The Daisy Children

by Sofia Grant

  No, she hadn’t remembered, because she’d been busy stumbling around East Texas with no money. And besides, Liam had made fun of the Axpence account before, calling it a Eurocanoe without a paddle, its principals “francofaux.” Liam was always his cleverest when being disparaging.

  But she hadn’t called to pick a fight. “You went to the bank, though, right? To put me on the account?”

  There was the briefest of pauses. “Yeah, see, the banks close at five, so . . .”

  “Liam? Are you serious?”

  “Look, I called. Just like you asked. And they said it had to be done in person, which I will, first thing tomorrow, but I can’t exactly just drop everything the day we have a presentation for a major account. I mean, a lot of people flew in for this.”

  “And of course you had to get to Rayburn’s. Wouldn’t want to be late for that,” Katie said.

  “Jesus, Katie, didn’t you get Lolly’s package? I mean, even for you, that ought to be enough to last you a few days.”

  Even for you—said the man in the two-hundred-forty-dollar trousers. Katie fumed.

  Anger—that was good. Maybe her hormones were settling down, since she didn’t feel like crying, for the first time in days.

  She felt like punching something.

  “I’ll be sure to thank Lolly for the cash,” she said coldly. “But I have to have the bank card to buy a phone. And I don’t have any clothes.”

  “I thought you borrowed some from your cousin.”

  Katie looked down at herself. As the evening cooled, she’d dug a sweater from the bag that Scarlett had left, a short pink acrylic shrug that didn’t cover her midriff. “I went to see the lawyer today in Payless sandals with glue-on crystals, Liam.”

  “Oh, hey—so what happened with that?”

  “I inherited a houseful of junk. Oh, and about four thousand dollars, which is probably what it’ll cost to haul it away.”

  Liam didn’t say anything for a minute. “Okay. Well, look, can your mom come? It’s only a few hours’ drive, and she can help with the bank stuff as well as I can. And then you can ride back with her, since you’re going to visit anyway.”

  Katie let that sit for a moment. Liam had just managed to excuse himself from doing anything at all to help her—and a part of her wasn’t even surprised. The distance that had grown between them over the past few months felt like it might be permanent. Here she was, dealing with what was probably the most significant thing ever to happen in her family, and rather than offering to come and help, her husband had chosen to go to some noisy, crowded happy hour with people he claimed he didn’t even like that much.

  “There’s a guy living next door,” she said for some reason. “Former marine. Nice guy, probably around thirty, in awesome shape. He’s come over a couple of times and offered to help, since he’s really good with tools. Maybe I can ask him to help me clear out the house.”

  “Yeah, that sounds good,” Liam said distractedly. “You can probably hire people cheap down there.”

  Katie closed her eyes and fumed. She’d just implied that she was spending time with a hot single man, and Liam hadn’t even noticed.

  “Actually, I think I’ll stay here awhile longer,” she said tightly. “I’ll deal with the house and give Scarlett a hand with things. We’ll probably miss my fertile days this month, but I’m starting to think you don’t care about that anyway.”

  “Jesus, Katie. Look, I’m sorry if I’m not reacting the way you want me to. I know you’re disappointed about not being pregnant.”

  “But you’re not,” she said dully.

  “Not like you are. I mean . . . you have to admit, the timing isn’t really right.”

  “You’re the one who wanted to start trying last January!”

  “Yeah, I know we talked about it then, but—”

  “I asked you like fifty times if you were sure. Remember? When we were in Aruba?”

  “It’s not my fault things change,” Liam shot back. “I had no way to know I’d be up for a promotion. Or that you’d get so . . . never mind. This is stupid. All I was saying is let’s try to chill with what’s right in front of us for a while, okay? Revisit this when things calm down.”

  “That’s just great,” Katie said. “Because what’s in front of you is a bar full of BU girls and an open tab. And I’m standing in a parking lot wearing plastic shoes and talking on a phone I had to borrow from a stranger.”

  “Then come home,” Liam said. “Or stay there and deal with it. Either way, I don’t care. Look, I don’t know what else I can say to you that isn’t going to piss you off more.”

