Nobody's Angel

by Sarah Hegger

  “What?” he demanded as he retrieved his own cutlery.

  “Nothing,” Donna said, shrugging innocently. Richard glared back at her until she started spilling again. “I thought that’s how you would be feeling and I asked. No big deal.”

  “You’re weird, Ma.” Richard gave her the benefit of his professional, medical opinion.

  “You may be right,” his mother said, grinning back at him.

  There was a lot he wanted to say, but none of it would sort itself into coherent utterances. So, he fulminated in silence for a while. Eating didn’t interrupt his fuming and he carried on with his dinner.

  Donna had always been the perfect mother for three healthy, active boys. When you fell down, she picked you up without all that fussing and fluttering. If you were bleeding, you got a Band-Aid; if it was worse you got a trip to the emergency room. All of it handled in the same calm, no-nonsense manner that left a boy feeling like he was in capable hands.

  She was still that woman, but his mother had changed in so many other ways. Insisting on grubbing around in his feelings and demanding that he talk about them. Jeez! She had his brother Josh for that with his designer duds and monthly manicures.

  There had been no “feeling” talk when his dad was alive. This had all started after Des’s death, when Donna had gone into bereavement counseling over the loss of her husband. Bereavement counseling. And out of it she’d come, not even wearing the same clothes.

  Case in point. Richard examined the ankle-length red skirt and greenish sweater his mother wore. They should have looked ridiculous. Donna should have looked like Santa’s oldest little helper. But she looked … Richard shrugged, she looked nice, attractive even, but she didn’t look like the mother he knew.

  The jeans were gone along with the Gap sweatshirts, de rigueur for all good soccer moms. They’d been replaced by chunky bits of ethnic jewelry that jangled and crashed when she moved. Donna herself was different, more assertive and more definite in her opinions. It made him feel like he’d lost his mom and she’d been replaced by her upgrade. Richard had liked the prototype fine.

  “So, Richard …” She always caressed the ch in his name to the sibilant French sh. “I am not only here to get all up in your grill.”

  Richard frowned. Had she been watching YouTube videos again? He must be the only son in the world who thought about restricting his mother’s Internet access. The thing with the nude tennis players loomed large and ugly in his recent memory and he shrugged it off hastily. If that was research for art class then he was … well, he didn’t believe it.

  “Okay?” he responded carefully and refilled both their glasses. It was a very decent Australian and Richard made a note of the label.

  “I have come to a decision and I wanted to share it with you. Actually, I have come to a number of decisions lately, but I think it best if we dealt with them one at a time.”

  This did not sound good and Richard braced for impact. “Why don’t we start with the one that’s going to make me yell the loudest.”

  “Oh, Richard.” She giggled and waved an arm at him, sending silver and green bracelets smashing together. “You are still so like your father.”

  “That’s a good thing, Ma,” he reminded her.

  Donna made a little moue with her mouth and Richard glared at her. His father had been a good man, a great dad, and his parents had always been happy.

  “Maman?” he growled. Donna didn’t so much as flinch.

  “Richard, I loved your father. I was happily married to the man for over thirty years,” she snapped at him impatiently. “But that did not blind me to the fact he was domineering and repressive sometimes. I was eighteen when I married Des. If I’d been older …” She trailed off in thought.

  “What?” Richard demanded, outrage surging through him. She could change everything else, but the past was sacrosanct and he didn’t want her messing with his memories of a basically happy family.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Donna said, shaking her head. “But it does get me to my decision. Like I said, I was eighteen when I got married and I had to run away to do it. Richard …” Here she paused and seemed to take the time to pick her words carefully. “My father wants to see me and I have decided to go.”

  “WHAT?” Donna didn’t flinch as he exploded from his chair. “You cannot be serious?” Richard wanted to punch something. He pressed his fists firmly onto the table in front of him and leaned toward Donna. “The man threw you out,” he reminded her through clenched teeth. “He tossed you out like garbage because you married an American. Remember?”

