“Ma!” I yelled. “I’m here. And can’t you get the gardener to trim these weeds?” Mother didn’t answer.
Mother was nowhere. The TV in the bedroom was muted and Ingrid Bergman in Gaslight glowed on the screen.
The call came at six o’clock in the morning on the dot. It was the usual. “This is Nikolina Abramowitz. Your mother. Why haven’t I heard from you?”
Mother demanded to know when I would make my ne…