Dial M for Mousse

by Laura Bradford

  “I’m almost there.”

  “Oh, how I wish that were true.”

  Her foot let up on the gas pedal all on its own. “Jay?”

  “You sound surprised.”

  She could feel Lovey’s eyes as they left the cardboard milkshake carrier in favor of studying Winnie’s face. “I—I guess I am.”

  Something that sounded an awful lot like a sigh filled her ear before a more tired version of his voice returned. “And I’m sorry about that. I really am. I’ve wanted to call you a dozen times these last few days but—”

  “Then why haven’t you?”

  It was a fair question, wasn’t it? Still, she sucked in her breath as she waited for his answer.

  “It sounds like I’m on speaker.”

  “Because you are.” She turned right at the four-way stop and continued. “I’m driving.”

  “Are you on the way to a rescue?” he asked.

  “On the way home, actually.”

  “Can you pull over somewhere for a few minutes? So we can talk?”

  She considered telling him she could almost see the street sign for Serenity Lane, but refrained. After all, there would be no chance of Renee overhearing if she did as Jay asked. Then again, if the ominous tone in his voice was some sort of foreshadowing of things to come, she might want Renee within earshot.

  Decisions . . .

  Decisions . . .

  When Serenity Lane did, indeed, come into view, she asked the tie-breaker question she couldn’t swallow down anymore. “Are we okay?”

  “Of course, we’re okay! Why would you think otherwise . . . ?” His words gave way to silence and then, “Ah, Winnie, I’m so sorry. I thought I was doing the right thing by not weighing you down with my problems, and instead I made you doubt my feelings for you. I’m so sorry.”

  Relief propelled her over to the curb, joy had her shifting into park. “I didn’t want to believe it. Hated it, in fact. But when you were so distracted by the arrival of Didi the last time we spoke . . . and then you didn’t call back . . . I was afraid you were falling—” She stopped, grabbed her milkshake out of the carrier, and took a fortifying (and, whoa—so, so good) sip. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. You’re here now—or as here as you can be when you’re on the other side of the country.”

  “How are you?”

  “Better now.” And it was true. The past few days had felt off—like a part of her happiness was missing in action.

  “Have you had to create any new rescue desserts?”

  She took another long pull of her shake, savoring the cold as it slid down her throat. “Two. Goin’ Bananas Foster—the patient’s husband thought she needed a little de-stressing, and Black-and-Blue Cookies for a young girl on Silver Lake High School’s soccer team.”

  “Oh? Who?”

  It took her a moment to recall the name, but, eventually, she did.

  “Hey, I know her!” The tension she’d heard in his voice at the beginning of the call began to ebb. “She’s a friend of Caroline’s.”

  Not knowing what else to say, she returned to her shake.

  “Did she make the connection when she saw you? You know, that we’re dating?”

  Oh, she made the connection, all right . . .

  She made what she hoped was a noise of assent around her straw and willed him to accept it and move on.

  He didn’t. Instead, he rephrased. “Did she know who you were?”

  A glance at the passenger seat showed Lovey’s golden eyes trained on Winnie’s cup. Covering the phone, she addressed her furry copilot. “You’ll get some, Your Highness. When we get home.”

  Hisss . . .

  “Or maybe you won’t,” she hissed back.

  “Winnie?”

  Pulling her hand off the phone, she made herself answer the question he was refusing to let go. “She knew me, Jay.”

  A pause and then, “That doesn’t sound like a good thing.”

  “She was thrilled with her cookies—don’t get me wrong. But when the rescue was wrapping up, she let me know I wasn’t what she expected.”

  “Meaning?”

  The telltale gurgle of an impending empty cup greeted her latest suck on the straw and she sank back against the seat, defeated. “Can we just move on to something else?”

  “Winnie . . .”

  “We already know Caroline isn’t my biggest fan so it really shouldn’t be a surprise that—”

  Even from the other side of the country, she could tell Jay’s exhale was made up of equal parts frustration and fatigue, and she hated it. “I’m sorry, Jay. I really am.”

  “Don’t. I’m the one who should be sorry.”

  “For?” she prodded.

  “Not raising a child with more confidence and respect than this.”

  “She’ll come around.” The words were no sooner past her lips when the smile started. “Look at me—channeling Mr. Nelson . . .”

  “Better not let Bridget hear you.” He sighed again. “Winnie, I’m afraid the stuff with Caroline is about to get worse. Much worse.”

  She felt her smile wilt. “Why?”