  “Of course I remember,” Donna flashed back at him, color high on her cheekbones and sparkling through her eyes. “I was there, Richard. It was me who did the running away.”

  “Then why?” He stared at her uncomprehendingly. His mother had been thrown out for daring to marry an English speaker and an American, at that. She had been ruthlessly cut off from all forms of support and the company of her large, boisterous family. She’d even changed her name from Adeline to Donna and moved to Illinois. She hadn’t been back to Montreal since. Richard thought she’d turned her back on all of that. Donna was better than the lot of them. She didn’t need them. She had him and Josh and Thomas, when his youngest brother got around to remembering he was not the center of the universe—ETA on that currently unknown.

  “Sit down, darling.” She tapped the table with her hand in a way that was supposed to placate him. Richard clenched his teeth. “And I will try to explain.”

  Richard sank into his chair and reached for his wineglass.

  “He’s old, Richard, and not very well.” Richard stared at her, unimpressed. “And me”—she did the French, one-shouldered shrug—“I want to have peace around me and that starts here.” She tapped the center of her chest.

  “I don’t get it.” And he really didn’t. Donna was young still, younger than most other mothers. Only after Des’s death had the realization hit Richard that she was in her early fifties and a long, long way from being done.

  “I feel like there is this part of me out there that is unfinished business and I want it over and done with.” Donna placed her hands carefully on the table in front of them and splayed her fingers. She kept her face bent over her hands as if she were examining them. Richard had inherited those long, elegant fingers. “I have no idea what it will accomplish after all this time, but I do know I will regret it if he dies and I had this chance to go and make peace and I never took it.”

  “Would he be wanting to see you if Dad was still alive?” Richard couldn’t quite keep the bitter resentment out of his tone.

  “I don’t know.” Donna glanced up at him. “I can’t work in the realm of what ifs and maybes. I can only deal with what I know to be true today. And for today”—Donna took a deep breath—“my father would like to see me before he dies. He regrets what has happened and is reaching out to me.”

  “I think you’re being naïve.”

  “And I think you are very sweet.” Donna smiled at him suddenly and Richard blinked in the afterglow. “You are so protective and outraged on my behalf, but this is not your battle, darling. You have your own battle looming.” She jerked her head in the direction of the house next door.

  Richard felt his features stiffen into rigor mortis. “There is no battle,” he said, trying for casual and ending up sounding electronically generated. “She’s home, but it’s nothing to do with me. She’ll leave again and I will get on with persuading my wife to come home.”

  “Richard?” Donna sighed and rolled her eyes.

  “Don’t.” Richard held up one hand as inside his stomach pretzeled around itself. “Don’t say it, because you don’t know. Ashley will be back and we will fix this. I did not get married to give up and get divorced.”

  Donna growled and started clearing plates, loudly. “You are the same stubborn bastard your father was. You know that, right?”

  “It’s a good thing, Ma.” He refilled their glasses. �
�And it’s not being stubborn; it’s called being focused.” See that? He could psychobabble too.

  Donna made a rude noise and stacked the plates next to the sink. She started energetically rinsing them and putting them in the dishwasher. “I blame your grandmother.” Richard tried not to wince as she tossed his flatware into the machine.

  “Always telling you that you were a little, miniature version of your daddy. And you know what?” The cutlery got flung into the tray. “You became like him. But Richard,” she said, drawing the long, French syllables through her mouth tauntingly. “You are thirty-three.”

  “Thirty-two.”

  “In two months you will be thirty-three,” she hissed like a rattler. “I give you permission to be your own man. I also give you permission to take the stick out of your ass and live a little.”

  She mumbled something Richard caught the edge of. Along with her eyes and her hands, his mother had bequeathed a little continental flash fire. Up came his hackles. “What did you say?”

  “Nothing.” She pursed her lips and crossed her arms over her chest.

  “What did you say?” Richard took a menacing step forward.

