September Canvas

by Gun Brooke

  “No matter what, you know I’m in your corner, right?” Deanna took Faythe’s hand, keeping the other firmly on the wheel and her eyes focused on the road. “You’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met, all categories. You’ve made all the difference in my life.”

  “Deanna—”

  “You have. You know how depressed and resigned I was. I didn’t see any end to any of this, and you just didn’t give up. As infuriated as I was occasionally, you didn’t stop. And it looks like I’ll have my life back soon. I never anticipated that. Frankly, I had given up.”

  “You were suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder, if you ask me,” Faythe said in a low voice, glancing over her shoulder. “Wow, she’s asleep already. What have we been driving for, five minutes?” Deanna checked her rearview mirror and saw Miranda’s head resting against the neck support. “Oh, she does that. I think she finds the outside world so stressful, she simply conks out.” Turning on to the road leading to the lake, she mulled over Faythe’s words. “PTSD? Really?”

  “Obviously, I’m no psychiatrist, but your reactions are completely understandable from that point of view.” Squeezing Deanna’s hand, Faythe raised it to her lips and kissed it gently. “It’s about to end, though, baby.”

  “I know. It’s just…I have this dreadful feeling that this will blow up in my face and become even worse for everybody.” Deanna checked the rearview mirror again. Miranda was still asleep, her pink lips slightly parted. It wasn’t often she saw Miranda this relaxed while she was awake, if ever, and Deanna had to force herself to return her attention to the road ahead.

  “If it does, and I don’t think it will, you’ll have your family behind you. And the girls. And me.” Faythe winked. “It will be interesting to see what Pammie and Savannah managed to do with the Grantville Times. Was it Pammie’s aunt who was the chief editor, or was it Savannah’s?”

  “Fortunately for us, it was Pammie’s. Her father’s youngest sister, I believe.”

  “Ah. Yes, I remember. Lucky. If it had been a relative of Savannah’s, they would most likely have been under Gloria’s spell.”

  “Under her thumb, you mean?”

  “That too.” Faythe wrinkled her nose, looking cuter than she’d ever want to know. “Pammie said that she let Savannah do all the writing, since this has to come from her, in her own words. If anyone else meddled in it, it could be a long, interesting time in court for the Grantville Times.”

  “Still could be, I suppose.” Deanna shuddered at the thought.

  “Hardly, if Savannah has written it the right way.”

  “Well, you’re the media expert here, and I trust your judgment. Here we are.” Deanna turned off the road and onto the driveway leading up to their houses. She stopped next to Pammie’s little Toyota, which was parked behind Percy and Angela’s Chrysler 300.

  The door flew open just as Deanna engaged the parking brake and turned off the ignition. Two whirlwinds moved toward the car and Deanna barely recognized her two stepsisters. “Something’s wrong,” she muttered, glancing nervously at the backseat. Miranda was still asleep.

  “What? What’s the matter?” Faythe looked alarmed.

  “They’re smiling. The bra— The kids. They’re smiling.” It was true. Trista and Laney were rapidly approaching, looking excited.

  “So they are.” Faythe seemed to catch on quickly. “I’ll go while you wake Miranda.”

  “Thanks.” As Deanna circled the car and opened the passenger door, she glanced over her shoulder, worried about what might be going on. Were the two teenyboppers there to gloat, or what? This didn’t look good.

  “Hi Trista, Laney,” Faythe said, stopping in front of the two excited girls. “Hold it just a second, okay? Miranda’s asleep in the backseat, and you know how easy it is to spook her. If she sees the two of you hovering, no matter how happy you are to see her, she might get scared and freak out.”

  “Oh,” Laney said, and the corners of her mouth turned down. She wasn’t pleased that anyone would keep her waiting. “We just wanted to talk to Deanna really quick.”

  “Well, you’ll have time for that. I suppose you came with Angela and Percy after all. I mean, it’s Wednesday, a regular school day.” Faythe put one arm around each girl’s shoulders and moved them toward the house. “I’m so glad you came to support your stepsisters,” she said, playing devil’s advocate.