  “This trip. It hasn’t gone the way I’d expected it to go.”

  She swallowed, sans milkshake. “Meaning . . .”

  “Didi’s charm was on full display the moment she showed up at our hotel room that first day. She walked into our room gushing and she hasn’t stopped since. She’s showered Caroline with new clothes, a new hairstyle, painted fingernails, fancy meals in a private room here at the hotel, a private showing of Didi’s next film—in Didi’s home theater, no less—and on and on. And Caroline? She’s taken to it like a duck to water.”

  “I—I thought you were enjoying your visit with Didi, too.” She hated the uncertainty she heard in her voice but it was too late to pull it back. Instead, she tried to soften it with an explanation. “I mean, the few times we did speak you always sounded so happy when she showed up.”

  “Do not mix happy for polite, Winnie.” He groaned so loudly she knew Caroline couldn’t be in the background. His words simply served as verbal proof. “I don’t know what I was hoping for when I agreed to this trip. I don’t know if I was hoping for Caroline to embrace reality where Didi is concerned, or if I just wanted to make her smile the way she used to before . . .”

  She waited for him to continue. When he didn’t, she took the ball and ran. “Before we met.”

  “Before I had something to do when she was at dance . . . or hanging out with friends . . . or whatever,” he corrected. “Because that’s what this has been the last four months, Winnie. You and I—building a relationship—around Caroline’s schedule. She’s sixteen, and I only take you out when she’s otherwise occupied.”

  “And that’s worked fine, Jay.”

  “But I don’t want fine, Winnie,” he argued, his voice rising. “You’re amazing. You’re fun. You’re creative. And you’re kind! There’s not a reason on the face of this earth that my daughter should be so hostile toward you.”

  She returned the empty cup to the carrier and her hand to the gearshift. “There’s one.” When he said nothing, she filled in the blank. “You are her everything, Jay. You have been her whole life—most especially since Didi walked out on her when she was five. I’m not sure I’d be all too crazy about sharing you if I was her, either.”

  “I get that. And it’s why I’ve agreed to your idea about confining our dates to those times Caroline is busy, anyway. But all that’s done is result in her doing less with her friends.” His voice fell away only to pick back up with an almost strangled quality. “You could have been so good for her—a real positive female role model.”

  Could have been . . .

  Past tense.

  A murmur of voices, followed by a burst of laughter, filled the cabin, signaling the end to Jay’s
privacy. “Dad! Dad! Wait till you see what Mom found of yours!”

  “Winnie?” he said, his voice quiet.

  “You have to go. I know.” She blinked against the sudden moisture in her eyes and prayed it wasn’t evident in her voice. “I’d offer to pick you up at the airport tomorrow, but I’m guessing that wouldn’t go over too well.”

  “Probably not, but I’ll—”

  “Daaaddd!”

  His earlier sigh was back, only this time, the frustration that had costarred alongside fatigue, simply bowed out. “We’ll get through this, Winnie.”

  And then he was gone, the silence left in his wake deafening.

  • • •

  She dropped her rescue bag onto the counter, tossed her empty cup in the trash, and thrust the cardboard carrier into Renee’s outstretched hand. “Here. Enjoy.”

  “Don’t you want yours?”

  “Nope. I already drank mine.”

  Renee squealed. “You brought me two? Winnie Johnson, you are the best boss ever.”

  “No, I’m not. The kid-sized one is for Lovey.” She retrieved the smaller of the two cups from the carrier and worked her finger around the underside of the lid. “After I drink it down to the soupy part at the—”

  Renee’s stiletto clacked against the floor in a stamp. “Winnie! My shake is melted!”

  Winnie stared into Lovey’s cup and tried to think past the sudden roar in her ears. “I—I . . .”

  “You didn’t come straight home, did you?”

  Movement beside her leg brought her eyes down to the floor. Lovey blinked up at her. Giving in, she carried the cup over to the center island, located a clean cat bowl in a nearby cabinet, and filled it with a few lickfuls of melted ice cream.

  Lovey, in turn, was purring before it even hit her food mat.

  For a moment, Winnie simply watched as the brown and white tabby lapped up the melted ice cream with reckless abandon. Any calm the sight managed to restore in her head, though, was wiped away by a second, louder stamp.

  “Winnie! How could you stop with a perfectly good milkshake in the car?”

  Slowly, she lifted her eyes until they mingled with Renee’s. “Jay called when we were on our way home.”

  Curiosity replaced irritation on Renee’s face. “Oh?”

  Winnie nodded.

