The Parent Plan

by Paula Detmer Riggs

  “Soon, pretty lady,” he crooned, patting the nervous mare’s withers. “Tonight, I think.”

  Salome blew air, then snorted and swished her tail. A full ration of grain remained in her feeding trough, a pretty good sign that she was in the first stages of labor.

  “Yeah, I know. Life’s a bitch,” he muttered as he stepped out of the stall and latched the slotted gate.

  “I thought Karen looked lousy, but you look like death.”

  Cassidy stiffened at the sound of the familiar voice. “Thanks,” he said, walking toward the door where Sylvia stood, looking composed and stylish in a navy suit and pearls.

  A woman of means and strength. Like his mother.

  Suddenly he was ten years old and terrified. This time he refused to cower. “Go ahead and get it all said, and be done with it.”

  Her lips curved but her smile lacked its usual sparkle. “Don’t I at least get a kiss first?” she asked softly.

  “What?” He figured fatigue had made him stupid—or else the woman was out of her mind.

  She took a step forward, adding a hint of perfume to the mix. “In my family, we greet each other with a kiss. I thought you understood that.”

  Though her words were clear, he couldn’t seem to get them sorted out. “You don’t hate me?” he asked, eyeing her warily. If she raised her hand to him, he would take the blow, because he had it coming, but he would never forgive her.

  “Why should I? It’s clear you’re already sick with hating yourself.”

  He scowled. For a woman who looked about as tough as a cream puff, Sylvia delivered a hell of a wallop. “Guess you’re disappointed I didn’t take your advice.”

  “I know you well enough to know you have your reasons.”

  The lack of censure in her voice threatened a lot of inner walls, walls he couldn’t risk anyone breaching. He didn’t move, but he put distance between them.

  “I ran out of fight,” he said flatly.

  Her expression was gently chiding. “Now, that does disappoint me. I never figured you for a quitter.”

  He let that pass. “I’m a realist, Sylvia. Nothing I can offer her has a chance in hell against the exalted—and lucrative—practice of medicine.”

  “That’s unfair,” she retorted, her voice taking on an edge for the first time.

  He shrugged. “Life is unfair.”

  Her eyes flashed then, and he braced himself. “You’ve lived with Karen for ten years and you can still stand there and say that my daughter sacrificed her youth and nearly worked herself into a nervous breakdown simply in order to make money?”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time a woman walked down that road.”

  The back door slammed, and Sylvia cast a startled glance over her shoulder. Vicki and her mother had just emerged and were walking toward the grave site.

  “If you truly believe that, there’s no hope for you,” Sylvia said, meeting his gaze squarely.

  “None whatsoever,” he drawled, sickened by his own cruelty, but unable to prevent it.

  “In that case, I feel sorry for you,” Sylvia said with a deep sadness in her voice. “You’ve just thrown away the most precious commodity there is—unconditional love.”

  To his surprise, she reached out to touch his arm before turning on her heel to follow her daughter and grandchild toward the spot on the hill. He watched for a moment, then headed out to get the ‘dozer, hating himself and the situation with an intensity that bordered on violent.

  * * *

  The old casement clock in the living room was just chiming two as Karen opened the oven door to check on the biscuits she’d put in to bake after returning to the house from the funeral. For a moment, she stood staring at the golden circles on the sheet, wondering where she would be the next time she made another batch.

  In an apartment? Her childhood home?

  “Are you all right, darling?” her mom asked, pausing in the act of shredding lettuce into a salad bowl.

  Karen set her chin as she reached for the pot holder Vicki had made her for Mother’s Day. “As all right as any woman whose marriage has just imploded,” she said as she slid the baking tin from the rack. Always tactful, Sylvia returned to her task, but Karen was all too aware of the sad droop to her mother’s shoulders. Her own were pridefully straight as she switched off the oven.

  She glanced through the window where Cassidy and Vicki were sitting together under the oak tree. As she watched, he reached out a long, rough forefinger to swipe away a tear from their daughter’s cheek, then pressed her face against his chest.