  Katie opened her mouth, then closed it on her retort. What difference would it make? Liam had been perfectly clear—he didn’t want a baby anymore, he didn’t care enough to come to Texas, he literally didn’t care if she came home or not.

  And the worst part was that none of that surprised her. Coming to Texas had somehow forced her to face a few things that she’d been pretending not to know. The truth was, her job performance hadn’t been all that great lately, because she just couldn’t seem to care about her work. And she’d been putting off her friends, even dear Lolly, who was always so generous, because she couldn’t bear to keep pretending that everything was just fine with her and Liam.

  Her life had somehow taken a wrong turn, and she’d had no idea how to get it back on track—and then her grandmother’s death had forced the issue.

  “You’re right,” she said to Liam, suddenly tired of talking to him. “There’s nothing you can do for me. Just the bank, okay? Just swear to me you’ll get that done. Do it first thing in the morning, before you go to work. Text my cousin when it’s done.”

  “Anything else, boss?” Liam said sarcastically.

  “No, I think that’s it,” Katie said tersely. “Go back to your little celebration.”

  She ended the call without saying goodbye.

  Back inside, Jam had paid for his groceries and was reading the notices on the bulletin board.

  “Listen,” Katie said, making a split-second decision as she handed back the phone. “I haven’t had a real drink in weeks. I think tonight’s the night. If you promise to keep that mutt from attacking me, we can sit on my grandmother’s back porch and you can tell me what I missed out on, not knowing her.”

  Jam Mifflin considered her offer. “I’m not sleeping with you, just to be clear,” he said. “That isn’t part of the deal.”

  “I wasn’t asking,” Katie said, aiming for outrage and missing the mark. “I’m married.”

  “And I don’t talk about this, either.” He pointed to the prosthesis.

  “That’s fine,” Katie said. “You hear one how-I-lost-my-leg story, you’ve heard them all, am I right?”

  Where this flippant bravado was coming from, Katie had no idea, but she willed herself not to blink and held her ground through yet another Jam Mifflin staring contest.

  “I guess you’re the black sheep in the family,” he finally said. “Margaret did warn me, so I’ve got only myself to blame.”

  Katie plucked a bottle of vodka off the shelf, the expensive stuff. She usually didn’t drink hard liquor, but the way the evening was shaping up, she figured she’d need something a little stronger than chardonnay. “What exactly did she warn you about?” she asked.

  “She said the women in her family have the kind of sense that shows up too late to do any good.”

  “Maybe,” Katie said, remembering her first glimpse of her cousin, driving all that way to pick up a virtual stranger. She thought of Liam, buying rounds and soaking up his coworkers’ attention. And she thought of that hot afternoon so many years ago when she’d passed through her grandmother’s life, never expecting to return. “But maybe not.”

  “YOU SURE YOU’RE okay to climb up here?” Katie called down through the trapdoor in the attic floor. A cobweb brushed against her cheek, making her flinch and flail until she realized it was actually the chain of a lightbulb.

  She
gave it a tug and flooded the attic with light. Jam was climbing nimbly up the ladder. “I’ve done a triathlon with just this one leg,” he said. “So yeah, I think I can handle it.”

  He stepped into the attic, ducking under the sloped roof, and looked around. For a moment neither of them said anything.

  “Huh,” Katie finally ventured.

  “You know, I could have told you,” Jam said. “I’ve been up here a few times helping her clear out stuff.”

  “Well, why didn’t you, then?” The attic was bare, save for a thick layer of dust and a single old chair with a broken leg.

  “Didn’t want to crush your dream. You were acting like you thought she’d stashed a fortune up here. Besides, Margaret could be unpredictable. For all I knew she’d changed her mind after we got it all cleaned out.”

