Condemn Me Not

by Dianne Venetta

  Claire cast a don’t-encourage-her glare at her friend and dropped an open hand to the table with a whack. “The last thing I need is you getting her hopes up about attending school in Paris.” While she was secretly proud of her daughter for being accepted to such a prestigious university, there was no way they could afford it. And although Rebecca had taken the initiative in getting herself accepted, she had neglected the reality of cost. She and Jim were scarcely able to manage the fees at Rhode Island. If it weren’t for Rebecca’s scholarships, she wouldn’t be able to attend at all.

  Spying the graduation party “to do” list, half-unchecked, only compounded Claire’s misery. This morning was supposed to be the final rundown on party preparations. Mariah and Rebecca were graduating together in June, and she and Simone were pulling together for their big celebration. They had to mail invitations, decide on food, decorations... But in light of the girls’ revelations, Claire didn’t feel the first scrap of desire to finalize details. She only wanted the world to stop so she could hit Reverse.

  “I can’t believe Mariah,” Simone said. “What is she thinking?”

  Claire shook her head, pained by the guttural disappointment in Simone’s voice. There were few things capable of destabilizing her friend—other than a dislocated hip, maybe—but this had to be one of them. Mariah had hit her where it hurt. She had rejected her mother’s wishes and thrown them smack in her face.

  “If she had told me she was going to Paris, I’d be thrilled,” Simone said. “Concerned about the money, but thrilled by her decision.” She hooked her gaze to Claire’s and asked, “Why aren’t you?”

  Claire expelled a sigh. Because of the money. Because of the distance. Because it went against all the plans they’d made, the ones that would keep her daughter close, keep them close. But to reveal the first reservation would expose her for the over-protective mother that she was, everything Simone wasn’t. “It’s just not what I expected,” she said, hoping her friend wouldn’t push. They didn’t always see eye to eye on child-rearing and Claire didn’t want to argue the point now. She wanted the whole mess to disappear like a dream.

  “Neither is Mariah’s dropping out of school, but at least Rebecca’s going—and to Paris,” Simone said, excitement elevating her tone. “To study art in Paris is a dream come true, isn’t it? To sketch the landscape, capture the people along the Seine...” She honed in on Claire. “It’s what you wanted for yourself, once.”

  The remark was a direct stab. A lecture from Simone was the last thing Claire needed.

  But Simone droned on, “I remember a time when you weren’t sure you would return to Brown, that I’d have to look for another roommate. Personally I was happy for you. I’d have gladly found someone else if it meant you were taking up residence in Paris. If you’d accepted the position as assistant to Jacques, he would have taught you everything he knew. You certainly could have transferred your credits easily enough.”

  Hearing Simone dust off her college dream made Claire feel weak. Like a failure. She sucked in a deep breath and blew it free. She absolutely had wanted that once. Desperately so. It only took one summer in France to convince her Paris was her kind of city. Boston was filled with history and landmarks, but in her eyes it paled in comparison to Paris, the city of love and romance. Nights warmed by lamplight, sidewalks teeming with lovers... Fleeting images of Jacques entered her mind, tugging old desires from deep within her heart. An art professor at the University of Paris, Jacques was certain he could get her enrolled, and together they could have worked and taught, traveled and loved. Memories pinched. But that was before she met Jim.

  “Seems to me you’d be happy for her.” Savage indictment heated the amber flecks in Simone’s eyes. “This experience will open doors Rhode Island never could. And the adventure of living in another country?” She heaved a sigh and chucked her gaze around the kitchen. “I could only wish as much for Mariah.”

  Guilt iced Claire’s longing as she switched her focus back to Simone. “I am.”

  “Could have fooled me.”

  Yes, well, she was in shock. And the issue wasn’t settled. Hope slashed through her thoughts. She’d talk to Jim tonight, he’d know what to do. Uninterested in hashing it out further, she switched the spotlight to Simone. “What are you going to do about Mariah? You can’t let her give up her education.”

