The animal had on a flea collar but appeared to have slipped its dog collar. It looked well fed and happy, and she suspected, judging from the muddy paws and legs, it had dug out of someone’s yard. “We’d better take you to the animal shelter,” she said. She opened the back door of her car. “Wanna go for a ride?”
The dog happily jumped into the backseat. Her mother would have had a heart attack over the mess, but Daphne liked dogs, and she’d rather have a little mess to clean up than see this animal get hurt.
Dr. Wolfe, the town vet, was volunteering at the shelter. Although she hadn’t met him, she’d heard about him and knew he’d recently married one of the local women.
“Hello, there,” he greeted her as she came in with her new friend prancing by her side.
“I found this dog wandering loose. I think he got out of someone’s backyard.”
“That looks like Bandit.”
The dog confirmed the vet’s deduction with a tail wag.
“Well, Bandit, you little sneak,” Dr. Wolfe said, squatting down to pet the animal. “I see you’ve made the great escape again.” He smiled up at Daphne. “I’ll make sure he gets back to Mrs. Little. She’s probably out searching for him.”
“Thanks,” Daphne said.
“No problem. Maybe this will finally convince Mrs. L. to get an invisible fence. By the way, I’m Ken Wolfe,” he said and smiled at her.
He seemed like a nice man. Too bad he was taken.
You’re not looking anymore, ever again, she reminded herself. Mitchell had seemed like a nice man when she first met him, too. She wasn’t going to waste any more time looking for nice men. If she wanted something to love, an animal was the best bet...the four-legged kind.
“I’m Daphne Gilbert,” she said, reverting to her maiden name.
“Roberta Gilbert’s daughter?” Daphne nodded and he said, “She’s great. My wife and I got married at Primrose Haus. It’s pretty impressive.”
“Yes, it is.” Daphne gave the dog a goodbye scratch behind the ears. How she’d love to have a dog, but she knew better than to even suggest it. She’d just turned to leave when, from out of nowhere, a small black cat trotted over to her and began rubbing against her legs. “Well, who’s this?” she asked, bending down to stroke its soft fur. She hadn’t had a cat since her sweet tabby died. And that was shortly before she’d married Mitchell. Mitchell had been allergic to cat dander, so no cats for Daphne. But Mitchell was gone now and Daphne wasn’t allergic to cat dander.
“That’s Milo. We got him a couple of days ago. His owners are getting divorced and neither one wanted him.”
Poor guy, she thought. I know how you feel, little fella. It’s awful not to be wanted. “He looks young.”
“He is, under a year, so he’s got energy to burn. But he’s been neutered and he’s had all his shots.”
Daphne picked up the cat and he began to chew on her hair. It made her giggle. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed.
She’d love to take Milo home with her. A cat wouldn’t be any bother. He’d probably run and hide when they had wedding guests. And if he wasn’t prone to hiding, she could always shut him in her room for a few hours. She had a comfy bed with a homemade quilt (another of her mother’s many talents), perfect for catnaps.
Except...she couldn’t simply bring a cat home any more than she could a dog. The house on Primrose Street had been her home growing up but it wasn’t now. In fact, it was more a business than a house—her mother’s business. It would be selfish and inconsiderate of Daphne to do such a thing, especially considering the fact that her mother wasn’t particularly fond of animals.
She sighed. “He’s awfully cute. I hope you find a home for him quickly.” Somewhere from the back of the building she heard a dog howl. Leaving without an animal...it felt wrong.
Never mind, she told herself as she drove away from the shelter. You won’t always be living with your mother. Down the road she’d get a little place of her own here in town, a place like Muriel Sterling’s that she could doll up with rustic furniture and gingham curtains. Then she’d get a pet. Or two.
She found her mother seated at the kitchen table, going over bills. “Where were you all this time?” Roberta asked.
“I had some errands to run.” Daphne set a box of the chocolates she’d bought on the kitchen table.
Her mother cocked an eyebrow. “Should you be spending money on chocolate?”
Daphne sat down opposite her and nudged the box in her direction. She couldn’t help smiling as Mother, unable to resist, selected a white chocolate truffle. “I think I can afford it. I got a job.”
Her announcement produced a smile of approval. “You did?”
Daphne nodded. “Starting Friday, I’m going to be working for Muriel Sterling three mornings a week. I’m going to get her organized.”
“That’s a great beginning. But it surely won’t be enough to live on.”
Daphne’s own smile curdled. Leave it to her mother to see the dark clouds instead of the rainbow. “If I’m working part-time I’ll still be able to help you here,” she pointed out.
Her mother’s expression changed from approving to...wary. Hard to believe only a few days ago she’d suggested Daphne help her. Now it looked as if she was having second thoughts. What a surprise.
“Something else might come up,” she said. “You don’t want to be tied down here.”
“Or you don’t want me to be.”
“I didn’t say that,” her mother said stiffly.
She didn’t have to. Daphne had never had an aptitude for foreign languages, but she had no problem with body language, especially her mother’s. “I really am capable of helping you.”
“I know. Let’s not talk about that right now, though. Let’s talk about what you did with the rest of your day. Or have you been at Muriel’s all this time?”
