A Daughter's a Daughter

by Irene Vartanoff

  “It’s an interesting topic to someone of my age,” her mother responded. “My brother died last year, and my sister the year before. No one in my family lives to be ninety.”

  She’d just said that. Why was she telling Pam what she already knew? Not that Pam wanted to hear talk about death. There had been too much death already in their family.

  “Enough.” Dorothy waved the topic away. “Let’s talk about your sudden onset of do-gooderism.”

  Pam explained about Magda, ending with, “She’s proud of her son’s achievement. She’d do anything to make it happen. If she can’t pay her share, he’ll have to give up his scholarship.”

  “Would that be so terrible? Many young people work their way through college.”

  “The scholarship is for Harvard. Pretty much a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

  “I see,” Dorothy said. “This boy must be something special.”

  “Oh, he is. I’ve met him. He’s a good kid, too,” she couldn’t help adding. Marc’s demonstrative love for his mother counted for a lot with her.

  “Remind me why the family is here, not home in Romania.”

  “Magda was an orphan. She married an American, and came over here when she was pregnant. Then it fell apart, but she stayed and is now a citizen. Marc—his real name is Mircea—was born here.”

  She went on, “Marc is a brilliant student. He deserves help.”

  Dorothy raised her palm, signaling Pam should stop. “All right. I’ll accept this is a worthy young man. Why can’t you just give him the money?”

  “At first I thought I could. The stock market’s massive dip has cut my 401k in half, and for all I know, it will fall farther. I have to conserve what little I have left, make it last.”

  Dorothy’s eyebrows went up. “Jeff left insurance, didn’t he?”

  “I spent most of it.” When she explained what she’d done, her mother reacted differently from Sarah. Dorothy approved.

  “Security for your children is good. You used the insurance money wisely.”

  After asking more questions, Dorothy finally conceded giving Magda the money would not be a good move.

  “You have to protect yourself first, although when I go, you’ll inherit something.” Dorothy cackled a little. “Don’t worry. It’s not in the stock market.” She asked a few more questions, then gave her verdict.

  “This will be a piece of cake, Pamela. We’ll call my lawyer and have him set up a simple nonprofit. He knows how to fast track it. You can be the president and do the publicity and the fund raising.”

  “Oh, no, I couldn’t,” she began.

  “Don’t start, Pamela,” Dorothy said. She continued, “This was your idea. Of course you will see it through. Don’t be a coward.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Oh? Then why did you come out here? You’ve already done the research on loans and concluded they aren’t a viable solution at this time. You know what you want to accomplish. A nonprofit charity will be the easiest method of achieving your goal.”

  Didn’t her mother understand? “I can’t be the public face of an organization.” Pam squirmed restlessly.

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t…I can’t…” She became all tangled up trying to express herself. “I fall apart in public.”

  “I watched you on the Today Show mere days ago. You were fine.”

  “I was?”

  “You were eloquent on your friend’s behalf.” Dorothy replied. “I taped it. I still have a working VCR. You should listen to yourself. You were good.”

  This was high praise indeed from her mother. Could it be true? Anyway, the Today Show appearance was a one-off, all for Linley’s sake. Pam couldn’t count on having that level of poise under pressure again.

  “No, I can’t be a fund raiser.” It was safer to refuse. “I’m not the type.”

  “Of course you can. Anybody can.” Dorothy’s voice showed her exasperation. “All you have to do is present your case and never accept no for an answer.”

  “I can’t.” Pam felt herself trembling under the force of Dorothy’s insistence. Her mother always did this to her. Dorothy expected everyone to be as strong as she was. Oh, why was it so hard to explain?

  Pam rose, agitated. She couldn’t keep talking to her mother now.

  “I—I need to go for a walk.” She bolted out the door to the patio, hearing her mother’s cry after her. She didn’t stop until she was far enough up the beach she couldn’t hear her anymore.

  Chapter 8

  Such adult behavior. This was exactly what she’d been afraid of. She always acted like she was a pouting six-year-old with her mother. Overwhelmed, overawed, and reluctant. What came naturally to Dorothy was painful for her.

