Collier was never the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree. She wondered how his parents were dealing with his stupidity.
“And then,” Caroline said, interrupting Lydia’s flow of thought. “Kate West is getting divorced, again, for the fourth time.”
“She’s what...only forty years old.”
“My dear, she’s thirty-five. Can you imagine four husbands in eleven years? I really thought the one with the tennis pro would last...more than a year.”
Lydia tried not to snicker. Kate West had never been much for longevity.
“Kate just doesn’t have the fortitude to make it through the hard time.”
Lydia shook her head as the massage therapist worked on her arms. “Kate is a romantic. She thinks marriage is a constant honeymoon and as soon as the reality sets in, she’s done.” Lydia had liked Kate. Kate lived her life according to her rules and Lydia had been constantly controlled by other people’s rules.
“And let me tell you about Millicent Avery. She’s had so many plastic surgeries she can’t blink her eyes anymore.”
Lydia closed her eyes and let her thoughts drift. Her mother continued to dish out gossip as though Lydia were truly interested. In fact Lydia was bored. She didn’t care one bit about who was doing what in New Orleans. What did care about was what her mother was leading up to. If Caroline thought that telling her all this gossip was going to make Lydia homesick, she needed to rethink her strategy.
Lydia didn’t miss New Orleans one bit, nor did she miss the gossip. The gossip was nothing new. Her mother always seemed to know what was going on, and this was the total aspect of her conversation, as though all this stuff was important. This was what Lydia’s life had been before and she was rather ashamed of herself for participating in the gossip, the backstabbing and the delight when other people fell from prominence.
She thought about Maya and the relationship she had with her daughter. She and Maya talked about things that mattered, that made Maya a better person. She didn’t want her daughter to be caught up in people’s personal trivia. The world didn’t turn on gossip, despite her mother’s assurance that gossip had its place. Lydia’s world had changed. She liked the direction it was going.
After the rodeo last night, Maya had talked about nothing but horses. In the space of a few hours, she’d learned everything she could about the care and feeding of horses, the breeds she was interested in and the rodeo. Lydia was as enthusiastic as her daughter. She wanted her daughter to participate in activities that would make her a better person.
“And I’m sure you heard about Elliot Johns. He and his wife divorced. When you come home, I’ll set up a lunch for you and Elliot. Since he’s on the market again and you’re on the market...” Her mother gave her a sly wink.
No. Lydia disliked Elliot Johns as much as she disliked Leon and David. Never again would she marry for social position. She wanted to tell her mother her feelings, but it would just start an argument, with Caroline telling Lydia she didn’t know what she needed for herself.
As her mother rambled on, her thoughts drifted to Hunter. He was so different from the people she had associated with in New Orleans. He was real. He didn’t tell her she was being silly, or that she didn’t know her own mind. He liked Maya, and Maya liked him. Whenever she saw him, Maya immediately gravitated toward him. And when she talked, he listened. Lydia knew that one day he would make a good father.
Once the massage was over, Lydia and her mother went to another room set up for mani-pedis. Caroline chose coral nail lacquer for her finger and toe nails to match her sundress. Lydia chose clear.
* * *
Caroline liked the Tambien hotel and suggested the main restaurant. Lydia agreed even though she wanted to get away. Her mother’s constant chatter grated on her. The desire for her mother to strengthen their bond left Lydia feeling claustrophobic. She’d left New Orleans for Reno to be independent and now her parents wanted to pull her back.
The Tambien’s restaurant had a modern, upscale look to it with lots of silver paint, chrome edges and dark wood tables. The booths were upholstered in maroon with silver accents and the floor was a black-and-gray-veined marble tile. The waitstaff wore black pants and shirts with white ties. The menus looked like books with lists of the dishes separated by silver scrolled lines. All Lydia wanted was a hamburger and fries.
Caroline excused herself to use the restroom. She watched her mother’s graceful movements across the room. Lydia needed a break from her mother’s gossip and constant hints about moving back to New Orleans. Lydia wasn’t moving back. She liked her new life and she felt a confrontation building that she would do anything to avoid. Her parents were going to be hurt by her decision.
Lydia used the reprieve to text Hunter and ask him to text her back in fifteen minutes with some sort of emergency. Any manufactured emergency would do so she could claim an end to this mother/daughter moment to avoid the unpleasantness she felt coming. Her mother returned, her makeup flawlessly reapplied, and slid smoothly into her chair. “You should at least put on some lipstick, Lydia. Your face needs some color.”
“I’m fine, Mom,” Lydia replied while she glanced through the menu. She’d stopped wearing makeup and her skin felt clean and fresh.
The waitress hovered while her mother dithered over the menu. “I can’t decide if I want the garden salad or the tomato and cucumber appetizer.”
“Mom.” Lydia’s frustration bubbled to the surface. “Just pick something. I’m ready.” She glanced at the waitress, who smiled politely.
Caroline looked startled. “I’ll have a plain garden salad, no dressing,” she said. “I’ll just drink my water.”
“And I’ll the bacon avocado burger, sweet potato fries and large lemonade.”
The waitress nodded, taking their order.
