Mommy, May I

by A. K. Alexander

  A more mature Patrick, with fine lines of crow’s feet around his ice blue eyes, walked out of the barn as she approached it. The combined odors of manure and horse sweat made her wrinkle her nose. “Hey, you’re early!” he called, coming over and greeting her with a hug.

  “I still pretend I’m Mario Andretti.” She pulled away from his embrace.

  Patrick laughed, “Even in that big wheel you’re tooling around these days?” His eye caught hers.

  “Even faster.” She ignored the butterflies dancing in her stomach, feeling like a schoolgirl at her first dance.

  “So, have you seen Frankie yet?”

  “She sent me down here. How’s she doing, anyway?”

  Patrick fiddled with the bridle he was adjusting. “She seems okay. She’s got a strong spirit.” He walked around to the crossties, where a stout gray Quarter horse stood. The mare lowered her head as Patrick unhooked one of the ties, slipping the bit inside her mouth and putting the headstall over her ears. “It’s good that you came up—shows her that you care.”

  Helena crossed her arms in front of her, feeling her face grow hot. “Of course I care. I’m her mother.”

  “I know, I know. I didn’t mean anything by it, only that it was a good move on your part, especially since you two are starting to bond.”

  “Did she tell you that?” Helena watched him gently place the saddle on the horse’s back. He’d always been wonderful with animals.

  Patrick tightened the cinch on the saddle, “Good girl.” He patted the mare. “Duchess is a great old gal, she won’t give you any trouble out there.”

  The knot in Helena’s stomach tightened. “Did Frankie say she was feeling closer to me?” When Helena began stroking Duchess’s face, she dropped her head so Helena could scratch between her ears.

  “Something like that.” Patrick paused and turned to face her. “She loves you, but she doesn’t know how to show it. You have to lead the way. Look, she called you, didn’t she? She didn’t come to me first thing when Leeza called.” He put a hand on Helena’s shoulder. “All I’m saying is that, in your way, let her know that you’re here for her.”

  Her way? What did he mean by that? But before she had a chance to ask, Frankie approached them with the cowboy boots in her hand. “I don’t wear these anymore. I usually only ride English now.” She set the boots down, then pulled her long hair back into a ponytail.

  “Thanks.” Helena struggled to get the boots on. They were tight, but she wasn’t about to complain. Patrick winked at her, and she smiled back. Oh yeah, he still had that charm and, gray around the sides or not, Helena couldn’t deny he was by far one of the most attractive men out there. However, good looks couldn’t replace years of pain.

  A few minutes later, they were ready to go. Patrick yelled after them, “Now don’t be too long, say an hour. I’ve got some steaks to grill.”

  “What else is new?” Frankie mumbled.

  Helena rode alongside her. She could tell her butt would be sore later on. Her horse wasn’t named Duchess for her soft gaits. “Your dad still cooking only the basics?”

  “Every night. He’s a meat and potatoes kind of guy.”

  “There’s another side to your dad, you know.”

  “Like what?” Frankie sounded indignant.

  “He loves opera.”

  “Oh, I know. He plays that screechy stuff every night.”

  “He’s also a big reader, especially the classics.”

  “I know that, too. He reads them all the time. Boring.”

  Helena wanted to turn this pissing contest around, make Frankie laugh some more. This wasn’t supposed to be about one-upping each other. She wanted to build the trust between them. “Then let me ask you this: did you know that he loves escargot?”

  “Snails?”

  Helena nodded.

  “Ooh, sick!”

  They both burst out laughing. The tension dissipated as they rode along the green hills that looked as if they’d been painted from a scene out of The Sound of Music, set against the small beach community. A cool breeze blew up from the turquoise sea below them, while the late afternoon sun beat warmly on their faces, making them feel sleepy but good. Frankie talked about school and which teachers were weird and obnoxious and which ones were cool and how much she enjoyed her drama class. She told her mom about the friends she’d made, and how excited she was about the foals that were about to be born back at the ranch, and the one that already had arrived. They avoided topics that might cause friction, including Leeza.