  The mare and her foal had been laid to rest at noon, with a southerly breeze wafting the scent of the reawakening land over the mourners. Looking a little lost, her hand clinging tightly to her father’s, Vicki had given a eulogy of sorts, then sat on Cassidy’s lap while he used the ‘dozer to smooth the earth again.

  “It was really a very lovely ceremony,” Sylvia said, her gaze, too, focused on the tranquil scene. “Although when you first told me what you had planned, I must admit I was a bit worried about how Vicki would handle it.”

  Karen dropped her gaze and turned on the cold water tap. “Vicki is really very resilient,” she said over the sound of the running water. “She’ll be fine.”

  “Eventually. The question is, will you?”

  Karen jerked open a drawer and rummaged the jumble of contents for a potato peeler. The two extra-strength aspirins she’d gulped down right before her mother had arrived had only served to upset her stomach while leaving her headache untouched.

  “It’ll be rough for a while—change always is—but I’ll be fine,” she declared firmly, already practicing her positive self-talk. Of all people, physicians knew the value of an optimistic attitude, which was why, when counseling patients with life-threatening disease, she always urged them to look on the bright side.

  “I, um, think I’ll look for an apartment on the east side,” she said brightly. “One of the obstetrical nurses just had a housewarming for the condo she bought on East Garden Green. Three bedrooms and a private yard with a small patio. Of course, there won’t be room for a horse, or even much room for Rags, but we’ll manage.”

  “I’m sure Vicki and Rags will appreciate that,” Sylvia commented dryly.

  Karen gave her mother a swift look. “Thanks for the support, Mother.”

  Even her mother’s heartfelt sigh carried a touch of elegance. “Believe me, I know how badly you’re hurting. Never think I don’t.” She hesitated, then added in a softer voice, “I was lost for months after your father was taken from us. Sometimes I think that if it hadn’t been for you, I would have sunk into a black pit somewhere and just shriveled up to nothing.”

  Karen blinked. “I never knew. You were always so upbeat.”

  Her mother’s smile was bittersweet. “That was a front I put on for your sake, my darling. But at night, when I closed the door to my bedroom, I simply dissolved.” Her smile faded. “In today’s parlance, I was a basket case.”

  “What helped you get through the pain?” she asked, the potato in her hand forgotten for the moment.

  “Coming to terms with loss, I think.” Sylvia put down the salad tongs and shifted her attention to the picture of father and daughter framed by the window. “In a way, it was easier for me because your father was gone forever. I didn’t have to walk down the street and wonder if I was going to run into him.” She returned her gaze to Karen’s face, and her eyes were dark with compassion and understanding. “And I didn’t have to face the fact that he might find another woman to take my place.”

  Though well intentioned, her mother’s words cut to the bone. For an instant, Karen couldn’t catch her breath. “That would be difficult, yes, but I’ll manage.”

  Her mother abandoned the salad and came to stand next to her. “Go ahead and cry, sweetheart.”

  “I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.”

  “When are you going to tell Vicki?” her mother asked when Karen began at
tacking a potato with the peeler.

  “Tomorrow evening. I work six-to-two tomorrow, so I’ll be home in time to make a start on packing. Just the basics. Enough for a week or so, until I can sort things out.”

  “Can I help?”

  Karen tried to summon a grateful smile. “Yes, please. I…I admit I’m having trouble concentrating. Before you got here, I’d gone into the bedroom for something and couldn’t remember what. Then I realized I was standing there with one of Cassidy’s old shirts in my hand, shaking so violently my teeth were chattering.”

  She stopped, realized she’d been babbling and took a deep breath. “Helping Vicki deal with all the changes in her life is what matters now.” She frowned, sniffed, then whirled around. “That and dealing with burning chicken,” she added as she made a grab for the skillet. In her haste, she forgot the hot pad. Pain shot through her fingers and she jerked back her hand. Unfortunately it was still attached to the skillet, which crashed to the floor.

  “Don’t move. I’ll get an ice cube for the burn,” Sylvia ordered, rushing into motion.

  “No, I can manage,” Karen said, already moving. With twin gasps of surprise, they collided in front of the refrigerator. Karen’s elbow jabbed her mother’s side, while Sylvia trod on her foot with a spiked heel.

