by Debbie Burke
A few silent moments passed with only soft tugs on her hair.
Tawny dared a question. “Was Mimi upset about something?”
“We’d been fighting. But we always fight.”
“Yeah, sisters do that.” Tawny wanted to ask what the argument was about but sensed if she pushed, Arielle might withdraw. Tawny needed to gain trust first, especially if the girl felt guilty for a fight that could have triggered Mimi’s overdose.
Arielle concentrated on the braid, lower teeth biting her upper lip. When she finished, she wrapped elastic around the tail.
Tawny checked her reflection in the mirror, turning back and forth. “Thank you, Arielle. You have a real knack.”
“I like doing hair. I want to go to cosmetology school but Mom and Dad would shit.” She clapped her hand to her mouth, too late to prevent the slip. “Sorry.”
Tawny smiled. “Remember, I work for your dad. Shit is his tamest word.”
Arielle giggled. “Mom’s on him all the time about his language but it doesn’t do any good.”
“Somehow, though,” Tawny mused, “he never seems to slip up in court. That’s what amazes me.”
“Do you love him?”
Shit! Out of the mouths of babes. Tawny faced the girl. “I respect your dad a lot. He rescued me from terrible problems. He gave me a job when I really needed it and he’s been very good to me, paying me a lot more than my experience deserves.”
“Is that because you guys are having sex?” Not accusatory, just curious.
Oh God. Tawny wanted to answer Arielle’s questions honestly but how could she explain? “I’ve been working for him for almost a year, but we didn’t get…personal…until just recently.” She rose, feeling naked despite the big t-shirt. “Arielle, I care for your dad a lot but I don’t want to make problems for you kids. Divorce is really hard.”
The girl looked up at her, head tilted to the side, expression doubtful. Tawny had seen that expression on her own daughter more often than she wanted to remember. Just another clueless adult who talks a lot but doesn’t understand.
“Would you do me a favor?” Tawny asked.
“What?” Suspicion crept into Arielle’s tone.
“Would you tell me if I do something that makes you feel bad? I don’t want to hurt you. You didn’t do anything wrong but you’re still affected by your parents’ problems and that’s not fair. I don’t want to make your life harder than it already is.”
Arielle’s dark eyes penetrated, so like Tillman’s. Did she believe Tawny’s words?
“Whatever.” The girl left the bathroom.
Damn. Struck out.
Navigating the teenage moodiness of her own children had been hard enough. How could she ever hope to read Tillman’s kids?
Tawny rummaged through his dresser until she found a gold golf cardigan and put it on over the t-shirt. It hung to mid-thigh and she had to roll the sleeves up to keep them from flopping over her hands. But it made a modest covering to wear around his kids.
In the living room, the big screen TV played an epic battle fantasy with lots of explosions and impossible special effects. Judah sprawled on one leather couch, mesmerized, bald head propped on a throw pillow.
Arielle had vanished, apparently to a different part of the house. Tawny wanted to find her but she knew she had to wait for the girl to come to her, like a timid, wild creature.
She sat on the other couch, giving Judah space, and watched the absurd movie with him. Razor-teethed monsters gnawed off the arms of the heroic army. At least, she thought they were the heroes. Who knew? Maybe the monsters with black lipstick and raccoon eyes were the good guys.
Earlier that day in the car, Tillman had complained to her about Judah shaving his head. “Damn kid looks like he’s got cancer.”
Tawny had tried to pacify him. “Probably wants to imitate Shaq or Charles Barkley.”
“More like a Nazi skinhead. I don’t know why Chell let him get those geeky white glasses.”
“He’s just being a kid, Tillman. Tell me you weren’t trying to irritate your dad when you had that big Afro in your graduation picture.”
Judah’s squeaky voice brought her back from her reverie. “Guess my bar mitzvah’s off.”
She faced him but his gaze remained fixed on the screen.
He added, “I didn’t want to chant in front of all those people anyway.”
Tawny asked, “You have to chant?”
