She drew in a breath. “Apparently Becca and Ashton are more than just friends and she didn’t tell me.” She held up a hand. “It’s fine. She’s nearly seventeen and it’s not like I’m her closest friend. It’s just, I thought we could share the moment, you know.”
His green eyes locked with hers. “You’re hurt.”
“Yes. Hurt and disappointed and wondering when I became a bad mother.”
“You’re not a bad mother.”
“My daughter wouldn’t agree with you.” She squared her shoulders. “Enough about me. Let’s go watch Misty kill it.”
Lucas didn’t budge. “She loves you. I hope you know that.”
“I do. And I love her, so we have that in common. I’ll be okay, I promise. I just need a little time.”
Before he could respond, Becca flew into the kitchen. “Mom, Lucas, come quick. Misty just came on stage.” She did a little dance. “Mom, she’s wearing that bracelet I braided for her. Can you believe it? It’s like a shout-out to us. Hurry!”
They stood. Lucas moved close and murmured, “Not exactly the words of a daughter who hates you.”
Harper knew he was right. Hate was too strong a word. But somewhere along the way, they’d lost the closeness she’d always taken for granted. And she couldn’t help thinking that at the end of the day, it was going to be because of something she’d done. Or worse, something she hadn’t.
* * *
“Becca, I need to speak to you for a moment.”
Not words any student wanted to hear from a teacher, Becca thought, as she nodded while collecting her notes.
Most of the other kids had already left the classroom, darting out as the bell rang. Becca had taken to lingering so no one would see her leaving by herself and realize she’d become the unwanted loner.
With Jordan’s defection, nearly everyone else had followed. Becca now ate lunch alone, walked to class alone and spoke to no one. Okay, sure, there were the odd greetings and a couple of the weird kids had smiled at her, but that was it. She remembered learning a word when she’d been little and liking it so much she’d tried to use it all the time, but it had been difficult. Now she was the very definition of pariah.
She walked to the front of the classroom. Mrs. Nemecek peered at her over her half-glasses, then shook her head.
“I expected better of you, Becca. You barely earned a C on your last test, your homework has been haphazard at best. What’s going on?”
A lot, Becca thought. European History was her least favorite class this semester. The class emphasized World War II and she’d discovered that nothing very nice had happened during that time period. All the talk of war and death and concentration camps was gross. When she was pushed for time, history homework came in last. But telling Mrs. Nemecek that she was getting As and Bs in her other classes wouldn’t be much help.
“I’m sorry,” she said instead, then hesitated, wondering if she could talk about her personal life and get some sympathy. There was her dad getting remarried and what had happened with Nathan, but she wasn’t sure her history teacher would want to know or if she would care.
Still bad grades weren’t an option. Lucas made her show him her grades online and if she was doing badly, he would stop showing up for their driving time and she desperately wanted her license. Besides, she’d always been a pretty decent student.
“Becca?” Mrs. Nemecek sounded impatient.
She opened her mouth to make up some lie, then mentally swerved at the last second and instead said, “You’re right, Mrs. Nemecek. I’ve been phoning it in. To be honest, I don’t like the subject matter. It’s all so grim and sad and people are dying. I can’t believe there were concentration camps. I mean I know there were, but who would do that? Who would kill other people just because of where they were born or what they believed? It’s wrong.”
Her teacher’s stern expression never softened. “It is wrong, but that is beside the point. Becca, I enjoy having you in class, but let me be clear. You earn your grade from me. It’s not a gift. If you don’t do the work, you will fail. If you do bad work, your grade will reflect that. Liking or not liking the subject matter is immaterial.”
Becca wanted to stomp her foot at the unfairness of that. Why did she need to learn history anyway? It was over and done and no one really cared about it. But that wasn’t information that was going to sway her teacher and she really had to get a good grade in the class.
“I want to earn extra credit,” she said quickly. “Please, give me a project. Or I’ll come up with one. Make it icky. I’ll do the work. I want to do better.”
“Better can’t be measured.” Her teacher shook her head. “I don’t know, Becca. I appreciate your honesty, but I’m still disappointed in your attitude.”
“You should be,” Becca said, thinking this was exactly like talking to her mom.
“That’s refreshing. All right, I want a fifteen-page paper on some aspect of the war between Russia and Germany. You pick the topic. I want more than facts and if I find even a single sentence copied from another source, you’ll get an F. Make me feel something, Becca. Show me you understand what was happening.”
Fifteen pages? Was she kidding? Wasn’t that about as long as a book? Most papers were three pages or five. Fifteen was totally unfair and—
“I’ll do it,” she said.
“You have until the Friday before finals. There will be no extensions.”
“I won’t need one. Thank you, Mrs. Nemecek.”
Becca grabbed her backpack and left the classroom.
School was over for the day and most of the students were already gone. No friends lingered for her and there was no one around she wanted to talk to.
Sadness threatened, but Becca pushed it away. She was going to get a good grade for sure, which meant she had to plan out the paper. Fifteen pages would take at least a couple of weeks.
