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Barbie hesitated. If anything about this entire evening astonished her, it was that Mark hadn’t come outside and insisted his niece mind her own business. Delving inside her purse, she searched for a business card. “Okay, fine. Give him this and tell him the next move is his.”
Tessa’s face shone with eagerness as she nodded. “Great! Thank you so much. Thank you, thank you. You won’t be sorry, I promise.”
That remained to be seen.
Feeling wretched, Barbie did what she always did when she needed solace—she drove to her mother’s house.
Lillie opened the door and immediately asked, “What’s wrong?” Without delay she led her into the kitchen. “It isn’t the boys, is it?”
Barbie swallowed hard and shook her head.
Hands on her hips, Lillie stood in the middle of her beautiful, gleaming kitchen. “Should I put on coffee or bring out the shot glasses?”
Barbie managed to smile. “This time I think I need both.”
Lillie took a whiskey bottle from the small liquor cabinet in the kitchen, then started a pot of coffee. That involved first grinding beans, a production Barbie lacked the patience to bother with.
“So, tell me what happened,” Lillie said when she’d made two Irish coffees. She sat on the stool at the counter next to Barbie and they silently toasted each other with the mugs.
“I saw Mark again.”
Her mother nodded. “The man you met at the theater.”
“Yes.” She hadn’t told Lillie much about him, and with good reason. As soon as her mother learned he was in a wheelchair, she’d find a dozen reasons to dissuade her from pursuing him.
Barbie already knew a relationship with Mark wouldn’t be easy. She’d done her homework. All right, she’d looked up a few facts about paraplegics on the Internet. Even his anger with the world wasn’t unusual. Until this evening, she’d assumed she was prepared to deal with it. Apparently not.
Lillie gestured for Barbie to continue. “And…”
“And he…he isn’t interested.”
Lillie cast her a look of disbelief. “That can’t be true. You’re gorgeous, young, accomplished—and a lovely person. Is something wrong with him?”
“Not really.” A half truth.
“He’s not…”
“No, Mother, he’s not gay. Or married.” Barbie wondered how much more she should explain.
Lillie studied her and raised one elegantly curved eyebrow. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Barbie should’ve known her mother would see straight through her prevarication.
Lillie’s voice grew gentler. “What is it, honey?”
Barbie sighed. “If I tell you, I’m afraid you’ll discourage me, and I don’t think I could bear that just now.”
For a long moment her mother didn’t respond. “It’s odd you should say that, seeing I have something I wanted to discuss with you and…and haven’t, for the very same reason.”
“What?” Barbie’s curiosity was instantly piqued. She couldn’t imagine her mother keeping anything from her. They were each other’s support system, especially since David and Gary had died. But then, she’d never supposed she’d ever hide secrets from Lillie, either. Obviously they were both guilty of deception.
Lillie cleared her throat. “I…I recently met someone myself.” Barbie was stunned. “You haven’t said a word.”
Her mother avoided eye contact. “I’m afraid if I mention …my friend, you’ll discourage me.” She picked up her coffee and took a deep swallow. “This man I met—I believe we’re both afraid of what others will think,” she added. “Jacqueline urged me to ask him out, since he seems reluctant to approach me. But women of my generation don’t do things like that. Yet I find the idea so appealing, I’m willing to put aside everything I’ve had ingrained in me all these years just for the opportunity to spend time with him again.”
Lillie’s cheeks were flushed and her hands trembled slightly as she raised the mug to her lips. It might’ve been the whiskey, but Barbie doubted that. There was more to this. Her mother was the most competent, composed woman she’d ever known and her being so flustered and unnerved over a man was completely out of character.
“Mom, you don’t need to worry what I think.”
“But I do. You’re my daughter and, well…okay, I’m just going to blurt it out.” Lillie straightened her shoulders. “He’s the service manager at the car dealership.”
Barbie couldn’t help it; her jaw dropped. Her mother was attracted to a mechanic—a man with grease under his fingernails? Lillie Higgins, society matron, and a mechanic? Instantly warnings rose in her mind. This man must know that her mother had money. Lillie was lonely and vulnerable, easy prey. Her usual common sense had evidently deserted her, and she needed protection from this gigolo or whatever he was.
Barbie saw that her mother was waiting for her reaction, so she said, “I…see.”
Lillie downed the last of her Irish coffee. “His name is Hector Silva.”
This was as shocking as the fact that he was a mechanic. “He’s Hispanic? Is he legal?”
“Yes! Of course! Hector’s a citizen. He’s decent and hardworking and kind.” She hiccuped once, then covered her face. “This is even worse than I thought it would be,” she moaned.