He nodded, double chin squished with his crooked position. “My voice sucks. Dad says his was like that at thirteen, too, but I don’t believe it. He sounds like Darth Vader.”
“He sure does. Makes a big impression in court.”
“Yeah, he’s a show-off.”
Tawny swallowed a smile. Judah had nailed that.
“I asked him,” the boy went on, “why doesn’t he get up in front of all those people at temple and chant his ass off since he likes the attention so much? But he says I have to. Stupid rite of passage, tradition shit. What’s the point?”
She hoped he didn’t expect an answer.
Apparently not, because he kept talking. “Mom’s gonna be really pissed at me. Been planning this ginormous party for months. Probably cost a hundred grand and now it’s blown.”
“Judah, it’s not your fault. She won’t be mad at you.”
“Oh, yeah, she will.”
Sounded like the voice of bitter experience. Tawny pressed her lips tight, wondering what kind of mother blamed one child for the problems of another. “I’m sorry about Mimi.”
His plump shoulder lifted. “She’s fucked up. Like totally. Mom’s been dragging her to therapy since I was in first grade. Made the whole family go, even Dad. Total waste.”
“It can take a while to solve problems.” As soon as the words left Tawny’s lips, she regretted the foolish platitude.
He grunted and rolled his eyes.
“You’re right. I shouldn’t say anything,” she said. “I hardly know your family.”
“Yeah, well, you’re lucky. They all suck, except maybe Arielle. She’s OK sometimes but she can be a total P-I-T-A.”
“Pain in the ass?” Tawny asked.
Judah grinned. “Yeah. How’d you know?”
Tawny winked. “Remember, I work for your dad.”
He raised up on his elbows. “If Mimi dies, maybe all the party arrangements won’t be wasted. Mom can still have the bash, just for a funeral instead.”
Tawny wondered if he was trying to shock her. Yet his tone was matter-of-fact, despite the squeaks in his voice. It sounded like something Tillman would say.
“I hope your sister will be OK.” Obvious and stupid but she didn’t know how else to answer.
“I’d rather everyone was looking at her than me.”
Tawny understood. She hated being the center of attention. Yet, since she’d met Tillman, that seemed to be her fate. Whatever happened to her quiet, insignificant life?
“I know what you mean,” she said. “A lot of times, I wish I was invisible.” Like right now.
Judah looked sideways at her through his big white glasses. “Yeah, an invisibility cloak would be cool.”
“If you find one, share it with me, OK?”
He grinned.
Her stomach growled. Lunch had been long hours ago. “Hey, can I get something to eat?”
“Sure. Food’s still on the table from dinner.”
She rose. “Would you show me the way? This place is so huge, I’m afraid of getting lost.”
“OK.” He paused the video, rolled off the couch, and led her through a long hallway from Tillman’s wing, up a different flight of stairs.
The commercial stainless steel kitchen opened wide into a breakfast area, separate from the formal dining room. The distant lights of Billings twinkled through floor-to-ceiling windows.
Plates with half-eaten food sat on the table, knives and forks askew, cloth napkins thrown down. Two wine glasses sat at opposite ends, one overturned, lying in
a large red stain on the linen tablecloth. Tawny imagined that was Tillman’s, dumped in his furious response to her phone call.
On the bright Mexican tile counter, a slab of prime rib sat on a wooden carving board in a pool of dark red drippings, along with serving bowls of vegetables. Judah tore off a bite from the roast. With his mouth full, he said, “The meat’s really good. There’s mashed potatoes too.”
Tawny picked up a clean plate from the table and helped herself to potatoes and steamed snap peas with water chestnuts. “Would you cut a slice for me?”
Judah nodded. Between bites from his own hunk of meat, he sawed a piece and plopped it on her plate. Juice splattered, hitting her borrowed sweater. “Oops, sorry,” he said.
His clumsiness reminded Tawny of her son at that awkward age. “Not my problem, it’s your dad’s sweater.”
Mouth full, he mumbled, “Don’t tell my mom that I’m eating more. She’s always ragging on me to lose weight.”
