Condemn Me Not

by Dianne Venetta

  “What are you going to do when they move out? Ultimately your kids will leave—then what? What are your plans?”

  Claire caught the added question lingering in Simone’s eyes. Do you have any? Glowing, heated, the unspoken words demanded response.

  Claire looked away. She had three more years before the twins moved out and she wasn’t going to rush into painting simply because Simone deemed it the answer. She’d do it on her terms, not Simone’s.

  “C’mon, Claire.” Simone’s interrogation mellowed. “I’m not trying to cause trouble, but it kills me to see you sacrifice everything for the good of the family and leave nothing for yourself.”

  “You act as though I’m unhappy.” Tears welled. “I’m not. I’m quite the opposite.”

  “Are you okay then, with Rebecca leaving?”

  “That’s not fair.”

  “But it is,” Simone returned firmly. “You’re so wrapped up in your kids, you can’t let go of them. You fear if they leave, go too far, you’ll have nothing in their place. You’ve built nothing to sustain you, nothing to carry you through the years. I see so many women who grow old, because they’ve forgotten how to live. I don’t want to see that happen to you.”

  “I won’t be left with nothing to live for,” Claire declared.

  “Won’t you?”

  “No.”

  “Then why are you upset over Rebecca’s move? And don’t tell me it’s about her safety, because Providence is a big city, too. Paris is a phenomenal opportunity for her. She’ll run with her own crowd, stick near the university. She’ll be fine.”

  Claire hated being backed into a corner, especially by Simone. “We can’t afford it,” she said. “We can’t afford the travel expenses and once more, is it worth never seeing my child? I don’t want to be relegated to bi-annual visits.” Besides, Simone didn’t know the half of it. She had no idea of Rebecca’s intention to travel. Stay near the university. She’d be lucky if the girl remained in the same country, let alone the immediate vicinity!

  “You’re going to face an empty nest in a few years and you need to have a plan. You’re only forty-two. You still have forty good years in you to work, to live, to have that gallery you’ve always dreamed of. You missed the opportunity once. Are you telling me you’re willing to forego it again?”

  “I didn’t miss the opportunity,” Claire defended. “I chose to stay home and raise a family. There’s a big difference between having kids and raising kids. I chose the latter,” she thrust, unable to contain her temper.

  Simone screwed her expression in displeasure. “And I chose the former?”

  “Didn’t you?”

  “What about all those women who don’t have a choice in the matter? The women who have to work, through no fault of their own? You’re telling me they’re screwing up their kids, too?” It was a valid question, but before Claire could respond, Simone shook the notion aside. “It’s nothing but psycho-babble. What’s the goal, if it isn’t to send an independent adult out into the world, one who doesn’t need you for every little thing because they can make their own decisions, handle it on their own? Mitchell and I have raised our daughter, a young woman who is ready to head out on her own, same as any parent. But in the same space of time, we’ve managed two careers, a house, a retirement fund, and now have a full and rewarding future to look forward to.”

  Simone winced. “Damn it, I didn’t want to be having this conversation, but maybe it’s for the best,” she said, gold-brown eyes blazing in passionate rebuttal. “You need something to fight for, not wither away and die when the kids are gone.” At the word die, Simone immediately realized her error and reached for Claire’s hand. “I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant.”

  A wall of tears shoved behind Claire’s eyes. She knew she didn’t. But she hated that Simone was right, had nailed her to the core. What was she going to do? She’d thought about it often enough. Help Jim with the business? Doing what? She wasn’t any good with handling the accounting, and she certainly couldn’t contribute to the repair side. Was she going to answer phones all day?

  The mere thought was disheartening. Four years at Brown University only to end up a secretary and only that because her husband owned the shop. It was a discouraging prospect. But how could she use her art degree now? As Simone had pointed out many times before, she’d taken herself out of the work force. She’d lost her marketable skills. Granted, she hadn’t lost her talent, but who wanted to hire a forty-something artist when they could have a twenty-something just as qualified? The younger would expect less, produce more... The only down side was that a younger person might want maternity leave, but like Teresa so aptly pointed out, the company would hold her spot until she returned, as many times as she chose to take it. How could Claire compete with that?

