he said and closed my door for me. Moments later. I was being driven to my new school and wondering what else lay ahead on this highway full of surprises.
The school certainly turned out to be one of them. Charlotte had never said it was a parochial school called Heart of the Angel. Of course. I had never attended a parochial school either. When Ames pulled up in front of the building, I sat in the car and stared at the front steps and the statues of the angels on both sides of the main entrance, which was two wide, tall glass doors above which were the words HEART OF THE ANGEL embossed in granite.