  “I don’t intend to. I’m going to convince her she’s making the biggest mistake of her life and set her back on track.”

  “She sounded pretty firm.”

  “Youthful arrogance.” Simone waved a hand in dismissal. “Nothing I can’t overcome. I’ll talk to Mitchell and together we’ll present a united front. It’ll be a tougher sell with the two of us in sync against it.”

  Claire returned a doubtful gaze. “Mariah’s a pit bull. Once she gets something in her mind, she won’t let go.”

  “Don’t remind me.”

  A hesitant smile crept onto Claire’s lips. “She’s a lot like you in that regard.”

  “Yes, but I always had a plan.” Simone jabbed a finger to the table. “When I had an idea, I always worked it nine ways to Sunday before I set the first foot in play. So in that respect, we are nothing alike.”

  “Can’t argue with you there,” Claire agreed, giving up with a brief tip of her head.

  “I knew what I wanted and I set goals to achieve it. That’s how you start a business.”

  Or run a career, a life, Claire thought. It was one of the differences between them. Where she simply allowed her course to change, evolve, Simone set benchmarks. By twenty-five she would have her Masters, by thirty she would have a position in the company of her choice. By thirty-five she’d reach management and by forty she’d kick it up to the next level. And according to Len Miller, Simone was well ahead of schedule. The expected promotion was hers—though Mariah’s little surprise injected an unexpected twist into the equation—and it was in Chicago. Somehow, Claire doubted Simone would pass it up.

  “Success is about hard work and paying your dues,” Simone declared. “This is Logan’s doing. Mariah is working under his influence and that has to stop.”

  “How do you plan to manage that?”

  “I have ways,” she replied. “Trust me when I say this is not the end of it.”

  Claire slumped. “I hope you’re right. And if you have any magic potion left over, mind using it on Rebecca?”

  The kitchen door opened and both women turned to see Teresa Richmond ease her way inside. “Knock, knock.”

  “Come in,” Claire replied dully.

  Simone’s sister strode to the table, blonde hair clipped short and feathered in a sassy urban style, dark brown eyes punctuating her pale skin. The two women were similar in build, but leave it to Teresa and her abundance of black and white, Claire thought. Black slacks and Mary Janes, white button-down and oversized wristwatch. Did the woman own anything else?

  “Are you two ready?” Teresa asked.

  “Ready as I’ll ever be,” Simone muttered. She shoved up from the table and grabbed her purse. “Let’s go.”

  Claire followed suit, collecting her leather bag from the telephone desk. She slid the slim strap over her shoulder and opened the door.

  Teresa glanced around the empty kitchen. “I thought the girls were coming.”

  “Don’t think so,” Claire said.

  “Better they don’t,” Simone added.

  “Am I missing something?”

  Claire hemmed and summoned her best smile. “Ah...there’s been a bit of a development.”

  “Mariah’s lost her mind,” Simone added bluntly.

  Teresa turned on Simone. “What have you done to her this time?”

  Simone balked. “Me? I’m the good guy here.”

  Claire quickly interceded and took Teresa by the arm, steering her toward the door. “Maybe you can help us with some suggestions on how best to proceed. We’ll tell you all about it on the way to the store.” The last thing she needed was for S
imone and Teresa to go at it. Her quiet morning had already been blown to smithereens. Did she trust her afternoon with the Richmond sisters? A mild shudder ran through her.

  Claire had a bad feeling about this shopping trip.

  TERESA

  “I’m not even sure why we’re still having this party,” Simone griped, dumping a long double-pack of napkins into the warehouse grocery cart. They had scheduled this party-shopping trip weeks ago, but neither she nor Claire was in the mood. Apathetic was a better word. Simone barely acknowledged a passing customer as she wheeled by them. At this point, she couldn’t care less one way or the other about the party.

  “Because your daughter is still graduating, despite her decision about college,” Teresa reminded her sister as she reached for a stack of red plastic cups. “Should we get two packages or one?” she asked of no one in particular.