  After a few minutes of walking along the beach, Pam calmed. How silly she had been. She wasn’t a child anymore. Why had she run away? Her mother’s idea was sound. Was it a knee-jerk reaction to Dorothy’s past efforts to recruit her daughter to her many causes? Pam had hated that. She’d been dragged into some of them, and she’d always felt awkward and incompetent.

  Was having to face being in the public eye such a high price to pay to help a friend? She’d been okay on television last week. She could do this, if she didn’t let herself panic. Her mother’s brisk efficiency made her feel inadequate by comparison, but she could overcome it. She clenched her fists at her sides as she turned around to walk back and face the music.

  A man headed in her direction, walking a small dog. The wire-hair fox terrier ran up to her joyously, leaped on her, then sniffed at her in confusion. The dog’s owner caught up and attached his collar to a leash.

  “Sorry. I’m usually the only one walking here. Yappie thought he recognized a friend.”

  He smiled. He was tall and lean, about her age. His hair was grey and his face was time-weathered under his baseball cap. He was dressed casually in blue jeans and a navy T-shirt that showed off nicely muscled arms. She was struck by how attractive he was.

  Attractive? How long had it been since she had noticed a man was attractive?

  She hid her face as she leaned down to pat the dog, who was panting hopefully. “That’s okay. He’s a cutie.”

  Yappie took that opportunity to butt at her in a friendly fashion.

  “Good boy,” she said.

  “He needs to learn some manners,” the man said, pulling his dog back as she straightened up. “My neighbor is teaching him. I think you’re staying with her? Dorothy Duncan?”

  “That’s my mother. She’s very good at training dogs. Or anything else,” she couldn’t help adding. Although whether that was good or bad was a question in her mind.

  “I’m Bruce Wicklow. I’m renting the house next door to yours.”

  “Pam Ridgeway.” Although it wasn’t her usual custom to ask personal questions, this man made it easy to continue. “Are you on vacation?”

  He smiled. “Working. What about you?”

  “Oh, well, I just lost my job. You probably heard about Menahl going bankrupt? Thirty thousand of us were laid off.”

  “That’s got to be tough,” he said.

  “It is.”

  “Are you staying for the summer?” he asked.

  A horrified look must have come into her eyes for he immediately added, “Just wondering. I was surprised to learn Dorothy lives here all year by herself.”

  “It’s her home.”

  “She’s pretty old to be alone.”

  “Oh, that’s not a problem. She’s very strong and self-reliant.” When her confident words didn’t seem to convince him, she added, “She has many friends here.” Although come to think of it, none had been at the restaurant last night.

  Bruce turned to walk in the direction she was headed. The water lapped a few feet away as they proceeded down the sandy beach. Yappie danced at his side. “Do you have a future care plan in place?”

  “Why are you interested?” she asked. Should there be a plan?

  “Sorry to scare
you. There’s probably no hurry. Your mother appears very healthy.”

  “Are you concerned because of your own parents?”

  “My mom’s living alone also, but two of my sisters are within five minutes of her.”

  “You’ve given me a lot to think about,” she said.

  The beach ahead of them appeared endless, but that was an illusion. Perhaps her mother was right to talk about the end of life before it happened.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. He stopped, and she automatically stopped too. She looked at his concerned, life-worn face. Despite his grey hair, a still-dark, unruly curl fell on his forehead. His mother must think it was darling.

  He said, “You’re probably here to relax, and I’ve spoiled it.”

  “I…it’s already been a tough week.”

  She almost told him details, but then she stopped herself. They had met only ten minutes ago. Bruce Wicklow certainly had a way about him.

  The little dog leaned his head against her leg. She looked down at his sympathetic pose and burst out laughing. “I love your dog.”

  “Yappie’s a fun guy,” Bruce said, smiling. They started walking once more. She had the warm feeling he was interested in her worries. It was nice to think someone was concerned.

