3

 

 

At the sound of a car in the driveway Saturday afternoon, Karen pushed the living room curtain aside. “Kristen, your fa­ther’s here.”

“I’ll be right out.”

“You’re going to be late.”

“I said I’ll be out in a minute!”

Karen rolled her eyes. After eighteen months, you’d think Kristen would give up on this ploy. Did she really think hanging back in her room whenever Michael came by—thereby forcing her parents to engage in small talk—could prod them into a reconciliation?

Fat chance.

Michael had no interest, and she found the whole situation awkward.

The bell chimed, and she headed toward the foyer. Straightening her spine, she tucked her hair behind her ear and pulled the door open. “Hello, Michael.”

“Hi.” He gave her his usual dismissive, distracted glance. “Is Kristen ready?”

“Almost. She’ll need some help getting to the car.”

“Oh. Yeah.” After giving his late-model sports car a scan, he entered.

As usual, his attire was impec­cable. The crease in his khaki slacks was razor sharp, the starch in his Oxford shirt crisp. It didn’t matter where he was—in the classroom at the university, on the golf course, or attending today’s school picnic with his daughter. He was Mr. GQ.

He was also in excellent shape, despite being thirteen years her senior. Regular visits to the gym and a diligent exercise routine had kept him looking far younger than his fifty-one years. Only the touch of gray in the dark brown hair at his temples hinted at his five decades. Instead of aging him, however, it gave him a dis­tinguished appearance.

No wonder he continued to attract younger women.

Good looks, stylish clothes, and firm abs were no excuse for infidelity, however. Nor was a wife who was a few pounds overweight and more plain Jane than Jane Russell.

She lifted her chin a fraction and shut the door with more force than necessary. “I’ll get Kristen.”

Her daughter chose that moment to appear. What a coincidence.

Not.

“Hi, Dad.” Kristen’s voice was a smidgen too bright, and she refused to meet Karen’s gaze.

“Hi, sweetie.” He gave her a hug. “I see you’ve been collecting some autographs on that cast.”

“Yeah. Most of the kids stopped by in the beginning, but they don’t come around as much anymore.”

“You’ll see them all today. Are you ready?”

“Uh-huh. Mom, where are the brownies?”

“In the kitchen. I’ll get them.”

“Were we supposed to bring food?” Michael directed his question to Kristen as Karen passed by.

“Yeah—but Mom’s brownies are to-die-for.”

“Stephanie could have picked up a cake at the bakery.”

Meaning his cutesy new love interest didn’t frequent the kitchen. Karen stifled a smirk. No wonder Michael’s waistline was so trim. He probably hadn’t had a home-cooked meal since they separated.

“Homemade food is better—and Mom’s a super cook.” Misplaced though it was, Karen had to admire her daughter’s tenacity.

“Could you hurry it up, Karen?” Michael called. “I don’t want to keep Stephanie waiting.”

Not so much as a thank-you.

How typical.

Their voices carried into the kitchen as Karen retrieved the brownies, and she didn’t feel one iota of guilt about listening in.

“Why did you bring her?”

“We’re a couple, Kristen. We hang out together.”

“But this was supposed to be me and you. A father-daughter outing.”

“I thought the end-of-school picnic was a family event?”

“It is—but Stephanie’s not family.”

“She may be.”

“She isn’t yet.”

“Look, do you want to cancel the plans?”

Karen returned to the foyer to find them glaring at each other.

Shoulders slumping, Kristen ended the standoff. “I’ve been waiting for this day for weeks.”

“Then let’s go and enjoy ourselves.”

“It would be better without Stephanie.”

Karen handed the plate of brownies to Michael. “Have fun.”

His lips tightened into a thin line. “Yeah. Thanks.”

His enthusiasm was underwhelming—and that wasn’t fair to Kristen. Their daughter had been so excited about spending the day with her dad. He hadn’t given her much attention in the past few months—thanks to Stephanie, Karen assumed. Now she was fighting back tears.

Karen leaned over to hug her, whispering as Michael opened the door. “I’m sorry, honey.”

“It won’t be the same.” Kristen sniffled in her ear. “Nothing’s the same.”