Tawny was so hungry even cold mashed potatoes tasted good. “You might hit your growing streak soon and wind up taller than your dad, and skinny as that carving knife.”
“I don’t want to be like my dad,” he answered, through half-chewed meat, dark brows drawn together.
Something about the set of his wide mouth reminded her of Tillman, as if she’d stepped back in time to meet her lover as a little boy. “You’ve got his DNA but you’re your own man.”
“I’d like to dump his genes.”
“How come?”
“Because he’s an asshole.”
Tawny had to smile. From the first day she met him, that’s how Tillman had consistently described himself, never pretending to be otherwise. And, Lord knows, he could be. But under his abrasive, overbearing exterior hid a decent, honest, caring man.
She ate slowly, standing at the counter near the boy, unsure what to say. Judah didn’t seem to mind her silence as he carved off more prime rib and stuffed it in his mouth. He turned to the refrigerator. “There’s lemon meringue pie. You called Dad before we got to eat dessert.”
“My favorite.”
He nodded. “Me too.” He removed the pie from the refrigerator and cut a big wedge for himself. After his first bite, he looked up at her with a sheepish smile, and cut another serving which he pushed across the counter to her.
“Thanks,” she said. The filling was sweet-tart and tangy with lemon rind. “Mmm, your mom’s a good cook.”
Judah’s face scrunched in disdain. “Mom didn’t make it. Consuelo did.”
“Who’s Consuelo?”
“Our maid.”
Of course. “Does Consuelo live here, too?”
Judah shook his head. “Nah, she and Fausto live in town. She’ll be here tomorrow to help with the party.” He jerked slightly, as if remembering Mimi’s suicide attempt. “If it isn’t canceled.” He wagged his bald head. “Mom’s gonna be pissed.”
Would Rochelle really worry more about a party than her daughter in crisis?
They finished dessert in silence.
“Why don’t we wash the dishes?” Tawny suggested.
Again, the scrunched face. “How come? Consuelo always does ’em.”
Tawny explored cupboards, looking for containers to put away the leftovers. “It’d be a nice surprise for your parents when they come home.” This wasn’t her house, nor her child who needed to learn normal chores. But she imagined returning to spoiled food and dirty dishes after a tense night in the hospital. Cleaning up was the least she could do.
As she spooned leftovers into bowls, she caught Judah watching her. He said nothing but pitched in, clearing plates from the table. He brought them to the sink and opened the dishwasher but paused, unsure what to do next.
“Works better if you scrape off the food,” she suggested.
He seemed to appreciate the coaching, dumping the remains in a wastebasket.
Tawny continued to put away leftovers, watching him from the corner of her eye, as he tried to solve the puzzle of stacking bowls and plates in the dishwasher. How could a kid reach age thirteen and not know how to load a dishwasher? But he figured it out and she smiled.
“Where’s your laundry room?” she asked.
“There.” He waved toward a door off the kitchen.
Tawny gathered up the wine-stained tablecloth and opened the door. The utility room was equipped with a front-loading washer and dryer, a soaking sink, a sewing machine, even a professional mangle for ironing, like a commercial laundry. No wonder Tillman’s dress shirts always looked perfect.
She treated the wine stain then left the tablecloth soaking. Back in the dining room, she wiped off the table and straightened the chairs.
Judah was eating another cut of pie, still watching her. “Are you a maid?”
“Just in my own house.”
“You got kids?”
“Two. A boy and a girl. They’re both grown. Neal’s in the Army. Emma lived with me until a little while ago when she moved in with her boyfriend.”
“You divorced?”
She shook her head, a twinge pinching her heart. “No, my husband died from cancer a couple of years ago.” Twenty-one months actually, a distinction that still felt important to her but wouldn’t matter to Judah.
“How long were you married?”
“Thirty-two years.” Thirty-two good years.
“Really?” He sounded as she’d said they lived on the moon. “That’s…forever.”
“It’s a long time.”
“I don’t know anybody who’s stayed married that long. How did you stand it?”
