Casting About (10 page)

T
he wind chimes sounded at Spinning Forward and I glanced up from the computer to see Grace walk in.

Passing a double latte toward me, she said, “Can we be friends again? I'm sorry.”

I jumped up to pull her into my arms. “You silly goose, you don't have anything to be sorry for. It was all me—shooting off my mouth as usual when I shouldn't have. I'm so sorry for that.”

Grace squeezed me and then pulled away to dab moisture that formed on her eyelids.

“Yeah, well, you were right on. Everything you'd said was true, Monica. That lousy bastard was only dating me to soften me up and sell him my property.”

I uncovered the Styrofoam cup and took a sip of the delicious coffee. “Thanks,” I said. “So I take it you brought it to an end?”

Grace curled up on the sofa and nodded. “Oh, yeah. Big-time. It's a wonder you didn't hear me telling him off.”

I had witnessed Grace's temper in the past, and a smile crossed my face. Good. He deserved it.

“I'm sorry. I really am sorry it turned out like this for you.”

Grace shrugged. “Hey, with those George Clooney looks, he was too good to be true anyway.” She brushed an auburn curl off her forehead. “And did ya hear? Did ya hear that good-for-nothing is going to open a
coffeehouse
and try to put me out of business?”

So she did know. “I heard. You know the locals will never go there, Gracie. They're a loyal bunch. You're not worried about that, are you?”

“I'm not sure. I guess only time will tell. So what's been going on in your life? How's the rug rat doing?”

I laughed. “Actually, pretty well. Settling in, and except for damn near scalping herself, things have been fairly calm.”

“What?”

I proceeded to bring Grace up to date on the hair-cutting episode and also the impending court hearing.

She shook her head. “Life is just plain unfair sometimes, isn't it? I feel bad for Adam. He's done everything possible to do the right thing, and it seems to come back and bite him.”

“Hey,” I said, changing the subject. “I'm in the midst of planning a birthday party for Clarissa for next week. Any chance you could help me? I'm not sure I have a clue how to entertain ten little girls.”

Grace laughed. “Ah, that's my specialty. Let's see, it might be too late to get the Chippendales, but I could possibly arrange for Johnny Depp to make an appearance.”

“Yeah, right—nine-year-olds probably don't even know who Johnny Depp is.”

“Sure they do.
Pirates of the Caribbean
and all that. But yes, I'd love to help you plan the party. Do kids still play Pin the Tail On the Donkey? Only kidding—I'll speak to some of the moms who come in the coffee shop.”

“You're a lifesaver. Thanks, Gracie.” I got up from the sofa and ruffled the curls on the top of her head. “And thanks for being such a good friend. I'm glad we're speaking again.”

“Me too,” she said, walking over to inspect a recent arrival of yarn. “I need a new knitting project to keep me busy.”

 

I picked Clarissa up at school and when we got home, she released Billie from the crate and took her into the yard.

After making myself a cup of tea, I began sorting clothes in the laundry room and could see Clarissa had perched on the stool in the kitchen to begin her homework.

“Monica?” she hollered.

“Yeah?” I said, walking back into the kitchen.

“Do you think I'll ever have to go and stay with my mother again?”

Her question took me by surprise. I was expecting something along the lines of a math problem.

“Well, uh…I don't know. Why?”

She was silent for a moment and then said, “Because I like it here.”

She did? I mean, yes, she had a nice room and a nice home, not to mention a loving father. But I'd often wondered if she really
liked
being with us.

“And your dad is thrilled to have you here.”

“So will I have to go back and stay with my mom?”

I pulled up a stool to join her at the counter. “I honestly don't know, Clarissa.” Did I have a right to ask the child if she missed her mother? “Your dad has full custody of you now.”

“Yeah, but I know my mother. She always wants what she can't have.”

How did a child of almost nine have such insight?

“Well, if she goes to court, she does have a right to see you. You know, for visitation on weekends and during the summer. It might be nice to go back to Georgia and visit with her for a while, don't ya think?”

Clarissa remained silent and then reverted to that phrase I hadn't heard in a while, “I guess.”

I left her to finish up her homework while I peeled potatoes for supper. Then I grabbed my latest Fern Michaels novel and headed to the great room.

“I'm going to lie down on the sofa for a little while to read. Do you need any help with anything?”

“No, I'm okay,” she told me.