“No, Mom, really, I apologize. That was a stupid question. It’s just…I don’t know what to think.” She’d assumed her mother couldn’t surprise her; she’d assumed wrong. Of all the men who’d love to date her mother, Lillie had fallen for a mechanic? Lillie dropped her hands. “I believe I know what you’re trying to say,” she said in a cold voice. “And I’m disappointed in you.”
“I’m sorry,” Barbie mumbled. But the image of her mother with this man refused to take shape in her mind.
Her mother motioned toward her. “It’s your turn.”
“But…”
“Tell me what the problem is with this Mark. Why you didn’t want to say anything. Is he too old? Too young? Some kind of addict?”
“None of those.” Like her mother, she squared her shoulders and expelled her secret in a single breath. “He’s paralyzed from the waist down.”
Lillie closed her eyes briefly. “Oh, Barbie.”
It was just as she’d expected. Annoyed, she slid off the stool. “I knew it! I should’ve realized you’d react like this. I wish I hadn’t said anything.” Her annoyance turned to disillusionment and then just as quickly to pain. “You’re the one personin the world I trust to understand me and all you can say is Oh, Barbie?”
“You weren’t exactly a great encouragement to me, either,” Lillie muttered.
“Oh, please. A mechanic? You want to ask a mechanic out for a date and you expect me to cheer?” All the frustration and anger of the evening burst from her. She stood with her hands knotted into fists at her sides. “You didn’t tell Jacqueline who this man is, did you?
What’s the appeal? Do you think he’ll be good in bed? Is that it?” Her own words shocked her, but not nearly as much as they did her mother.
Lillie stood frozen, her eyes wide with horror. Then she did something she’d never done in her whole life.
She slapped her.
Stunned into silence, Barbie pressed her hand to her cheek. Tears sprang to her eyes.
When her mother spoke, her voice shook with fury. “At least Hector could take me to bed.”
Barbie gasped at the implication, grabbed her purse and shot out of the house. Over the years they’d quarreled—every mother and daughter did—but never anything like this.
A sick feeling engulfed her as she drove to her own house, less than two miles away. Pulling into the garage, she sat in her car and hid her face in both hands. The urge to break into heaving sobs of rage and pain and regret nearly overwhelmed her. But she refused to give in to the swell of grief, refused to allow the ugliness that had come between them to disintegrate her emotions any further.
Barbie didn’t sleep that night or the next.
Nor did she speak to her mother. Ten times at least she reached for the phone. Normally they spoke every day, often more than once. Now the silence was like a vast emptiness.
As far as Barbie was concerned, her mother owed her an apology. Lillie had struck her—her own daughter.
By the end of the second day, Barbie could hardly stand it. She missed her mother. She needed her.
The dinner for the widows’ group was scheduled for Thursday night. Barbie was determined to go, but as Tuesday passed and then Wednesday, that resolve weakened.
This was ridiculous, she told herself. They’d both been at fault.
They’d both said things they regretted. It was time to apologize and put this behind them.
Late Thursday afternoon, a floral delivery truck parked in front of her dress shop just as Barbie was about to close for the day. The man carried in a huge floral arrangement from Susannah’s Garden. This had to be a hundred-dollar order. It took up nearly half the counter space.
The driver handed her a clipboard, and Barbie signed her name as a rush of relief came over her. She didn’t need to look at the attached card to know her mother had sent the flowers. Like her, Lillie was sorry. She was apologizing, trying to restore what they’d lost. Smiling, Barbie removed the small envelope and opened it.
She was wrong; Lillie hadn’t sent the flowers.
Only one word was written on the card.
Mark.
Chapter 19
Anne Marie and Ellen were both looking forward to dinner at Lillie’s that night. Earlier, Anne Marie had called to ask what she could contribute to the meal.
“Nothing,” her friend had insisted. “Just bring yourselves.” As she replaced the receiver, Anne Marie thought that Lillie didn’t sound like herself. Ever since they’d made their wish lists, Lillie’s spirits had been high. But following their conversation, she wondered if she’d misread Lillie’s feelings. Her voice had been flat, emotionless, devoid of her usual enthusiasm.
Anne Marie was afraid this dinner might be too much work for her. Later in the day she phoned Lillie again, to make sure everything was all right.
“Everything’s perfectly fine,” Lillie said, although her tone belied her words. “Actually, I’m really enjoying myself. It’s been a long time since I’ve cooked for a dinner party.” Anne Marie heard a timer in the distance, and Lillie told her she had to get off the phone.
Still, Anne Marie wondered. She sensed that something was off, but Lillie obviously wasn’t going to tell her. All she could do was accept her word and hope that if there was a problem, it would soon be resolved.
The school bus rolled past the shop window and Anne Marie knew Ellen would appear in a few minutes.
