by Amity Hope
“Thank you.” With my head held high and my attitude still in place I began retreating down the hallway. I stopped before I was spilled out into the lobby. “There’s one more thing.”
Steven stopped walking and turned to face me.
“And what would that be?” he dourly asked.
“Eric never finds out I was the one who took care of the bill.”
I hurried across the lobby and burst out the front doors that led to the parking lot.
I quickly scanned for the beat up truck I’d seen him sitting in front of the day he’d lost his keys.
It was already gone.
Chapter 5
“How are things going with you and your mom?” Clara asked.
I paused, nail polish brush held mid swipe. I glanced at her but she continued polishing her own nails.
“Better, I guess.”
Clara finished up her pinky nail and leaned back against the couch. We were sitting on the living room floor. A romantic comedy was playing in the background. It was one we’d seen countless times. Neither of us were really paying any attention to it.
“You guess.” She said the words flatly. “Have you talked to her?”
I went back to painting my nails. “I talk to her every day.”
“That’s not what I mean and you know it. Have you really talked to her? Have you told her what’s bothering you?”
I tried to keep my expression impassive as I continued to paint my nails. In a moment of weakness last spring, I’d bared my soul to Clara.
I had poured out my heart and filled her in on why I felt such animosity toward my mother and Phillip. I had thought that after that night, the issue would never be brought up again.
I was wrong.
“I ran into your mom on my way in here,” Clara continued when I didn’t say anything. “She was actually really nice to me. She asked how my family was doing. She even—”
“How is your brother?” I asked. He’d recently gotten a concussion during his Little League game.
“He’s fine,” she said in a grumpy tone. “And don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. We’re not changing the subject. We’re talking about you and your mom.”
I brushed on another layer of polish, finishing up my pinky nail. I twisted the cap back on the bottle. There wasn’t much else I could do. I leaned against the chair that was behind me. I looked at Clara over the top of the coffee table.
She was wearing her stubborn face.
“Things are better, I promise,” I said. It was true. When I’d first been forced to move in with Mom and Phillip, I’d been resentful. I hadn’t wanted to leave my hometown or my grandparents. Losing my dad had really messed me up and quite frankly, there wasn’t a whole lot that made me happy when I’d first arrived in Roseville. Least of all, my mother.
I realized that Clara was watching me with raised eyebrows.
I blew out a sigh. “Okay. Fine. Things are better but they’re not great. I mean, how am I supposed to get over the fact that she just walked out on Dad and me? She cheated on my dad. With Phillip. And I’m supposed to live under the same roof as him? And smile at him, be polite to him? Act like I have any respect for him? She left us. She left us so she could start a new family, with her new husband. Ten years went by and I barely saw her. Now I’m forced to live with her. And okay, yeah, I understand why. What I don’t understand is why she is trying so hard to change me. Nothing I do is ever good enough for her. Or quite right. We’d both be happier if she would’ve just let me stay with my grandparents.”
I stopped talking when I realized I’d said way more than I’d ever meant to say.
Clara shook her head. “That’s almost exactly what you said last spring. It doesn’t sound like things are better at all. But you know what? They’re not going to get better unless you talk to her about this.”
“Stop psychoanalyzing me,” I grumbled.
She slapped her hand against the coffee table. “That’s not a bad idea. Therapy. Family therapy for both of you. Maybe all of you.”
“No…Just…no,” I said firmly as I got to my feet. I wandered toward the kitchen. I wasn’t the least bit hungry. I just couldn’t think of a faster way to leave the conversation.
“Okay. Then start with something small. I really think you should’ve gone away with her this weekend.”
I shook my head. “She’d insist on buying me clothes I’ll never wear. I know this, because I already have a closet full of clothes I’ll never wear. She’ll want to buy me perfume and insanely expensive purses that cost almost as much as my dad’s paychecks used to be. It’s all just such a waste.”