“No. I also went by the animal shelter.”
Daphne got no further. “You brought home a dog?” Her mother’s horrified gaze roamed the room as if she was looking for a Saint Bernard to suddenly dash out from around the corner or behind the curtains.
“No. I didn’t think you’d want one here.”
“Certainly not. They make huge messes and they smell.”
Which was why, growing up, the only pets Daphne had were parakeets and goldfish. “Dogs are high maintenance. Cats not so much,” she ventured.
Mother didn’t seem any happier about the prospect of a cat. “Don’t tell me you got one.”
“I was strongly tempted. They had the cutest black cat there.”
“Cats may be cute, but they scratch furniture.”
“Not if you get a scratching post.”
“I suppose,” her mother said, and Daphne could almost hear her thinking, And where, among my antiques, would that go?
It was just as well she hadn’t adopted Milo. Daphne sighed. “Don’t worry. I won’t bring one here. I wouldn’t do that to you.” She loved her mother dearly, but sometimes she wished the woman would loosen up a little.
“Darling, it’s not that I wouldn’t love you to have a cat. However, this place doesn’t really work for pets, not with all the receptions we host. Some people are allergic.”
“Of course,” Daphne agreed. “There’s something about pets, though. Animals love you unconditionally.” Sometimes she wasn’t sure she could say that about her mother.
“Down the road, when you get your own place...”
It was the same thing she’d told herself, but hearing her mother say it stung. “And I know you’re in a hurry for that to happen.”
Mother frowned. “I didn’t say that, and I wish you wouldn’t put words in my mouth.”
She didn’t have to say it. Daphne was nothing but a big inconvenience. What kind of
mother wouldn’t be happy to have her daughter back with her? Everywhere Daphne turned these days, she found rejection.
That’s not true, said her brain. Your mother’s not rejecting you. She’s rejecting having a cat. And she’s probably assuming you’ll want your own place. Of course she was being oversensitive and unreasonable. Still, her wounded heart wouldn’t listen. She felt that prickle in her eyes again, signaling the arrival of tears. She pushed away from the table. “I’m going up to my room for a while. I need to check my email.”
“Daphne.” Her mother’s voice softened, taking on that pleading don’t-be-a-pill tone Daphne was all too familiar with.
“I’ll be down later,” she said, striving to keep the hurt from seeping into her words. She went upstairs to her old room and shut the door behind her, putting distance between them. Not too different from her teen years when they quarreled. Except she’d outgrown door slamming.
She settled on the bed with her old laptop and brought up her email. One of her neighbors in Seattle was inviting her to a party. Actually, she was on more of a fishing expedition. Are you two still together? I haven’t seen you around much. Or Mitchell. And what was with the sacks of clothes on the front lawn?
Daphne gave a snort of disgust. “You’ll figure it out soon enough.”
A friend had forwarded a collection of cute animal pictures with clever captions. Oh, she thought again, how she’d love to have a pet. She did need to get her own place. It was ridiculous living with her mother at her age.
Maybe it wouldn’t be if her mother could ever admit she needed her, if they could work together and help each other. But her mother didn’t want her help. Roberta Gilbert didn’t need anyone’s help.
Daphne shut the computer and looked out the window at Sleeping Lady Mountain. The view had always inspired her. Today it didn’t.
She reached for Muriel’s book and began to read. It was almost as good as actually being with Muriel, having a heart-to-heart talk.
Wherever you are right now, you’re there for a reason.
Daphne frowned. Yes, because I’m a failure at love.
And whatever choices or mistakes brought you to where you are, know that you’re in this place at this moment to learn something, to go somewhere new or to encourage someone else. The door is open. All you have to do is step out.
Easy for Muriel to say. She didn’t have Roberta Gilbert for a mother.
Chapter Eleven
Roberta, the Expert on Love
Roberta suddenly had a headache. It happened a lot when dealing with her daughter. This time she couldn’t lay the blame at Daphne’s door, though. It belonged solely to her. In the space of a few short minutes, she’d managed to devalue Daphne’s new job and insinuate that she wanted her gone.
Truth be told, she did. Not far away, of course, but far enough so she wasn’t in such close proximity, constantly worrying and aggravating Roberta. Someplace like Seattle. Or even Wenatchee. Daphne had her own life to live, and she could make her own decisions, but when she made poor ones, Roberta had to grind her molars. Actually, if that was all she did, things would go so much better between them. But she never could settle for simple molar-grinding. She always had to say something.
Honestly, though, wasn’t it a mother’s job to give her daughter advice? And Daphne needed advice. On a regular basis. She did such impetuous things, and this job working for Muriel was the latest example. Roberta didn’t see how a part-time job was going to be of any benefit to Daphne’s bank account. Of course, at this point Primrose Haus could support both of them, particularly since Roberta owned the house free and clear. Not that Daphne had ever hinted at getting a paycheck from her. Roberta knew her daughter just wanted to help. But at the rate they were going, Roberta would be buying aspirin by the case.
