The little girl glanced up, her blue eyes shadowed and lifeless. “Okay.”
Emma shivered a little. Somehow, Paige’s wan agreement seemed more worrisome than Imogene’s surliness. “Are you okay with biscuits and an omelet?”
“Sure, I guess.” Paige shrugged. “I’ve never had an omelet.”
“What…never?” Emma asked, horrified enough to forget being worried. “How is that possible?”
She shrugged again. “Dunno.”
“I guess it’s a good thing you didn’t have any of the ingredients to make Eggs Benedict then.”
“What’s that?” Her nose wrinkled in an expression so like Mona’s that Emma had to hold back a gasp.
She swallowed and forced a smile instead. “Oh, sweetie, your culinary education is sadly lacking, but don’t worry, I can fix that.”
Again, Paige’s expression looked bewildered. “Culinary…”
“Cooking,” Emma explained, vowing to learn how to speak ten-year-old again. “Culinary is another word for cooking.”
“Oh, we didn’t do a lot of that.”
“Yeah, I figured that out already.” Now that she thought about it, her stepmother had been a disaster in the kitchen, and her father only slightly better. “That will change, starting today.”
Paige gave a wide-eyed nod. “Okay,” she said, as if Emma had suggested they start conducting nuclear bomb experiments in the kitchen.
Emma waved at a chair. “Sit…sit,” she said. “Or do you want to watch? It’s never too early to learn how to cook for yourself.”
The little nose crinkle appeared again. “Maybe I’ll just sit.”
“Great…whatever…we can get started on the basics later,” Emma said, determined to plow ahead no matter what.
Lord, please help me out. We’re going to need some divine intervention here.
She managed to make more biscuits and three omelets, without burning anything else, while Emma’s mother tried to engage the girl in conversation. Thank goodness her mother had experience with younger kids thanks to her many years as a teacher. It might be cowardly to let someone else take over, but Emma had no idea how to talk to anyone under the age of eighteen, especially if it didn’t have anything to do with cooking.
“What’s your favorite subject in school?” Mary Bertram asked.
“Science is fun, and I like English when we get to read.” Her face brightened a little. “I want to try out for the advanced chorus this year, too.”
“That would be fun.” She looked pointedly at Emma. “Don’t you think that would be fun?”
Emma bared her teeth. “Loads of fun, I’m sure,” she said, using whatever telepathic skills she possessed to tell her mother not to be so heavy-handed. Besides, she was glad to see Paige smiling right now. Anything that brought back a semblance of normalcy had to be a good thing. “When are the auditions?”
“Right after school starts on Monday,” Paige said, cutting into her omelet. Her eyes widened. “Oh…this is really good.”
Normally, Emma would have been thrilled at a compliment about her food, but the words “school starts” and “Monday” crowded out anything else. “What do you mean school starts on Monday? This Monday?”
Paige looked confused again, and she gave a little shrug. “Yeah.”
“It’s Friday now,” Emma said, as renewed panic flooded through her. “School starts in three days?”
“I guess so.” Paige pointed over her shoulder. “The calendar is on the refrigerator.”
Since the refrigerator door was a jumble of notes, pictures, drawings, and magnets with funny sayings, it was no surprise Emma had missed the calendar. She snatched it up. The first day of school had a red X on it, and sure enough, it was in three days.
Emma remembered back-to-school time as a wild scramble to buy clothes and supplies. There was shopping, shopping, and more shopping. Finding clothes had been a major ordeal, filled with strife and anxiety. Showing up in the wrong outfits could doom a girl to social ostracism for the entire year.
“Did you guys already start shopping?” she asked, wondering how much she might have to accomplish. Surely Mona had taken the girls already. Emma didn’t even know if adequate provisions could be found in Shellwater Key. Shopping prospects in the small town were very limited. As a kid, she and her mom had driven to the big malls in Ft. Myers, and she was not hopeful that much had changed in the intervening years.
