Read Undertow for Free Online

shaking hands. “This is for you, Mom. Merry Christmas.” She stepped back and prayed.
    Her mother’s lips stretched into a tight smile again. “What’s this?” She gave an exhausted sigh, and picked at the ribbon robotically.
    “I made it, and it’s really, well, it’s nothing big.” Marissa said. “If you don’t like it, that’s okay.”
    The scarf unfurled as her mother lifted one edge from the box. Bits of gray mohair flecked the scarf, along with purple wool and olive felt, strands from all the skeins of yarn she’d unearthed in the linen closet when she taught herself to knit that year. Her mother’s veneer of normalcy cracked and she burst into tears.
    Marissa stroked her mother’s hair while wishing she could strangle her with the scarf, and made a silent vow: Never again .

 
     
     
    Eight
     
    E very Christmas since that last horrible one five years ago, she’d spent the holiday with her father. It was better that way. He got to exercise his precious visitation rights, and Marissa got to dodge her mother’s annual mega-misery fest.
    Until today.
    She shoved her finger in the doorbell and held it in place until her mother opened the door after a minute or so, hair wrapped in a towel and robe pulled tight around her. Marissa ignored her mother’s impatient scowl and slid past her into the foyer, giggling.
    “My God, Mari!” Her mother’s shock crackled. “What are you doing here?”
    Marissa snorted, laughing harder. “Nice to see you, too, Mom.”
    “Well, I didn’t mean . . .”
    Way to throw out the welcome mat, Mom. “I know what you meant,” she said. “Thought I’d just surprise you. Surprise!”
    “Oh, you did, that’s for sure.” She adjusted the turban atop her head to keep it from toppling. “You could have at least called to let me know you were coming.” Pursing her lips, she seemed twenty years older, like some disapproving old lady shaking her head at this year’s hemlines.
    “Didn’t think I needed an invite.” Irritation nipped at her, and she was losing the battle to hold it at bay.
    “Don’t get testy, Mari.”
    Her mother’s attempt to smooth things over allowed some of Marissa’s hostility to slip away, letting her mind drift back to the ocean. Back to the creature it concealed.
    Her mother’s hands were on her shoulders, gently shaking her. “Mari, honey . . . are you all right?”
    Marissa jumped back, startled. Blinking, she stared at her mother, not really seeing her. It slowly came back to her: she was at Mom’s for Christmas. She giggled.
    “Mari?” Her eyebrows did that weird dance they did whenever she was concerned . Marissa looked at her mother’s head, tilted to one side, turban leaning precariously at an angle. She wondered if it might topple and pull her waif of a mother over. Marissa pictured her mother in a pile on the floor, struggling against the weight of the towel, and laughed.
    “So, Merry Christmas and all that,” Marissa said. She didn’t care whether she was being snotty; her mother deserved it. She pirouetted and curtsied. “Aren’t you glad to see me?”
    Her mother’s eyes narrowed, the groove between them deepening into a canyon. She didn’t answer.
    “What? Can’t I visit you for Christmas?” Marissa demanded.
    “Of course you can.” Her mother snipped each word off neatly. “It’s just . . .”
    A man appeared in the arched entry way to the living room, and her mother blushed. The man was short, even shorter than her mother, and wore jeans and a gray polo but no shoes. He looked entirely too comfortable.
    “Who’s that, Mom?” she asked, foregoing any pretense at civility.
    Her mother sighed. “George, I’d like you to meet my daughter, Marissa. Marissa, George.” She gestured for him to join them in the foyer.
    George crossed the room in a few long strides and offered his hand. Smiling a wide, car salesman kind of smile, he said, “It’s so good to finally meet you.”
    She ignored him and wheeled