She took one of the chocolates from the box Daphne had left behind. It was too bad Daphne’s marriage hadn’t worked out. Roberta had known it wouldn’t and tried to warn her. But would she listen? No. When it came to men, she was entirely too trusting. Well, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree, did it?
Ancient past, she told herself. Yet she could remember it all as though it was yesterday.
1961
Gerard was the best-looking boy in school. Everyone said so. He arrived the summer before their junior year and made an instant impression on the football coach. And from the very first day of school, he also made an impression on every girl in school, including Roberta. He dated enough of them, skimming the cream from the top of the social tier. That meant she didn’t have a chance. She was a straight-A student and on the debate team, but that didn’t carry the clout that being a cheerleader did. Come senior year, he was captain of the football team, which should have put him even more out of reach.
Remarkably, it hadn’t. He’d fallen for her after she’d tutored him in English. He thought she was wonderful. She was the only girl for him. He told her so every time they parked in some dark, deserted spot, his hands trying to sneak places they didn’t belong.
He was the only boy for her, more addictive than a hot-fudge sundae, more exciting than any of the boys she’d gone steady with her sophomore and junior years. All two of them. It wasn’t that she was homely. She was pretty, she knew that; the problem was that she was also smart, and that scared off a lot of boys. So, when it came to boyfriends, she’d been happy to take what she could get.
Andy the math genius had been shy—so shy, in fact, that he’d needed half a dozen dates to work up the nerve to kiss her. And that first kiss had been chaste and disappointing. The ones that followed weren’t much better. They were always tentative, just enough to stir up her teen-girl hormones, certainly not the kind of kisses she’d seen on the movie screen when she went to the matinee with her girlfriends. She’d seen a few of those scenes at the drive-in with Andy, too, but somehow they never seemed to inspire him to greatness. She wasn’t too upset when his father got a job transfer and the family moved to Maine.
Leonard wasn’t any more interesting. He preferred making model airplanes and going to comic book conventions to movies or dances, and they parted by mutual consent. She decided to spend the rest of her junior year concentrating on her studies. And loving Gerard Jones from afar.
What a thrill it was when she entered her English class September of her senior year and found him in it. And how perfect that the teacher stipulated on alphabetical seating. Gilbert before Jones. She wound up in the desk in front of him, which finally put her on his radar. He wasn’t intimidated by her smarts, probably because he had so much confidence in himself, and he loved playing with her long, dark hair when the teacher wasn’t looking. Then came the tutoring sessions at the library. He’d say things like “You smell so good I can’t concentrate” (this was thanks to Roberta getting into her mother’s Chanel No. 5) and “Has anyone told you that you have beautiful eyes?” (She did, actually, and it was about time he noticed.) Then one day, as they were leaving the library, he said, “There’s a new movie at the drive-in. Want to go?”
Of course she did.
At the drive-in he didn’t give her an insecure, short-lived kiss. Oh, no. It had been a full-on force-of-nature attack, an assault with his lips. And tongue.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, pushing him away.
He gaped at her. “You don’t know how to French-kiss?”
Obviously not. She felt like a fool.
“Never mind,” he said, pulling her back toward him. “I’ll teach you.”
And what a teacher he was. His kisses left her breathless, and as they became increasingly more intimate with each date, she had difficulty remembering her mother’s words of caution. Never let a boy take liberties. He won’t respect you. But Gerard seemed to respect her just fine. He always opened doors for her, and the corsage he bought her for the Christmas Ball was the most beautiful one she’d eve
r had.
Still, she did what all good girls did. She kept her legs crossed. After a while he got frustrated with her crossed-leg syndrome and broke up with her. He started seeing a cheerleader, and to show him she couldn’t care less, she started dating a boy on the debate team. But he was no Gerard, and by spring they were back together.
One evening, as the windows of his daddy’s Buick became more and more foggy, she let him take off her bra. When he unclasped those little hooks he pretty much undid the last of her resolution. The thrill of what he was doing with his mouth and hands was unlike anything she’d ever known. But what would her mother say if she saw Roberta with her skirt up to her waist and her top missing?
“Bobbi, I want you so bad,” he murmured against her neck.
“I can’t,” she moaned, but she didn’t remove his hand from her breast.
“I love you—you know that. That’s why I couldn’t stay away.”
She conveniently forgot that she’d been the one who’d gone crawling to him, hinting that she’d give him what he wanted.
“You love me, too, don’t you?”
Now his hand was someplace it had absolutely no business being. She tried to find her willpower. “My mother would kill me.”
“Who cares about your mother? She’s old. What does she know?”
He had a point.
“We’ve been going together all year.”
Except for that short time they’d been seeing other people. That had been a mistake. There was no one like Gerard and she didn’t want to lose him again.
“You’ve got my letterman’s jacket. I wouldn’t give that to just any girl.”
The cheerleader had worn it for three weeks.
But it was hers again now. Ooh, she was melting.
“If you loved me you’d let me.”
Of course she loved him. “I can’t,” she said, trying to squirm out of his arms. He knew good girls didn’t go all the way. Oh, but she wanted to.
A Wedding on Primrose Street (Life In Icicle Falls Book 7) Page 12