  They’d spent the last hour drinking vodka out of juice glasses and wandering through the house, Katie opening cabinets and drawers and peering into closets, Jam following without comment. The clutter that had greeted her when she’d first toured the house turned out to be deceptive: for all the furniture jammed into the house, the paintings and curios and teacups and umbrella stands and multiple sets of crystal in the breakfront, there were surprisingly few personal mementos. The few clothes in the closets seemed relatively new. The books on the shelves were mostly recent paperbacks. The rolltop desk in the wood-paneled den was empty save for a roll of stamps and a few pens.

  “I guess she wasn’t very sentimental,” Katie said forlornly. The attic was the last place she’d thought to look for clues to who Margaret had been.

  “That’s true, but she also got it in her head to get everything organized a couple years ago,” Jam said. He was standing close, by necessity. He smelled like sawdust and liquor, and up close she could see tiny lines around his eyes. “She didn’t want anyone to have to clean up after her. But there’s one more thing you should see.”

  IN KATIE’S MEMORY of her long-ago visit, the backyard had been a veritable maze of exciting possibilities. Weeds and flowers competed along a stone path, and a rabbit had peered at her through an overgrown hedge, its nose twitching before it dashed away through a hole in the fence. The ground under a stand of fruit trees had been littered with yellow lemons, and there had been a gazebo whose peeling trim was carved into intricate patterns.

  But her favorite thing had been a little pond that was covered with a thick green layer of algae, from which a loud croaking emanated. She’d taken a stick and skimmed the surface, stirring up a few jewel-winged dragonflies. She crouched down to touch the back of a little turtle sunning on a rock and felt a thrill of bravery.

  She didn’t remember there being a garage at the back of the lot, much less an apartment above it, but Jam said that a fair number of trees had been cut down over the years, so maybe the garage had been hidden behind them. Now, as they picked their way across the yard under the bright moon, she saw that the stately two-story garage matched the house, with its stained and flaking stucco and tiled roof—and it was easily as large as any of the newer homes that had been built on the sold-off land.

  As they drew closer, Katie heard the movement of an animal in the bushes and instinctively drew closer to Jam. But the next moment, the mutt appeared, slinking in a cautious circle around them, keeping his distance.

  “Oh, hey there, Royal,” Katie said. “I meant to get you a bone at the market.”

  “He shouldn’t have those,” Jam said. “They can splinter and damage his stomach or intestines. I’ll bring some kibble over when we’re done here.”

  “You heard him,” Katie told the dog. “Don’t blame me.”

  Royal sat on his bony haunches, watching her, his head cocked to the side. From this angle, she thought she could see a little border collie in him. She held out her hand, keeping enough distance that she could retreat if he lunged. Royal sniffed delicately, then gave her a heavy-lidded gaze of indifference.

  “Oh, you’re warming up to me, aren’t you?”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure,” Jam warned her. “Don’t approach him.”

  “They have dogs in Massachusetts. I know how they work.”

  Slowly, Katie bent down until she was crouching, hands on her knees. She willed Royal to come closer, if only to prove Jam wrong, but he merely watched her with an expression of exquisite boredom. Scarlett’s tight shorts cut into her thighs, and she was pretty sure that a good portion of her butt cheeks was exposed. “Okay, your loss,” she said, trying to stand up as gracefully as she could.

  Meanwhile, Jam had gotten the door open and turned on the lights. A narrow wooden staircase led up to the second floor; to the right was the cavernous, empty garage. A few rusting tools hung from pegs over a wooden bench near the back, and an overturned stool lay on the floor. The air inside smelled of oil and tobacco and dirt.

  Katie followed Jam into the landing at the base of the stairs, but he turned, blocking her from going up.

  “Listen, if you don’t mind my asking . . . what exactly are you hoping to find?”

  “I don’t have any family besides my mom. I mean, and Scarlett’s side, I guess, but I never knew any of them. And my mom never talks about the past.”

  “So you’re hoping to find the answers to all your questions here. Skeletons in the family closet and all that.”

  Katie shrugged. “I guess. Maybe. I don’t know.”

  “Because I don’t think your mom and Margaret were very close.”

  “That’s not exactly a news flash.”

  “I just didn’t want you to expect . . . anything.”

  “Okay, well, Mr. Feelings, thanks for looking out for me but I think I can handle it.”