“The outlet mall has all the sales this weekend so Mom is going to…” Paige clapped her mouth shut, eyes widening as reality and awful awareness returned. “She was gonna take us then,” she whispered as her eyes filled.
Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap! What am I supposed to do?
Emma’s mother pulled the girl onto her lap and rocked her. She watched the scene, feeling helpless to relieve her sister’s grief. She took several deep breaths and then cleared her throat.
“Well, it looks like we’ll all be visiting the outlet mall together,” Emma said, striving to put a cheerful note in her tone. “A girls’ day out should be fun!”
Okay, fun might be stretching it, but anything would be better than sitting around the house glowering at each other.
“I guess,” Paige said, with a pitiful little sigh.
“Why don’t you go get ready?” Emma said. “I’ll tell your sister.”
Paige stood up and then drifted from the room on a cloud of despair.
“Are you sure a shopping trip is the best thing to do right now?” her mother asked, as soon as Paige had gone. “It’s only been a few days since the accident, and both girls are still so fragile.”
Emma flapped her arms. She was so far out of her element and had no clue about anything. “I don’t know if there is a best thing to do right now, other than try to keep moving forward,” she said. “Shopping seems like a pretty safe activity.”
Mary Bertram arched one brow. “I guess you’ve forgotten our back-to-school shopping trips when you were their age.”
Emma frowned. “Oh, come on, I wasn’t that bad. Certainly not in the same league as Imogene.”
Her mother only chuckled and shook her head. “I guess I’ll go get ready too,” she said. “Unless you’d rather tackle shopping by yourself?”
“Lord no,” Emma said in horror. “I definitely need you.”
Emma straightened the kitchen and then ran upstairs to rouse Imogene. Maybe a shopping trip would be an adequate prize to lure the angry teen from her lair. The first knock on her sister’s door yielded nothing but silence, so she tried again.
“Go away,” a disembodied voice said from the other side.
“Imogene, answer the door, please,” Emma said, trying to remain calm and in control.
“I said, go away!”
Right. Angry bear in her cave. Emma stared at the closed door, aware that it symbolized her entire relationship with Imogene. She also realized she had no one to blame for the rift except herself.
“We’re going out shopping for school,” Emma said. “Paige is very excited so let’s get ready to go.”
The shameless use of their youngest sister’s name was strategic. If Imogene had one chink in her armor, it was Paige.
A moment later, the door cracked open. “Paige doesn’t care about shopping,” Imogene said, her eyes narrowed with mistrust.
“Well, perhaps not yet, but an outing will be good for her,” Emma said. “For all of us. It’s something fun to help get our minds off everything.”
Imogene shifted. “Mom was supposed to take us school shopping.”
“I know, and it really sucks that she’s not here to do it,” Emma said, not bothering to sugar coat the situation. Hopefully, Imogene would appreciate the bald truth. She wouldn’t want empty platitudes about how everything was going to be fine. Emma had to hope things would be fine eventually, but today and the next several months were going to be rough. “I’m sorry it has to be me who’s taking you instead of your mother. It’s not right, but we don’t get a say in h
ow the universe works. So can you help me out here? If not for me, do it for Paige. She needs both of us right now.”
Imogene released a gusty sigh. “Fine.”
Emma fixed another smile, wondering if her face would crack from all the forced cheerfulness. “Good. Get dressed, and we’ll go.”
A little research unearthed directions to the outlet mall, which was a little north on I-75. It would only take about twenty minutes to get there, which was a good thing. The thought of being trapped in a car with Imogene for an extended length of time made Emma break out in a cold sweat.
Thank goodness her mother agreed to come with them. What Emma knew about clothes shopping could be stuffed in a thimble. Most of her wardrobe consisted of chef whites over a t-shirt and lightweight pants. She worked almost every night so going to a party or a nightclub was a rare occurrence. Her mornings always started early, and there was no way she could stagger home from a nightclub and then be expected to handle sharp knives the next day. On the few occasions she did go out, Emma unearthed the black number she’d worn for the funeral. It was simple, but could be dressed up or down depending on the event.