I must have dozed off because I opened my eyes to see the book propped on my chest, and the clock on the mantel told me it was already 4:30. Yawning, I stretched and stood up. Clarissa wasn't at the counter. Her books were neatly piled up beside her backpack. Walking to the other side of the house, I could hear her talking to Billie in her room.

I walked toward my bedroom and my nasal passages were assaulted with the fragrance of Douce Amère—a very expensive perfume my mother had gotten me on one of her trips to Paris. What the heck? Stepping over the threshold, I saw a puddle in the middle of my bureau. It appeared to be effectively leaving an oval stain on the oak wood. I ran to pick up the bottle and found that not a drop was left.

Anger coursed through me. I never minded letting people borrow my things—but it had always irked me when somebody touched items without asking. And this time, a much-loved perfume was gone.

Grabbing the bottle, I went running through the house to Clarissa's room. Pushing open her door, I stood with the evidence raised above my head. “Did you do this? What were you doing in
my
room touching stuff that didn't belong to you? You have no right to touch my things!”

Clarissa scooped up Billie and backed away toward her bed. “I just wanted to smell it. I didn't mean for it to fall over and spill.”

“Well, it did!” I screamed, feeling myself losing control. “It did, and you've ruined the wood on my bureau. Not to mention the fact that it was a very special perfume from my mother.”

I spun around to see Adam standing in the doorway, pausing long enough to see the look of concern on his face. Then I pushed past him and raced to my bedroom, slamming the door.

Plopping on the bed, I burst into tears. I wept for the lost perfume, but I also cried for my terrible behavior. I just wasn't cut out to be a mother. Taking care of a child and all that went with it was something I couldn't seem to learn. But dammit, Clarissa had no right coming in and touching my personal things.

About ten minutes later, Adam opened the door and came over to the bed.

“Are you all right?”

I sat up, rubbing my tearstained eyes. “No, I'm not all right. I haven't been all right for months.”

Sitting down beside me, he reached for my hand. “I'm sorry I've done this to you—turned your life upside down as a newlywed. But you didn't need to scream at her like that.” I thought he'd come in to make me feel better, and here he was admonishing me?

My temper flared again and I jumped up to begin pacing the room. “What exactly do you mean by that?”

“What I mean is,” he said, with an edge to his voice, “is that you were out of control. That's no way to deal with a child. She didn't spill the perfume on purpose, Monica. You should have calmed down before talking to her about it.”

“Oh, well, excuse me! I must have missed that lesson in Mothering 101. She had no right coming in here and touching my things. If she'd stayed out of here, none of this would have happened. You didn't even know about her cutting her own hair. I covered for her—let you think it was her idea to get her hair cut. And this is the thanks I get? You're taking her side?”

“Monica, it's not about sides.”

I could feel the tears coursing down my face. “Oh, it's most definitely about sides,” I said, reaching into the closet for my overnight bag.

“What're you doing?”

Throwing in my night gown, a robe, underwear, and few other things, I said, “I'm packing, that's what I'm doing.”

“Oh, running away like you did all those times before?”

I felt like a vise had gripped my heart.

“Monica, just because we're having an argument, running away isn't going to solve this.”

I knew that anything I said at that moment I'd probably regret for the rest of my life. Grabbing my knitting bag, I headed to the front door.

“I'll be at Gracie's,” I tossed over my shoulder.

T
he aroma of coffee and sunlight caused me to open my eyes. For a moment I felt disoriented and looked around the room. I was on Grace's sofa bed in her living room. All the heartache of the night before came rushing back. I'd thought for sure that Adam would have called and coaxed me back home, but that hadn't happened.

I felt something soft rubbing against my arm and saw that Grace's huge black-and-white cat was curled up beside me. Turning over, I began stroking his fur and realized perhaps I shouldn't have had that last martini the night before. My head was pounding.

Swinging my legs to the side of the sofa, I got up tentatively and stretched. I definitely needed aspirin.

Making my way to the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, I saw the note on the table that Grace had left for me.

She was such a good friend. I knew she was tired, but she'd stayed up with me till almost two in the morning listening to me bitch and complain.

Walking back into the kitchen, I poured myself some water, downed the aspirin, and saw it was 12:30. God! I hadn't slept this late in months. Of course, my normal bedtime wasn't 2:00 A.M. either.

Before heading to the shower, I checked my cell phone. No message from Adam.

 

“Ah, decided to join the living, huh?” Grace said as I walked into the coffee shop.

