Elena stopped and bounced from one foot to the other as she waited for us. At least one of us was excited.
I walked over to Jack and gave him a quick hug. “Thanks for agreeing to this. I know you have places you’d rather be on a Friday night.”
He lifted his shoulders into a lazy roll. “Hey, it gave me a legit excuse to get out of going to Dad’s tonight.”
“But he still expects us tomorrow,” Harriet said as she joined us.
Jack didn’t respond and I hoped he’d changed his mind. He and Richard had never been close before Richard left, but I still believed it was important for them to have a relationship. Even if Jack claimed he didn’t care.
I caught a glimpse of Cyn driving down the street as Nana slid out of the car and shut the door behind her. My grandmother’s face lit up the moment she saw my friend. “I didn’t know Cyn was coming.”
“She wouldn’t dream of missing it,” I said with a smile.
As soon as Cyn parked, Elena took it as her permission and rushed down the walk to the front porch. Pushing Mom’s surprisingly unlocked front door, she called out, “Grandma!”
“I can’t believe she gets away with that,” Harriet mumbled as she fell into step with me.
“Neither can I,” Jack said, coming up behind me. “We would have gotten a lecture about manners.”
“Mom is more lax with Elena,” I said, thinking back to how stiff and formal she’d always been with the twins. I wasn’t sure why she was softer with Elena, but my younger daughter loved my mother and vice versa. I wasn’t going to fight it.
“Gertrude’s always had a stick up her butt,” Nana Stella said with a laugh. “For some reason Elena is her kryptonite.”
“Have I told you lately how much I love you?” Cyn said to my grandmother as she joined us, hugging my grandmother’s arm.
“It’s the first time you’ve told me tonight,” Nana Stella said, still laughing, “but the night is young, Cynda.”
My grandmother had known Cyn since our kindergarten presentation of the Three Little Bears. Cyn had been Goldilocks and I had been a tree in the forest. Cyn’s performance had been over the top, her precociousness practically making her a one-woman show. My grandmother had introduced herself and the two had gotten along ever since. Except Nana refused to call her by her preferred Cyn, insisting on Cynda. As far as I knew, Nana Stella was the only one allowed to do so.
We followed Elena through the massive carved wooden double doors that matched the impeccable exterior of the two-story stone and stucco house. This place had always felt lonely to me, a hulking monument to ostentation that made a better museum than a home. But Mom had insisted such a house was a necessity for a family of our stature.
I suspected things hadn’t always been so highfalutin. My mother had been a court reporter and met my father while he was still a practicing attorney. He made most of his money later, from a high-profile lawsuit involving the acquittal of a B-list actress accused of murder, then was appointed to a judgeship several years later. Mom had kept up her career until I was in middle school, at which point she’d launched into charity work.
This house, she contended, was required so she could host elaborate parties for my father, the judge—though everyone who knew her well knew playing hostess stoked her colossal ego. Dad had loved her enough to tolerate it. I hadn’t been given a choice.
The place was way too big for just her, but it was perfect for the parties she still hosted.
The kids and I crossed the foyer’s marble floor—with a high polish, of course—and found Elena in the living room with my mother, who was wearing a navy-blue suit with a white blouse and three-inch navy heels. She looked like she was ready to walk out the door to attend a dinner with the board of one of her charities, not have a family meal. But no one would bat an eye at the inappropriate outfit—what was much more shocking was the way Elena had her arms wrapped around my mother’s waist in a hug. My mother had never been a hugger, which the twins had quickly learned, but Elena’s persistence had apparently worn her down.
Some days I wished I were more like my eleven-year-old daughter.
When I was outside of my mother’s sphere of influence, I felt like the strong, capable woman I was. But as soon as I entered into her gravitational pull, my self-confidence plummeted.
My mother patted Elena’s head, saying, “There, there, Elena. Let’s go eat before the lamb gets cold.”
Harriet shot me an exasperated look—she hated lamb and my mother knew it—which meant we’d either be ordering pizza or stopping by McDonald’s on the way home.
