“Why would the president come to see you?” Michelle asked innocently.
Cash pursed his lips. “For advice, of course. I have some great ideas about foreign policy.”
“For instance?” Carlie mused.
“I think we should declare war on Tahiti.”
They both stared at him.
“Well, if we do, we can send troops, right?” he continued. “And what soldier in his right mind wouldn’t want to go and fight in Tahiti? Lush tropical flowers, fire-dancing, beautiful women, the ocean...”
“Tahiti doesn’t have a standing army, I don’t think,” Michelle ventured.
“All the better. We can just occupy it for like three weeks, let them surrender, and then give them foreign aid.” He glowered. “Now you’ve done it. You’ll repeat that everywhere and the president will hear about it and he’ll never have to come and hear me explain it. You’ve blown my chances for an invitation to the White House,” he groaned. “And I did so want to spend a night in the Lincoln bedroom!”
“Listen, break out those files on aliens that you keep in your filing cabinet and tell the president you’ve got them!” Carlie suggested, while Michelle giggled. “He’ll come right down here to have a look at them!”
“They won’t let him,” Cash sighed. “His security clearance isn’t high enough.”
“What?” Carlie exclaimed.
“Well, he’s only in the office for four years, eight tops. So the guys in charge of the letter agencies—the really secretive ones—allegedly keep some secrets to themselves. Particularly those dealing with aliens.” He chuckled.
The girls, who didn’t know whether to believe him or not, just laughed along with him.
* * *
Michelle stopped back by Minette’s office to tell her the good news, and to thank her again for the job.
“You know,” she said, “Chief Grier is really nice.”
“Nice when he likes you,” Minette said drily. “There are a few criminals in maximum-security prisons who might disagree.”
“No doubt there.”
“So, will Monday suit you, to start to work?” Minette asked.
“I’d really love to start yesterday.” Michelle laughed. “I’m so excited!”
Minette grinned. “Monday will come soon enough. We’ll see you then.”
“Can you write me a note? Just in case I need one?” She was thinking of how to break it to Roberta. That was going to be tricky.
“No problem.” Minette went to her desk, typed out an explanation of Michelle’s new position, and signed it. She handed it to the younger woman. “There you go.”
“Dress code?” Michelle asked, glancing around the big open room where several people were sitting at desks, to a glass-walled room beyond which big sheets of paper rested on a long section like a chalkboard.
“Just be neat,” Minette said easily. “I mostly kick around in jeans and T-shirts, although I dress when I go to political meetings or to interviews with state or federal politicians. You’ll need to learn how to use a camera, as well. We have digital ones. They’re very user-friendly.”
“This is very exciting,” Michelle said, her gray eyes glimmering with delight.
Minette laughed. “It is to me, too, and I’ve done this since I was younger than you are. I grew up running around this office.” She looked around with pure love in her eyes. “It’s home.”
“I’m really looking forward to it. Will I just be reporting news?”
“No. Well, not immediately, at least. You’ll learn every aspect of the business, from selling ads to typing copy to composition. Even subscriptions.” She leaned forward. “You’ll learn that some subscribers probably used to be doctors, because the handwriting looks more like Sanskrit than English.”
Michelle chuckled. “I’ll cope. My dad had the worst handwriting in the world.”
“And he was a doctor,” Minette agreed, smiling.
The smile faded. “He was a very good doctor,” she said, trying not to choke up. “Sorry,” she said, wiping away a tear. “It’s still hard.”
“It takes time,” Minette said with genuine sympathy. “I lost my mother, my stepfather, my stepmother—I loved them all. You’ll adjust, but you have to get through the grief process first. Tears are healing.”
“Thanks.”
“If you need to talk, I’m here. Anytime. Night or day.”
Michelle wiped away more tears. “That’s really nice of you.”
“I know how it feels.”
The phone rang and one of the employees called out. “For you, boss. The mayor returning your call.”
Minette grimaced. “I have to take it. I’m working on a story about the new water system. It’s going to be super.”
“I’ll see you after school Monday, then. And thanks again.”
“My pleasure.”
* * *
Michelle went home with dreams of journalism dancing in her head. She’d never been so happy. Things were really looking up.
She noted that Roberta’s car was in the driveway and she mentally braced herself for a fight. It was suppertime and she hadn’t been there to cook. She was going to be in big trouble.
Sure enough, the minute she walked in the door, Roberta threw her hands up and glared at her. “I’m not cooking,” she said furiously. “That’s your job. Where the hell have you been?”
Michelle swallowed. “I was in...in town.”
“Doing what?” came the tart query.
She shifted. “Getting a job.”
“A job?” She frowned, and her eyes didn’t seem to quite focus. “Well, I’m not driving you to work, even if somebody was crazy enough to hire you!”
“I have a ride,” she replied.
“A job,” she scoffed. “As if you’re ever around to do chores as it is. You’re going to get a job? Who’s going to do the laundry and the housecleaning and the cooking?”
Michelle bit her tongue, trying not to say what she was thinking. “I have to have money for lunch,” she said, thinking fast.
