More: A Body Work Novel (The Body Work Trilogy Book 4)

by Sierra Kincade

  Amy felt her ears get warm.

  “What hair thing?” she asked, even though she knew perfectly well what her mother meant.

  “You always did have a flair for the dramatic,” said Candace. “But you do have a child now.”

  “Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

  Candace continued, ignoring Amy’s comment.

  “There’s nothing wrong with dressing like a mom. It’s the most honorable profession there is.”

  “More honorable than styling hair?”

  Her mother made a throaty sound that reminded Amy of an irritable cat.

  “You know, you really should take her to see someone. It’s not normal for a child to behave like that.” Candace turned her gaze back to the living room.

  “She’s okay, Mom. She’s just nervous around strangers.”

  Immediately she regretted saying it.

  “I’m not a stranger,” retorted her mother, fanning herself with a paper plate that she found on the kitchen table. “I’m her grandmother. Maybe if you brought her up to see me every once in a while...”

  “Mom,” said Amy. “I don’t want to argue.”

  “Who’s arguing?” Candace shoved herself back in the chair. “I’m not arguing.”

  “I just meant she’s shy,” said Amy.

  “Well, shyness is a practiced behavior,” said Candace. “Maybe you should put her in classes. Acting. Or Toastmaster’s or something.”

  “She’s six, Mom.”

  Candace sighed. “This wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t left Daniel. That’s when it all started, didn’t it?”

  Amy paused, her hands on two mismatched coffee mugs. The handle had broken off the one she saved for herself.

  “I didn’t leave him,” said Amy curtly. Her mother had never liked Danny. Amy was surprised she hadn’t said I told you so yet.

  “That’s not the way he tells it.” Amy had to force a straight face. Her mother knew the bare minimum of what had transpired during her divorce. A cold shiver worked down her spine, bringing the same feeling of discomfort she’d had last night when Danny had been on her mind.

  “Have you talked to him?” she asked evenly, pouring the coffee.

  “Not since the divorce. He contacted me a few months afterwards. Told me everything.”

  “Did he?” Amy turned, carrying the coffee to the table. She wanted to end this conversation—she didn’t know how much Paisley could hear—but she had to know what had happened.

  “Yes,” said Candace. “I know you married young, and the baby was a great stress, but he owned up to everything. Took all the blame. Said he wasn’t ready, and had rushed into things. He hoped you two would reconcile, and I have to say, I had hoped he was right.”

  “You hated him,” said Amy, figuring Danny had left out some of his greater offenses and feeling surprised that this visit from Danny had changed the way her mother viewed him. “And anyway, why didn’t you tell me he called?”

  “Because he didn’t, he came by.” Candace waved her hand. “You were too emotional at the time.”

  How would you know? she wanted to ask. When she’d called to tell her mother Danny had left, Amy had thought Candace would have had at least a little sympathy—she was divorced as well. Instead, Amy had gotten an earful about how they should have worked harder. Youth and immaturity were poor excuses for raising a child in a broken home.

  Amy only hummed a response. Danny was from Cincinnati as well, so it wasn’t as if he’d made a special trip just to see her mother. Still, the thought of him going behind her back after everything he’d done filled her with a silent, potent rage. She didn’t want to be here; this place felt like something from a different life she’d left behind.

  She missed Mike. She missed kissing him, and sitting beside him, and the feel of his hand on her back as they walked. She would have even taken him angry at her, like he’d been last night before his class, just to have him near. The Amy she was with him, in his house, was a better, happier Amy than the one sharing coffee with her mother.

  “He was starting a business,” said Candace. “Selling music amplifiers to church groups. And he told me he was playing regularly at a service on the west side of town.”

  “He was playing you,” said Amy. Danny had detested organized religion. It was part of his whole nonconformist routine.

  “I don’t think so,” said Candace, her cheeks darkening. “He’d really cleaned up.”

  Amy shook her head. She supposed she should give him credit—at least he’d gone to Mama Moneybags first. He must have been pretty desperate to show up outside his ex-wife’s work, begging for cash.

