My blood ran cold. "What kind of rumor?"
"Margaret Martin mentioned that her daughter Susan is concerned about you. Something about you calling in sick?"
Susan Martin.Of course, my mother would know Susan's mother. The wealthy elite of their community formed a tight circle, and apparently that circle included people involved in trafficking children. But the fact that she was talking about me was incredibly unprofessional, and bordered on misconduct. Not that I had any room to talk after sharing confidential files.
"Mother, I thought I was getting the flu—"
"I’m not surprised. As if I haven’t told you countless times the number of germs you’re likely to pick up handling those unsuitable children." My blood boiled but I needed to keep my temper checked. "Really, Emily, your father and I are embarrassed."
Of course they were. Everything I did was a source of embarrassment to them—my career choice, my apartment, my lack of a suitable husband, my refusal to join their social circle.
"I need to see you," Mother continued, her tone brooking no argument.
"I'm rather busy at the moment, Mother," I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
"Nonsense. I'm already in the area. I'll be at your apartment in fifteen minutes." Before I could protest, she had hung up.
I stared at the phone in horror. Fifteen minutes. My mother was coming here, to my small, shabby apartment, while I was clutching a stuffed bear and my face was puffy from crying. Perfect.
I jumped up and began frantically tidying, gathering scattered papers. What would she say if she saw Barnaby? Nothing good, certainly. I reluctantly placed him in my bedroom closet, whispering an apology as I closed the door.
I was just fixing my hair and dragging on a pair of jeans when the imperious knock came at my door. Taking a deep breath, I opened it to find my mother standing there in her designer skirt suit, pearls gleaming at her throat, her critical gaze already sweeping over me.
"Emily," she said, air-kissing near my cheek. "You look dreadful."
"Come in, Mother," I said, stepping aside reluctantly.
She swept into my living room, her eyes taking in every detail with obvious distaste. I watched her catalog the secondhand furniture, the modest space, the stack of books on my coffee table.
"Honestly, Emily, I don't understand why you insist on living like this when your father and I could easily help you find something more... appropriate."
"This suits me fine," I replied, crossing my arms defensively. Her apartment would come with strings…tight ones.
Mother settled herself delicately on the edge of my couch as if afraid it might contaminate her outfit. "Now then, of course Susan wouldn’t reveal any confidential information to anyone else, but reading between the lines I believe she’s concerned you’re simply too sensitive for this type of work.”
Nohow are you? Nohow are you coping after being kidnapped?
My stomach dropped. "What exactly did she say?"
"Oh, nothing specific," Mother said with a wave of her manicured hand, but her eyes were sharp. "Just that she believed Susan would be seeing you on Tuesday morning to discuss something concerning.” Her eyes narrowed. “You know how important reputation is in this city, Emily." I wasn’t surprised. I think I was numb to her constant criticism at this point, having received it all my life. There was no point expecting anything different.
"I think my job is my reputation," I shot back before I could stop myself.
Mother's expression hardened. "Don't take that tone with me, young lady. I didn't raise you to be so... combative."
"I'm good at my job, Mother."
"Your job," she repeated with distaste. "Yes, well, that's part of what I wanted to discuss. Your father has been speaking with some colleagues, and there's an excellent opportunity at Carter & Associates. Administrative work, of course, but it would get you away from all this... unpleasantness."
"You want me to quit my job?" I stared at her in disbelief.
"I want you to be sensible. This social work nonsense was fine as a phase, but you're twenty-eight years old, Emily. It's time to think about your future. A proper future."
"Helping vulnerable children is my proper future," I said firmly.
Mother sighed dramatically. "And look where it's gotten you. Sick, stressed, apparently causing problems at work. Margaret mentioned something about you being... unstable lately."
The word hit me like a slap. Unstable. Just like they'd always made me feel growing up—too emotional, too sensitive, toomuch.