Roberta blinked, then she remembered that she’d said Michelle wasn’t getting any more lunch money. She averted her eyes.
“Besides, I have to save for college. I’ll start in the fall semester.”
“Jobs. College.” Roberta looked absolutely furious. “And you think I’m going to stay down here in this hick town while you sashay off to college in some big city, do you?”
“I graduate in just over three months...”
“I’m putting the house on the market,” Roberta shot back. She held up a hand. “Don’t even bother arguing. I’m listing the house with a San Antonio broker, not one from here.” She gave Michelle a dirty look. “They’re all on your side, trying to keep the property off the market. It won’t work. I need money!”
For just one instant, Michelle thought about letting her have the stamps. Then she decided it was useless to do that. Roberta would spend the money and still try to sell the house. She comforted herself with what the local Realtor had told her—that it would take time for the will to get through probate. If there was a guardian angel, perhaps hers would drag out the time required for all that. And even then, there was a chance the house wouldn’t sell.
“I don’t imagine a lot of people want to move to a town this small,” Michelle said out loud.
“Somebody local might buy it. One of those ranchers.” She made it sound like a dirty word.
That made Michelle feel better. If someone from here bought the house, they might consider renting it to her. Since she had a job, thanks to Minette, she could probably afford reasonable rent.
Roberta wiped her face. She was sweating.
Michelle frowned. “Are you all right?”
“Of course
I’m all right, I’m just hungry!”
“I’ll make supper.” She went to her room to put her books away and stopped short. The place was in shambles. Drawers had been emptied, the clothes from the shelves in the closet were tossed haphazardly all over the floor. Michelle’s heart jumped, but she noƒticed without looking too hard that the baseboards in the closet were still where they should be. She looked around but not too closely. After all, she’d told Roberta that Chief Grier had her father’s stamp collection. It hadn’t stopped Roberta from searching the room. But it was obvious that she hadn’t found anything.
She went back out into the hall, where her stepmother was standing with folded arms, a disappointed look on her face. She’d expected that the girl would go immediately to where she’d hidden the stamps. The fact that she didn’t even search meant they weren’t here. Damn the luck, she really had taken them to the police chief. And even Roberta wasn’t brash enough to walk up to Cash Grier and demand the stamp collection back, although she was probably within her legal rights to do so.
“Don’t tell me,” Michelle said, staring at her. “Squirrels?”
Roberta was disconcerted. Without meaning to, she burst out laughing at the girl’s audacity. She turned away, shaking her head. “All right, I just wanted to make sure the stamp collection wasn’t still here. I guess you were telling the truth all along.”
“Roberta, if you need money so much, why don’t you get a job?”
“I had a job, if you recall,” she replied. “I worked in retail.”
That was true. Roberta had worked at the cosmetics counter in one of San Antonio’s most prestigious department stores.
“But I’m not going back to that,” Roberta scoffed. “Once I sell this dump of a house, I’ll be able to go to New York or Los Angeles and find a man who really is rich, instead of one who’s just pretending to be,” she added sarcastically.
“Gosh. Poor Bert,” Michelle said. “Does he know?”
Roberta’s eyes flashed angrily. “If you say a word to him...!”
Michelle held up both hands. “Not my business.”
“Exactly!” Roberta snapped. “Now, how about fixing supper?”
“Sure,” Michelle agreed. “As soon as I clean up my room,” she added in a bland tone.
Her stepmother actually flushed. She took a quick breath. She was shivering. “I need...more...” she mumbled to herself. She went back into her own room and slammed the door.
* * *
They ate together, but Michelle didn’t taste much of her supper. Roberta read a fashion magazine while she spooned food into her mouth.
“Where are you getting a job? Who’s going to even hire a kid like you?” she asked suddenly.
“Minette Carson.”
The magazine stilled in her hands. “You’re going to work for a newspaper?”
“Of course. I want to study journalism in college.”
Roberta looked threatened. “Well, I don’t want you working for newspapers. Find something else.”
“I won’t,” Michelle said firmly. “This is what I want to do for a living. I have to start somewhere. And I have to save for college. Unless you’d like to volunteer to pay my tuition....”
“Ha! Fat chance!” Roberta scoffed.
“That’s what I thought. I’m going to a public college, but I still have to pay for books and tuition.”
“Newspapers. Filthy rags.” Her voice sounded slurred. She was picking at her food. Her fork was moving in slow motion. And she was still sweating.
“They do a great deal of good,” Michelle argued. “They’re the eyes and ears of the public.”
“Nosy people sticking their heads into things that don’t concern them!”
Michelle looked down at her plate. She didn’t mention that people without things to hide shouldn’t have a problem with that.
Roberta took her paper towel and mopped her sweaty face. She seemed disoriented and she was flushed, as well.
“You should see a doctor,” Michelle said quietly. “There’s that flu still going around.”
“I’m not sick,” the older woman said sharply. “And my health is none of your business!”