  “How much did you give him?”

  She tried to imagine what he might have spent it on—bills? booze? weed? a new guitar?—but found she didn’t care.

  Candace straightened. “I don’t know that that’s any of your business.”

  “He’s my ex-husband.”

  “He was my son-in-law.”

  “Why are you defending him? You once told me marrying him was like driving a car into a brick wall.”

  “Well,” she said. “He changed my mind. Which one can do when they come to my home, and sit down at my table, and spend some quality time with me.”

  Amy couldn’t remember the last time she’d spent quality time with her mother. It certainly wasn’t right now.

  “Can’t we talk about something else?” she asked. “Can we just have a normal conversation about the weather? Or about Paisley’s school? Or my job?”

  “Are you in trouble?” asked her mother, and there was such a foreign, genuine openness in her expression that Amy’s annoyance ground to a halt, and she seriously considered saying something real. Something about Danny, or her money situation, or even last night’s fight with Mike.

  Candace lowered her voice. “There’s hardly a thing in your refrigerator. And I didn’t want to say anything, but Paisley’s so small for her age. Maybe the lack of nutrition and her speech problems...”

  “Mom,” said Amy, clamping down her teeth. “Paisley’s fine. I just...haven’t been to the store, that’s all.” She stood, needing to walk around, busy herself in some way. She opened the cabinet, then shut it. Then a drawer.

  “Pride comes before the fall,” said her mother. “I keep waiting for you to grow out of this phase –”

  “What phase?”

  “Oh please, Amy. You know exactly what I mean.”

  Amy was just about to tell her she didn’t know what she was talking about, that her life, everything she’d worked for and lost and taken back wasn’t some phase, when a knock came on the door. It was pushed open before Amy could reach the entryway.

  “Hello?” called Mike. His eyes found Amy, and all the insignificance, and doubt, and anger vanished, because there was only room inside her for the warmth that he carried with him. Her hands relaxed. Her shoulders fell. They were okay, even if she wasn’t.

  “Hi,” she said, just above a whisper.

  “Hello.” Her mother’s voice, close behind her, made her jump. “Can we help you?”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Amy felt some of the life inside her drain away. Blinking, she reassessed Mike in the beige security uniform shirt and dark slacks he wore to the apartments downtown. It was sort of plain, but she’d always thought it was sexy, the way dirt-smeared jeans and workman’s gloves were sexy. Hard work made her hot in a way easy money—like the kind she’d known growing up—never could. But the judgment in her mother’s stare made her see him through different eyes, and she was immediately both defensive and uncomfortable.

  What was he doing here? She hadn’t planned on making this introduction until the wedding, and honestly, she’d been avoiding thinking of it altogether. Despite the fact that Candace Morrow was divorced, she had a very conservative value system, one Amy clashed with at every turn. Living with another man—a man her mother wouldn’t even have heard about until today—was going to go over like a brick to the face.
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  He closed the door behind him, and it wasn’t until then that she saw he was carrying a bouquet of flowers in his hand. Pretty lilies, clean and white. The kind that made Amy think of funerals. She hoped that didn’t show on her face.

  “I thought you had to work,” said Amy.

  Mike’s head tilted the slightest bit at her tone.

  “Mike!” screeched Paisley, running to the front door to greet him. Amy was pushed aside and nearly lost her balance as her daughter wrapped himself around his leg.

  “Monster!” He knelt, and tickled her side, eliciting a bright burst of giggles. Affection warred with discomfort within Amy’s chest as her mother’s mouth tightened.

  “I fed the birds just like you said.” Amy remembered the measuring cup of sugar water, and the ducks who’d feasted on a whole loaf of white bread.

  “Good girl,” he said.

  “Are those for me?” asked Paisley, pointing to the flowers.

  “They’re for your grandma,” he said. “This is for you.” He took a small white carnation out of the bouquet and stuck it behind her ear. She smiled shyly.

  For a moment Amy was confused as to how Mike had known Candace would be here, but then she realized Iris must have overheard her conversation before she’d run out this morning.