  “Thank God!” a voice called behind Katie, making her jump. She whipped around, backing into Jam, and shone her flashlight on someone crossing the backyard.

  “Scarlett?”

  “Yes! It’s me!” Her voice was bright—unnaturally so, and when she got close enough for Katie to see, her eyes looked bloodshot and puffy, like she had been crying and was doing her best to hide it. “I looked all over the house, and the lights are on and the front door’s unlocked and I thought you’d been kidnapped. What on earth are . . . Jam?”

  “He was going to show me the apartment,” Katie said defensively. “Also, there’s a dog.”

  A low, throaty growl came from behind Scarlett. Royal was trying to back into the bushes, but the brambly low branches blocked him.

  “Who’s that?” Scarlett asked, backing away hurriedly.

  “That’s Katie’s new dog,” Jam said.

  “It is not!”

  “Finders keepers.” Jam gave her what she was pretty sure was the first smile she’d seen on his face, and she had to admit, it was a nice one.

  “I didn’t find him, I just—”

  “I know. He found you.”

  “Well, well!” Scarlett said, as Royal slunk back toward the house and started nosing around the porch. “What else have you been doing while I was gone? You guys kind of smell like you’ve been drinking.”

  “Yeah, okay, maybe a little.”

  “I was just heading home,” Jam said. “You two enjoy your evening.”

  “Jeez, Jam, I didn’t mean to run you off—”

  “You didn’t. I’ve got gun trials in the morning. Moving the girls up to the rifle tomorrow.”

  “All girls this time?”

  “Yeah, three of ’em. Two are sisters—difficult little bitches, so I need a clear head.” He jogged off, slapping Scarlett on the shoulder hard enough to knock her sideways as he passed, and vaulted over the dried-up pond, landing nimbly before letting himself through a gap in the fence.

  “Um, did he just say . . .”

  “Hmm? Oh, that. Can I have some of whatever you’re drinking?”

  Katie handed her the glass she’d carried with her, and Scarlett drained the last inch in one gulp, then burped delicately. “Is there more?” she said hopefully.

  “Sure,” Katie said, “only
I’m already kind of drunk here, and I’ll come right out and say I think you’ve been crying, and if you need me to sober up so I can do a good job of listening I probably need to take a quick shower or something, which I totally will, if—”

  “You can be drunk and still listen,” Scarlett said. “I don’t mind. In fact, it might make it easier.”

  “Okay then,” Katie said. She grabbed her cousin’s hand. “We have to go by the man-eating brute, though, so come around this way so he doesn’t get you by the throat.”

  “Didn’t you feed him? He’s just hungry,” Scarlett said as they skirted the porch. “All Gomma’s strays are spoiled.”

  Katie went to the bathroom and, when she was washing up, took a good look at herself. She definitely looked tipsy. But also, the humidity and lack of styling tools had left her hair in soft, cascading waves, and her skin had a faint sheen of sweat that was weirdly flattering.

  Had Jam noticed?

  Back in the kitchen, Scarlett had mixed two tall tumblers of vodka and the generic ginger ale that Katie had seen in the fridge and was filling a bowl with kibble.

  “Where’d you get that?”

  “Gomma’s stash, down there.” Scarlett pointed to a corner cabinet, and sure enough, she’d missed several bags of dog and cat food and a huge bag of birdseed when she’d been poking around earlier. “Her secret shame. Jam was just her enabler.”

  “I guess Royal wasn’t her first . . . ?”

  “Oh hell no. When Jam came back home the second time, after his mom got married and moved away, he was planning to sell the place. Gomma wanted him to stay, so she found a stray that she said she needed his help with. Oh, and by the way, that whole bitches thing—he meant dogs.”

  “I figured that out, Scarlett,” Katie said drily. “Give me a little credit. But what’s a gun trial?”

  “That’s where, if a puppy’s going to hunt, they have to get it used to the sound of a gun going off. They start with a pistol and move up to a twenty-two, then a shotgun. A skittish dog can’t handle it, but at least they find out early on before they make the problem worse.”