“Just do what I say, not what everyone else does. If someone jumped off a cliff, would you do it, too?”
“You always say that.”
“I always wonder. Let’s get out of here before they follow us.”
Max glanced over his shoulder with wide eyes. He appeared more concerned about the sisters than the ghosts.
Livy couldn’t blame him.
Chapter 6
Rosie came home to an empty house, an uncommon occurrence at 7:00 p.m. Max couldn’t still be at the neighbor’s. Sometimes Livy was late, but she never forgot.
Frowning, Rosie walked through the front hall and glanced into the parlor. No blinking red light signaled a message on the answering machine. If Max was in the E.R.—again— someone would have called.
Even when Max’s mishaps had Rosie’s blood pressure on the rise and her heart palpitating like the wings of a frightened bird trapped within her chest, she kept a cool head for her daughter’s sake. Livy could blow a gasket quicker than anyone Rosie had ever seen, and after traumas both Max and Livy needed a sane voice in their world. How Rosie’s husband would laugh to hear that these days Rosie was the sane voice.
She sat on the love seat without bothering to turn on a light, and let the serene darkness soothe her. “I miss you more every day, Henry. I thought it would get easier as time went by, but it hasn’t.”
Rosie teased Livy that her daddy was up and walking, but in truth, he was gone and at peace. Because if Henry was going to appear to anyone, it would be Rosie, and while she talked to Henry every day, he never talked back. But she felt better for the talking, and that was what counted.
The house creaked and settled around her, a comforting sound, old and familiar. She’d once loathed this house and all that it stood for.
With age came truth, if not wisdom. It had not been the house, or even her parents, that had made her unhappy. Rosie had needed something more than a solid home and a good family could give.
She’d found that something in Henry Frasier. Passionate love, pure freedom, the adventure of open skies, open road, open life. The possibilities had astounded her.
She had never been so happy as when she was with that man. The reality of their daughter had almost been an intrusion—for Rosie, anyway. Not that she hadn’t loved her child. She had, still did. But Henry had taken one look at Livy and fallen in love. From that moment on, Rosie had been the outsider in her own family.
Most women would be thrilled with a husband who changed diapers, walked the baby at night, did practically everything but feed the child, and Henry even did that once Livy refused the breast at five months—another mother failure on Rosie’s mother failure scorecard. Rosie hadn’t been complaining. She’d just been…left out.
She’d never wanted to go to college, never been interested in a career. Sure, she’d wanted to want something, and once Henry came to town, she’d wanted him. Then she’d had dreams of being the perfect mother to a brood of children. But she’d only had one, and that one had not wanted to be mothered at all.
Silly to be jealous of her daughter’s relationship with her father, but there it was. Livy and Henry had been two of a kind, twins of the soul, and although he’d always loved Rosie—and she’d known it—what he felt for Livy was deeper than love, a kind of connection that went beyond anything Rosie could fathom. And she’d resented it.
So she understood why Livy stared at her with resentment whenever Rosie and Max shared a joke and a giggle, or just a look without a word. Because Max and Rosie were connected at the soul, too.
Once, Livy had been as full of life as Henry. When he’d died, a good slice of Rosie did, too. But a bigger part of Livy had, and Rosie wasn’t sure what to do about that.
When she’d returned to Savannah for good, she’d found her child with a child of her own. Rosie had never questioned Livy’s assertion that the baby’s father was dead. The sadness in her daughter’s eyes, the stiffness of her body, the way she devoted heart and soul to her son—all had made Rosie believe something terrible had happened beyond the loss of Livy’s own father.
Rosie had wanted to be a different kind of mother from her own, a woman who had kept a tight rein on a girl who needed freedom and questioned Rosie about everything as if she didn’t trust her at all. Rosie hadn’t wanted that for Livy, so she’d kept her questions to herself.
She had hoped that by staying in Savannah, in making the three of them a new family, she might forge the relationship she’d always wanted with her daughter. But things hadn’t worked out as Rosie had hoped.