  “What about Mommy?” asked Paisley.

  Mike stood. “I’d never forget your mama.”

  She hadn’t noticed the back of the bouquet wasn’t flowers at all, but feathers. An assortment of sizes, in different shades of white, silver, and gray, all bound together by a simple black ribbon.

  Her mouth fell open a little as he handed them to her, and her skin tingled where his fingers brushed hers. She was reminded of the box of buttons he’d given her, now sitting on her nightstand where she could sort through it before she fell asleep. For your projects, he’d said.

  “Sorry I didn’t say goodbye,” he said, low enough for only her to hear.

  I missed you, she wanted to say. But her mouth couldn’t form the words.

  She thought he might know her better than anyone, even Anna. A surge of protectiveness fired through her veins. She wanted to block her mother’s judging stare, knowing the only reason she would judge was because Amy so clearly cared for him, and in Candace’s eyes that made him tarnished, and strange. An experiment, like her hair, or her job, or her child. Something that she would inevitably fail, like her marriage.

  “Mike Stroud,” he said, reaching for Candace’s hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you. I didn’t know you were coming in today.” Mike held out the lilies and Candace took the bouquet, brows lifted. Amy was brought back to reality.

  “You aren’t the only one,” said her mother. “Ms. Candace Morrow. You’re a friend of Amy’s?”

  “His mom lives upstairs,” Amy cut in. “She watches Paisley sometimes.”

  Again, Mike’s questioning gaze turned her way.

  “Well, thank you for the flowers,” said Candace. “That was very kind.”

  It was a dismissal, and they both heard it. All eyes turned Amy’s direction. The words clashed inside of her, tying her tongue, making it impossible to speak at all. This man is important to me, she wanted to say, but she also wanted Mike to go, so he would be spared from her mother’s comments, and so she wouldn’t keep looking at him like he didn’t belong here.

  “Well,” said Mike, mussing Paisley’s hair. “I’ve got to get back to work and finish some things before I meet up with Chloe.”

  “Who’s Chloe?” asked Candace. “Your wife?”

  Amy’s hands clenched around the beautiful collection of feathers. Asking if Mike was married after he’d just brought them gifts was akin to asking if he knew he belonged somewhere else. Amy wondered if Candace actually thought her daughter would be involved with a married man, which was low, even for her.

  “Mom,” said Amy coldly. “Mike’s not married. I think you know that.”

  “Oh,” said Candace, eyes glimmering. “My mistake.”

  “Chloe’s my daughter.” Mike’s smile didn’t reach his eyes.

  “Ah,” said Candace. “How wonderful that you make time to see your daughter. Amy and I were just discussing the importance of fathers in their children’s lives. Your ex-wife must appreciate that.”

  Amy’s jaw tightened. “Why don’t we find a vase for those flowers?”

  Mike’s eyes narrowed the slightest bit. “It’s hard to say. She’s no longer with us.”

  “That’s a shame,” said Candace, handing the flowers to Amy without looking. “My son also passed away. He was overseas fighting for our country.”

  Amy flinched at the mention of her brother. Her mother wore his death like her fancy earrings, showing them off until someone finally commented.

  “I can’t imagine how hard that must have been on your family,” said Mike.

  “Yes,” said Candace, her hard voice faltering for the first time. “For a mother, it’s particularly hard. But we endure, do we not?”

  Though Amy had turned to put the flowers in water, she could feel Mike’s gaze on her back.

  “I can see where Amy gets her strength.”

  Candace made a noise of polite agreement, that didn’t sound entirely genuine. “But certainly not her sense of fashion.”

  Amy cringed.

  “No, that’s all her,” Mike said after a moment.

  “That’s for certain.”

  She could hear, practically feel, Mike inhale.

  “It was good to meet you, Ms. Morrow. I’ll see you at the wedding.”

  “Ah, you’re coming. Isn’t that nice.”