What could she say?

After giving her one more squeeze, Karen backed away. Michael and Kristen left the house in silence, and a few minutes later she heard the car start. From the living room window, she watched as Michael backed out of the driveway and drove down the street.

Stephanie was in the passenger seat, her body angled away from Michael. He was faced forward, both hands clasping the wheel. Kristen was sitting in the back, her leg propped on the seat, arms folded tight across her chest.

It was going to be a jolly afternoon.

 

* * *

 

“Karen? Val. Can I ask a favor?”

A caution sign flashed in Karen’s mind, and she adjusted the phone against her ear as she pulled plates out of the dishwasher. “What is it?”

“My car’s on the fritz. There was an odd ticking sound inside the engine during the drive down from Chi­cago, so I took it to the shop this morning. I couldn’t believe Fred was still there. He must be eighty-five! Anyway, he says the timing belt—whatever that is—has given up the ghost. The car won’t be ready until late in the day, so he dropped me at the house. I was planning to go to the grocery store while Mom naps, and I wondered if you could run me over there. I picked up a few basics on Thursday during her therapy session, but the whole kitchen needs to be restocked.”

Turning toward the window, Karen mulled over the request as she watched the sun play hide-and-seek with the branches of the maple tree. Her first inclination was to say no. She’d much rather stay home and enjoy the rare treat of uninterrupted personal time on a Saturday afternoon. On the other hand, she was low on some items herself. Why not get her own shopping done too? She’d still have an hour or two to herself before Michael brought Kristen home from the picnic.

“That’s fine. How soon do you want to go?”

“ASAP. I just got Mom down for her nap. I should be able to escape for a couple of hours.”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“Thanks. I’ll be ready.”

Not likely. Val had always run late for everything.

But nine and a half minutes later, when she pulled into the driveway, her sister was already on the porch—chic as always, of course. Her loose blonde hair shimmered in the sun, her long legs were tanned and trim beneath her white shorts, and her black-and-white-striped knit top showed off her curves to perfection.

Karen squirmed in her seat and smoothed a hand down the denim on her thigh. Would it have killed her to take five minutes to freshen up? Brush her hair, apply some lipstick, change clothes instead of pulling her long hair back with a rubber band, going au naturel in the makeup department, and throwing on too-tight jeans and a baggy T-shirt that emphasized her extra pounds instead of disguising them.

Then again, why bother trying to compete with Val? That had always been a losing battle.

“Hey, I appreciate this.” Her sister slid in beside her. “Sorry for the short notice.”

“I need some groceries too.” She put the car in gear and backed out of the driveway. “Shopping today will save me a trip early in the week. Work is extra busy, and I hate having to stop at the grocery store after a long day.”

“How’s the job going?”

“Better than I expected. It took me a while to adjust to the nine-to-five routine, but the construction business is interesting, and I like the steady paycheck—as well as the feeling of independence. I also got pro­moted to administrative assistant a few months ago.”

If she couldn’t compete with her sister on looks, at least she could point to her success in the business world.

To her surprise, Val’s pleasure appeared to be sincere. “That’s terrific! But you always were smart. With your business degree, I was amazed you didn’t shoot for a higher position than secretary to begin with.”

“I had minimal experience, and the degree was fourteen years old. I assumed that was the best I could do.”

“I’m glad they’re recognizing your intellect. If our places were reversed, I’d be a secretary forever.”

Karen didn’t attempt to hide her skepticism. “I don’t think so.”

“Trust me. People see me and think ‘dumb blonde.’ Including Mom. As far as she was concerned, my appearance was my only asset. She always told me you were the one who got the brains.”

Her mother had praised her to Val?

That was news.

She flicked on her turn signal. “Well, she always told me you were the one who got the looks.”

“She’s a piece of work, that’s for sure.”

They lapsed into silence for the remainder of the drive, but for once it was companionable rather than strained.

After circling the crowded lot twice to find a parking spot, Karen took the lead as they trekked toward the store. Once inside, she pulled a cart free for Val and another for herself, then followed her sister toward the produce section.