“Are you sure you want a hamburger, Lydia? It’s so messy. If you get grease on that lovely blouse, it’ll be ruined. When you return to New Orleans to help campaign for your dad’s mayoral run for New Orleans, you won’t be able to indulge in hamburgers. They are so fattening.”
Lydia’s hand paused in the act of squeezing lemon into her water, not certain she’d heard correctly. “Dad is running for mayor of New Orleans!” So this is what David and Leon had been alluding to. She should have tried to find out more, but she’d been busy and somehow the thought had been pushed into a far corner of her mind.
“Of course, didn’t he tell you?” Caroline’s half smile curved her lips, but little enthusiasm showed in her eyes. “He’s so thrilled to be asked. He’s always wanted a career in politics and now the time is just right. You must ask him about his campaign. He has such progressive ideas for how New Orleans should be run.”
Though her mother’s voice was light, Lydia detected strain behind the words. Lydia leaned over the edge of the table. “Let me get this clear. Dad is running for mayor?”
“I just told you.”
So that was the real reason behind the mother/daughter spa time.
“We must present a united front, which is why you must come home, dear.” Caroline cut off a tiny slice of bread from the basket between them. She daintily nibbled at the edges. “This is very good bread.” She put the piece down on the bread plate and then ignored it.
“Why is Dad running for mayor?” Lydia sliced a huge chunk of bread and lathered it with butter, to her mother’s disapproval. She paused a second and added more butter. She knew she was being childish, but couldn’t seem to stop herself. Wise, Caroline said nothing.
“I just said, because he wants to.” Caroline leaned closer to Lydia. “And it would be so amazing to live in the mayor’s mansion. Think of the parties we could have, the people who would attend. Who knows what might happen. Mayor today, then governor and possibly a senator with a mansion in Georgetown.” She busied herself placing her napkin on her lap. “You
know, you would make the perfect senator’s wife. Think of it, Lydia, travel all over the world, dinner with celebrities, being a guest at the White House.” Caroline sighed.
Again a slight, patronizing smile from her mother made Lydia cringe.
Lydia blinked. She didn’t want to live in Washington, D.C. She didn’t want a senator for a husband. She didn’t want to return to New Orleans. She didn’t want to present “a united front,” as her mother said. She didn’t want her parents interfering in her life.
“Is that all I am to you?” Lydia asked, trying to keep the surge of anger filling her under control.
Her mother’s eyebrows rose. “What do you mean, dear?”
“I’m really nothing but a commodity to be used to further whatever Dad wants.” Lydia studied her mother. “But then again, that’s all you are. A commodity. A...” Lydia’s phone rang before she could say anything she would regret later. She glanced at it. Hunter was calling. Thank you, Hunter. “Excuse me, I have to take this.”
“Let it go to voice mail, Lydia. You and I are discussing something very important. Your future.”
More important than all the gossip from New Orleans. “You and I can finish this discussion later.” She answered the phone.
“Are you all right?” Hunter asked.
No, she wasn’t all right, but couldn’t say that in front of her mother. “I don’t know how to answer that question right now.”
“Do you need me to rescue you?”
“Yes,” Lydia replied, knowing she sounded desperate. Suddenly, she needed to get away from her mother and the gentle insinuations that she was not only ruining her life, but Maya’s life and her parents’ lives. And possibly the future of New Orleans. Maybe even the United States. How had her decision to take charge of her future suddenly become equivalent to the fall of the Roman Empire?
“Are you still at the Tambien?”
“Yes.”
“Hang on, Lydia. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
Lydia disconnected. “Mom, you stay and finish your lunch.” She flagged the waitress and handed her fifty dollars.
“But...” Her mother flailed about for words.
“This is for lunch,” Lydia told the waitress. “Keep the change.” She gathered up her purse and dug inside.
“Is something wrong with Maya?” Caroline asked a panicked look on her face.
“Maya is fine,” Lydia said. “It’s something else. Here are the keys to my car. Hunter is picking me up.” Lydia slid out of the booth. “Sorry, Mom.” She kissed her mother on the cheek, clutched her purse to her and rushed out of the restaurant before her mother could object.
* * *
By the time Hunter arrived, Lydia was so angry she shook. She took two tries before she could open the door and slide into the passenger seat.
“Lydia?” Hunter asked, concern in his tone.
“Just drive. I don’t care where, just drive.”
“Do you want ice cream, or a bar?” He eased his Mercedes into traffic while Lydia pondered his question.
“Ice cream is safer,” she said.
“I know just the place.” He made his way through Reno to the freeway and turned south, zipping away from Reno.
Lydia leaned back against the car seat and closed her eyes, replaying the scene with her mother over and over again. She wanted to scream, to pound her hands on something. She wanted to grab Maya and run as far away as she could get and never be found again. Her life belonged to her, not her parents. Maya’s life belonged to her and not Lydia or her parents.
She closed her eyes and let the miles roll by, thankful Hunter asked no questions. At some point she dozed. When she opened her eyes again, they were in South Lake Tahoe, cruising down a road bordering the crystal clear water.