  It was at precisely that moment when Vicki and her dad walked through the back door, followed by the ubiquitous Rags, who gave one joyous “woof” before attacking the nearest chicken breast with doggy glee.

  “Anyone for takeout?” Karen said brightly, then promptly burst into tears.

  * * *

  Karen closed the tattered copy of Little Women and smiled. Vicki’s face was shiny from her bath, and she smelled of bubble bath and clean little girl.

  “Can’t we read just one more chapter, Mommy?” Vicki wheedled with a look designed to melt any and all obstacles.

  Karen was tempted—not by her daughter’s obvious attempt at staving off bedtime, but because Vicki hadn’t requested a bedtime story in years. Of course, she knew why—Vicki was feeling very much alone and lost without her equine best friend, and talking her mother into reading to her helped assuage that empty feeling.

  “Honey, it’s already past ten, and tomorrow’s a school day.” Karen herself had to be up at four in order to make it to the hospital in time for the 6:00 a.m. staff meeting.

  Vicki’s mouth drooped. “School’s boring.”

  “Really? In what way?”

  “It just is, is all. I’d rather stay home and help Daddy fix the gate on the corral he built for the new bull.” Vicki set her jaw, which was a softer, more delicate version of Cassidy’s. Two peas in a pod, she thought—one sweet and tender, the other as tough as baked leather.

  Karen placed her old and much-beloved book on the night stand before reaching for one of her daughter’s hands. “I know exactly what you mean. Sometimes I feel the same way about going to the hospital and working when I’d rather be puttering around the house or digging in my garden.” She thought wistfully of the neat rows of vegetables she’d planned to put in when the ground warmed. “I intended to try a new variety of tomatoes this year.”

  Vicki looked confused. “You mean you’re not now?”

  Karen realized her error and covered it over with a grin. “Let’s make sure winter is really gone before we move on to spring, okay?”

  “‘Kay.”

  Karen dropped her gaze to the small, tanned hand curled in hers. In spite of the bath Vicki had taken earlier, there was still grit under a couple of the fingernails, no doubt acquired when she’d smoothed the crumbling red dirt over Goldie’s resting place.

  “Sweetie, about going to school—”

  “I can stay home tomorrow, right, Mom?” Vicki’s face lit up. Clearly, she thought she’d won. Karen hated to dash her hopes, but pampering Vicki now would only lead to trouble later.

  “Vicki, I didn’t—”

  “If you say it’s okay, Daddy will, too,” her daughter broke in with the skill of a born negotiator. “’Cause you know more about raising little girls than he does. Daddy said.”

  She actually smiled then, and Karen’s heart did a little jig. In spite of the sorrow gripping her now, Vicki had a natural joy in living that would carry her through a lot of tough times. Karen’s satisfaction faded, however, when she contemplated the fresh hurt awaiting her innocent little girl.

  “Honey, if I really thought staying home tomorrow would be the best thing for you right now, I’d say yes without thinking twice, but you need to be with your friends right now.”

  Vicki’s eyes clouded, and her chin added a few more degrees to an already defiant angle. “But, Mom, I’m all caught up on my work and—”

  “Mom’s right, peanut.”

  Karen’s breath hitched at the sound of Cassidy’s voice. She’d always loved the husky overtones to the rich baritone drawl. At night, in their private world, his gruffly whispered words of lovemaking had taken on a sweet tenderness that was otherwise absent, as though he felt safe saying things in the dark he didn’t dare risk in the daylight.

  She knew better now.

  “You always take her side,” Vicki complained to her father, her mouth drooping at the corners again.

  “Not always, but when she’s right, I’d be a pretty sorry dad if I didn’t.”

  Karen didn’t turn toward the door, but she sensed him coming closer. The energy in a room always seemed to change when Cassidy walked in, as though the molecules were realigning in response to some unspoken command.

  After stopping on the other side of the bed, toward the head, he flicked Karen a shuttered glance before bending to kiss Vicki on the forehead. “How’s it goin’, peanut?” he asked as he straightened.