“How did Mom do with her first therapy session?” Karen picked up a bag of Fritos from a table of snack-food specials near the entrance. “All she told me was that it went fine.”

“It did. Mom’s therapist had her wrapped around his finger in sixty seconds flat. It was a sight to behold. Can you imagine Mom being docile? Or flirty?”

She almost choked on the sample of gooey butter cake she’d snagged from a display as they passed. “What!”

“Yeah. It’s a kick, isn’t it? David’s got a magic touch with her. And I’m not having any trouble at home, either. She doesn’t want to disappoint him on Tuesday.”

“You’re kidding!”

“Cross my heart.”

“I’ll have to take some lessons from him.”

“Wouldn’t help. It’s that male charm gene. Though I would have thought Mom would be immune.”

Karen wiped the powdered sugar off her fingers with a napkin. “How old is this guy?”

“I don’t know. He’s got a five-year-old…I’d guess midthirties.”

“Handsome?”

“In a boy-next-door fashion.”

“And Mom has fallen under his spell. How about that? But let’s not look a gift horse in the mouth. I was afraid it would take both of us to drag her to therapy.”

“Nope. I think she’ll go like a lamb.” After examining a head of broccoli, Val put it in her cart. “But I get plenty of resistance on other fronts. Like food. She doesn’t like anything I cook.”

“She may have mentioned that once or twice.”

“Why do I think that’s a gross understatement?” Val selected a bunch of green onions. “I hear complaints every day, but her eating habits are atrocious. I’m trying to remedy that.”

As Val regaled her with stories about the healthy menus she’d been preparing—and their mother’s reaction—Karen’s lips quiv­ered. “I’m surprised she hasn’t had another stroke.”

“Me too. But not only is her diet healthier, she’s bound to lose a few pounds—a positive outcome all around, if you ask me. She’s gained too much weight. So tell me how Kristen’s progressing.”

As Karen gave her an update, they trundled up and down the aisles, stopping last in the meat and seafood section. While Val perused the salmon, Karen scanned her sister’s cart. Val had selected natural foods like whole-grain breads and fruits and vegetables, while her own basket was full of microwave din­ners, salty snacks, cereal, and sweets.

“Those dishes you’re making for Mom must be the reason you stay so slender. I ought to adjust my diet too.” Karen skimmed the board listing this week’s seafood specials.

“Are you trying to lose weight?”

“No.” Karen moved on and picked up a package of ground beef. “But I should be. I’ve put on twenty-five pounds over the past two years.”

Joining her, Val did a quick survey of Karen’s cart. “It couldn’t hurt to modify your eating habits a bit. Most frozen meals are high in salt and carbs.”

“But they’re fast and simple to fix.” Her defenses rose. “I don’t have the energy to prepare elaborate dinners after work.”

“I don’t either, but I have a repertoire of quick, healthy meals, including some stir-frys that are out of this world. I’d be happy to share the recipes if you want to try them.”

Karen weighed the pack of ground beef in her hand and put it in her cart. “You know, I don’t recall you cooking very much while we were growing up.”

“I didn’t. Mom never taught me domestic skills. I think she expected me to be a Broadway star and have servants running around at my beck and call.” Val pushed her cart toward the front of the store.

“I did too. You have the looks and the talent.”

Karen only had a side view, but she caught a sudden, subtle tightening in Val’s features. “Beauty isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. I’d have traded it for your brains any day.”

As Val guided her cart into the checkout lane and began un­loading it, Karen considered her. This outing hadn’t been half bad. She couldn’t remember the last time the two of them had had a congenial, relaxed conversation.

Maybe never.

On impulse, she touched Val’s arm. “Do you want to stop for a quick cup of coffee? There’s a shop next door, and we have a few minutes to spare before your two-hour reprieve is up.”

“A Saturday treat.” Val features softened. “That reminds me of our trips with Dad to the ice-cream parlor on summer Saturdays.”

“Yeah. Those are some of my happiest memories. Mom could never understand why we wanted to go with him to the hardware store every week. I don’t think she ever figured out our secret.”