  “Two,” Claire answered.

  “I still can’t believe it,” Simone muttered. “What is she thinking?”

  “That she’s invincible, can conquer the world,” Claire murmured, looking down the wide gray, cement-floor aisle.

  “After all I’ve done for her and this is how she repays me?” Simone shoved the shopping cart into motion. “Some gratitude.”

  Claire nodded, a heavy sigh escaping her lips she abruptly moved forward, her sneaker soles screeching across the floor. “How do you think I feel? I sacrificed everything to be home for the kids, and now Rebecca’s leaving me.”

  “You made that choice,” Simone pointed out.

  “I know. And so did you. You’re a working woman, and now Mariah wants to be the same.”

  “Except that I’m an educated working woman. She won’t be.”

  “Do you hear yourselves?” Criticism oozed from Teresa’s eyes as she said, “You’re whining and complaining about your daughters because they’re demonstrating an inclination toward independence. What kind of message do you think you’re sending?”

  Simone didn’t hesitate. “The right one. The smart one.”

  “In your opinion,” Teresa returned. “But Mariah has a mind of her own. She wants something different from life and you should support her.”

  “I am not supporting her to go off half-cocked, following the whim of her boyfriend.”

  “You don’t know that,” Teresa replied. “She’s as bull-headed as you are, and for all you know, this business may have been her idea—an idea which could be very successful.”

  “Why are you here again?” Simone huffed.

  “You’re using my club card.”

  Simone snorted, anger blowing from her ears. “Remind me to sign up for one, will you Claire?”

  “Teresa’s right,” Claire put in. “Mariah is just like you with a stubborn streak a mile wide. I think your best bet is to negotiate with her. Try to find some common ground and work from there.”

  “What are you suggesting? What do you want me to tell her? Glad to see you’re thinking ahead, maybe college isn’t such a hot idea. Don’t worry. It can wait while you go play entrepreneur, wasting time and money on this venture of yours your boyfriend talked you into.”

  Claire shrugged. “Maybe she can try her hand at this business while she takes classes at the community college.”

  Simone shook her head. “Already tried it. Non-starter.”

  “How about letting her go ahead with it?” Teresa offered. “Let her try it and fail. Isn’t that what you and Mitchell always preach? Our problem in this country is that we don’t allow people to fail anymore.”

  Simone glared.

  “She has a point,” Claire conceded. “Albeit a tough one. The lesson of trial and error can be painful.”

  “I’ve worked too damn hard to have this child throw it all away before she ever gets started. She needs to be convinced this is not the right choice, and that’s what I intend to do.”

  “Have you considered talking to her boyfriend?”

  Simone paused.

  Both women stopped.

  “What have you done, Simone?” It was more demand than question, but Claire knew her all too well.

  “I went and spoke with him,” she hedged.

  “And?” Claire prodded.

  “Spill it,” Teresa said.

  Simone pulled a veil over her expression and said, “I explained my position and he disagreed.”

  “What are you not telling us, Simone?” Claire pressed.

  “I offered him ten thousand dollars to go away.”

  Claire gasped. “You did not!”

  “I did,” she replied evenly, evading Claire’s reproachful eye as she collected several containers of plastic utensils.

  “Leave it to you to clear the debris,” Teresa said.

  “Well, what else was I supposed to do? Stand by and watch him ruin my daughter’s life?” She marched to catch up, tossing her boxes into the cart. “Not on your life.”

  “Does Mitchell know about this?” Claire asked.

  “No and he doesn’t have to,” she warned. “Though he probably would have done the same thing.”

  Teresa rolled her eyes and took command of the cart. “You can take the girl out of Chicago but you can’t take...” She allowed the rest to fade away behind her as she pushed forward.

  Simone kept pace with the cart, arguing, “Could have been problem solved if the boy had the first ounce of brains. And I haven’t heard any better suggestions from you.”