  Helena shared her plans regarding Shea House and what its purpose would be. “You see, the idea is to help these women get an education and get them out into the workplace so that they can begin to provide for themselves and their children. Like my friend Rachel. She’s working on her G.E.D. right now, and once she’s finished she’d like to go into some type of teaching. Shea House will help her to do that, while providing a home and childcare for her and her baby. Once she’s on her feet in about a year, maybe a little longer, then we’ll help her find housing and really help get her out into the real world.”

  “That’s pretty cool. But can I ask you something?” Frankie said.

  “Sure.”

  “Are you doing all of this because you feel guilty about me?”

  Helena pulled up on Duchess’s reins and stopped. Frankie halted her mare, too. Helena looked out at the ocean as if searching for the right answer. Tears formed in her eyes. She brushed them away. “I guess in a way, you could say that I am. Shea House gives me a chance to be around babies and young children. I missed that with you. But it’s deeper than that. These women need my help, and although I wasn’t pregnant with you when I got so bad on the drugs and alcohol, I was grateful there were people willing to help me. If I can make some amends in this life by helping these girls and their children, that’ll be great. But the goal is to try and provide those in need with a second chance. I got one, and I feel fortunate I did. Look at us. You’ve given me one.” Duchess pawed at the ground. “I think she smells the hay back home.”

  “I’m glad I gave you one, too,” Frankie replied.

  By the time they got back to the ranch, Helena felt good about things. After putting their horses away, she walked up to Frankie and hugged her tight, as she’d wanted to when she’d arrived. Frankie didn’t flinch. “I want you to know that I love you. Because of the past, I’m sure you wonder, but I really do. Always have. I’m going to do my best to make things right between us.”

  Frankie had tears in her eyes when she said, “I know, Mom.”

  “I’ll be here for you from now on.” Helena hugged Frankie again. They were so much alike, with strong exteriors masking their vulnerabilities.

  As they walked to the house hand in hand, Helena vowed to protect this girl—her daughter—knowing she was lucky to get this second chance.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  When the girls came into the kitchen, Patrick saw that Helena’s arm was around Frankie. Obviously things were easier between them. Seeing them like that together took the cap off the pressure-cooker of guilt he’d been feeling for so long. It didn’t alleviate all of it, but enough to make him feel pretty damn good.

  “This place doesn’t smell like any steakhouse I’ve ever been in,” Helena said, wiping her hands on her dirt-stained jeans.

  “Yeah, Dad, what gives? It smells like Pepe’s down the street.”

  Patrick held his hands up. “You caught me. Welcome to Pat’s Place, where we make the best pasta in town.”

  “Ooh!” Frankie said. “Dad only makes spaghetti on Christmas Eve or for really special people.”

  “You know, Helena, she gets that from you.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The smart-alek attitude.”

  Frankie smiled. Patrick couldn’t recall seeing his daughter this happy in a very long time. Having Helena in the house somehow felt right. He watched her as she and Frankie set the table. She was more beautiful than ever. The ha
rd years hadn’t defeated her, but he’d always known she was strong-willed.

  When they sat at the table, he stretched out his arms and took Helena’s hands. Her eyes widened.

  “Prayer,” Frankie said.

  Helena’s hand gripped Patrick’s hand back. He bowed his head as an electric sensation traveled throughout his body. He closed his eyes, wondering if she felt it. “Dear Lord, thank you for this lovely day, this food, and for Helena’s visit. Please bless this dinner and help it to nourish our bodies. Amen.” He lifted up his head. “You start, Lena.” Patrick handed her the bowl of pasta. She didn’t take it right away—she looked at him, her brow furrowed.

  “Like today, Mom? We’re all hungry.”

  Helena took the pasta bowl. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  Patrick watched her hands shake as she scooped out the spaghetti. “You okay?”