“Me, neither.” Chuckling, Val put the broccoli on the conveyor belt. “ Let’s do it. We’ll begin a new tradition.”

Five minutes later, as they sipped their lattes at a small café table tucked into the corner of the shop, Val’s features softened. “It’s not ice cream, but it does remind me of our outings with Dad.”

“Even after all these years, I miss him as much as I did at the beginning.” Karen played with the edge of her lid.

“Me too. He was such a wonderful father. Kind and encouraging and supportive. He always made me feel special. Like I had a lot to offer.”

“Ditto here.” Karen took a sip of her drink. “You know, I’ve often wondered why he was attracted to Mom.”

“Beats me.”

“I suppose she could have been different in her younger days.”

“People don’t change that much—but she may have softened during their courtship. People often act out of character when they’re in love, if they think it will persuade the other person to love them back.” Sadness nipped at the edges of her voice.

A question sprang to Karen’s lips—but she bit it back. They’d never been confidantes. Better to stick to a subject that was comfortable for both of them.

“Dad never complained, though.” Karen swirled her drink. “I can’t remember him ever making one negative comment about Mom.”

“That wasn’t his style. Whenever I criticized her, he’d say that was just how she was, but it didn’t mean she loved us any less.”

“He told me that too. And he did a super job tempering her. He also knew how to make me feel pretty.”

“Why was that so hard?”

Karen shot her a get-real look. “Come on, Val. Like Mom said, you got the looks.”

Val gave an unladylike snort. “That’s a bunch of rubbish.”

“It’s true.”

“Not.”

“Listen...I appreciate what you’re trying to do—but if you put the two of us next to each other and gave a man a choice, who do you think he’d pick?”

Her sister’s eyes narrowed. “Men can be very superficial.”

“It isn’t only men who notice beautiful women first.”

“Fine. I’ll concede I may be the first one people notice. Blonde hair has a tendency to attract attention. But you have striking eyes—which some subtle makeup could enhance, by the way—and wonderful hair. I wish mine had a natural wave like yours. You also have cheekbones to die for.”

“Nice try.”

Val studied her. “I never knew you felt so...so…”

“Dowdy? Try living in the shadow of a glamorous sister.”

Val traced a thin trail of coffee across the café table with one perfect, polished nail. “I know I got the flashier features, but it never occurred to me that you felt unattractive. Believe it or not, I was always jealous of you.”

“You’ve got to be kidding. Why in the world would you be jealous of me?”

“Because you were Mom’s favorite. The smart sister. The one who always did everything right.”

Karen’s jaw dropped. “Mom told you that?”

“Yes. With annoying regularity.”

“But...but I thought you were her favorite! She always bragged about how pretty and talented you were. How you would go places someday—like Broadway. And she always talked about how the boys were knocking down the door to take you out. I never had a date till I was in college. I felt like a loser.”

Val exhaled. “I knew she was manipulative, but I never realized how much she played us off each other—and how much it affected our relationship.”

“Me neither.”

Val picked up her purse. “Speak of the…well, devil may be a bit too strong. I don’t want to imply there was any diabolical intent. I think it’s a control issue. Mom likes to pull the strings. In any case, she’ll be waking up soon, and if I’m not there I’ll have to listen to her complain for the rest of the day. I can take it—but I’d rather not.”

“I hear you.” Karen rose, but as she picked up her cup, Val touched her arm.

“You’re not dowdy, you know.”

“And you’re not a dumb blonde.”

For a moment they regarded each other in silence.

“What do you say we do this again? Follow up on that new tradition idea I mentioned?” Val hoisted her shoulder purse into position.

“Sign me up. How does a week from Saturday sound? I have to help with month-end closing next week.”

Her sister grinned. “I’ll pencil it in.”

 

* * *

 

Karen cranked up the oldies radio station, rummaged around in the re­frigerator for the leftover spaghetti from last night...and stopped as she pictured Val’s shopping cart from this morning. There had been nary a noodle in sight.

Switching gears, she chose the deli turkey instead. A whole-wheat sandwich would be much healthier...and better for her waistline.