Everything I’d said to Clara was true. But it wasn’t even all of it. Part of me resented Mom for living here, in this huge house. For having what seemed like an endless supply of money to spend.
Dad’s treatment had come at an astronomical price. The last few years, we’d scrimped, we’d saved. I’d never asked him for a penny. The school clothes, purses, and jewelry that Mom sent got traded in at a high scale consignment store. I’d turn around and shop at Goodwill. Then I’d use the money that was left over to buy my lunch, pay for my school field trips, and all of the other things I would’ve counted on Dad for if he hadn’t been sick.
He never had any idea I’d done that. He would’ve hated it. But it made me feel like less of a burden. For years we’d barely scraped by and Mom had been living in her fancy house, driving her fancy car, getting her fancy hair and nails done.
Now? Now I hated the idea of overpriced clothes and fancy jewelry. They seemed so pointless and wasteful. I knew that the money could be so much better spent.
I pulled the cupboard door open, not having any idea what I was looking for. I shuffled a few boxes of crackers around.
Roscoe heard me rummaging for food. The Golden Retriever lifted himself off of his enormous pillow bed. He waddled over to me, tail wagging, nose sniffing.
“Hey, boy,” I said. I abandoned my pretend search for a snack. I reached for the cookie jar that held his doggie treats.
He immediately sat on his haunches and silently begged.
As if I wouldn’t give it to him.
With a smile I fed him his treat. Then I knelt down and gave him an all over body scratch.
Dad and I had picked Roscoe out of a litter shortly after Mom left. Looking back, I thought it was kind of comical that Dad had replaced Mom with a dog. But Roscoe had given us a much needed distraction back then.
I loved this dog.
Mom hated this dog.
And every other dog.
It had been a point of contention when she insisted I come to live with her. There was no way she was going to let a dog live in her house. There was no way I was going to leave my grandparents—where I’d stayed briefly after Dad’s death—without Roscoe.
For a few weeks, as I continued to attend the school in my hometown, I had thought that Roscoe would be my salvation. I had thought that because of him, Mom would let me continue to live with my dad’s parents.
I was wrong.
She’d very hesitantly offered to let Roscoe and I live in the pool house.
I knew she hated the thought of me living out here. She thought we should all be living under one roof. Minus Roscoe, of course.
In the end I decided the arrangement was better than I’d hoped for. If given a choice (I hadn’t been) I would’ve stayed with my grandparents. The thought of moving in with Mom and her new family had been overwhelming. Living in the pool house, where I had a bit of privacy and my furry friend made it seem a little less overwhelming.
When I tired of scratching and rubbing, Roscoe hoisted himself off the floor. He wandered back to his pillow and flopped down with a grunt.
I returned to my spot in the living room. Clara was waving her hands through the air, trying to dry them.
If she returned to the topic of my mother, I was going to have to develop a craving for popcorn. Made in a loud air popper.
I dropped down on
the sofa and briefly turned my attention to the movie.
“Are you going to call Eric?” Clara asked.
I was grateful she changed the subject but I hadn’t been expecting her to ask that.
I had looked the Zierdens up. Their phone number had been pretty easy to find. I had the number memorized. I just hadn’t worked up the guts to use it.
“Probably not,” I admitted.
“Why?”
“For one thing, I don’t think Eric would appreciate me checking up on him. I guess I don’t know from personal experience but I’ve always been under the impression guys don’t like attention called to their moments of weakness.
“Getting nailed with a football, inadvertently causing major damage, and getting fired in front of a group of people? That qualified as a moment of weakness in my eyes.
“You don’t have to make a big deal out of what happened,” Clara pointed out.
She was right. I didn’t have to address what had happened at all.
“You could call to see how he’s doing.”
She was right again. I was wondering how he was doing. I was wondering how bad his injuries had been. All that shattered glass…
I shook my head. “Nope. I can’t do it.”
