Kerry sipped her tea, leaning back against the counter. "I'm glad too," she said. "I tried to talk her out of going to Washington tonight."
"Crazy people," Mary repeated. "No sense to it at all. I wish she was staying here and not going out to be with the rest of those government people. It was fine for your papa, he was a strong man."
"He would have been very upset," Kerry said, quietly. "This would have made him very angry."
"Oh yes, ma'am. That's very true." Mary nodded. "Now, I know you didn't get on with him, Ms. Kerry, but he was a good man to have around when things were terrible like this."
And that, Kerry had to acknowledge, was true. "As long as he was mad at something other than you, yes," she said. "And he would have been furious at the people who did this. He'd have been trying to find out how it happened."
Mary nodded. "Would you like more tea, Ms. Kerry? I have to say I do like that haircut you have. It looks very nice on you."
"Sure." Kerry handed back her glass. "And thanks. I like it too." She ran her fingers through her hair, pausing to rub the back of her neck a little as she willed the Advil to start working. "I didn't think I'd like it at first, but it ended up being nicer than I thought."
Mary poured the glass full again. "Well, don't get upset at me for saying this , Ms. Kerry, but short like that, you do remind me just a bit of your papa."
Well. Kerry took the glass back. "How could I be upset at you, Mary? He was my father. No matter how much we disagreed, that's not going to change."
Mary smiled at her. "Glad to hear you say that," she said, then fell silent as the door to the hall opened.
"Mary, I will need for you to--" Cynthia Stuart entered, then stopped as she saw who was visiting with her cook. "Ah. Kerrison."
Ah. Yikes. Kerry exhaled silently. "Mother." She returned the greeting in a mild tone.
Her mother's expression brightened just a trifle at that. "Mary, could you please see what we can arrange for a luncheon in perhaps an hour? I know it's late for it, but everything's so out of sorts today."
"Of course, ma'am." Mary gave Kerry a knowingly sympathetic look. "Nice talking to you, Ms. Kerry. Let me know if you need anything else." She ducked out the door into the pantry.
Kerry quickly considered her options. "Want some tea?" she finally asked. "I just had to take a handful of aspirin." She eased over a few feet and sat down at one of the chairs at the worktable.
Her mother relaxed a trifle. "Yes. It's been that kind of day hasn't it?" She went to the refrigerator and opened the door removing a small bottle and taking it over to the table in the corner along with a glass. "I've had to take some myself." She took a seat. "This was the kind of thing your father would say was a full bottle of whiskey day I believe."
"Yes," Kerry agreed. "I could use a beer."
Cynthia glanced furtively at her. "That does sound so odd," she said. "I don't think either of us was ever partial to beer."
"Probably why I am," her daughter admitted. "All part of that complete rebellion thing." She looked up and found her mother looking back at her in wary surprise. "I was rude before. I'm sorry," she said.
Cynthia looked momentarily overwhelmed, as though Kerry had gone in a direction she hadn't anticipated.
Which she had, Kerry realized. Straightforward apology was something she'd learned from Dar, not something she'd picked up growing up where admitting fault was never easy. "I've got a lot on my shoulders. I wasn't expecting complications from the government."
Her mother nodded at once. "It is I who should have apologized, Kerr...y." She bit off the last part of her daughter's name with visible difficulty. "It completely did not occur to me that I was speaking so far out of turn," she went gamely on. "I didn't mean to--cause you difficulty. I just saw an opportunity to help and thought your involvement would be a good thing. I should, in fact, have asked you before proceeding."
Kerry pondered her glass. "I probably would have reacted the same way, if you had asked," she replied honestly. "Being here is very uncomfortable for me. I don't trust you." She looked up again, to see her mother's eyes wide as saucers. "And given what happened, you probably shouldn't trust me either."
Way too much truth in one sentence, she realized. Her mother had no idea how to react, and merely sat there blinking at her. It was hard, and it was making her headache worse. "I'm not trying to be a jerk," Kerry said. "I just can't help how I feel."
"Well," Cynthia finally said. "I have no idea what to say to that."
"I know," her daughter said. "It's probably going to be easier for both of us if you try not to think of me as the little kid who used to run through this kitchen, and more like an adult you don't know that well."
Her mother set her glass down. "Do you have any idea whatsoever how impossible that is? I am your Mother."
"I know," Kerry said again. "And no, I have no idea at all how impossible that is. I just don't want to make this so hard on both of us."
Cynthia sat back and regarded her. "How can you still be so angry?" she asked, in a quiet voice. "I don't understand it."
Reasonable question, Kerry felt. From her mother's point of view at any rate. "I don't know," she said. "I guess maybe along with the eyes and the high blood pressure I inherited father's long grudges." Her eyes lifted again and met Cynthia's, watching several emotions cross her mother's face; first shock, then a touch of anger, and what might have been a flicker of grudging understanding.
Might have been.
"Well," her mother said. "Perhaps in time we can adjust," she concluded. "But at this time, I fear we cannot, since I do have an 8:00 p.m. flight, and I am sure you will be on your way home before I get back." She poured the rest of her bottle of juice into her glass and placed the bottle down with a slightly more than necessary force.
Kerry felt her headache start to ebb a little. "Actually," she said, "I do have to go to Washington tonight." She watched her mother's eyes start to blink again, this time in confusion.
"You--changed your mind?" Cynthia said, doubtfully. "I'm not sure--"
"No." Kerry decided honesty was the best route. "The government wants to take over some of our facilities in the area. I have to find out why, and give them a face to yell at with some authority," she said. "If you don't want me to ride with you, I understand. I'll drive."
Her mother's lips started twitching. "Well," she spluttered. "K--surely you aren't--you can't drive by yourself there. It's dangerous!"
Kerry propped her head up on one hand, a faint smile appearing on her face. "Wasn't I saying that to you earlier?"
Cynthia's mouth opened, and then closed. Then opened again, and then closed. Then she sat back and took a sip of her juice. "This is all very confusing," she said. "You said the government was trying to take over your things? Why would they do that?"
"I don't know, Mother. Why would they?" Kerry asked. "You are the government, remember? So maybe if you're going to talk to your committee--if you still want me to talk to them, we can ask them that first?"
Her mother frowned. "Are you going to be rude to them, and embarrass me?" she asked, directly.
"Possibly," her daughter answered just as honestly. "But that could have happened anyway." She sat back and regarded her mother. "Didn't you realize that when you told them about me in the first place?"
Cynthia met her eyes, a thoughtful expression on her face. "I should have," she conceded. "I think you're right, you know. I don't think you're the child I raised at all."
It was almost a relief. Kerry merely nodded.
"In fact, I'm not really sure who you are at all," her mother said. "I don't know that I want to find out."