  She nodded, but he could tell she was upset about something. What could it be? She didn’t say much during the dinner, and Patrick racked his brain trying to figure out why she was being so quiet.

  “Will you excuse me?” Helena asked. “I need to go to the restroom.”

  “Sure,” Patrick said. Once she left, he looked over at Frankie working on a second serving. “Did something happen while you two were setting the table?”

  “What? No. Why?” Frankie made a face, her mouth full of spaghetti.

  “It looks like your mom’s upset about something. She seemed fine when you came in, but now it’s like, I don’t know. Did I say something out of the ordinary?”

  Frankie shrugged. “Really?” She set down her fork and leaned back in the chair. “I don’t know. I’m starting to feel really good about things. She’s hip. Her charity thing is way cool, and she’s a killer lady. I never thought that before, but I’m changing my opinion, you know.”

  “Well then, I can’t figure it out, everything was going so well.”

  “Oh, duh, I might know. It’s a no brainer, Dad.” Frankie smacked her forehead with her palm. “You two want to hook up again. You’re totally into her, that’s obvious, and she’s not sure what to do. I mean, you called her Lena during dinner.”

  Frankie rolled her eyes, making him feel dumber than he already did, knowing she could be right. The problem probably had been his calling her Lena—his pet name for her when they’d been lovers. It had slipped out. With her here in his home, the comfort of it all made the name fall off his lips with ease. “You really think that was it?”

  “God, Dad. I’m not Dr. Laura, you know, but you caused her to remember the past, and there’s still feelings there. Remember when I found the letter that you wrote to her right after I was born? Asking her to forgive you?”

  “Yeah, the one I never sent.”

  “In it, you called her Lena, and I asked you about it. Jeez Dad. Why don’t you ask her out?”

  “We’re just friends. It wouldn’t be right.”

  “Whatever.” Frankie averted her eyes.

  Helena walked back into the dining room and sat back down, smiling at them. “I’m sorry. I had something in my eye.”

  Frankie started to cough and laugh at the same time. Patrick glared at her.

  “You okay?” Helena asked.

  “Yep.” Frankie stood. “I’m done. Besides, I think you two need some time alone. I’ll do the dishes.”

  “No, that’s okay. I’ll help,” Helena protested.

  “But you hardly even touched your food,” Frankie said.

  “I don’t know what it is, maybe the ride, but my stomach is kind of queasy.” As Helena walked past Patrick with her plate in her hand, he grabbed her by the other wrist. “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “I’m sorry about earlier,” Patrick said.

  “About what?”

  She was still a bad liar. “About what I called you.”

  “Oh Gosh, didn’t even faze me. No big deal.”

  “You sure?”

  “Positive.” She stared blankly at him.

  “Maybe we do need to talk. There’re some things I’d like to say.” Her lack of emotion was disconcerting. Was she simply trying to hide from the feelings he was sure were still there? At least he felt them.

  “Patrick, not tonight okay? I’m enjoying myself and don’t want to wreck it by discussing the past.”

  His gut sank. “What about the future?”

  “What are you talking about? All I know is that we have a daughter to raise. I’m grateful you’ve let me back into her life, I really am. But if you think that includes you back on a level other than friendship, you’re wrong. I did that once, and look where it got us.”

  Her blank look turned to one of anger. He dropped her wrist. Now it was his turn to feel like crying. Patrick hadn’t realized how strongly he still yearned for Helena until tonight.

  He remembered the first time he’d called her Lena. They’d been in Italy that night. They’d heard La Traviata at La Scala. He’d held her hand loosely, as if they’d been a couple forever, completely meant for each other. It was easy being with her, unlike his high-strung wife.