“It’s tonight, isn’t it?” Ellen said happily as she bolted into the store. She released one strap and allowed her backpack to slip carelessly over her shoulder.
“Tonight’s the night,” Anne Marie concurred. Being invited to someone else’s home for dinner seemed to be a new experience for the eight-year-old. Although Ellen had always displayed good manners, Anne Marie reviewed them with her, just to be on the safe side.
“I won’t talk with my mouth full or interrupt the conver… conver—” she stumbled over the word “—the conversation.” “Excellent.” Anne Marie smiled at her. “You can bring your knitting if you want.”
At that suggestion, Ellen raced up the stairs to the apartment as if they were heading out the door that very moment. Such exuberance made Anne Marie smile again.
They were both making progress with their knitting. Anne Marie’s first official class the day before had gone well. In teaching Ellen, she’d learned more about the basic knit stitch than she’d realized. After school on Tuesday, Anne Marie had taken Ellen to A Good Yarn and allowed her to purchase yarn and needles of her own. Lydia had chatted with Ellen for quite a while; by now, as Lydia said, the two of them were old friends. That evening, after the dinner dishes and Ellen’s homework, they’d sat side by side, helping each other. Anne Marie couldn’t avoid reflecting that this was something she’d never had the chance to do with her stepdaughter. Even as a ten- or eleven-year-old, Melissa had rejected all her attempts to work on projects together, whether it was reading or baking or gathering autumn leaves for a scrapbook. Whatever Anne Marie suggested was deemed “stupid” or “boring.” The memory had produced a sadness she found hard to forget.
In the knitting class, Anne Marie had learned how to purl and she had about three inches of the lap robe finished. Ellen was half done with the scarf for her grandmother; the girl had a good eye for color and had chosen a soft pink yarn and a peach. The combination was lovely. They were colors Anne Marie would never have thought to put together.
Lydia had praised her color choice, too, and Ellen glowed with pleasure at the compliment.
“Are you bringing your Twenty Wishes binder?” Ellen asked now.
“Yes, I think so.”
Ellen slipped her knitting into her backpack. “Should I bring my list?”
Anne Marie hesitated, a little worried that Ellen might inadvertently dominate the conversation. “Maybe next time, okay? For tonight I want you to sit and listen.”
“Okay.” Running up the stairs with her backpack, Ellen collected an excited Baxter for his walk, the requisite plastic bag tucked into her jeans’ pocket.
At four, Steve Handley came into the shop for his shift. Anne Marie didn’t have time to shower, but went upstairs to refresh her makeup. The day was overcast, so she decided to put a forest-green knit vest over her cream-colored long-sleeved blouse.
Ellen was modeling the new denim skirt Anne Marie had bought her when the phone rang.
“Want me to answer?” Ellen asked.
Anne Marie hesitated. “Let me check who it is first.” She glanced at the phone as Caller ID flashed Melissa’s name and number.
Instinctively Anne Marie backed away. She still hadn’t recovered from her last conversation with her stepdaughter. Another heart-to-heart might just finish her off.
The phone rang again and then again. After the fourth ring, voice mail came on. Anne Marie listened to the brief message. Melissa identified herself, then said, “Call me,” without explaining why.
“Anne Marie?” Ellen spoke tentatively, staring up at her with worried eyes.
“Hey,” she said, forcing some enthusiasm into her voice. “I thought we had a dinner date. Are you ready?”
Ellen nodded eagerly.
“Me, too. Let’s go.”
On the short drive to Lillie’s, they sang camp songs. Or rather, Ellen sang. Anne Marie tried to sing and once again her voice sounded as if someone was strangling her. After the first few lines, she stopped and simply listened. Ellen truly was gifted and she loved to sing. After the first song, she immediately started a second one—“This Little Light of Mine,” a song she told Anne Marie she’d learned in church.
Which reminded Anne Marie that one thing she hadn’t done was take Ellen to church. It wasn’t part of her normal practice, not that she had anything against religion. Although, at the moment, she didn’t exactly feel God had dealt her a fair hand. Yet she realized that if she was going to maintain the routine Ellen had with Dolores, she should probably be taking her to Sunday-school class.
Just as Ellen’s song came to an end, Anne Marie pulled up outside Lillie’s house. This was the first time she’d been invited here. She parked in the circular drive, gaping at the sprawling Tudor-style house, which must have seven or eight thousand square feet. The outdoor lighting revealed a sweeping, verdant lawn and, closer to the house itself, an arrangement of flower beds filled with tulips of all colors, daffodils and delicate narcissus.
“Wow,” Anne Marie whispered.
“Does Mrs. Higgins live in a castle?” Ellen asked in a hushed voice.
“It seems so.”
