“Everything looks wonderful,” Marissa said, indicating the menu. “I think I’ll have the eggs Benedict.”

“Do you really think you should? It’s got all that butter, dear.”

“I joined a gym this week, so I think I deserve a little treat.”

“Oh?” Her mother skepticism was obvious. “Why not come to the one here at the club? I’m sure the equipment is excellent. Your guest privileges are still good.”

“I joined with a coworker so we could encourage each other.”

“That reminds me of my old sorority. It was always nice to have someone to do things with. If there was no beau around on a Saturday night a group of us would go to the movies.”

“I’m not going to the gym because I don’t have anything else to do, Mom. I’m trying to get more fit.”

“Better late than never. Your father waited too long.”

“I know.” Marissa hoped her mollifying tone would derail the usual rant.

“He never listened to me—first the heart attack and I’m sure that’s what made the cancer move so fast. Even after . . . he moved elsewhere, he could have still used the fitness services here, just like you could.”

Sure, Marissa wanted to say, Dad would have been welcome here. Shifting under her mother’s piercing gaze, she said instead, “The gym is only five minutes from work. If I had to drive all the way out here I’d not go as often.”

“Whatever you think best.”

“Thank you for your advice, Mom. I work late sometimes and my gym is twenty-four hours.”

“Of course.” Her mother’s perfectly lipsticked mouth curved in one of the smiles that made Marissa expect a new criticism. “I’m sure you thought it through.”

“I did.” The waiter arrived with a gleaming silver coffee pot and filled Marissa’s cup after she nodded. She ordered the eggs Benedict with sliced melon on the side. She wondered from what ocean her father must have spawned to have given her the genes she had. Her mother ordered the spirulina smoothie, the New York platter—lox, bagel, cream cheese—and a chocolate muffin. None of it would show on her petite figure.

“So how are things at the gallery? Have you made new discoveries?”

The bright smile she received told Marissa she’d asked the right question. “Egyptian themes are back in, just as I thought they’d be, and I already have a small collection of paintings to offer. But I’m really intrigued by a young man from the city who uses light-sensitive plates to create the most interesting forms. He calls them fractal reflections. I love them—won’t make much money I suppose. They’re a little too arty for way out here in Blackhawk.”

“They sound interesting,” Marissa said sincerely. She had nothing but respect for her mother’s taste in art. Her father had even admitted that he’d first been attracted to Joanne’s artistic sense. “Have you ever thought of running a gallery in San Francisco?”

That topic lasted through most of breakfast and part of the time Marissa was aware of her detachment from her mother’s hopes and dreams. How much, at this point in her life, was that a self-fulfilling prophecy? She offered only a little bit about her life for review and was generally never disappointed when her mother showed only a little bit of interest.