  “Eh, well, yeah. We wanted to know what was going on. Angela and Dad have been so secretive. Mysterious, even.” Trista smirked. “So we nagged them into letting us come. We also wanted another chance to hang with you and hear about all the celebrities you meet and stuff. We sure got everyone’s attention at school when we told them we met you.” Faythe exhaled slowly, suppressing an exasperated groan. She could just imagine being the topic among the girls at the girls’ school.

  “Great,” she murmured. “So, will you promise me not to crowd Miranda? If you give her some space and a little time, you’ll be surprised how brilliant she is.”

  “Brilliant? Her?” Trista glanced over her shoulder. “She’s retarded.”

  “That’s such a dreary word, Trista.” Faythe wanted to pinch the ignorant girl. “Miranda has autism, and I’m sure Angela and Percy have told you what that means. “

  “Yeah, I suppose. I…I didn’t listen very well. I guess I should’ve.”

  “Yes.” Faythe didn’t want to put Trista on the defensive. “But you know what, if you have any questions and you don’t feel like talking to a family member, you can always ask me. I’ve worked with autistic experts on my show, and actually, quite a few celebrities have kids or siblings with autism.” She knew she was being manipulative now, playing on what she knew impressed the sisters, but it was true.

  Awareness of autism had peaked during the last decade, and getting a celebrity to put a face to a disease or a condition generated more focus, and thus more money for research. And the interest of two shallow teenagers, who were being teenagers.

  “You’re very cool. And nice.” Laney looked appreciatively at Faythe as they entered the house. “Just wait and see what’s in the paper today. You know, that local paper. That bitch is going to flip.” Faythe surmised that the bitch Laney was talking about was Gloria Mueller. “I’ll guess I’ll hear all about it in a sec.”

  “We’ve read some of it. Pammie and Savannah brought the papers over, and, wow, Savannah’s gorgeous, isn’t she? I can’t believe she was never homecoming queen.” Trista managed to look starstruck and affronted at the same time. “That’s what I plan to be.”

  “Huh. You might just have some competition in Manhattan,” Laney said scornfully. “You may be all that in the stupid, tiny town we live in now, but in New York, thousands of girls are prettier than you.”

  “You don’t know anything about anything!” With a furious sob, Trista ran into the house in front of them and disappeared into one of the guest rooms, slamming the door behind her.

  “Wow. Sure feels like home,” Percy said from the living-room couch. “Laney, what’s up with Trista?”

  “Same old. Egomaniac with a hurt ego.”

  “Laney.” Angela came out of the kitchen, carrying a tray. “You know how Trista is. Why set her off?”

  “Because it’s fun?” Laney pouted, but walked over to the guest room and knocked on the door. “Hey, Trista. Come on. I was only messing with you.”

  “Piss off.”

  “If I do that, will you come out? You wanted to see the look on Deanna’s face, remember, when she read the Grantville Times.” Faythe frowned at Laney’s choice of words, but then Trista stuck her head out, wiping her wet cheeks. “Yeah, I did. Out of my way, sister. I really want to see what she thinks of Savannah’s text. That Mueller woman will get what she deserves now after what she did to Deanna.”

  So it was Gloria they were gloating over, not Deanna. Faythe sighed in relief and turned to Angela, who was setting the dining table.

  Percy had gone out into the kitchen where Faythe
could hear Pammie’s and Savannah’s voices.

  “Let me help you,” Faythe said, and began to fold the napkins Angela had found. “What are we having?” She pointed at a wrought-iron pot sitting in the middle of the table.

  “I thought a nice autumn casserole might be a good idea. Miranda likes it because of all the colors.”

  “Sounds terrific.” Faythe glanced over at the door, where there was still no sign of Miranda and Deanna. “Wonder what’s keeping them?”

  “Don’t worry. It usually takes quite a while to get Miranda out of a car. Once she decides to come in, she’ll be fine.”

  “I’m worried that being around strangers in a strange house will be too much for her.”

  “We’ll just have to keep an eye on her. If she starts to get agitated, I’ll bring out one of her coloring books with flowers. That usually gets her attention and she can relax again.” Angela smoothed down the table cloth at her end of the table. “There. Rather pretty, if I may say so myself.”