Michelle grimaced. She sipped milk instead of answering.
“It’s too hot in here. You don’t have to keep the thermostat so high!”
“It’s seventy degrees,” Michelle said, surprised. “I can’t keep it higher or we couldn’t afford the gas bill.” She paid the bills with money that was grudgingly supplied by Roberta from the joint bank account she’d had with Michelle’s father. Roberta hadn’t lifted a finger to pay a bill since Alan had died.
“Well, it’s still hot!” came the agitated reply. She got up from the table. “I’m going outside. I can’t breathe in here.”
Michelle watched her go with open curiosity. Odd. Roberta seemed out of breath and flushed more and more lately. She had episodes of shaking that seemed very unusual. She acted drunk sometimes, but Michelle knew she wasn’t drinking. There was no liquor in the house. It probably was the flu. She couldn’t understand why a person who was obviously sick wouldn’t just go to the doctor in the first—
There was a loud thud from the general direction of the front porch.
Four
Michelle got up from her chair and went out onto the porch. It sounded as if Roberta had flung a chair against the wall, maybe in another outburst of temper.
She opened the door and stopped. Roberta was lying there, on her back on the porch, gasping for breath, her eyes wide, her face horrified.
“It’s all right, I’ll call 911!” She ran for the phone and took it outside with her while she pushed in the emergency services number.
Roberta was grimacing. “The pain!” she groaned. “Hurts...so...bad! Michelle...!”
Roberta held out her hand. Michelle took it, held it, squeezed it comfortingly.
“Jacobs County 911 Center,” came a gentle voice on the line. “Is this an emergency?”
“Yes. This is Michelle Godfrey. My stepmother is complaining of chest pain. She’s short of breath and barely conscious.”
“We’ll get someone right out there. Stay on the line.”
“Yes, of course.”
“Help me,” Roberta sobbed.
Michelle’s hand closed tighter around her stepmother’s. “The EMTs are on the way,” she said gently. “It will be all right.”
“Bert,” Roberta choked. “Damn Bert! It’s...his...fault!”
“Please don’t try to get up,” Michelle said, holding the older woman down. “Lie still.”
“I’ll...kill him,” Roberta choked. “I’ll kill him...!”
“Roberta, lie still,” Michelle said firmly.
“Oh, God, it hurts!” Roberta sobbed. “My chest....my chest...!”
Sirens were becoming noticeable in the distance.
“They’re almost there, dear,” the operator said gently. “Just a few more minutes.”
“Yes, I hear them,” Michelle said. “She says her chest hurts.”
There was muffled conversation in the background, on the phone.
Around the curve, the ambulance shot toward her leaving a wash of dust behind it. Roberta’s grip on Michelle’s hand was painful.
The older woman was white as a sheet. The hand Michelle was holding was cold and clammy. “I’m...sorry,” Roberta bit off. Tears welled in her eyes. “He said it wasn’t...pure! He swore...! It was too...much...” She gasped for breath. “Don’t let Bert...get away...with it...” Her eyes closed. She shivered. The hand holding Michelle’s went slack.
The ambulance was in the driveway now, and a man and a woman jumped out of it and ran toward the porch.
“She said her chest hurt.” Michelle faltered as she got o
ut of the way. “And she couldn’t breathe.” Tears were salty in her eyes.
Roberta had never been really kind to her, except at the beginning of her relationship with Michelle’s father. But the woman was in such pain. It hurt her to see anyone like that, even a mean person.
“Is she going to be all right?” Michelle asked.
They ignored her. They were doing CPR. She recognized it, because one of the Red Cross people had come to her school and demonstrated it. In between compressions one EMT ran to the truck and came back with paddles. They set the machine up and tried to restart Roberta’s heart. Once. Twice. Three times. In between there were compressions of the chest and hurried communications between the EMTs and a doctor at the hospital.
After a few minutes, one EMT looked at the other and shook his head. They stood up. The man turned to Michelle. “I’m very sorry.”
“Sorry. Sorry?” She looked down at the pale, motionless woman on the dusty front porch with a blank expression. “You mean, she’s...?”
They nodded. “We’ll call the coroner and have him come out, and we’ll notify the sheriff’s department, since you’re outside the city limits. We can’t move her until he’s finished. Do you want to call the funeral home and make arrangements?”
“Yes, uh, yes.” She pushed her hair back. She couldn’t believe this. Roberta was dead? How could she be dead? She just stood there, numb, while the EMTs loaded up their equipment and went back out to the truck.
“Is there someone who can stay with you until the coroner gets here?” the female EMT asked softly, staring worriedly at Michelle.
She stared back at the woman, devoid of thought. Roberta was dead. She’d watched her die. She was in shock.
Just as the reality of the situation really started to hit her, a pickup truck pulled up into the driveway, past the EMT vehicle, and stopped. A tall, good-looking man got out of it, paused to speak to the male EMT and then came right up to the porch.
Without a word, he pulled Michelle into his arms and held her, rocked her. She burst into tears.
TEXAS BORN Page 5