  It was too much for his mother, who would be hung, drawn, and quartered before she allowed one of her boys to ride roughshod over her. “I said that at least Lucy was good for that. She ripped that stick right out of you.”

  He reeled as her words slammed into him and took his breath away. They stared at each other for a long moment, stunned and silent.

  As suddenly as the fire had surged, it died down and Richard saw the heat in Donna’s eyes dampened immediately by regret. She reached out and cupped her palm over his cheek. “Unfortunately, the silly girl nearly ended up beating you to death with it.”

  “And now she’s back.” He let his mother embrace him for a moment before gently disentangling himself. “I wonder if Ashley has heard.”

  Donna shrugged again. “This is Willow Park, Richard, of course Ashley has heard.”

  Chapter Eight

  Lynne was so sure this was not a good idea, but Lucy had been adamant and here she was. She had pledged her support and, by God, her mother was going to get it. It also meant seeing Richard again, but she couldn’t let that stop her.

  It had taken most of the night to get it straight in her head, but she had it now. The shock of seeing him again had combined with the guilt and nostalgia and had messed with her thinking. She was back on course. She was here to help her mother and it was long overdue. And she was home to put the past to bed, for his sake as much as for hers.

  “Are you sure about coming with me?” Lynne sat in the car beside her as Lucy parked outside the doctor’s office on Main Street.

  “Absolutely.” Lucy threw her a confident smile that didn’t even vaguely match the condition of her nerves. “You said you didn’t feel you could go in there alone and here I am.”

  “Hmm.” Lynne peered through the windshield at the front window of the doctor’s office. “He is an excellent doctor, you know.” She fluttered her hands anxiously.

  “I’m sure he is.” Richard was good at many, many things. Your classic, pain-in-the-ass overachiever and she’d loved how driven he could be. She’d never gotten around to telling him how much that impressed her about him. Chances were she wouldn’t get another opportunity to do so now. “And I am sure he will know exactly the best thing to do about Dad.”

  “I’m sure you’re right.” A small, worried frown puckered up Lynne’s forehead.

  “I promise not to do anything to upset him.” Lucy had no idea what Lynne thought she could possibly do in a crowded doctor’s office with her mother beside her. Then again, Lynne had been there since the birth of the legend of Lucy Flint and seen quite a bit of what her daughter was capable of. “There really is no reason to be nervous. He is your doctor and a professional.” Lucy mustered up a confident tone. “He will be perfectly civil. We’ve known him since I went to day care.”

  “You bit his arm.” Lynne looked pained.

  “What?”

  “Your first day at Mrs. Clark’s Day Care, you bit Richard’s arm.”

  “No.” Lucy blinked at her mother. She did a rapid memory scan, but came up blank. Of course, she had been a holy terror and the biting thing went on for a while. Actually, until the day another kid had bitten her back. A plump princess called Ashley and Lucy remembered the day well. Over wails and tears, they had looked at each other and seen an even match. They could fight to the death or join forces.

  “You were three.” Lynne nodded her head sadly. “Richard came with his mother to pick up his brothers and you bit him. You almost broke the skin.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. I wouldn’t forget something like that,” Lynne stated decisively. “Donna was very understanding about it.” Lynne shook her head in amazement. “She didn’t make the slightest bit of fuss.”

  “Donna had three boys,” Lucy said, laughing softly. “I’m sure she’d seen worse by that stage.”

  “Still,” Lynne said, shaking her head and frowning. “If it had been the other way around, if he had bitten you, I don’t think I would have been so casual about it.”

  That was true enough. To this day, her mother was blissfully unaware of the Ashley equalizer. Otherwise, Lucy felt sure, her friendship with Ashley would never have been allowed to prosper. Lynne always kept her “from children who were rough.” Also, if he’d bitten me, Lucy thought as she climbed out of the car, I would now have one less thing to make amends for.

  The office was busy with a steady stream of people moving in and out. On the other side of the central desk, a receptionist ruled the office with phlegmatic disinterest. A bit like a large, sedentary toad directing the flow of insects from her lily pad. She eyed Lucy speculatively over the rims of her round glasses and Lucy resisted the urge to fidget as she and her mother found a seat.