  “Sure is.” Faythe hesitated for a moment. “Angela, can I ask you something personal?”

  “Fire away.” Angela circled the table and leaned against it, her head tilted as she gazed up at Faythe.

  “When Deanna was so distraught and gave you that ultimatum, you had to choose between sending Miranda off to a special-needs school and then never seeing Deanna again…” Faythe took a deep breath. “Did you ever think it’s not worth it, to lose Deanna this way?” Afraid that she had stepped into a minefield with both feet, Faythe briefly touched Angela’s shoulder. “I’m not judging you at all, it was an impossible ultimatum.”

  “Yes, it was. I had to choose what was best for my youngest daughter, at the expense of my oldest child.” Angela trembled and Faythe placed her arm around her shoulder, surprised when Deanna’s mother leaned readily against her. “Deanna was fierce. She looked at me with such hurt and contempt, so sure I was exchanging a ‘flawed set of kids’ for the perfect girls that Percy brought into the equation. I tried to explain, but I had painted myself into a corner and no matter what I said, I only made things worse.”

  “And sending Miranda to Tremayne School and Foundation was the right thing to do.”

  “Yes, it was. But the timing was lousy.” Angela shook her head. “I had a new husband and a new set of stepdaughters who were completely spoiled by their father. I mean, I could understand why, since he’d been alone with them for five years, but to Deanna… Well, how could she have interpreted my actions any other way? I should’ve waited. Miranda wouldn’t have been worse off if I had waited a year and let the idea sink in more.”

  “I’m glad to hear you say that, Mom.” Deanna’s voice startled Faythe, and Angela jumped. She stood just inside the doorway to the living room, holding Miranda’s hand. Miranda in turn clasped her bag and scarf to her chest, looking around curiously.

  “Sweetheart, we can’t let any more time go by and not be a family.” Angela let go of Faythe and walked up to her girls. She cupped Miranda’s cheek and the girl flinched, but then allowed the caress.

  Repeating the touch with Deanna, Angela spoke softly. “I love you. More than anything, I love the two of you. I let pride and hurt feelings get between us and the really important things in life.”

  “So did I,” Deanna said huskily. “I was so angry, for so long. And the last few years, I was lonelier than I’ve ever been.” Her eyes lifted over Angela’s head. “Until Faythe came along.” Deanna smiled gently. “That’s when things began to change.”

  “Thank goodness for that.” Angela stepped back and motioned toward the table. “Let’s get everybody out from the kitchen and eat some.”

  “I want to read the Grantville Times first,” Deanna said. “I’m dying of curiosity.”

  “You may not like it,” Savannah said from behind them. She exited the kitchen, followed by Pammie and Percy. “It’s very blunt and honest.”

  “Facts are facts.” Deanna passed Miranda’s hand over to Angela and headed over to the coffee table, where she gave a copy of the local weekly newspaper to Faythe. Faythe began to look for Savannah’s contribution with trembling fingers.

  “I told Lara and Brandy the truth, everything, before the newspaper came out.” Savannah slumped a little. “Considering that I shocked the hell out of them, and that Lara called me traitor for not leveling with them, they took it pretty well.”

  “Did they understand, though? What your mother’s put you and Deanna through?”

  “Yeah, eventually. I think.” Savannah gestured toward the paper. “Read now."

  “So, Pammie’s aunt is the chief editor, eh?” Deanna asked Savannah and began turning the pages.

  “Yeah, and she was floored when she saw my text. She didn’t think twice about running it, so at least that’s reassuring,” Savannah said bleakly.

  Faythe turned the page, and there it was for everyone to read.

  Chapter Thirty

  Oh, sweet Jesus,” Deanna heard Faythe say, and she nearly echoed the stunned words.

  Savannah had written a long piece, a two-page spread, about what really happened two years ago. She’d chosen to use a short-story format, but clearly stated in the disclaimer above that the people were real, and the names were real. “This is like interviewing myself,” she wrote before the story began. Deanna read along and realized immediately that Savannah hadn’t spared herself for a moment. She wrote about her childhood and adolescence, and the feelings she’d harbored, which all led up to what happened when she was eighteen. Her mother’s part in the whole mess was obvious, and Deanna couldn’t even picture the meltdown the woman had to be having by now.