“Our little girl could sure use you around, Henry. We both could. Sometimes I feel so lost, so adrift and confused—”
“Hey, Rosie, I’m back.”
The whisper right behind her head should have made Rosie shriek. At the very least, it should have taken her a minute to figure out who had come calling her name. But Rosie would know the voice of her darling anywhere.
She reached up, yanked him over the back of the love seat and into her lap. Max lay there giggling, so she leaned down and gave him a loud raspberry on his neck, which only made him laugh harder. His flailing cast nearly caught her in the chin, so she gently pinned it down, then tickled him a while.
When Rosie was with Max that lost feeling fled, because at last she’d found her vocation. Despite her aversion to the title, Rosie Cannaught Frasier had been born to be a grandma.
*
Max and Rosie tussled on the couch, laughing and whispering and rolling about like puppies in the sun. The tug to join them was strong, yet Livy wasn’t quite sure how to go about it.
“Who were you talkin’ to, Rosie?”
“Only Grampa, sugar. You wanna say hi?”
Livy flipped on the overhead lights, making Rosie cringe like a vampire who’d been thrown into the sun. “Don’t encourage him. He’ll never sleep.”
Max rolled his eyes. Rosie looked as though she was having a hard time not joining him. Sometimes Livy felt that she had two children instead of one. Especially when she had to constantly bail the elder out of jail—something that hadn’t happened in quite a while. Knowing Rosie, this only meant she was planning something exceptionally rare for her next stunt.
“Where were you two?” Rosie asked. “I was getting worried.”
Rosie never worried. That was why Livy did it so well.
“Mom took me to McDonald’s.” Max knew better than to mention Rosie’s archenemies, the Kendell twins, or their poor exploited goose.
Rosie’s eyes narrowed as she searched for a more recent injury than yesterday’s. Usually McDonald’s was reserved for trips home from the hospital. Mainly because Livy got as much comfort from a Big Mac as Max did. At this rate, her hips would be the size of Atlanta by next year.
When Rosie’s search for new gashes or gaps came up empty, she glanced at Livy. “What happened?”
Livy gave Max a pointed look. He hung his head.
“I wasn’t where I was supposed to be when I was supposed to be there.”
“Big whoop,” Rosie said.
Max snorted.
“Mama!” Livy shouted, a touch of hysteria in her voice.
Both Rosie and Max stared at her, shocked at the outburst. For a woman who prided herself on control—in all situations but emergency rooms—Livy was having a hard time keeping herself under control lately. And only she knew why.
Livy took a deep breath, started the inevitable count to ten and beyond, and the phone shrilled, making her gasp. She pointed up the stairs. Max went, dragging his feet.
When Rosie made a move to answer the phone, Livy snapped, “Let the machine pick up.”
Rosie sat, folded her arms and gave Livy a look that was almost like a mother’s.
Kim’s voice came out of the machine. “Livy, what were you thinking to run off like that? You turned off your cell phone again. And you missed an appointment.” The sigh that filled the room was long and full of concern. “You’d better call me. Tonight.”
Click.
“Sugar, you need to stop grinding your teeth like that or you’ll have nothin’ left to chew with.”
Livy hadn’t realized she was grinding. She usually didn’t—except when the sound woke her up at night. She sat opposite her mother in a chair on the other side of the knee-high, cherry wood coffee table.
“Where was Max?” Rosie plopped her bare feet onto the table.
“Not here.”
“I got that. Was he off with Sammy again? Boys will be boys, you know. He needs to run and jump and get a little dirty.”
“So I hear.”
“And he could use a man in his life.”
Was everyone conspiring against her? “Why don’t you bring one home for him?”
“A man? Me?” Rosie laughed. “That’s not going to happen.”
“Why not? Daddy’s been gone a long time. And no matter what you might say, he isn’t coming back.”
“I know.” Rosie shook her head as if Livy confounded her as much as she confounded Livy. “I just like to tease you.”