  “Lynne Flint.” Lucy jumped a bit. Her mother threw her a concerned look. “Exam room two, Dr. Hunter will be right along.”

  Lucy viciously suppressed the insane urge to giggle hysterically as Richard walked into exam room two. He was conservatively dressed in a pair of khaki chinos and a pale blue shirt. He carried his white coat in one large hand and hung it neatly on the back of the door. He turned back, folding his arms over his chest, and her stomach bungeed.

  “Lynne.” He smiled at her mother. “Lucy.” He cut a glance in her direction. His smile vanished and she found herself on the receiving end of an arctic blast.

  He turned to talk to her mother, having the sort of inconsequential chat friends and neighbors always shared. Wasn’t the weather awful? Everybody was hearty and hale? Were the Cubs ever going to get it together?

  Lucy caught that telltale little muscle jumping in his jaw. Richard was not as composed as he looked. It helped to steady her nerves.

  “Lucy?” Her mother motioned for her to have a seat on the exam table.

  Lynne took the only chair and Richard perched on the edge of a high stool.

  “What can I do for you?” There was that voice she’d loved.

  “Richie Rich?”

  “My flower?”

  “Would you love me if I was fat?”

  “Nope, I would dump your chubby butt and find myself a skinny chick, but we could still be friends.”

  “Richard!”

  “Don’t ask stupid questions, Luce. I’m always going to love you.”

  A strangled twitter got away from her. Her face burned as the other two turned and stared at her. “Sorry,” she whispered. “I was thinking of something else.”

  Richard turned back to look at Lynne expectantly, the muscle in his jaw going into overtime.

  Lucy cleared her throat and looked at her mother.

  Lynne looked from Richard to Lucy and back again.

  Lucy kept her eyes away from Richard.

  “Lynne?” Richard prompted gently and her mother jumped. “Is there something you came to see me about?”
r />   “Well.” Lynne mashed her hands together, twisting her fingers painfully within each other. “I’m not so sure.”

  Silence. Richard waited patiently. Lynne threw Lucy a look of desperation.

  “Actually, Richard.” His name came out of Lucy in a breathy whisper. She cleared her throat. “We are here about my father.”

  “I see.” His body tensed as he turned to look at her.

  Lucy stuttered to a halt. She remembered those eyes so clearly. Laughing, serious, lovely Richard eyes looking at her, always watching her and so packed full of love and adoration that she could barely believe it was real. She’d killed that. The eyes looking at her now were cold, unreachable facsimiles of the other pair. It helped get her thoughts back on track.

  “We wanted to discuss his condition and what to do about it.”

  “What to do about it?” His eyes narrowed on her.

  “Our options.” Lucy battled on, feeling the sharp horns of a trap close around her.

  Richard made a small sound of disgust, more a sigh than an actual noise, but Lucy felt the impact.

  “Is this what you want to talk about, Lynne?” Efficiently he shut her off and turned back to her mother.

  “Well—” Lynne looked between her and Richard, her eyes huge, as helpless as a child, and Lucy felt her gut tighten in frustration.

  Richard’s eyes bored into her.

  “Mom”—Lucy took a deep breath and gently picked up Lynne’s hand—“you wanted to come here, right? You wanted to talk to Richard about Dad.”

  “Yes,” Lynne said, but sounded like she meant something entirely different. “Lucy thought it would be for the best.”

  And Lucy wanted to scream as she saw Richard snap to the inevitable conclusion.

  “He’s getting worse and you’re struggling to manage.” Lucy prompted her mother. Her heart sank as Lynne fiddled with the straps of her purse.

  “Right.” Richard stood. He gave her mother a tight smile. “Lynne, would you mind if I had a word with Lucy?”

  Now her mother looked truly torn, her eyes darting from one to the other frantically. “I’m not really sure—”