So, Emma was already at a disadvantage in the shopping arena, and she had even less of a clue when it came to what might be fashionable for teens and tweens.
With relatively minimal drama, they all managed to be dressed and out to the car before the entire morning passed. Reece Casings had left Emma the keys to the minivan. She’d never driven anything bigger than a compact. In a few of the cities where she’d lived, Emma hadn’t even owned a car, preferring to use public transportation. The minivan screamed soccer practice, carpool, and PTA meetings, which were all foreign concepts.
Emma stared at the minivan and shuddered. “I can’t believe this is my life now,” she muttered.
“Said every mother on the face of the planet,” Mary Bertram said, with a low chuckle.
Emma turned to her. “What does that mean?”
“Women were once young girls, too. Do you really think every woman grows up dreaming of the day she can start wearing mom jeans and running the class bake sale?” she asked. “A lot of them thought they would be astronauts or ballet dancers or archaeologists who go on extraordinary adventures like Indiana Jones.”
“Did you want to do those things?” Emma asked, arrested by the idea that her mom might have wanted more than what she’d had.
Her mother shrugged. “I wanted a lot of things,” she said, her expression melancholy.
Emma stared. “Like what?”
She smiled and brushed a hand down Emma’s arm. “It hardly matters now, does it? Let’s go.”
Except Emma had the feeling it did matter. What had her mother imagined life would be as a little girl? What dreams had she given up to become a soccer mom?
No matter the questions swirling in Emma’s mind, her mother didn’t seem interested in talking about it. She climbed in the passenger side, effectively ending the conversation. Emma had no choice but to get in, too. The girls got in the back, and they were off.
Emma navigated the minivan through the streets of Shellwater Key with a little trepidation, but soon got the hang of handling what amounted to a small boat. The day was another scorcher, but at least the skies were clear right now. Emma wasn’t eager to experience driving in the rain just yet.
Thankfully, they reached the outlet mall without incident. The mall was more of an outdoor shopping plaza than an enclosed complex, with several rows of shops lined with covered brick sidewalks. Judging from the signs in the parking lot, most of the big chain stores were here.
Emma stopped at the entrance. “Where to first?” she asked, hoping someone else would step up and lead this expedition.
Imogene kept up the silent routine, but Paige pointed to the left. “They have cute stuff.”
Thank goodness for the youngest Bertram. “All right, we’ll start there.”
Shopping with young girls was an exercise in perseverance, Emma soon learned. Paige had a hard time making any decisions, probably because she didn’t seem to care what she wore. She hemmed and hawed, sometimes trying on the same outfits multiple times as she struggled to choose. When she started to go back into the dressing room for round three of clothing switcheroo, Emma put a stop to the madness by declaring they were all adorable and taking the whole lot to the register.
By contrast, Imogene cared mightily about her clothes, but was incapable of being pleased by anything. Everything Emma suggested was too boring, too ugly, or too babyish.
“Fine, you pick out something then,” Emma said, after they’d left the third store without even one outfit for Miss Picky.
Emma went to sit on a sofa by the dressing room, leaving her sister to her own devices. Paige wandered off to browse the racks, too.
Her mother approached the sofa. “You’re going to have to reign in your temper around Imogene,” Mary Bertram said, with a gentle sigh. “She wants to get under your skin.”
“She’s succeeding.”
“Yes, which is why she continues. Try not to take everything so personally.”
“She hates me.” Emma tapped her chest. “That’s kind of personal.”
“She doesn’t hate you,” her mother said in a reasonable tone. “Imogene is furious at the world, and she’s lashing out at you because you’re the only available target.”
Emma wished that made her feel better. “Good to know.”
Her mother chuckled. “Listen, since we’re here, I thought I might do some shopping for myself. I wasn’t planning to stay here this long so I’ll need to beef up my wardrobe.”