“I'm sorry I kept you up so late.”

“Not a problem.” She passed me a cup of strong coffee. “What're friends for?”

I smiled before taking a sip. “You're the best.”

“Any word from Adam?”

“No. Nothing.”

Grace remained silent.

“He hasn't been in touch with you, has he?”

She shook her head. “Not a word.”

“Hmm,” I said, as I sat at one of the tables to look through the
Cedar Key News.

Grace came over to join me. “You know, you just might have to bite the bullet on this one.”

“What do you mean?”

“You might have to put your stubborn streak aside and be the first one to make a move.”

“Me? Go crawling back to him? I didn't do anything wrong.”

Grace said nothing.

“Did I?” I questioned, an uneasy feeling settling over me.

“You weren't wrong to be angry, Monica. But…I think you could have handled it all differently. She
is
only eight years old. I have to agree with Adam—Clarissa didn't spill the perfume on purpose. It was an accident.”

I blew out a deep sigh. “Well, yeah…. I know that. But…”

“That's why being a parent is so damn hard. She was wrong to be touching your things, but your reaction was as childish as Clarissa's behavior. If you'd waited until you'd calmed down, you could have explained to her why she was wrong and then passed out a punishment to her. This way, nothing got accomplished.”

Maybe Grace was right. Obviously losing my temper and screaming like a banshee had only escalated the entire episode. And here I was, alone without Adam.

 

A couple of hours later I walked into my empty house. Billie was in her crate, and at the sight of me her tail began wagging as she whimpered for my attention.

“Come on,” I said, clipping on her leash to take her in the yard. “You probably hate me too, but I'll take you out to pee.”

When we came back inside, I wandered into my bedroom. The subtle scent of the perfume still lingered in the air but the mess had been cleaned up. Adam had placed a lace doily over the stain where the wood had been scarred.

I walked into the kitchen and prepared myself a cup of tea. Waiting for the water to boil, I wondered if this was the reason Sybile had given up my mother at birth. Raising a child was just too tough for her.

My head turned to the sound of Adam and Clarissa coming in the back door.

If Adam was surprised to see me standing in the kitchen, he showed no sign. Clarissa stood beside Adam, a look of apprehension on her face. Nobody spoke for a few moments.

“I'm back,” I said, knowing this was obvious.

Adam nodded and placed his backpack on the counter. Clarissa did the same thing, taking her cues from her father.

“I…uh…” I cleared my throat. “I'm sorry everything happened the way it did yesterday.” Still no response from my husband or stepdaughter. I looked directly at Clarissa. “I shouldn't have screamed at you the way I did. It was wrong.”

I saw Adam shoot a look to his daughter with raised eyebrows, waiting.

“I was wrong to touch the perfume,” she said, glancing at Adam, before going on. “I shouldn't have been touching your things and I didn't mean to spill the bottle. I'm sorry.”

I folded my arms across my chest and nodded.
Now what?
I wondered.

“We need to have a family discussion,” Adam said, going to the stove to shut off the boiling water. Reaching for another cup, he prepared the tea and looked at Clarissa. “Would you like some Gatorade?”

She nodded and took a seat at the counter.

After placing the drinks in front of us, Adam sat down.

“What happened yesterday was unfortunate. I know how much that perfume meant to you, Monica. Clarissa has agreed to save up all her allowance money and send it to your mother in Paris so she can purchase another bottle for you.”

Well, that seemed fair.

“I'd asked Clarissa what she thought her punishment should be in addition to replacing the perfume. She mentioned her birthday party. But I think giving up her party might be a little too extreme. You're her stepmother, Monica. What's your opinion?”

Cancel her party? That
did
seem a bit rash.

“Well, yeah…. I agree with you. I think Clarissa should have her party as planned. But I think she should give up her PlayStation Portable for a week.” Where on earth had that decision come from? Maybe I was getting the hang of this mother stuff after all.

I caught the look of distress that crossed Clarissa's face. She loved playing with that toy and did so as much as she could.

“Well?” Adam said, looking at his daughter.

Clarissa slowly raised her bowed head. “Yeah, all right,” she replied reluctantly.

“Go into your room and bring it out here to Monica. She'll return it to you in one week.”

When Clarissa left the kitchen, Adam came and stood in front of me. Taking my face in his hands, he said, “I missed you last night. I missed not having you next to me. I'm glad you're back.”

“I'm glad I'm back too. And, Adam…I love how you love me.”