His innocent question grieved her. Poor kid thought marriage was a prison sentence to be endured. In his experience, it was a sentence. “When you’re lucky enough to pick the right mate, marriage is helping each other through problems, having each other’s backs. That’s how it was for my husband and me.”
Judah snorted. “Nobody told my parents.” He took another bite of pie. “You miss your husband?”
She nodded, swallowing a lump.
“How come you’re with Dad?”
“Because we care about each other. He helped me when I really needed help. He’s been good to me.”
“Would you rather be with Dad or get your husband back?”
Leave it to Tillman’s children to ask trick questions. “I thought Dwight and I would be together forever. But life doesn’t work out like you expect. Dwight and your dad couldn’t be more different but, in their own ways, they’re both very good men.” She gauged his puzzled expression. “Does that make sense?”
Judah shrugged. “I don’t know.”
She put her arm around his soft, pudgy shoulders. “I’m not good with words, like your dad.”
Judah leaned against her. In the black glass reflection of the oven door, she caught a glimpse of mischief as his cheek pressed her breast. At his age, sex never strayed far from his mind. She remembered her son’s friends who’d had crushes on her. Treat them kindly and let them down easy. She kissed his bald head and pulled away. “Want to finish the video?”
“Nah, going to my room.”
She kept a straight face. “OK.”
He sauntered away, hands in his pockets, trying to look cool despite roiling hormones, and disappeared down another long hallway.
Tawny leaned against the tile counter and sighed, feeling as awkward as the boy. How she wanted to be home, away from Tillman’s screwed-up family. But she couldn’t desert him in time of crisis.
Her cell trilled. Tillman. “Is Mimi OK?”
His deep voice rumbled. “Yeah. Got her on a ventilator. Gave her Romazicon to reverse the Valium.”
Relief flooded her tired body. “Thank goodness.”
“We’ll be here a while longer. Chell’s talking with a shrink about what to do next.”
“That’s good.”
His voice quavered. “You saved my baby girl.”
“Just lucky I found her in time.”
“Luck had nothing to do
with it.”
“Didn’t hurt.”
“Tawny…”
She couldn’t bear his anguished gratitude. “Go be with your daughter, Tillman. Things are OK here.”
She disconnected and thought about Arielle, who hadn’t resurfaced. Tawny worried about an emotional chain reaction to Mimi’s suicide attempt. She should check on the girl. And tell both siblings that their sister wasn’t going to die. But how to find them in this huge, rambling house?
The entry, great room, dining room, and kitchen formed the base of the U-shaped structure. She knew the way back to Tillman’s wing. She figured Rochelle’s and the kids’ rooms occupied the opposite wing of the U, where Judah had disappeared. She explored until she found a carpeted staircase leading to a lower floor, similar to the access to Tillman’s suite. She descended it to find a yawning hallway lit by wall sconces.
Through a partly-open door, she peeked in to find a girl’s bedroom. Mimi’s, according to the name engraved on horsemanship trophies displayed on several long shelves. They were all first place except for one second place, hidden behind the others, as if Mimi were ashamed of failing to win.
Framed certificates for academic awards hung on the walls. Like Tillman, Mimi was a high achiever.
The room was antiseptically neat, bedding pulled as taut as a Marine barracks, no clothes and shoes littering the floor. A treadmill occupied one corner.
Tawny had never seen a teenager’s room that was so orderly, as if the occupant didn’t really live there but instead it represented a movie set where she appeared in scenes, then vanished somewhere else in real life.
Tawny backed into the hall, feeling strange and disturbed. Mimi, the perfect, beautiful, accomplished daughter who wanted to die.
She tapped on the next door, which wasn’t latched and opened slightly under her touch. “Arielle?”
No answer, except for a soft sound, like a cat snoring.
Tawny poked her head in. “Arielle?”
In contrast to Mimi’s room, this one looked like a home invasion crime scene. Pillows piled on the floor, drawers pulled open with clothes hanging out, and shoes scattered like the aftermath of an explosion at an Adidas factory.
Arielle lay on the floor on her back, mouth slack, braces glinting, an empty wine bottle beside her.