  Deanna finished reading, captivated by the text, even if she knew most things about it beforehand.

  “You’re a talented writer, Savannah,” Faythe said, and looked up from the paper. “You should pursue this. I know you love animals and feel you need to repent, but you could do that and more with your writing.”

  “Really?” Savannah looked stunned. “I just sat down at my computer and started typing, and the words came pouring out. You know, through my fingers and onto the keyboard. Maybe it’s because of the topic, because it has brewed in me for so long. I might not be so good at writing other stuff.”

  “I think you would be,” Deanna said.

  “You okay with what I wrote?” Savannah asked quietly, pushing a strand of her long black hair behind her ear.

  “Yeah. And you told the absolute truth. I can’t believe you were able to go inside my head the way you did and describe how all this affected me. That’s both disconcerting and rather fantastic.”

  “I promise I won’t write about you ever again.” Savannah’s lips trembled. “Honest.”

  “Good.” Deanna pursed her lips. “Now, you took the wind out of your mother’s sails with this piece, but you may also have burned your bridges to her, and to your father.”

  “Guess it’s time to find out.” Savannah pulled the cell phone out of her back pocket and flipped it open. “I turned it off this morning,” she confessed. “No time like the present, I suppose.” She pressed a button and the opening tune rang out, a song by Christina Aguilera. It was quiet for a few seconds, and then one beep after another echoed throughout the room.

  “Oh, boy!” Pammie leaned over Savannah’s shoulder and read the display. “Tons of messages and missed calls. How many from Mommy Dearest?”

  “Pammie.” Faythe shook her head at the phrase, but Savannah didn’t seem to mind.

  “Wait. Oh. At least thirty, I think. No. Forty-three. And more than fifty text messages.” She handed the phone over to Pammie. “You do the honors.”

  “Sure.” Pammie’s fingers flew over the keys. “What’s the PIN for your voice mail, sweetie?”

  “Five, four, five, three.”

  “All righty, then, let’s see.” Pammie entered the number and soon the unmistakable voice of Gloria Mueller filled the room.

  “Savannah! What have you done? What were you thinkin
g? Where are you? I want you here this instant. We have to figure out what to do, to fix this. We need to fix this! Call me and come home immediately. I’m home all day. I can’t show my face anywhere after this!” The next message was similar, but each time Gloria talked into Savannah’s voice mail, she sounded increasingly desperate. Deanna knew how it felt when your world was crumbling around you, and right now, Gloria Mueller’s little empire was about to turn into ruins.

  Deanna lost track of how many messages they’d listened to, probably about twelve or fifteen, when Gloria suddenly began a new one, sounding completely different. This time her voice was a low growl, hate-filled and acidic.

  “That evil woman got to you, didn’t she? That woman and her celebrity mistress. They probably convinced you that it’s okay to screw your mother over and live the happy gay life. You listen to me, Savannah. You listen to your mother when I tell you that you’ve ruined all our lives. My life, your father’s, and your own. You’re probably smart not to come home. If I were you, I’d stay away from me and from Grantville from now on. I’ve sacrificed everything for you and—” In the sudden silence, Deanna realized Pammie had disconnected the voice mail. Savannah was white as death and trembling all over.

  “Sweetie, I’ve got you.” Pammie wrapped her arms around Savannah and tugged her close. “You need to lie down. Can we borrow the guest room we used last time?”

  “Sure. Let us know if you need anything. We can bring you some of the casserole.” Faythe looked worriedly at the sobbing Savannah as Pammie guided her away. “Jesus, she’s going to pay a high price.”

  “She’ll gain more than she realizes now,” Angela said. “Her mother will be mad, and perhaps she’ll stay mad, but a lot of people will respect Savannah for setting the record straight and preventing her mother from committing another crime.”

  “Yeah, let’s hope so,” Deanna said. “Why don’t we eat something and relax for a bit. I don’t want to hear any more of that woman ranting anyway.”