Mom glanced up at me with frosty eyes. “Darcie. Your hair is up.”
“Observant as always, Mom,” I said with a forced grin. I needed to play nice for multiple reasons. I wanted answers about my great-grandmother, but I’d also decided to mention Jack’s summer basketball camp to her. My mother would, of course, offer to pay for it, and the degree of pain she inflicted on me for her to say yes would largely depend on how cooperative I was during dinner.
I would never accept money from my mother for myself, but I’d take it any day of the week for my kids. I refused to let my pride get in the way of their happiness and well-being.
“It makes you look more sophisticated,” she said with a sharp nod. “I like it.” Then she turned and headed toward the dining room.
Harriet glanced over at me and made a face as she said under her breath, “You can’t wear it up ever again.”
When we got to the dining room, I wasn’t surprised to see that the food was already on the table, complete with silver sconces. Each place setting had a variety of different silverware, most of which would be ignored by everyone except my mother.
“I hope we have enough food,” Mom said in a passive-aggressive tone. “Darcie, go get your guests plates and silverware.”
She was calling her own mother my guest? My inner devil’s advocate reminded me that she hadn’t asked me to bring Nana, so it was technically true.
When I returned to the dining room, everyone was already seated. I’d been hoping to pull Mom aside to talk to her for a minute alone about Great-Grandma Sylvia and basketball camp, but it clearly wasn’t going to happen now. Which meant we’d need to stay a little while for whatever activities Mom had inevitably scheduled for after dinner. If I made it that long without a nervous breakdown.
Mom was at the end of the table, and Elena sat to her right. Harriet and Jack had taken the seats next to her, while my grandmother sat in the chair to my mother’s left. Cyn was next to her, leaving either the empty chair next to Cyn or the empty seat at the head of the table, opposite my mother. My father had used that chair up until his death, then Richard had taken it over. It had sat empty for months.
I put one plate and a set of silverware in front of Cyn (the bare minimum, not my mother’s extravagant array), then put the other place setting at the end of the table and sat in Richard’s chair.
My kids turned to face me in shock, but my mother’s brow lifted and a smile played at the corner of her lips, as though I’d just instigated a game. A game I was sure I’d soon regret.
So much for playing nice.
My mother poured wine into her glass, then passed the bottle down my children’s side of the table, likely trying to keep Nana Stella from imbibing. I hadn’t brought a wine glass to the table, so Harriet jumped up from her seat and headed to the kitchen, returning with two glasses—one for me and the other for Cyn. I poured some wine into my glass before handing the bottle off to Cyn.
“How is school going this year, Harriet?” my mother asked as my daughter took her seat.
“It’s great,” she said, placing her napkin in her lap. “All A’s. Thank you for asking.”
I cringed at the snark in her response.
“And how is school going for you, Jack?” my mother asked as she served herself a helping of lamb, then passed the platter to Nana Stella.
“Great,” he said with little enthusiasm. “I’m
a starter on the basketball team this year.”
“How lovely,” my mother said. “Will that help you get into Callaway University?”
“I’m not going to Callaway,” Jack said as he grabbed the bowl of scalloped potatoes from the center of the table and loaded his plate with a generous helping.
“What do you mean you’re not going to Callaway?” my mother asked, lowering her platter of asparagus. “Of course you are. They have an excellent premed program. And your father teaches there. You’ll practically go tuition-free.”
“I’m not sure where I’ll be going, but it won’t be Callaway,” he said stubbornly as he passed the bowl to Harriet. “It’s too soon to think about colleges. I’ll go where I can get the best basketball scholarship, and they won’t be making offers until my senior year.”
I was about to launch into how helpful basketball camp would be to that endeavor when my mother burst out with, “Why in the world wouldn’t you go to Callaway? It’s a top-ranked private school.” She said private as though it were the Holy Grail. Status and prestige meant everything to her, something she always defended by saying she had a reputation to uphold as a judge’s wife. “Not to mention it’s in Perry’s Fall.”