  His face was drawn with weariness, and he had fresh contusions on the backs of both hands, the result of his assisting in the delivery earlier this evening of another foal, this time successfully.

  He’d been in the shower when she’d begun reading the story and was now dressed only in clean Wranglers, zipped but left unbuttoned at the waist, and a crisp white T-shirt. He’d shaved and shampooed his hair, which was tousled by the towel he’d used to swipe away most of the water. Cassidy and hair dryers were still perfect strangers and always would be, she suspected.

  “I don’t see why I have to go to school,” Vicki groused up at him, her mouth forming a downward curve. “Elizabeth was out for three days when her grandpa died.”

  “Since you don’t have a grandpa, that’s not relevant, is it?”

  Vicki frowned, but she didn’t protest. Karen wished she possessed even a small measure of Cassidy’s influence over their daughter.

  “Besides, you have a report to give tomorrow, remember?”

  “I forgot,” she muttered, averting her gaze.

  “On the history of this ranch,” he continued, folding his arms and looking down at his daughter with that steady affection he reserved for Vicki alone. “With pictures from the museum, remember? You liked the one of Josiah Barlow and the bull he’d brought up from Mexico.”

  “Oh, those.” Vicki sounded utterly dispirited. Karen watched Cassidy’s jaw tighten.

  “Yes, those. Last I heard you were fixin’ to pass them around and talk about the bullfight that Josiah held out in the corral to celebrate Josiah Jr.’s birthday.”

  Interest flickered across Vicki’s face, but she kept her gaze turned down. “Guess so.”

  He unfolded his arms and used the callused tips of one large hand to tip Vicki’s face up toward his. “Trust me, peanut. It won’t hurt forever.”

  Won’t it? Karen wondered, watching Vicki respond to her daddy like a fragile blossom touched suddenly by a warm shower. For all his rough edges and laconic approach to life, Cassidy had turned himself into a marvelous dad.

  “How’s Salome?” she asked as Vicki sat up straighter and tugged her hand free from her mother’s grasp.

  Cassidy directed her a wary glance. “Good. Delivered a pretty little black
-and-white filly.”

  “I’m glad,” she said quietly.

  Salome was the newest of Cassidy’s mares, bought from the same stock breeder in California where he’d contracted to buy the bull. Karen had ridden the pretty horse a time or two last fall. Smaller than the other mares, yet with more stamina, Sally had gone into labor shortly after Karen’s mother had driven away around five-thirty.

  “What are you gonna name her?” Vicki piped up, her brown eyes sparkling with renewed interest.

  “That’s up to you.”

  “Me? But you always name the horses.”

  “I name my horses. This new baby is yours.”

  An awed look appeared in Vicki’s eyes, followed closely by the sheen of welling tears. Conflicting emotions waged a struggle in eyes as dark as her father’s before her face crumbled.

  “I don’t want another horse. Goldie’d be upset.”

  Tears began rolling down her too-pale cheeks again, and Karen saw a quick look of panic race over Cassidy’s rugged features.

  Glancing her way, he shifted, then shoved his hands into the back pockets of his jeans, palms out, the only way they’d fit. Though he’d been in this cheerfully cluttered room countless times before, he suddenly looked acutely uncomfortable, as though he didn’t belong.

  “Guess that was a dumb idea,” he muttered, his voice rough.

  “No, just a little premature.” Last night Karen would have stood up and walked into his arms. Tonight she remained rooted to the mattress edge, the arms she would have slipped around his waist stiffly at her side.

  Looking unconvinced, he drew a breath, then withdrew his hands and walked to the dresser for a handful of tissues from the box by the night-light before returning to the side of the bed. Karen could tell by the sway to his walk that he was close to exhaustion. And why not? She, herself, was feeling wrung out, and she’d managed four or five hours of sleep last night while he’d had less than that.

  “Here, sweetheart. Use these,” he said gruffly when Vicki started to wipe her tear-drenched face with the edge of the sheet. Looking mutinous and miserable at the same time, she snatched the tissues from his hand and swiped her wet cheeks.