“What?” Emma looked up, alarm clanging through her. “You’re leaving me alone with those two?”
Mary Bertram let out another laugh, this one laced with something that sounded like pure evil. “It’ll be good for you to get to know the girls without me running interference.”
“Now is not the time for life lessons, Mom,” Emma said. “I need you.”
She patted Emma’s arm. “You’ll be fine. Why don’t we meet up at the food court for lunch later?”
“Food court?” Emma echoed, every part of her being offended at the idea. “You can’t be serious.”
“The girls will be hungry, and you won’t have to cook anything.”
“I like cooking.”
“Just wait till you have to prepare every meal, every day,” her mother said. “You’ll be begging for a food court.”
“That’ll never happen.” Shoot her if she ever longed for food one had to carry on a plastic tray.
“Your life has changed now, honey. You’d better get used to it.”
Mary made her escape, leaving Emma to deal with Imogene’s sulks and silences. Speaking of…Imogene approached the dressing rooms with several hangers draped over her arm.
“Find something?” Emma asked, brightening at the prospect of an imminent departure from the outlet mall. Maybe they could get home before lunch and skip the food court entirely.
“Maybe.”
Emma held back a sigh at the lack of response. “Well, try them on and see if you like anything.”
“Whatever.”
Thankfully, a saleslady came to unlock a dressing room. Emma was glad for the reprieve. At least while her sister was trying on clothes inside, she didn’t have to look at that stony expression.
Except Imogene apparently wanted to do a fashion show because she emerged a few minutes later in an outfit that looked like something a streetwalker might wear to drum up business. Imogene wore something that could loosely be called a dress, but someone had apparently forgotten to add actual material. The top featured a cleavage-baring neckline that revealed some surprising and unsettling curves on the 14-year-old. Meanwhile, the miniscule skirt hiked up high enough to display Imogene’s hoo-hah to the world.
In an instant, Emma forgot all about remaining calm and not letting this girl get under her skin. “Are you out of your mind?”
“What?” Imogene held out
her arms like she had no idea what she was doing. Her touch-of-evil grin and dare-you-to-object eyes said differently. “Every girl at school is wearing stuff like this.”
“Are they charging by the hour?” Emma snapped. “It’s been a while since I went to high school, but even I know they wouldn’t let you through the door in that getup. Go try on something else.”
The teen’s chin came up. “I like this one.”
“Too bad,” Emma said, hoping her head wouldn’t explode. She pointed at the dressing room. “Go change.”
“You can’t tell me what to do,” Imogene practically snarled.
Emma jumped to her feet. “Yes, actually I can. At least according to Reece Casings.”
Imogene’s face turned red with rage. “You’re not my mother!” she screamed loud enough to make every salesperson in the store come running. As soon as the words left her mouth, Imogene seemed to crumble from the inside out. Tears filled her eyes and her bottom lip began to tremble. “You’re not my mother,” she repeated, quieter this time but no less angry.
Then she spun on her heel and disappeared into the dressing room again. Emma could hear the girl’s sobs, but she was powerless to do anything to stop them. Instead, she rested her forehead against the cool surface of the door, wishing she could cry, too.
“Is everything all right, ma’am?”
Emma lifted her head and looked over her shoulder. A squadron of sales clerks had formed a semicircle around the dressing area. A couple of the women – one of whom was decked out in the exact same dress as Imogene – looked like they might be contemplating a call to Child Services at any moment.
Emma could have explained that her family was reeling, because two girls had become orphans overnight and their big sister was woefully inadequate as a replacement. However, she wasn’t about to air their dirty laundry in the middle of the store.
“Back-to-school shopping can be so stressful, right?” Emma said, suddenly feeling like her entire family was starring in a reality show. “You’d think we were negotiating a peace treaty, not trying to find the perfect outfit for the first day of school.”
All of the sales ladies offered commiserating smiles, and a few even chuckled. Then they scattered, except for one. “Can I help you find something?”
Straight on Toward Paradise Page 7