“Mom,” I said in a short tone. “Jack has plenty of time to figure it out.”
“I won a lot of money at poker the other night,” Nana Stella announced, then winked at Jack.
My mother had picked up her fork, but she set it down with a purposeful thud as her steely gaze pinned me to my chair. “Darcie Marie Weatherby, you let her play poker?”
“Let her?” I asked with a snort. “Nana Stella is a grown woman, capable of making her own decisions.” I picked up my wine glass and took a healthy drink.
“And right now, I’ve decided to go to the bathroom,” Nana Stella said, rising from her chair. “Any objections, Gertrude? Would you prefer that I use Depends?”
My mother made a subtle expression of distaste that would put a debutante to shame, and Nana left the table.
“This is really good lamb,” Cyn said, holding up her fork, a bite of meat skewered on the tines. “You’ll have to share the recipe, Gertrude.”
Harriet curled her upper lip in disgust.
“Say, Mom,” I said, deciding this dinner was on borrowed time. I needed to get the answers I was looking for before it deteriorated any further, preferably before Nana got back. “I’ve been thinking about Great-Grandma Sylvia.”
My mother’s eyes bugged out. “What on earth made you think about her?”
“Elena has a family history project,” I lied, then shot Elena a pleading look. It was a gamble given the connection she shared with my mother, but I suspected she was the only one who could get her to cooperate.
Elena looked back at me for a few moments before turning to my mother. “That’s right, Grandma Gertrude. It’s one of those family tree projects.”
I wasn’t sure whether to be proud or horrified by how easily and believably she’d lied.
“The kind where you have to share a story about one of your ancestors,” I added.
“Like the story about Darcie’s great-grandmother spontaneously combusting,” Cyn said.
Elena’s mouth dropped open in a perfect oval, and my mother shot Cyn a glare that should have killed her where she sat. Cyn was too focused on her plate to notice. She likely hadn’t had a home-cooked meal since she’d eaten at my house a couple of weeks earlier, which would explain why she was eating the lamb with such gusto.
When she realized her death stare wasn’t getting her anywhere, my mother rolled her eyes and released a dramatic sigh. “That is a made-up tale, Cyn.”
“I want to know more too,” Harriet said, looking up from her plate.
My mother shook her head. “It’s a ridiculous story. I’m not going to talk about such nonsense. Nor should you. It upsets Mother to talk about it. Everyone knows her mother had mental health difficulties.”
Great. Maybe I wasn’t starting fires and I’d just come down with the same strangely specific brand of “mental health difficulties.” Either way, this discussion was getting me nowhere fast.
“But Nana’s not here,” Harriet said. “So you can discuss it until she comes back.”
My mother gave her a look appropriate for an out-of-control preschooler. “We don’t discuss it for a reason, Harriet.” She turned to Elena. “Despite some blemished branches on our genealogical tree, our family does have a rich history here in Perry’s Fall,” she added, giving her what looked to be a genuine smile. “All the way back to the days of James Randolph Perry.”
“Really, Mother,” I said. “I don’t know why you insist on glorifying him. He was hardly an angel.”
I had it on the tip of my tongue to ask her why she had a thing for men who couldn’t keep it in their pants, but I refused to talk about Richard that way around my kids. From what I’d learned, Perry could have given him a run for his money. Although he’d done many great things for this town, including funding the town orchestra, the library, the park, and the Perry Art Museum—his crowning achievement—he’d also been a notorious ladies’ man who’d famously broken up more than one marriage, most notably that of the mayor.
My mother gave me a look that threatened to incinerate me—if I could still burn—and said, “James Randolph Perry brought civilization to this town, and I’m proud to be taking part in the Founder’s Day masquerade ball. Even if you did not see fit to respond to my invitation. Most people would think themselves lucky to get an invitation to a sold-out event.”
Apparently most of the employees at Lisman and Freud felt the same way, but I’d thrown it into the trash.