“Why not?!” She laughed and tossed a throw pillow at me. I batted it away. It landed near Roscoe’s head. He cracked an eye open but didn’t budge.
“Calling a guy I barely know is so far out of my comfort zone. Would you do it? I know you wouldn’t.”
She made a playfully pouty face. “You’re right. But that’s because I’ve never even been on a date before. I’ve never even really talked to a guy before. What’s your excuse?”
“I barely know him. And I don’t want him to think I’m a stalker because I looked up his foster parents’ phone number.” I thought it sounded like a pretty good excuse. It was easy to talk to him when we’d bumped into each other. I just wasn’t comfortable tracking him down.
“People look up phone numbers all the time. That’s the purpose of a phone book. Why did you look it up in the first place if you weren’t going to use it?”
“I was feeling brave,” I joked.
“And now you’ve become gutless?”
“Exactly.”
* * *
“Did you have a nice time with Clara?” Mom asked.
“Yes.” I wiggled my fingernails in front of her face. I had to admit that even I liked the color. She gave me a small smile but it looked genuine.
“Pretty,” she said. She glanced across the yard to check on the girls. They were playing on their swing set. Mom insisted I sit down to visit while she drank her morning coffee.
“Clara really liked the organic grapefruit facial that you bought,” I said.
“I’m glad someone enjoyed it,” she said lightly.
“Oh, I used it too. It was nice. It smells great. So…thanks.”
“Is it safe to assume that since you spent this entire past weekend with Clara that you have next weekend free?”
I felt my facial expression freeze. I should’ve seen this coming.
She sighed and gave me a rueful glance. “Did I catch you off guard? Do you not have an excuse readily available? If spending time with me is so deplorable, just say so.”
She didn’t sound mad, she simply sounded hurt.
For some reason, that made me angry. After what she put Dad and I through she didn’t have the right to try to make me feel bad.
“Why do you care?” I asked. “Why now? All those years I lived with Dad, wasn’t I kind of out of sight, out of mind?”
“That’s not fair, EmLynn. You made the choice to stay with your father. It was always a struggle to get you to even visit. When you did, you made darn sure we all knew that you didn’t want to be here.”
“That’s because I didn’t want to be here. Why would I want to be? Was I supposed to enjoy coming here, knowing that you left Dad and I for this?” I flung my hand out, indicating the ridiculously large house with its private pool, perfect lawn, and sprawling gardens.
“I didn’t leave your father for this,” she imitated my action, motioning to the estate. “I left your father because—”
She abruptly cut herself off.
“No, Mom, go on. You’ve never really given me a reason.” In all fairness, I was probably too young to hear it when she left. As I got older, I didn’t want to hear it. But now I did.
“I left your father because I love Phillip. I have always loved Phillip. It wouldn’t have been fair of me to stay with your father. He wouldn’t have wanted me to,” she said softly.
I shook my head. “That’s not true. Dad loved you. He would’ve done anything to have you stay. When you left, you broke him. He got sick—that first time—just months after you’d gone.”
“I had no way of knowing your dad was sick when I left. Even after he found out, he kept it from me. I think he was afraid I’d insist on taking you. I don’t think I would have,” she offered as a side note. “I knew it was my fault the family was breaking up. I didn’t want to put either of you through any more than I already had. When he told me he wanted you to stay with him, and when that’s what you told me you wanted, I didn’t argue.”
“You could have come back,” I grated out. “You could have come back to us when you found out how sick he was. I’ve read reports on how much a positive attitude can affect your health. He was miserable without you. You completely ruined him.”
She quietly assessed me. I wanted to squirm under her scrutiny but I held still, holding my gaze steady.
“You blame me for his death, don’t you?”
I knew that’s what I’d been implying but even I knew how cruel it would be to say the words out loud. Instead, I shrugged. “All I know is that you were living here, where everything was handed to you. Where you lived in happy oblivion while he was dying. While he spent every day fighting for his life. You went on living yours like we didn’t even matter to you.”