  Each time he looked at her, he’d tried to forget she was only seventeen. He’d never felt happier. Leeza was at home running the business and partying with the LA crowd. Patrick spent most of his time in Manhattan. Only their fourth year of marriage, but he couldn’t make her happy. He’d wanted a baby, thinking that might bring them closer, but he was in love with Lena. If it hadn’t been for her age…

  Patrick took his plate into the kitchen, wondering if Frankie was right. Regardless of what Helena had told him, there did seem to be feelings there. He knew that he had them, and if calling her Lena had caused such a stir in her, perhaps it proved that she also had feelings for him. Could he be that lucky? Could they be a family together? He hoped secretly it was a possibility.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  On her way back home, Helena dialed Tim’s number on her cell-phone. She needed to talk to someone who would understand. The night had been successful in many ways. She was overjoyed that she and Frankie had made a real connection. But she’d been disturbed that Patrick still had romantic feelings for her. It was a problem she was not sure she was ready for or could handle.

  Tim would hassle her. He’d told her that he thought they should get back together, loving the idea of romances rekindled and one big happy family. He picked up on the third ring. She checked her watch. It was already ten-thirty—an hour away from home yet.

  “Hey, lovey,” he yawned.

  “Were you sleeping?”

  “No, relaxing. A friend of mine just left. He had to go home to the other half, if you know what I mean.”

  “Uh-huh.” Though Helena knew full well the pain that cheating caused, it was Tim’s life, and he reveled in all its sensationalism.

  “What’s up, cutie pie? You sound disturbed. Did something happen at the ranch?”

  “You could say that.”

  “Did you get into your ex’s pants?”

  “Nothing like that.”

  “Then why all the tension in your voice?”

  Helena paused before replying. “He called me Lena tonight.” Tim would know the significance of that. They’d had many talks about her nights with Patrick.

  “No! He still loves you! What are you going to do about it?”

  “I don’t think that’s it. A simple slip up, that’s all. I mean, what am I supposed to do?”

  “Tell me something, and you know I’ll never reveal your secret.”

  “What?” She was afraid to hear the question.

  “How do you feel about him? Really? What is your gut saying?”

  “Tim, I have no idea. I’ve spent so many years trying not to feel anything about Patrick. I’m pretty mixed up.”

  “I can see we need another therapy session. Do you want me to meet you at your house tonight?”

  “Not this late. Besides, I’ve still got to run the dog. I didn’t have time earlier today.”

  “Are you sur
e? I don’t mind. I’m worried about that nasty ex of his sending out another goon after you.”

  “And that’s why I love you so much. You’re a wonderful friend. But no, get some sleep.”

  “I don’t suppose I need to bother harping on you about caution, because I know it won’t do me any good to try and help.”

  “Nope. You can chat me up about it in the morning.”

  “I’ll bring the lattes.”

  “You’d better.”

  Helena clicked off the phone with the question of the day banging in her head—how did she really feel about Patrick?

  No sooner than she’d set down the phone did it ring again. Surely, it was Tim calling back to razz her some more. “I said we’d talk about it in the morning.”

  “Helena?” It was a woman’s voice.

  “Yes.”

  “Hi, it’s me, Lindsay from The Sober Living House, and we’ve been trying to reach you for the last hour.”

  “I’m on the road. What’s up? Is something wrong?”

  Helena could hear it in Lindsay’s voice. It crackled when she spoke next, “Yes, yes, something is. A little over an hour ago, I received a call from the UCLA burn center. Rachel was burned pretty badly in a fire this evening.”

  “What? Oh, my God. Where? The baby? What about the baby? Oh God. Is she okay?” Helena tried hard to stay on the road as her vision blurred, not believing what she’d heard.

  “The baby was here. I was taking care of him. She told me she was going to walk over to the new place, you know your place, Shea House, and check it out. She was all excited about it.”

  “I know, I know. Tell me what happened?” Her heart was beating so fast it hurt.

  “Apparently she got inside somehow and was looking around when the building . . . when the building . . .”

  “When the building WHAT, Lindsay?!” Helena screamed into the phone, a panic rising in her like she’d never known before.

  “The front part of the building, the part Rachel was in, blew. It blew up, Helena. They don’t know if she’ll make it.” Helena could hear Lindsey crying. “They don’t know if Rachel is going to live.”