As Karen spread mustard on the bread, Bette Midler began to sing. Ah... “Wind Beneath My Wings.” Now there was a song. They didn’t write them like that anymore. And with the house to herself, why not join in—even if she usually confined her musical efforts to the church choir, where she could anonymously blend into the group?

It was a sing-along kind of day.

Halfway through the first verse, however, she stopped mid-phrase at the sudden bang of the front door. “Kristen? Is that you?”

“Yeah.”

Uh-oh. She was home far too early. They were supposed to stay for the fireworks.

But perhaps there’d been fireworks of a different kind.

Karen wiped her hands on a dish towel and walked into the living room. Kristen was slumped on the couch, arms crossed, face stormy.

“What happened?”

“Stephanie wasn’t feeling well.” Sarcasm dripped from her words.

Karen perched on the arm of the couch. “People do get sick.”

“Oh, please!”

“It’s possible.”

“Ha. I know what was wrong with her. She was sick of spending her Saturday at a school picnic. I heard her tell that to Dad. And she’s so young! It’s embar­rassing. She looks more like his daughter than his…whatever.”

No arguments there. Michael liked his women young. She’d been a student herself when she’d caught his fancy. At least his current love was in graduate school. That would put her at twenty-three or twenty-four. Better than eighteen or nineteen, but far too young for a fifty-one-year-old man.

“I don’t know what Dad sees in her, anyway” Kristen’s comment was laced with disgust. “She didn’t talk much, but what she did say was all about herself. What movie she went to last week, what clothes she bought, what classes she was taking next semester. I don’t think she said a dozen words to me—and she never asked me a single question about my leg. She is, like, so shallow.”

“I’m sorry your day didn’t play out how you hoped.” Karen draped her arm around her daughter’s stiff shoulders.

“I should have gone to the picnic with you.”

Karen tried not to let her second-choice status hurt. “You wanted some father-daughter time.”

“Yeah—but that didn’t happen. Stephanie was the center of attention the whole day.” She reached for her crutches and struggled to her feet. “I’ll be in my room.”

“Do you want some dinner?”

“I had a hamburger at the picnic. Stephanie didn’t want to bother, but Dad insisted he owed me a meal.” Kristen stopped on the threshold. “There was one positive today, though.”

“What?”

“Dad and Stephanie weren’t clicking. I mean, it was obvious she didn’t want to be at the picnic. But it was more than that. It was like...I don’t know. Like there wasn’t a...a connection between them anymore. She didn’t pay that much attention to him, and she wouldn’t let him hold her hand. It was…different. Maybe they’ll break up.”

And maybe you and Dad will get back together.

At the hope in Kristen’s eyes, her heart ached.

How was it possible so many years had passed since that first, fierce grip of her newborn’s tiny fingers had sealed the bond between them? And wasn’t it only yesterday she’d run behind the bike as her daughter learned to ride, terrified her precious little girl would fall and get hurt? And it felt like a week rather than twelve months ago that she’d sat in the audience, filled with pride and trepidation, as the poised young woman her daughter had become executed a flawless routine on the balance beam and walked away with a blue ribbon, being radiating joy.

If going back to Michael would help restore that joy, she’d al­most make the sacrifice.

Except whether Stephanie was in the picture or not, Michael had no interest in her—and she, too, had moved on.

“Your dad isn’t going to come back, Kristen.” Her statement was quiet but firm. “If he and Stephanie break up, he’ll find someone else like her. Thin and pretty and young.”

“You could be thin and pretty if you made an effort.” Kristen’s irises began to shimmer.

“It wouldn’t work, honey.”

“How do you know? Why won’t you try?”

“There’s more to it than that.”

“I just want us to be a family again. I don’t know why that’s too much to ask.”

The first faint hum of a headache began to throb behind her temples. “I wish it could have been different too, but your dad and I weren’t the best match from the beginning. We have very different—and incompatible—priorities. That doesn’t mean you and he can’t have a strong relationship, though.”

“It’s not the same.” As Kristen choked out the protest, her face crumpled. With a strangled sob, she clumped down the hall to her room and slammed the door.

Hard enough to rattle the pictures on the walls.

As well as the resolve in a mother’s heart.