  When they arrived where the path to his house began, Bruce said a pleasant farewell and turned off, with his little dog at his side. She made herself move on briskly, even though she wanted to linger. Bruce Wicklow was so self-confident, so assured. He was at the same stage in life she was, but he seemed a lot calmer about it.

  She had to face her mother again after having bolted like a teenager. When would she ever grow up?

  #

  Dorothy was a little dismayed when Pamela ran away. All these years, and she still panicked and got tongue-tied. Dorothy had hoped she had broken Pamela of that bad habit. Apparently not.

  She picked up one of her crossword puzzles from the white wicker table next to her chair. She only did the hardest days of the New York Times puzzle. Her favorite was the Saturday, a killer even to an experienced solver such as herself. They said doing tough puzzles helped keep your brain working. Now, where was her pen? Ah, there. She always did them in pen. It was hard to see pencil on a newspaper page. Too much glare.

  After a few minutes, she laid her pen down. She wasn’t enjoying doing her crossword after all. For some reason, she couldn’t think of easy answers like the name of that lake in Asia. It began with an A. Irritating.

  Many little areas of her life were getting harder. Things she used to handle quickly and easily took much more time now. She simply did not have the energy. Take those pots of flowers outside. She’d asked that nice girl who owned the nursery to come and get the pots and put a showy selection of annuals in them. The workers had returned the pots filled with flowers and positioned them as Dorothy had asked. Now some of the annuals would benefit from deadheading, and she didn’t have the energy. She looked out at them and saw that the yellow ones—oh, what was their name now?—the yellow ones needed deadheading. Maybe today she would get to it, after lunch.

  If her errant daughter ever returned. That girl needed a keeper. It was a shame Jeff had dropped dead so young. An aneurism nobody had suspected had felled him in his prime and left her youngest girl adrift. Pamela’s grief had subsided by now, but the girl still acted as if she was newly widowed. She worked and she went home. She didn’t date. She looked it, too. She had that abandoned aspect women got when they lived without men.

  Dorothy supposed she had it herself. She was just another old widow. Back when she was still young enough for her appearance to matter, she’d had her causes to keep her interesting and fresh. She met new men all the time during her campaigns. There had even been a few discreet flings. She hadn’t needed a second husband.

  Pamela was a different kettle of fish. Pamela’s life was empty. The girl was drifting. She needed a new romance.

  Oh, good. Here was Pamela now. She’d met up with that handsome young man from next door, Bruce something. And the dear dog. They were walking together, coming closer. They made a nice picture. They’d probably make a good couple. They were the right age for each other. She suspected Bruce was divorced. She’d have to ask him. Pamela needed a new husband. Perhaps nature would take its course if Dorothy threw them together a time or two.

  #

  After Pam returned from her walk—which had been a flight—she apologized to her mother. They had a much calmer discussion about the charitable organization.

  Dorothy exerted herself to soothe Pam about the publicity aspect. “You can do this, Pamela. All you have to do is set your mind to it.”

  She got out a pad and a pen, and urged Pam to copy down the strategies she would dictate. As the afternoon wore on, Pam began to gain some confidence that maybe she could.

  Then Bruce Wicklow arrived to walk with Dorothy. “Won’t you come with us?” he invited.

  Pam felt shy now. “I wouldn’t want to interfere with your routine,” she demurred.

  She watched them slowly stroll along the beach. When her mother was around, Pam hardly knew where she was. She only focused on her. Now, alone, Pam sat in the sunroom and enjoyed the feeling of relaxing in someone else’s home, where she wasn’t required to do a thing. This house never felt empty. It was spacious and welcoming. Pam could get comfortable in a place like this.

  On their return, Dorothy announced, “Bruce is coming to lunch tomorrow.” She cast him a reproving glance. “He says he’s too busy to go to the yacht club with us tonight.”

  “I need to complete the chapter I’m working on,” he explained. “I’m a science writer, and I’ve got a book contract to fulfill this summer.”