She didn’t know much about Lake Tahoe, but she did know it was supposed to be one of the clearest lakes in the world with some of the most beautiful beaches. And from the rows of huge homes right on the beach, other people agreed with her.
The ice cream shop in South Lake Tahoe sported a cutesy sign that contained pink decorations surrounding the name Hot Ice. The shop sat on a small pier jutting out over the water. Hunter parked the car in an adjacent lot and they followed a winding path, bordered by blooming marigolds, leading up to the building.
Inside the shop was a profusion of color with pink being dominant. A long row of refrigerated cases showed huge containers of homemade ice cream of over fifty flavors along with rows of cans containing different toppings.
Lydia ordered her favorite, chocolate cheesecake with chocolate chips and whipped cream. Hunter ordered triple chocolate brownie with double fudge sauce and whipped cream. Lydia stared at his choice. She tilted her head to watch him as the attendant scooped the chocolate ice cream into a double sized bowl.
He caught her watching him and grinned. “I love chocolate.”
“I can see.” She found herself grinning back, her anger easing.
“Let’s sit outside,” he said, opening a side door leading to a wood patio.
Lydia sat at a wrought-iron table with an umbrella. Hunter tilted the umbrella slightly to block the early afternoon sun and sat across from her. The air was warm, but a breeze off the lake cooled them.
“You seem a lot upset.” Hunter dug his spoon into his ice cream. “What happened?”
“My father has decided to run for mayor of New Orleans and my choices are to return and avoid a scandal, or turn my daughter over to Sleazy and Sleazier to avoid a scandal so that his campaign is not tainted by a daughter who refuses to get with the program.” She licked the ice cream on her spoon. She was in chocolate heaven.
“You have a third choice.”
“And that would be?” One eyebrow lifted at the idea she had any choices at all.
“Get massive amounts of plastic surgery and run off to Papua New Guinea to hide in the rain forests with isolated tribes. No clothes allowed.”
Lydia sighed. “Excluding my disdain for the great outdoors, that is looking like a viable option.” She stared at the lake, the breeze ruffling the edges of her hair. She felt as though her mother had betrayed her.
“I can come with some great ideas,” Hunter said with a chuckle.
A boat glided by with a man at the helm and a woman in a super skimpy bikini laying on a deck chair getting the sun. A second boat raced parallel to the shore, towing a skier, her long hair flying behind her as she skimmed the water. Further out, jet skiers bounced against the waves.
“Why is it that every parent I’ve ever met wants their children to grow up and be independent, except for mine?” She dug her spoon into her ice cream and pulled out a chunk.
“Miss E. raised my siblings and I to be very independent, so I don’t think I can even find an answer that would help you.”
Mountains ringed the lake, rising high into the clear sky. Lydia traced the line of their peaks against the blueness and wished she lived on one as far from her parents as she could get.
“It’s almost as if being independent implies I don’t love them anymore.” At the moment she was finding it hard to love them at all.
“Being an only child can be tough,” he said.
A young man and woman walked the beach arm in arm. Honeymooners, Lydia thought. A family of five frolicked in the waves. The mother, a matronly looking woman with a ready smile, joined in her children’s play. Caroline would never be caught playing in a lake. Her idea of recreational swimming was the luxurious pool at her country club with lots of wine and sunscreen. We may be people of color, but we still get sunburned, her mother often admonished.
Lydia’s exasperation boiled to the surface. “My mother wants me to be her clone, and my father wants me to be totally dependent, obedient and subservient. That attitude is so archaic.” And yet when Lydia l
ooked at some of the women in her social set, that’s exactly what they were, clones of each other—pampered and self-indulgent.
Hunter opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, before jamming more ice cream in his mouth. “I’m a guy,” he finally said after two full spoonfuls disappeared into his mouth, “and this is uncharted territory for me, but my opinion is, you have to be who you are.”
“Who am I?” Lydia had thought she’d known who she was when she married Mitchell, but in reality she had been nothing but an extension of her husband. Everything he did, said or thought came first. Anything she did, said or thought meant nothing unless it enhanced his career or standing in the community. And she had allowed that because at the time that was who she thought she was. That was who her mother said she was.
“You’re a beautiful, smart, amazing woman who has a part ownership in a casino. You’re mother to an awesome daughter and...” he paused licking his spoon “...you’re a person I want to be with.”
Her eyes went wide. “Why? Why would you want to be with me?”
“All of the above reasons, plus I like your moxie.”
“I didn’t come with a backbone. You would not have said any of those things about me a year ago.”
“Doesn’t matter who you were, just who you are now.” Hunter took her hand and squeezed it.
She finished her ice cream, feeling calmer. For all his words, she still wasn’t sure who she was, but she was going to find out.
Chapter 9
Hunter knocked on his grandmother’s office door and opened it when she called for him to enter. She’d texted him a message to come immediately and he’d dropped everything.
Miss E. had taken over Jasper’s old office, a large and comfortable room with a walnut desk at one end, matching bookcases behind it and a sitting area that currently contained his grandmother on a yellow sofa with Jasper next to her and Scott sitting on one of two matching chairs flanking the sofa. A picture window showed the city of Reno. The view was spectacular.
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