  “Mike’s the best man,” said Amy, returning to the foyer. Mike gave a small, dry chuckle, one which weighed so heavily on Amy’s shoulders she nearly sunk into the linoleum. She knew he was hurt that her mother knew nothing about him, and she felt a sudden, desperate need to let him know that this had nothing to do with her being ashamed.

  She crossed the invisible line in the sand to stand by his side.

  “Let’s start this over. Mom, this is Mike. He’s basically the best person I’ve ever met, so if you could stop passively insulting him that would be great.”

  “I didn’t insult him at all,” retorted Candace. “It’s commendable that he’s making efforts with his daughter. Paisley should be so lucky.”

  Amy gave a slow shake of her head.

  “Be safe tonight, Amy,” Mike said quietly. And with that, he squeezed her shoulder and kissed Paisley on the head.

  “Mike, wait,” said Amy, but he didn’t stop as he walked out the door.

  “He has to go to work, dear,” said Candace. “Whatever that is.”

  “Mom.” Amy stood, facing the closed door for one second while she pressed the heels of her hands into her throbbing temples. She was torn between strangling her mother, and chasing after Mike. In the end, it was a crash in the kitchen that won, followed by Paisley’s howling cry. Amy raced around the corner to find that her daughter had tried to pull the vase of lilies off the counter.

  “Paisley, those are not yours!” scolded Candace.

  “You okay?” Amy asked her daughter, ignoring her mother.

  Paisley nodded. “I wanted another one.” The flower behind her ear was missing half its petals. Clearly she’d been playing with it.

  “Well look what you did to the first, why should you get another?”

  “Mom!” Amy turned on her. “I’ve got this.” Her blood had been simmering when Mike was near, her anger kept in check by his soothing presence. But without him it was boiling over and she had no desire to reign it in, not even with her daughter present.

  Candace crossed her arms. “If you don’t teach her discipline, she won’t respect anything.”

  “You don’t respect anything,” Amy snapped. “You don’t respect me. You didn’t respect Mike.” She siphoned in a breath. “Paisley, go back and watch your movie, honey. We’ll clean this up later.”

  “Watch your tone,” hissed Candace
when Paisley was in the living room. “I didn’t come all this way for you to yell at me.”

  “Why did you come?” asked Amy. “You don’t like being here. Nothing is good enough for you.”

  “I came because you obviously need me.” Candace was gripping the back of a kitchen chair, so hard her manicured hands turned pale. “You look like a prostitute. Your child has a severe problem. There’s no food in your house.”

  “Because I’m not living here!” Amy picked up the shards of glass from the vase and threw them into the trash, where they split open the cheap plastic bag and fell to the floor again. “Surprise. Me and my perfect, smart, beautiful child are living with Mike and his daughter, who, if you care at all, is Paisley’s best friend.”

  “You’re living with him?” Candace asked incredulously. She melted into the chair, one hand on her heart. “Oh, Amy.”

  “What?” Amy picked up the glass again. “What, oh Amy?”

  “That girl needs her father.”

  “Mike’s a great father.” She hadn’t meant to say that—she’d never asked for him to be Paisley’s father—but it was true.

  “But he’s not her father. She’ll never be able to forget that. People will stare, every time they’re out together. They’ll talk, and that will hurt her.”

  “Wow,” said Amy. “That’s possibly the most racist thing you’ve ever said.”

  She wanted to be back in Mike’s kitchen this morning with Iris, who never once made her feel like she didn’t belong in their family.

  “It’s a fact,” said her mom. “Your father left, that wasn’t my choice. Maybe things would have been different with you and me if he hadn’t.” Candace rose again. “You have a choice here. Call Daniel. Reconcile. For Paisley.”

  “And what about me?” Amy stood, without even wiping the water up off the floor. She faced her mother square on. “What if I deserve better?”

  “Pride comes before the fall,” said her mother for a second time.

  Amy scoffed, hating that her mother’s harsh words could still punch a hole in her chest. She was suddenly eighteen all over again, dragging a suitcase filled with whatever she could grab from her room down the stairs. Danny was waiting in his VW bug on the curb, honking the horn.