  Simone interrupted her thoughts. “It’s worth considering,” she counseled. “Under the circumstances, it may be just the remedy you need.”

  Claire ruminated on the conversation long after Simone’s departure. Wiping the counter that didn’t need wiping, she mulled over her past, her future, and every choice in between. Was Simone right? Had Claire made a mistake?

  Putting off her career until after the kids left home now seemed a daunting proposition. Suppose she wanted to open that gallery she’d always dreamed of owning... Where would she get the money? Could she paint and sell enough of her work to open a small place in the city? Rinsing the cloth beneath warm water, she wrung it dry. She could always work for someone else. She could “man” their shop, so to speak, and make their gallery the success that hers might have been.

  Claire slumped against the sink. Tears threatened, and too exhausted to fight them, she allowed the moisture to gather within her lashes. Maybe she should have painted over the years. If she had, she could have built up a collection, a ready-made profit center from which to begin the next chapter in her life. Maybe she should have worked a part-time job to keep herself current—at least set some money aside. Jim made enough for the family. Couldn’t she have worked while the kids were in school, saved up her money, sketched out a plan for the future? An outline at minimum? An idea?

  She shot a teary gaze toward the ceiling, and the pain spilled free; hot, heavy tears of regret streamed down her cheeks, her failings moving like strangers in the dark. She wasn’t used to thinking of herself in such negative terms, yet here she stood, forty-two years old with no money and no artwork to sell. She couldn’t even lease a tiny space to begin. Not staring down three college tuitions, she couldn’t.

  Alone and overwhelmed, Claire surveyed her tidy kitchen. She had designed the space many years ago and still adored it, from the sunny floral pattern to the bright blue gingham chair cushions, the blond wood table, its surface worn to a dull patina from years of use. This was where her energy and focus had been. This, where she spent her thoughts and her time. Not once had she considered planning ahead. Not once had she thought to prepare for a career after the kids moved out. She had been present in their lives, invested every ounce of herself within this space. But rather than the warm haven of joy she believed it to be, the four walls suddenly felt like a prison cell.

  SIMONE AND MITCHELL

  “It’s not a good time.” Mitchell pulled the heather gray T-shirt over his head and down into place over his torso. He ran a hand through short waves of uncombed hair, then slid the top drawer of his bureau closed. “My project has another two years build out, minimum.”

  Resentment stewed deep in Simone’s heart. “It was supposed to be completed this summer,” she said. Her hip began to throb as she leaned rigid against her dresser, the edge of mahogany furniture cutting into her muscle. Mitchell was breaking his promise. They had a deal. When Mariah left for college, she would be open for a move. She could follow wherever the promotion took her, and it was taking her to Chicago. Only her husband was refusing her due. “Why is this the first I’ve heard of a delay, Mitchell?”

  He shrugged. “I’m in an unpredictable busi
ness. Development takes time, markets shift.”

  Or crash, she thought bitterly. Once again, Mitchell’s risky career path was infringing upon her stable and planned career path. “Can’t Raymond hold it together without you?”

  “It’s not fair to ask him.”

  “But it’s fair to ask me to forgo my promotion?”

  “Babe.” His gaze softened to a smoky caramel, enhanced by the low light of their bedroom. It was a sultry gaze, one usually reserved for romance. “You can still accept your promotion. I’m not trying to stop you.”

  She bridled on the verge of losing control. “And live by myself in Chicago? Is that what you want?”

  “It will only be for a year or so. As the project comes to a close, I’ll be free to travel more. Until then, we can trade weekends ‘in flight.’” He smiled, a flicker of lust licking at the bronze in his eyes. “Think of the miles we’ll rack up.”

  But Simone’s thoughts chose a different route. Think of the cost. Think of the time apart. Think of what it would do to the relationship.

