Bad Girl

by T. E. Woods

  “Can you let him have these moments with her? To simply savor the delight of having his mother close enough to touch?”

  Clay took a deep breath. “Forgive me. This must press all kinds of buttons for you. I don’t mean to bring you any pain. I imagine you’d be floating on cloud nine if your birth mother breezed in.”

  “At least for a while. Then I’d have questions.”

  Clay’s face grew grim. “I know I’ve got more than my share.”

  “Has she always known you were in Madison?”

  “Miranda left us about a month after Steel was born. After that, he and I went back to live on my folks’ ranch. She sent a card or two those first couple years. Nothing after that. Steel and I moved to Madison after I graduated from college. We never heard a thing from her in all those years. Apparently, Miranda reached out to my mother last week. Asked if she knew where Steel was.”

  “And your mother told her?”

  “No reason not to. My mother’s not one to hold a grudge. She’d just gotten a call from Steel. He told her he was coming to Madison and asked her not to ruin the surprise. According to Mom, next call she gets is from Miranda. She was so stunned she let it slip that he was heading this way. Gave her Steel’s phone number. Steel says they spoke on the phone several times. Skyped, even. Miranda told him it was time they got together and, of course, he didn’t object.”

  “And he never mentioned anything to you?”

  “What can I tell you? My son likes the grand gesture.”

  The look on his face suggested Steel’s latest may have put Clay off surprises for life.

  “She say anything about where she’s been? What her plans are?”

  Clay took a long sip from his coffee. “She had plenty to say. I wasn’t listening much. I kept my focus on Steel. Looking to see where he was in all this. Trying to predict what blindsides might be headed his way.”

  “He’s an adult, Clay.”

  “He’s my son. He doesn’t know Miranda the way I do. At least the way I thought I did.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  He waited before responding, as though trying to find the right words for the maelstrom of thoughts swirling through his head. “She’s…different. Way different. And not simply the kind that can be explained by twenty years passing. Even the way she looks.”

  “As I said, she’s exquisite.”

  “Miranda always was a beauty. But in a homespun, wide-eyed way. You spent a few minutes with her last night. Anything about her seem corn-fed and innocent?”

  Sydney recalled the near-platinum blonde standing tall in a sweeping black designer coat. Cosmetics perfectly applied. Posture self-assured and poised. “I would have bet she just flew in from Paris or New York.”

  “Exactly. And the way she spoke. Even that was new. Polished. Informed.”

  “You went to college. I’m sure that rubbed some of the sagebrush out of you. Maybe the same thing’s true for Miranda.”

  His skepticism was evident. “This is something more. Something she learned. Like she made the conscious decision to become someone other than the girl who walked away from her newborn son.”

  And you, Clay. She walked away from you, too.

  “From what little you’ve told me about Miranda back in those days, might that be a good thing? Her making the decision to change, I mean.”

  He thought for a moment. “Maybe. But I’ve got a lifetime of knowing Miranda. And only about a twenty-minute taste of this new version. I think I’ll take my time making up my mind.”

  “Any idea what her plans are?”

  “Last night was mostly Steel trying to impress her with his latest adventure. Miranda was always one who loved the road. The two of them are kindred spirits that way, I guess.” Disgust dripped from his voice. “She did say she looked forward to hearing each and every detail Steel was willing to share about all those years she missed.”

  “I’m sure he’ll like that.”

  “Yeah. Until the next itch needs scratching and she’s gone again.”

  “Will she be staying with you?”

  Clay jerked back as though a pail of lit gasoline had been tossed his way. “At my home? No way. Steel offered it, of course, but Miranda told him she’d already checked into The Edgewater. I didn’t even need to come up with an excuse.”

  “The Edgewater? That’s the most expensive hotel in town.” Sydney recalled the expensive outfit Miranda wore the previous night. “Whatever she’s been up to, it must be lucrative.”