  Teresa rolled the cart around the edge of the next aisle and into the produce section, but Claire lagged behind. A wall of freezers created a border to one side, the bakery to the other. “Okay, for the record,” Teresa said, “I could give you plenty of suggestions, but bribing teenage boys would not be one of them.”

  Claire caught up with them.

  Simone ignored the anxious lines framing Claire’s eyes and addressed Teresa, “Easy for you to say. You have no children.”

  “No, not because I have no children. Because I have morals. Morals,” she repeated. “You know, those sweet little angels that sit on your shoulder and whisper about the right thing to do?”

  “Simone, tell me you won’t do anything like that again,” Claire interjected.

  Simone whipped her an I-can’t-promise-you-that look and stole a glance toward the bakery, her senses inundated with the rich scent of fresh-baked dough. Shelves were packed with boxes of giant muffins. Carts were lined with trays of cookies. A glass display boasted colorful cakes. She returned to taking stock of her sister as Teresa perused the display of McIntosh apples. Plucking one from the top, she gave it a sniff. “Well, what do you want me to do?” Simone drilled back. “Stand around and wait for her to fall flat on her face?”

  “Try supporting her by guiding her to a right and profitable conclusion,” Claire proposed. “Isn’t that what you do all day? Steer investors into good investments. Manage their accounts and deliver net gain?”

  “I work my butt off all day is what I do, and I don’t expect others to show me the way. I show myself the way by studying portfolios, analyzing them and then giving advice based on my experience and instinct.”

  “No man is an island,” Teresa said tersely, and plopped a bag of red apples into the cart.

  Simone groaned. “Great. Because philosophy solves everything.”

  “It goes to the point.” Teresa stopped and Simone didn’t like the bitter glint flickering in her gaze.

  “And the point is?”

  “Everyone needs a little help from time to time, even you career moguls.” Teresa looped her fingers through the metal bars along the cart’s rim. “Why don’t you try and help the girl instead of condemn her?”

  “I never needed help. I worked hard and earned everything I have.” Simone noted Claire had tuned in with a wary ear.

  “That’s what you tell yourself but don’t forget, it’s women like me who pull up the slack for women like you.”

  “What? No woman ever pulls up slack for me, because I don’t slack.”

  “T
hey do when you run home for maternity leave, or sick children, or any number of family issues that call.”

  Simone grabbed hold of the cart’s edge, halting the buggy in its tracks. The sisters faced off over the basketful of groceries, the colorful display of oranges and lemons flanking them to either side.

  “Exactly what is that supposed to mean?” Simone challenged.

  “It means that when you request—make that require,” Teresa corrected, “six weeks off for maternity leave, your duties at work don’t cease and desist. They continue without you, necessitating the attention of your co-workers.” She jabbed a thumb to her chest. “Co-workers like me.”

  “Like I have a choice when it comes to childbirth.”

  Animosity simmered in her smile, lips glistening in red gloss. “You didn’t have to have a child. You chose it.”

  “Because men don’t have babies. When they start, I’ll hand over the choice—gladly.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Point remains the same. Businesses don’t run themselves. People run them, and I’m tired of you running around acting like you’re the only one who can do your job.” Teresa released her hold on the grocery cart.

  Simone bristled, anger splashing in her heart. “I was in constant contact with my office when I was out on leave. I handled the everyday details of my business and didn’t miss a single phone call to my clients.”

  “You couldn’t attend meetings,” Teresa corrected. “You couldn’t meet with clients. Someone had to do that for you. How about dabbing that hard-nosed stance of yours with a brush of compassion?”

  “Simone did a great job seeing to her clients,” Claire defended, “and if you recall, she only took two weeks.”

  Teresa angled her head with a shake to the contrary. Manicured brows rose indifferently as she replied, “Whatever. Two weeks is two weeks, and I for one resent having to pick up the slack for my fellow female when she decides she’s entitled to special treatment, expecting me to work two jobs for the price of one.”