  Mitchell came to her and prying her away from the dresser, took her in his arms and enfolded her within a warm hug. Ignoring her resistance, he spoke into her hair. “Besides, you’ll be working ten-hour days. We’ll both be exhausted, lonely, and looking forward to the weekends...” Mitchell kissed the side of her head and whispered, “Think of how hot they’ll be.”

  Simone fought the scent of his cologne, the richly scented cream he used to shave each night before bed. She shouldn’t have to think about any of those things! Mitchell should be moving to Chicago with her, day one. Simone broke away from his grasp.

  In fact, they shouldn’t be having this discussion at all. “I want this promotion.”

  “I understand.” He was a solitary figure, deserted in the middle of their bedroom. He felt distant to her, the olive-hued walls adding to further dampen the mood. “But this is a big job for me. I can’t just up and leave it.”

  Instantly she wondered at the guarded hesitation in his eyes. Was he leveraged more than she knew? Was he in trouble?

  “You’ll have your promotion,” he continued. “I’ll just have to follow at a later date.”

  “Mitchell,” she said flatly, more concerned with her own professional welfare at the moment. “It’s my turn. You’ve had your time in first position. I want mine now.”

  “Simone, I can’t drop everything in the middle of a project because your promotion has come due. And since when did this become a competition?” An unusual hurt kicked in his gaze. “His versus hers?”

  “Well, someone has to give.” Lifting a decorative pillow, a rich chocolate brown and navy, Simone yanked the downy soft ivory comforter and bedspread away, revealing the pale blue sheets beneath. “It’s like we planned. When Mariah moved out, I was free to move up. I deserve this promotion, Mitchell.” And I won’t let you ruin it for me.

  “I agree. And you’ll have it. Take it, move to Chicago—”

  “Alone?” Simone hovered on the verge of tears. This wasn’t the sweet taste of celebration she’d been anticipating when Mitchell learned of her promotion. Len was thrilled for her. The office staff was happy, but sad to see her go. Yet this is how her husband treated her? Sending her off to another city alone?

  Mitchell gave a sigh of exasperation and closed the space between them. “You’re not going to be alone. Why do you keep saying that?” He brushed loose strands of hair from her brow and traced its curve. “It’s not like I’m abandoning you. I simply have unfinished business. Once I wrap this deal up, I’m all yours.” Mitchell took her face in his hands and about to kiss her, seemed to think better of it. “Let’s say we head out next month on a house-hunting trip, okay? Just the two of us.”

  “Grr...” She grunted and pulled free from his grasp. “You make sending me away seem so happy and homey.”

  He laughed, unaffected. “Isn’t it? I have the most amazing wife skyrocketing up the ladder of fortune and fame—what’s not happy about that? As to the homey part, I know you’ve been dying to get back to Hyde Park.” He hung a hand from the bedpost, adding, “And I want to go with you.”

  “A year later.”

  “The time will fly—you watch.”

  “I’m worried about Claire,” she said, the abrupt change in gears as much a reprieve for herself as genuine concern for her friend.

  Mitchell’s gaze reflected the sentiment. Jim and Claire were his friends, too.

  Simone dropped to the edge of the mattress. “She needs me.” Though next time, she’d have to do better than she did today. Simone lifted a heel to her knee and massaged the arch of her foot. Upsetting Claire was not the goal. Supporting her was.

  “She has you,” he reassured, following the shift in conversation without reproach. “You’ll be by her side every step of the way, supporting her in the way only you can.”

  “From Chicago?”

  “We have phones. We have planes. You’ll talk to her every day and when you’re in town, you’ll be by her side in person.”

  “It isn’t good enough. She needs hand-holding, and I’m it.”

  Mitchell tilted his head toward her. “Jim can hold her hand when you’re not around.”

  “And with Rebecca leaving...” Simone shot her gaze to the ceiling and a wave of tears flowed into her lids, tears she felt as much for herself as she did for Claire. “It’s not fair. What is she going to do? How is she going to manage?”

  “You act like she’s helpless.”