“Tease?”
Rosie shrugged, a bit sheepish. “You make it so easy.”
“Well, stop it. I’ve got enough trouble.”
“What kind of trouble? Kim sounded fit to be tied, and that isn’t like her.”
Livy had never told her mother about J.J. Her mother had never asked. She’d come home, fallen for Max, settled in, and never once inquired about the baby’s father. At the time, Livy had been grateful. She still was. But if Rosie truly cared about her, wouldn’t she have demanded the answers? Regardless, what good would confiding in her do now?
Livy stood. “I’ll take care of it.”
“I’m sure you will. Taking care of trouble is what you do best. Sometimes, though, don’t you need a shoulder? I’ve got two.”
A memory flitted across Livy’s mind of a day long ago and a farmer’s field full of people. The summer sun was hot; the breeze cool on her face beneath a big shady tree. Daddy had gone to play volleyball and left her behind. She’d cried on Mama’s shoulder, then laid her head in Mama’s lap. The flicker of the sun through the leaves danced across her face. With music on the wind, and the taste of Kool-Aid on her tongue, she fell asleep with her mama’s fingers stroking her hair. On that day, all had been right in Livy’s world.
She had been happy then, but the life she’d led had not prepared her for the way the world was. Her mother had thrown her to the wolves when Livy had needed her the most. Livy had learned that soft memories were merely that—remembrances of a way of life that didn’t exist past childhood.
“I’d better check on Max.” Livy started for the stairs.
Her mother’s next words stopped her. “People always used to say to me, ‘I’ve never seen a man love a child as much as Henry loves his.”’
Livy winced.
“‘If anything happens to her, you’d best dig a grave right next to hers for him.’ ” Rosie’s dark-blue eyes, which were so like Livy’s own, held an unaccustomed sadness in their depths. “And they were right. But I’d never have imagined I should dig a grave right next to his for you.”
“Mama, really.”
Rosie ignored her, as Rosie had a habit of doing. “When I came back here you were different. Once there was a light in you that rivaled your father’s, and that was saying something. Then it was gone—” She snapped her fingers. “Like a candle snuffed out in a high wind.”
“You expected me to be laughing after I lost my father, my grandmother, and was left alone with a baby at nineteen?”
“I didn’t say that. Three deaths so close together would be hard on anyone. I told myself you’d get better. You just needed time. But you’ve had enough time, and you’ve only gotten worse.”
Livy ignored the voice that pointed out she’d been living the lie of J.J.’s death so long she barely felt a twinge when it was brought up. Funny how easily lies could become the truth. And then blow up in your face.
“I know you’ve never approved of me, of what I do—”
“That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it.”
“Then what are you talking about?”
“I want you to enjoy life. Quit wallowing in the dregs. Quit seeing all the bad things.”
“That’s my job,” Livy said.
“You can do your job without living it. Without bringing it home. The world is a great big beautiful playground. Explore it. Experience it. Imagine more—don’t settle for less.”
“Be all that I can be? I’m too old for the Marines.”
“You know, if you’d been this sarcastic as a child I’d have smacked you.”
“No, you wouldn’t have.”
“Maybe I should now.”
“Too late. Your time for mothering me is past.”
“A mother’s time is never past. My mistake was letting you be so long.”
“I don’t need this, Mama.”
“And you don’t need me. You’ve made that quite clear. But Max does. If you can’t enjoy life, you should at least let Max enjoy his. And if you don’t know how, I do.”
Livy had had a busy day. She should go upstairs and let this go. Instead, she lost control again.
“You call talking to dead people and telling stories about ghosts ‘living’? You think encouraging Max to dream impossible dreams so that he’ll end up crushed when he finds out that dreams rarely come true ‘good parenting’?”
Rosie stood, the love seat between the two of them. “Who says dreams don’t come true? You’ve got to believe in something, or what’s the use of going on?”
“What do you believe in?”