She hurried home and found Jazz waiting by the front door. Her dog stared at her expectantly. Becca skidded to a stop as she realized that she needed to make time for Jazz. She’d promised to take care of the dog and that meant more than feeding her and letting Dwayne take her for a daily walk.
“I know,” Becca said, dropping to her knees and hugging the dog. “We need to go outside and play. You’ve just been hanging out, huh? Let me put my stuff away and we’ll figure out something.”
Then she had to do homework and start researching her paper. Plus, she had to spend a little more time with her car’s owner’s manual because she had another driving session with Lucas.
She’d barely put her backpack down when her mom walked into her room.
“Hi, sweetie. When did you get home from school?”
“Just now.”
“Have you thought any about the videos? I want to be able to get back to Valerie with a delivery date.”
Becca felt herself tensing. “I don’t know, Mom. Let me figure out what I’m going to do when. I have finals coming up and a big paper for European History. There’s a lot.”
Her mother’s smile faded. “Is it too much? Do you want me to find someone else to do the videos?”
“No.” The single word came out more sharply than Becca intended. She tried again. “I mean, of course not. I want to do them. Things are really complicated right now. Give me a day, okay?”
“If you’re sure. I don’t want to make things more difficult.”
“You’re not. I really want to do the videos.” They would be fun and she needed the money.
“All right. We’ll talk tomorrow. Why don’t I go make you a snack? You can’t study if you’re hungry.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
Becca sank onto the floor. Jazz settled next to her and leaned close.
“I’ve got to figure this out,” Becca told the dog, even as she reached for the phone. She sent off a quick text to Kaylee, b
ut there was no response. Of course. Kaylee was too busy having fun.
Becca scrambled to her feet and started making a list of everything she had to get done. It was way too long and she was left with the sense of being trapped in some kind of cage with no escape. By five, she’d figured out there wasn’t an interesting part of World War II that didn’t involve a lot of people being dead, Kaylee still hadn’t answered, she’d totally screwed up her math homework, she had no friends to talk to and the usually well-behaved Jazz had chewed one of her cat slippers.
“Jazz, no!” she yelled, picking up one ear and a bit of tail—all that was left of the fuzzy slippers. “These are mine. You have your own toys.”
Her dog simply looked at her.
Becca didn’t know if she should cry, scream or run away. Her phone chirped with a text from Ashton.
Hey. Thinking of u.
Becca looked at the chewed-up slippers, the bored dog, the notes on a paper she still hadn’t figured out, her unfinished math homework. She thought about the fight with Jordan and how Kaylee had well and truly forgotten all about her.
Her life was a disaster and she didn’t know how to fix it, but she did know one thing. Having a guy in her life would change everything. And there was only one way to make sure that happened for real.
She was going to have sex with Ashton. Then everything would be fine.
Chapter Seventeen
DEAN PRYOR LOOKED exactly like the cheer captain at an LA college. He was handsome in a very chiseled way, tall and lean, with dark hair and eyes. He wore pressed khakis, a white polo shirt and an honest-to-God sweater over his shoulders. By comparison, Harper felt unwashed, disheveled and decidedly uninspired.
He shook her hand, made friends with the dog and exuded charm and confidence.
“I was so glad to get your call,” he told her as he followed her into the dining room, where she’d decided to conduct their interview. Although the thought of her interviewing anyone made her want to both giggle and throw up. She wasn’t in business, not really. What did she know about hiring an employee?
But she’d dutifully read a few articles online and had taken notes. She was hoping not to embarrass herself too badly.
“I’ve wanted to get back to work, but the movie business so isn’t going to be it. Those hours are impossible and I don’t want to travel.”
He settled across from her and gave her a conspiratorial smile. “It’s those damn kids. I hate to be away from them.” He pulled out his phone and showed her a couple of pictures of adorable twin girls. “Mandy and Miranda. They are so beautiful. We call them Tater and Tot and I have no idea how that started. Lance, my husband, says I need to get out of the house or I’ll start crocheting clothes for the dog, and then he’ll be forced to lock me in a closet.” Dean grinned. “And honey, I’m way past coming out of the closet.”
Harper laughed involuntarily. “I’m all for moving forward, but I’m a little worried this job isn’t going to be interesting enough for you. I don’t know how much Kit told you, but I operate a home-based virtual assistant business.” She paused. “Although a few of my clients don’t get the concept of virtual.” She made air quotes.
“I know that one.” He leaned toward her. “I’m not looking for excitement. I want a little creative challenge and some income and to get out of the house.” He handed her a slim folder. “Here’s my résumé and some references. My hours are flexible. As long as I can be home in time to pick up my kids, I’m good. I’m happy to work from here or from my house. Why don’t you tell me what you need help with?”
Harper explained about her clients, without mentioning names. “Some of the work is steady, some is hit-and-miss.”
“Especially with party planners,” he said with a knowing nod. “They’re busy, you’re busy. They’re quiet and there’s nothing. That makes it tough.”
“Tell me about it. I have two sets of gift bags I need done by Tuesday, some envelopes to calligraph and that’s just this week.”