  Clay’s brow furrowed. “Yeah. That’s another thing that’s different about her. Miranda never cared about money. She was always a free spirit. Drawn to the road. Never one to follow rules or do whatever anybody else expected her to, even if it meant getting paid. But everything about her last night seemed to drip money.”

  “She have any explanation for that?”

  “Not one I was ready to hear. She invited Steel and me back to her hotel. I begged off. Told them I needed to close the Low Down, but truth was I’d had my fill of Miranda for one night. She and Steel went. He was in bed at my place when I left this morning. At least he was still my boy enough to remember his way home.”

  “Is that what you’re worried about, Clay? That something’s going to happen and Steel’s not going to be yours anymore?”

  He stared out the window for a few seconds before answering. “I know Miranda Greer, Sydney. She brings a whirlwind with her. It’s exciting at first, but before long you realize it’s nothing but a tornado. And a tornado’s nature is to destroy everything—and everyone—in its path.”

  Chapter 6

  SIXTEEN YEARS AGO

  Miranda looked out the window and frowned when Alden York parked his car in front of a gray stone building. “You bringin’ me to church? If you are, I’ll thank you again for the breakfast and take my leave right here. I’m not fallin’ for that whole Jesus loves you song and dance. Tried it before. Didn’t make any sense to me then, don’t now.”

  Alden wore the kindly smile he’d had when he started talking to her back at the diner. The same warm demeanor that had lulled her into thinking it would be okay to get into a car with a man she’d just met. Still, she glanced over at the door to make sure he hadn’t clicked an automatic lock.

  “What about church bothers you?” he asked.

  “No offense if it’s your thing, but I got problems with the whole swindle. Gather folks who got empty stomachs and even emptier pockets. Fill ’em full of some horseshit…” She immediately regretted swearing. Alden was obviously a man not used to rough talk. “Sorry. Fill ’em full of bullcrap about some old guy in the sky who wants you to hang in there, keep on keepin’ on, keep on trustin’ in nothin’ and givin’ whatever couple pennies you got left over at the end of the week to his salesmen and BINGO! Get ready for that big payoff in paradise once you turn up your boots. No thank you. I’d rather take my chances on a carny barker. Leastwise there you get a little entertainment.”

  Alden chuckled. “It’s refreshing to meet someone who knows their own mind as well as you. But, would you indulge me, Miranda? This is a church. Still I promise you it’s unlike any you’ve ever encountered. And I also promise the rewards offered here have nothing to do with waiting until, as you put it, you turn up your boots. The work this church does is more important to me than my company. As important as my family.” He pulled his wallet from his pocket. “Here.” He showed her a twenty dollar bill. “Give me thirty minutes. I’ll pay you for your time. If, after you’ve met with Bishop Fulcraft…”

  “Bishop Who now? You plan on suckerin’ me in to becomin’ some sort of nun?”

  “It’s his title. Nothing more. I’m content to reap the benefits of this church. He’s much better at explaining it. One half hour, Miranda. Then go your way knowing you can afford breakfast again tomorrow.” His eyes twink
led. “With enough left to leave a generous tip.”

  Miranda stared at the currency in Alden’s hand and let her mind spin at the haul she could make at garage sales with that kind of coin in her pocket. She’d beat her sales from Big Rapids for sure. Might even be able to run that twenty up to a hundred bucks in bracelet sales by the time the Ann Arbor festival was over.

  She plucked the money from his fingers, then looked at the clock on his dashboard. “Thirty minutes starting now.”

  * * *

  —

  Seven of those minutes were gone by the time a birdlike woman with short gray hair ushered them through double doors into an office bigger than the front parlor of the house Miranda grew up in. A man stood when they entered, stepping from behind a gigantic glass desk that looked like it was lit from within. Miranda made him out to be a little younger than Alden York. But this guy didn’t look old at all. Alden wore the comfortable clothes that men who’ve given up the fitness battle do. He wore his hair short and had eyeglasses like a seventh-grade science teacher. The guy in front of the desk hadn’t given up on anything. He was very tall, at least six foot six. Broad shoulders. Flat stomach. Thick dark hair with just enough gray at the tips to let you know he was serious. His skin was smooth, like he wasn’t afraid of moisturizer. His gray suit was dark enough you had to look twice to make sure it wasn’t black. His silver tie glistened a bit in the light from the desk. But as impressive as this man’s looks were—and Miranda had to admit she never would have thought a man pushing forty could be sexy—it was his eyes that overpowered everything. They were ice blue. Same as her own. Large, with heavy dark lashes. And so focused that Miranda instinctively looked down to make sure she wasn’t standing there stark naked.