  “But she’s not ready for this kind of life-changing event. You didn’t see her today.” While her conversation with Claire didn’t leave them in a happy place—something to be expected under the circumstance—Mitchell wasn’t there to hear Claire’s indecision, her lack of forethought. It killed Simone to see her best friend flapping in the wind with no sense of direction, purpose. “She needs something to work for, to shoot for.”

  “And living isn’t enough?” he questioned, his tone slightly mocking.

  “Oh, you know what I mean,” she said, her exasperation rising. Simone changed feet, rubbing the ache from wearing three-inch heels all day, the plush carpet comforting and warm to her soles. “Claire needs to have a goal. She needs to have something to look forward to—other than this disease. But she doesn’t. She hasn’t even thought past this summer, let alone the next twenty years!” Which made Simone crazy.

  “Day by day is the key.” Mitchell strolled over to his side of the bed, as though his wife had dismissed him. “She’ll survive,” he said to her. “Claire’s a fighter, just like you. She won’t take this diagnosis as the final word—she’ll fight it.”

  Simone wished she could be so certain. After their talk this afternoon, Claire seemed clueless as to what lay ahead. What did she plan on doing with the rest of her life? She had twenty, thirty, forty years to fill. Other than holidays with her kids, a vacation with her husband, what did she have to look forward to? Sure, she was a fighter—but what did she have to fight for? Housekeeping? Reading?

  Claire needed to get serious if she was going to beat this thing. If her brother’s battle with prostate cancer taught Simone anything, it was that the power of the mind could overcome disease, so long as it had something else to focus upon. For Todd it was teaching. A university professor, he threw himself into his work and his students, and he’d found healing in his service to others. Faculty staff had offered him as much time off as he needed, but Todd refused. Teaching was his passion. It’s what he lived for, and to take him away from his classroom—well, you might as well have filed his death certificate. His heart would have been in the same place.

  Simone wiped her eyes, tamped down the welling anger. She tossed ornamental pillows to the floor beside her bed, situated the remainder against the ornately carved headboard, and then slipped in between her sheets, the 800-thread count providing a luxurious glide for her heels and toes. The report she had prepared to summarize lay abandoned on her nightstand. She was in no frame of mi
nd for numbers. Not when her husband was denying her. This promotion was her reward, her prize for years of hard work yet he expected her to go it alone. He was staying back with the daughter who reviled her.

  Simone’s heart sank. It made for an empty victory.

  Mitchell turned on his lamp and settled in for his customary hour of reading. Mostly money magazines, technology and architectural digests, but it was the stuff of dreams for him. And Claire? What did she have? She hadn’t picked up a brush in ages and with Rebecca’s announcement, she should comprehend even more fully the paucity of her situation. She had nothing. In a few years, Jimmy and Joe would leave and she’d be alone. Twelve hours a day, she’d sit staring at four walls and a layer of dust, an empty sink and a bare refrigerator, counting the minutes until her dear husband came home. How uplifting was that for a future?

  Simone switched off her light. It wasn’t. It was depressing. Much like Mariah’s decision. Moving in with her boyfriend was her biggest mistake thus far. Tying herself to him and this business venture... It would all but gut her future, and guarantee her a life of struggle. Simone scooted down the length of the bed and dragged the light down blanket up to her breast, leaving the bedspread in folds over her lower legs. The only bright spot had been Mitchell’s unequivocal support of her position. He had told Mariah in no uncertain terms that he was not okay with her decision to move in with Logan. The business deal—fine, so long as she had everything in writing up front, to protect her interests. But living together? Absolutely not.

  Simone spewed out a tired sigh. Mitchell would not support his daughter if she lived under the same roof with that boy unless they were married. Staring at the green-gray wall, her mind stilled, an ugly thought beginning to form. Visions of Mariah flipping her off as she sauntered down the aisle in an extravagant, low cut wedding gown stuck in her brain like a chewed piece of gum. Let’s hope she doesn’t decide to climb that mountain before she’s ready. But Simone didn’t doubt for a second the option existed in Mariah’s arsenal of rebellion. If pushed, Mariah would do anything to “insult” her mother and show her who was calling the shots around here. But why?