I didn’t exactly have the time or money to prepare for a formal masquerade ball. Or the energy to spend all evening listening to people telling tales about the great James Randolph Perry, who’d held the first annual masquerade ball in celebration of his donation of the museum to the town.
No, thanks.
I opened my mouth, trying to think of an excuse on the fly, when Cyn surprised me by saying, “I’m going. It looks like it’s going to be excellent this year, Gertrude.”
News to me. I shot her a look, and she shrugged.
As if they were playing musical chairs, Nana Stella came back from the bathroom and Harriet excused herself. As soon as she was out of earshot, my mother said, “You really need to have Harriet checked for anorexia. Or is it bulimia?”
“What?” I gasped.
Nana Stella snorted.
“That girl is rail-thin. She’s barely touched the food on her plate, and now she’s gone to the bathroom?” Her brow rose in what she probably thought was a significant look.
“She’s a dancer, Mom,” I said, wondering why I was bothering to contradict her. My mother believed what she wanted to believe. Still, I wasn’t going to let her make false assumptions about my daughter. “And she doesn’t like lamb. She’s told you that a million times.”
“Then why is she in the bathroom?”
“Grandma,” Jack said in an exasperated tone, “maybe she has to pee.”
Harriet was back a few seconds later, wearing a smug smile as she took her seat. “Exactly,” she said, confirming she’d heard at least part of the conversation about her grandmother’s “concerns.” “Grandma Gertrude, Mom said you hosted a fundraiser dinner for the mayor’s reelection. How’d it go?”
My mother beamed, then regaled us with tales about all the notable people in Perry’s Fall who had attended. “Anyone who’s anyone was at the party.”
“I wasn’t there,” Nana said.
Jack lifted his fork toward her, using it as a pointer. “Good point, Nana.”
My mother rolled her eyes. “Everyone in politics.”
“I didn’t realize you’d gotten into politics, Gertrude,” Cyn said. “When did that come about?”
My mother gave her a look of forced patience. “My fundraising was instrumental in helping Mayor Harless win the last election. I’m hoping to h
elp her just as much this time around.”
“Why didn’t you invite me to your party?” Jack asked.
My mother’s eyes widened in excitement. “I didn’t know you were interested in politics or local government, Jack.”
“Oh, I’m not interested in politics,” he said. “My civics class went to City Hall last fall and we got to meet her in person. Mayor Harless is hot.”
My mother’s cheeks pinkened. “Well, she is a former beauty queen.”
“Once you’re a beauty queen, aren’t you always a beauty queen?” Cyn asked.
“She wasn’t wearing her sash and crown,” Jack said through a mouth full of food.
My mother shot him a dark look, but he was too busy looking at his plate to notice.
“It’s called a tiara,” I said. “And most beauty queens only wear them the year they’re a queen.” I flash him a wry smile. “Hence, she wouldn’t be wearing it during her official mayoral duties.”
“Is she nice?” Harriet asked.
“She’s very witty,” Mom said. “And she has big plans for Perry’s Fall.”
“I heard she was running unopposed,” Cyn said, “so why did you need to host a fundraising party?”
“She still had to run a campaign,” my mother said as though Cyn had asked the most ridiculous question.
“Well, I know she plans to make things harder for small business owners,” Cyn said.
My mother rolled her eyes. “A one percent sales tax increase will hardly hurt businesses.”
“But if it goes through, it’ll be the second tax increase in three years, and I haven’t seen any of the improvements she promised when she was first elected.”
“She’s running into trouble with the county,” Mom said. “She can’t be blamed for that.”
“Maybe she should have figured out the logistics before she took our money,” Cyn said.
My mother shot daggers at her. “I hope you won’t feel the need to mention it to her at the masquerade ball. If so, I’d appreciate if you didn’t mention your connection to my daughter.”
Cyn shot her a look that screamed “no promises.”
Oh dear. Maybe I should go just to keep Cyn in line.
Let it All Burn: A Paranormal Women's Fiction Novel (From the Ashes Book 1) Page 10