  “Good morning, Alden,” the man said. “Always a pleasure. And who am I fortunate enough to be meeting?”

  Alden made the introductions. Miranda liked the strong grip Bishop Denton J. Fulcraft put on her hand when he shook it.

  “Montana?” he said. “You’re a long way from home, Miranda. What brings you to Ann Arbor?”

  “The road. I guess you could say I’m out to see what I can see.”

  The bishop’s smile was as warm as Alden’s. “You traveling alone?”

  A small warning zinged through Miranda’s body. “Meetin’ folks along the way.” She turned to the man who’d saved her from hunger that morning. “Like Alden here. He’s good people.”

  “He certainly is. He’s also a good judge of character. The fact he’s brought you to me says he thinks highly of you.”

  “Let’s get one thing clear,” she said. “He didn’t bring me to you. He’s payin’ me twenty bucks to listen to your get right with God spiel. Then I’ll be headin’ on down the road. Much obliged, of course, for his kindness.”

  Fulcraft pointed to two chairs. “Well, then, since the clock is ticking, we’d best get on with it.” He resumed his own place behind his glass desk. “Tell me, Miranda. Why are you alive?”

  She shrugged. “My mom and dad got busy one night. Nine months later here I was.”

  Fulcraft smiled. “That’s the how of you being alive. I asked why.”

  “I dunno. There gotta be a reason?”

  The bishop considered her question. “You’ve heard of survival instinct, haven’t you?”

  She assured him she had.

  “People will claw through ten feet of dirt and sand to take their next breath. Kittens wrapped in a sack and thrown into the river will find a way to live. Even plants…little sprigs of ivy…will split solid rock to burst forth into the sun. That seems a lot of effort to accomplish something that has no reason. What’s yours, Miranda? Why are you alive?”

  She squirmed in discomfort. She’d not thought of any reason bigger than what to do on any given afternoon.

  “Maybe not to be bored,” she ventured.

  Fulcraft’s eyes lit even brighter. “I like that answer! The reason you’re alive is to not be bored. Yes. I quite like it. Tell me. What keeps you from being bored?”

  She shrugged again. “New stuff. New people. Learnin’ new things. Seein’ new places. Hearin’ a sweet piece of music that makes me feel somethin’ I ain’t never felt before. Kinda hard to be bored when you got something like that rockin’.”

  “I imagine it would be. How do you pay for all this boredom shirking?”

  “Shirking?” she asked.

  “Avoidance. I imagine it takes money to travel from place to place to see new things, meet new people, hear new music. How do you make that happen?”

  “If this is your way of askin’ if I’m on the street like that Mary Margalone in the Bible, I can tell you I ain’t no whore.”

  “Mary Magdalene wasn’t, either. She was a devoted follower of Christ. She believed in Him when others doubted.”

  Miranda liked the forcefulness of his defense of the ancient woman. “I sell jewelry. I make it and I sell it.”

  “She’s quite resourceful,” Alden York chimed in. “She’s already taught me how to cut my manufacturing costs should I ever decide to expand into the bracelet business.”

  “An eager teacher,” Fulcraft noted.

  “Indeed,” Alden agreed.

  “Would you like to have lots of money, Miranda?” Fulcraft asked her. “Never have to worry about what anything costs ever again? Be able to share your generosity?”

  Her heart skipped. She’d never have anything to offer Steel.

  “I ain’t got a family,” she said.