“You know calligraphy?” He sounded impressed. “I don’t have the patience.” He winked. “Is this where I tell you there are computer programs for that?”
“I’ve mentioned it to my party planners, but some people still want the real thing.”
“Oh, we all want the real thing. The trick is finding it.” He looked around. “Where do you work?”
“I have a home office. It’s small.”
They went into the back bedroom. Dean looked around and tsked.
“You’re overwhelmed with clutter and it’s not your fault. You need supplies, but where do you put them? I don’t suppose you have a bonus room, do you? I’m a big believer in making a space work.”
Harper hesitated.
“What? You’re hiding something. I can tell.”
Rather than say anything, she waved him forward and together they walked into her craft room.
Dean turned in a slow circle before putting his hands on his hips. “You are crazy. You know that, right? This needs to be your office. Working in that tiny bedroom has to be depressing. How can you get anything done with the walls closing in? This space is bright and happy. What’s going on?”
An excellent question. She looked at all the shelves, the giant flat work surfaces, the closets and wondered why on earth she’d been so resistant to change. Her business brought in money. The craft room was just...
“It’s my before life,” she said, unable to stop herself from speaking. “Before the divorce, before I started my business, before I was a mess.”
“We’re all a mess, Harper. Some of us are just better at faking it.” He untied his sweater and let it drop over the back of a chair. “Are you ready to let the past go or do you need to hang on to it longer?”
“I’m ready.”
“Then let’s get to it.”
“What do you mean?”
“I say let’s move your office here and your crafts into the small room. We’ll talk while we work and get to know each other. By the time we’re done, I’ll bet we’ll know if we want to work together or not.”
“But it’s going to take hours.”
“Tater and Tot have Mandarin class today, so I’m yours until four.” He rolled his eyes. “Lance and I are such a cliché. Yes, we have enrolled our girls into Mandarin class, and gymnastics and fencing, if you can believe it. I’m turning into my mother, and let me tell you, we can’t decide who that makes more uncomfortable, me or her.”
Harper began to laugh. She’d known for a while that she had to switch her office with the craft room, but she’d never had the time or energy. Maybe she’d been waiting for Dean to come along to inspire her.
“Let’s do it,” she said.
* * *
By the time Dean had to leave to collect his girls, Harper knew she’d found someone she could work with. Dean had been organized, efficient and funny. The move had happened more easily than she would have thought possible. They’d gone through her crafts, pulling out ridiculous things she would never use but had held on to because she had the room. Now she had a huge pile to take over to the local women’s shelter for them to use for crafts for the kids.
Dean had left with the supplies for the first of the bag projects. He would have them back to her by Monday. They’d agreed on an hourly wage for him and an approximate schedule. Her work life, it seemed, had taken a turn for the better. Now all that was left was figuring out how to reconnect with her daughter.
* * *
Still flush with her successful conversation with Ashton, Stacey decided to take her relationship-confidence on a test drive and finally tell her mother about her pregnancy.
Sunday morning she and Kit drove over to Harper’s, where Kit would wait with his sister-in-law. They’d talked it over and agreed that Stacey would literally come screaming out of her mother’s apartment if things went very badly.
Should that not happen, Kit would join her after twenty minutes.
Stacey had a vision of herself running down the stairs, yelling at the top of her lungs, while the neighbors on both sides called 911 and reported an insane intruder. Of course that would be a distraction from what was sure to be her mother’s disapproval.
“Maybe she’ll understand,” Stacey said, more to herself than Kit. “She loves babies and she’s getting another granddaughter. We’re actually doubling the pool number.”
“That could happen.”
Stacey glanced at her husband, more than a little convinced he might be humoring her rather than expressing his opinion. Not that telling her the conversation was going to end with her screaming would make her feel any better.
They arrived far too quickly. Rather than go into Harper’s and put off the inevitable, Stacey went directly upstairs and knocked on her mother’s bright blue front door.
Bunny answered seconds later. “Stacey! Did I know you were stopping by?”
“No, sorry, Mom. Kit and I were in the neighborhood and I decided to come see you. Do you have a second?”
“Of course.”
Bunny’s apartment was above the oversize, detached three-story garage. Huge west-facing windows offered a perfect view of the Pacific Ocean.
Bunny waved her toward the overstuffed sofa, then hurried to the kitchen to no doubt prepare refreshments.
“I’m okay, Mom,” Stacey said, following her into the small kitchen. “You don’t have to—”
But it was too late. Bunny had pulled cookies out of a large pink handbag-shaped cookie jar. She got grapes and a small cheese plate from the refrigerator, then poured lemonade into crystal glasses.
Stacey tried to remember the contents of her refrigerator. If there was lemonade, it would be in a carton and she knew there wasn’t a cheese plate. She might be able to find a few grapes—she wasn’t sure.
In less than five minutes they were seated at the small, round dining table. In addition to food, Bunny had put out lace place mats with matching napkins, flatware, all the serving pieces, crystal snack-size plates that were the same pattern as the glasses, along with a floral centerpiece.
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