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Not that she had ever been particularly maternal. Nina had always been precocious and independent; she had never seemed especially interested in having a mother, and Laura had to admit that being a mother had always bemused her. When Nina was away at school, friends would ask how she was doing, and Laura would think: Oh, yes, Nina. I have a daughter. She never felt she neglected Nina, for you cannot neglect someone who does not desire or elicit your care. Now, as adults, they had a strange, tentative relationship: like old friends grown apart, feigning affection for old times’ sake.
    “Why don’t you sweep them up?” Laura called to the gardener. The names of the gardeners were Margaret and Evie, but she wasn’t sure which was which. Who was who. They were lesbians, she had been told. They lived half the year up here and half the year in Palm Beach, where they also tended gardens and pools. Normally, Laura ignored people who worked for her, but technically
the gardeners were employed by the people who owned the house, and besides, she was bored. It was odd that she was bored this morning: she had been alone pretty much all of the summer, and yet she had never been bored. It was the waiting for Nina, the anticipation, that bored her.
    The gardener, who was squatting on her haunches, looked over at her. “They’ll burst,” she said, “and stain the slate.”
    “Oh,” was all Laura could think of to say. There really was a reason for everything. But no, she thought, that’s not true. I just happened to ask a question for which there was an answer; it’s wrong to conclude there’s an answer for everything. There isn’t an answer for everything. In fact, I’m sure there isn’t an answer for far more than there is an answer for. She looked at the gardener and was wondering if there was something else she could ask her, if there was a way to turn this exchange into a conversation, when she heard a car in the driveway. She stood up, but then she felt foolish standing up, waiting, so she sat back down. “Will you go around front and tell my daughter I’m back here?” she asked the gardener.
    The gardener scowled at her. She tossed her handful of mulberries into a silver bucket and wiped her stained purple hands on her shorts. She stood up and walked around to the front of the house.
    Oh, please, thought Laura, don’t give me that. I should think it would be a nice break from picking up berries. She wondered if this mulberry thing was a scam; perhaps the gardeners were just collecting them and selling them to the farm stand. Maybe I should ask for the bucket when she’s finished. But what would I do with them? Did one eat mulberries? Or make wine from them? No, that was elderberries.
    Nina appeared around the side of the house. She was followed by two men and the gardener. Nina was dressed in tight jeans, a
man’s sleeveless T-shirt, and high heels. She looked like a beautiful prostitute. Laura thought perhaps she was trying to stay in character, but deep down she knew her daughter was cheap.
    “This place is impossible to find!” Nina said, as she approached. “And it’s so far away! It took forever to get here. What time is it? Hello, Mother.” She put her hand on Laura’s shoulder and kissed her on both cheeks. “This is Anders—” She pointed to one of the men, a tall, good-looking man in a rumpled, dissolute sort of way. “And this is Jerry. Jerry drove us up—I decided not to rent a car, I thought it would be cheaper to hire a limo, but I’m afraid it wasn’t. It was much farther than I thought. So we owe Jerry some money.”
    “How much?” asked Laura.
    “One hundred,” said Nina. “And I told him he could have a swim. God, the pool looks great!”
     
     
    “I didn’t know you were bringing someone,” Laura said. She was up in her bedroom, counting out one hundred dollars from her purse. Nina was sitting on the bed. “You’re lucky I went to the bank yesterday. Here,” she said,