  A look of sadness clouded Fulcraft’s face. “That breaks my heart. I know to some people family can be a very painful word. Still, I can’t tell you how much pleasure I receive from giving to those I hold dear.” He paused. “You’ve heard the saying, Blessed are the poor, for they shall inherit the kingdom of heaven?”

  Here it comes, she thought. A few more minutes of the pitch and I’ll be on my way.

  “I have. Suppose it means mind my place, eat the dirt that gets served me, be a good little girl. Don’t cause no trouble and I get one of those split-level mansions on Street of Gold Boulevard when I die. Did I get that right?”

  She couldn’t read the look on Fulcraft’s face. “That may be one way to interpret it. But what if the word inherit meant something else? What if it meant birthright? What if God was trying to tell us this entire creation is ours for the taking? That we’re meant to seize it. Capture it. Enjoy it.”

  “It?”

  “Everything, Miranda,” Alden added. “Look around at all the beauty in the world. It’s ours! It was made for us.”

  “And I’m supposed to just take it?” she asked. “Ain’t they got laws against that kind of stuff?”

  “There are laws, to be certain,” Fulcraft stated. “But they exist more to manage our abundance than to keep it from us. It’s all here for you. Every dollar, every gem, every home, every pretty new dress. It exists for you. All you have to do is know how to take it.”

  A heat flickered in her gut. She thought of the three-room shack back in Montana. How embarrassed she’d been for kids in school to know that was where she lived. She remembered the time in fourth grade Olive Stallish teased her about the new sweater Miranda had gotten for her birthday. It turned out to be the exact garment Olive’s mother had donated to Goodwill not two weeks earlier. She even flashed on Betsy, the short-lived Big Sister from back in grade school. Miranda remembered how Betsy had taken her to the Dairy Queen after they’d gone for a long walk down by the reservoir. Betsy had reached into her wallet and paid for their cones without blinking an eye.

  Then she thought about the ladies’ room at the Ann Arbor public library. Sponge baths with rough paper towels and soap so harsh it left red marks on her skin. Not even Alden’s twenty bucks would buy her out of that.

  “I don’t know how to take it,” she whispered. “I don’t know what to do.�
��

  Bishop Denton J. Fulcraft pulled himself up out of his chair. Alden York did the same. The two men came to stand on either side of Miranda. They each laid a hand on her shoulder.

  Fulcraft’s words were sweet as honey. “We’ll teach you, my dear.”

  Chapter 7

  “What about a little charm?” Ronnie asked as they walked through Hilldale, the open-air shopping mall. “You could engrave it with something special that will bring a tear to her eye each time she looks at it.”

  “When’s the last time you saw Nancy Richardson wear a necklace?” Sydney asked. “Her wedding ring and the gold button earrings Dad got her for their fifteenth wedding anniversary. That’s it for my mom as relates to jewelry. It’s like this every year. What in the world do you get a woman who deserves it all but wishes for none of it?”

  “What did you get her last year?”

  Sydney winced. “A subscription to a spa. A massage and facial every month. I’m sure she hasn’t used one of them. What was I thinking?”

  “You were thinking you put the wrong tag on that gift. You sure you didn’t mean that one for me?”

  Sydney laughed. “You just made my Christmas shopping easier.” She paused in front of a store window. “How about something like this for Mom?” She pointed to a pink lingerie set: a lacy thong and barely there bra. “Think she’d like that?”

  “You have no time for joking, Sydney. Christmas is two weeks away. I’ve set aside this Saturday especially for us to get busy. I intend to be sipping a cocktail by five-thirty, happy in knowing my gift-buying is complete. What are you thinking for Horst?”

  “Already done, packaged, and wrapped. You know how proud he is of his German heritage?”

  “I’ve seen the lederhosen.” The two women kept walking.

  “I hired a genealogy researcher back in August. She traced his family on both sides. Got his mother’s back to the twelfth century and a hundred years on his dad’s. She found photos, documents, newspapers, a whole treasure trove of family material. I had them bound into a book. He’s going to melt when he sees it.”