“That someday I’ll see Henry again.”
“Floating through the dining room?”
“I don’t care, as long as I see him. I believe we’ll be together forever someday. I believe that life is full of gifts, and you should take them wherever you find them. Hold on to them tight. Max is a gift I never thought to have, and I’m not going to let you stomp all over his dreams with your combat boots, sir.” Rosie flicked a snotty salute.
“Dreams, magic, love, hope. I gave up on fairy tales a long time ago. Isn’t it better to know the truth, even if it’s hard, even if that makes life less of a jolly romp through time, than to have the truth hit you over the head when you aren’t looking? It can destroy you.”
Rosie stared at her so hard that Livy wanted to squirm. Livy had lost her temper and let too much fly free. Rosie might act flaky, but she wasn’t. Especially when it came to emotions.
“Is that what happened to you? Did the bad old truth sideswipe you when you least expected it? Is that why you don’t believe in anything anymore? Is that why you refuse to need anyone?”
“I believe in Max. He’s all I need.”
Livy walked out of the room, but Rosie’s parting shot followed her up the steps.
“Why don’t I believe that?”
*
Max lay on his bed and listened to his mom and Rosie argue. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he’d heard them arguin’ enough to know what it sounded like.
The arguments scared him, though Rosie said people argued and that it didn’t mean they loved each other any less.
But Sammy’s parents had argued a lot and they’d gotten divorced. Then Sammy’s daddy had moved to California, changed his name to Moon Doggie like that guy in the movies Rosie liked, and started surfing for a living. Sammy didn’t hear from him anymore, and judging by the names Mrs. Sontag called Mr.—everything but Moon Doggie—there wasn’t much love left after the arguing.
What would he do if Rosie left? Or what if his mom decided to change her name to Gidget and live in a hut. As if.
He heard his mom’s footsteps on the stairs. She would come punish him now—for his own good. At this rate, he’d be the best boy in four counties.
She stood in the doorway, and he turned on his side. She looked scared, and he hadn’t broken a thing all day. He sat up. “Mom? You okay?”
; “Sure.” Her gaze touched his cast, then skipped away.
“You gonna ground me some more?”
“Maybe tomorrow. I’ve had all the fun I can stand for one day.”
Sometimes his mom was almost as funny as Rosie. Usually when she was tired and couldn’t seem to help herself.
“You are grounded, Max. That means no running around after school. You’re to come directly home. Do not pass go. Do not collect two hundred dollars. Got it?”
“I think I know what grounded means by now.”
“I’d have thought so, too. You can imagine my surprise to find you on your way to the Alexander place.”
“Why were you there, Mom?”
“There? Where?”
His mom always repeated questions when she was trying to buy time and think of an answer. Max figured it was a lawyer trick, and he wondered why the judges put up with it.
Max didn’t answer her silly questions, just waited patiently for her to spill the truth she liked so much. He shouldn’t complain. Other kids’ parents lied to them all the time, which made it hard for kids to believe anything they were told by anyone. But Max’s mom always laid out the truth, no matter how little he might want to hear it.
Whenever there was a question she didn’t want to answer or a truth she wouldn’t tell, instead of lying, she ran. And that only happened if he asked questions about his father.
“Time for bed,” she announced. “I’ll be back in five minutes to tuck you in.”
He looked up in time to catch that scared expression again, which bothered him. Moms weren’t supposed to be scared of anything—except their babies failin’ and breakin’ their necks.
“You’re lucky Mr. Stark didn’t call the police instead of bringing you home when you broke into his house.”
‘‘I didn’t break anything. Except this—” He held up his cast. “The door was open.”
“You knew it was wrong, didn’t you? Just walking into a stranger’s house as if it were yours?”
“I figured he was undead. The rules are different then.”
“Why…?” She shook her head. “Never mind, I really don’t want to know why. Just don’t go there again. Understand?”
Leave it to Max (Lori's Classic Love Stories Volume 1) Page 8