“He wouldn’t have wanted me to come back. Not out of pity.”
“How about out of love?”
She pursed her lips and remained silent. I knew what she wasn’t saying. She didn’t love my dad.
“Did you ever love him?” I choked out. I hadn’t meant to start crying. Certainly hadn’t wanted to start crying. But the tears came regardless.
“Of course I did,” she said quietly. “At one time I loved him very much.”
“Then what happened?” I slumped down in my chair. I didn’t want to hear it. “Never mind. I know what happened. He came along.”
We both knew I was talking about Phillip.
“Yes,” she said quietly, “Phillip and I reconnected. I don’t know how much you know, or how much you think you know, but Phillip is the love of my life. I’m sorry if it hurts to hear that, but it’s the truth. We started dating in high school. We went our separate ways when we went off to college. I met your father, fell in love, had you. I was happy.”
“Until you weren’t,” I accused. “What changed?”
She glanced out at the yard again. It appeared she was checking on the twins but I thought really she was collecting her thoughts.
Finally she said, “I came back to Roseville to visit a friend. While I was here, I ran into Phillip. We reconnected.” She hung her head, looking ashamed for a moment, then she raised her gaze to meet mine. “I didn’t tell him I was married. I’m not going to go into all of the details about what happened back then. Just know this: Phillip is an honorable man.”
I let out a contemptuous laugh.
She ignored me.
“I may have been unfaithful to your father emotionally, but that’s all. As soon as Phillip found out from our mutual friend about you and your father, he backed off. He sent me back home. But I just couldn’t stop thinking about him. All of those emotions from so many years ago came flooding to the surface. I couldn’t break free of them.”
I flicked at the frayed hem of my shorts. I was feign
ing disinterest because it was too hard to admit that I really did want to know what happened. It felt disloyal to listen to Mom’s side of the story now that Dad wasn’t here to tell his.
“I know you were too young to remember, but your father and I were having problems long before Phillip came back into my life. Your father came from a small family. He only wanted one child. I wanted more. I missed my friends and family. I wanted to move back to Roseville. Before we got married, that had been the plan. Once he was hired at his accounting firm he changed his mind. There were other things, but I’m not going to go into that. I just want you to know that Phillip is not the villain here.
“When I left your father, I did so without Phillip’s knowledge.” She was quiet as she let that sink in. “Em, he was my first love. Nobody ever forgets their first love. I’m not saying that what I did was right. I didn’t mean to fall out of love with your father.”
“It just happened?” I asked with more bite than I intended.
She shrugged miserably. “That’s the thing about love. You can’t help who you fall in and out of love with.”
Chapter 6
“Do not touch the car.”
I let out a frightened shriek and immediately felt my cheeks flood with color.
“Eric?! What are you doing here?”
I didn’t just mean here, in the garage, I meant on the Calhoun estate. But I especially meant in the garage, just feet away from me.
He grinned as I clutched my hand against my chest, pressing it against my thundering heart.
“Working,” he said. He held up a pair of gardening sheers. I immediately noticed that his tee shirt had the name of our lawn care company on it.
“You got a new job already? That’s great,” I said.
“Yeah,” he agreed. “It’s not bad. I like this a whole lot more than the country club gig. So, this is the family you work for?”
“Well…,” I faded off realizing I’d never bothered to clear up his assumption that I was the nanny.
“My boss, Tom, said these people are totally loaded. As if I couldn’t tell by the house. But you obviously know that. I figured the guy would be a real jackass but I walked by and spotted the car.” He motioned to Dad’s 1970 Chevelle SS, my Chevelle SS. The car I had inherited when he died. The car whose keys I currently held in my hand. “I came in to take a peek. He told me I had better stand back. That he’d have my ass if I put a scratch in it. He was joking. I think. But he said the car belonged to someone special and I could take a look, just couldn’t touch it. So, yeah. Back up and don’t touch the car.”