  The two women dined at the yacht club by themselves later, although they were hardly ever alone. Everyone recognized and spoke to Dorothy. She practically held court. Pam breathed an inward sigh of relief. Dorothy still had plenty of local friends, and they weren’t all elderly.

  #

  The next day, Dorothy insisted on taking her usual solitary morning walk. Pam practiced some of the dialogues her mother had her copy down. She tried to visualize herself outsmarting a clever CEO, and getting a large donation for her charity. The vision did not come easily.

  Pam didn’t have to do anything about lunch. Of course Dorothy didn’t cook. She never had. When Pam arrived, she had been surprised at how well stocked the kitchen was with basic food. Then this morning, a delivery girl knocked on the door with a beautifully arranged platter of cold cuts and other sandwich fixings, and one of fruits.

  “Mom, did you order some food?” she called into the living room. Dorothy entered the kitchen briskly.

  “Oh, good, now we’re set,” she said, and tipped the girl who had placed the platters in the fridge.

  “Now we won’t have to go out for every meal, and you’re not stuck cooking, either.” Dorothy was proud of herself for arranging their food. Pam didn’t have the heart to say she would have welcomed the opportunity to cook their meals. She hadn’t cooked for anyone but herself in four years. Solitary meals for one were the bane of widowhood. Maybe she could make a meal from scratch for her mother another day.

  Bruce showed up promptly at one, and they ate on the patio since it was a beautiful day. As well, since the dining room table was still buried in papers. She should offer to help her mother sort through them tonight.

  The patio table was protected by an umbrella, and the iron chairs she covered with plush, gay red-and-blue cushions. She had found some colorful rainbow-striped placemats in the server in the dining room. She had balked at using the plastic flatware and plates the deli had delivered, instead pulling out a perfectly good stainless steel set and some brightly colored casual china. It all looked very festive, and Bruce commented approvingly as they sat down to eat.

  “What a spread. Thanks for inviting me. I tend to live on pb & js when I’m working on a draft.”

  “You can order in easily enough,” Dorothy said, dismissing
the store-bought food and Pam’s effort in setting a beautiful table. Dorothy had never cared much about gracious living.

  “By the way, if you hear Yappie barking, don’t think he’s miserable,” he warned. “I gave him a special snack before I left.”

  “Once he learns better manners, he’d be welcome as a guest,” Dorothy said.

  Bruce turned to Pam. “Did your mother tell you she’s schooling Yappie?”

  “No. He seemed well-behaved yesterday,” she said. Seeing Bruce giving her a disbelieving look, she continued more truthfully, “That is, except for the leaping.”

  “Exactly.” They both smiled.

  “I’ll train him not to do that anymore,” Dorothy promised. Pam believed her. Dorothy could make any human or animal obey.

  Bruce explained about the training sessions and how when he was writing, he had little time for Yappie. “He’s probably bored and lonely out here. He’s used to a smaller suburban neighborhood with lots of dogs to bark at and sniff.”

  “Don’t you feel the same?” She stumbled over her words, “I mean, isn’t all this isolation lonely?”

  “Oh, nonsense, Pamela,” Dorothy interjected. “This is an inspiring setting, perfect for a writer.”

  Bruce smiled. “With all due respect, Dorothy, I’m not an oversensitive creative artist who can’t write unless he communes with nature in isolation.”

  He turned to Pam again and explained. “My work is nonfiction. Mostly I do a lot of Internet research and phone interviews with scientists. No glamorous beach locale required.”

  “Too bad,” Dorothy said with a twinkle in her eye. “But it doesn’t have to go to waste. Tomorrow, why don’t the two of you take a picnic with today’s leftovers and explore the beach? I’ve got my regular date playing cards with the girls. Pam could tell you all about the history of this area.”

  Pam was discomfited. Why was her mother throwing them together so obviously? She tried to decline politely without seeming to. “If you’d like to hear about it, we don’t have to go on a picnic.”

  “A picnic sounds like a great idea,” Bruce said, smiling at Pam as if he found her attractive.