  “And?”

  “It was good to hear his voice.” It was a simple response, but no less true.

  She followed Renee’s gaze back down to the melted milkshake and readied the apology she owed. But before she could get it out, Renee shrugged a what-the-heck, deposited a straw into the thick liquid, and began to drink, her eyes rolling back in her head as she did. “Mmm. . . . So. So. Good.”

  “I’m glad.” Winnie pointed toward the order pad in its usual place on the kitchen table. “Any more rescues?”

  “Uh-uh.”

  Crossing to the little table just inside the front door, she rummaged through the stack of waiting mail.

  Electric bill . . .

  Phone bill . . .

  Ad for a new bakery (joy!) opening up in the neighboring town of Vester . . .

  Cable bill . . .

  A letter for Mr. Nelson—

  She pulled the letter from the pile and held it up. “Mailman goofed again. Is Mr. Nelson back from wherever he went with Greg yet?”

  This time, Renee’s lips parted around her straw just long enough to give a real no.

  Setting the letter beside her own stack of mail, Winnie made a face. “Weird.”

  When Renee slurped down the remainder of her shake, she wandered into the living room and dropped onto the ottoman. “Mr. Nelson is a cool dude. You know this. Maybe they’re just hanging out—having a guy’s day or something.”

  Winnie looked again at her housemate’s name scrawled across the front of the envelope and then turned and made her way over to the couch. “Hanging out with old people isn’t really Greg’s thing, remember?”

  Renee gave her a long, pointed once-over. “Am I detecting a note of jealousy?”

  “No, it’s just weird.” Pulling her calves up and onto the couch next to her, Winnie hugged a throw pillow to her chest. “Mr. Nelson knows I’ll take him anywhere he wants to go. If I’m not around, he calls one of his friends from the VFW hall. And if all else fails, he can usually coax Bridget into being his driver, provided he agrees to be a taste tester for whatever dinner she’s trying out.”

  “A fate worse than death, from what he’s told me,” Renee interjected.

  “True. But still, why call Greg, of all people? I mean, aside from an occasional brainstorming session here, they don’t really know each other all that well.”

  Renee inspected her nails, declared them in need of a fresh manicure by way of a deep sigh, and then pointed at Winnie across the coffee table. “I take it the phone call with Jay didn’t go well?”

  Something about her friend’s voice stirred up the same unsettled feeling she’d had as her call with Jay was ending. Only this time, instead of blinking away tears, she found herself clenching and unclenching the pillow. “It seems this trip only served to make things worse where Caroline is concerned.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning, before she was hanging on to the ghost of what she wanted her mother to be.”

  Renee’s eyes narrowed to near slits. “And now?”

  Winnie found a loose thread on the edge of the pillow and wound it around her finger until the tip turned white.

  Smart . . .

  Slowly, she unraveled herself from the pillow and addressed her friend’s question. “And now, the living, breathing incarnation has stepped up to the plate and is swinging for the fences with private movie showings, fancy meals, a hairstylist, et cetera.”

  “I like what you did there. ‘Stepped up to the plate. Swinging for the fences.’ Ty would be even more gaga over you than he already is.”

  She stared at Renee. “Ty is gaga over . . . me?”

  “Duhhh.” Renee rolled her eyes and then patted the edge of the ottoman in an attempt to lure Lovey into the room. When Lovey finished licking whatever residual ice cream she could find along the edges of her mouth and its neighboring fur, she acquiesced, throwing a glare in Winnie’s direction as she did.

  “You little stinker! Who do you think just gave you that ice cream?”

  Hisss. . . .

  “Do you see the level of ungratefulness I deal with from this cat?” she said, her voice rising. “It’s mind-blowing!”

  “I think it’s kind of cute,” Renee said. “Endearing, actually.”

  “Cute?” she echoed. “Endearing? Are you kidding me?”

  “No.”

  “Explain.”

  Lovey pushed her head against Renee’s hand. Renee, in turn, rewarded the cat for her efforts with a scratch between the ears. “Well, it’s like the sparring between Mr. Nelson and Ms. O’Keefe. And the way Harold Jenkins tries to be so sly on that electric scooter of his when he’s following behind Cornelia Wright and her dog. It’s their thing, you know? If it stopped—if Mr. Nelson stopped yanking Ms. O’Keefe’s chain . . . and if Harold stopped stalking Cornelia—things would feel wrong. Like the world slipped off its axis or something.”

  “So you’re saying it would feel off if the cat I feed and shelter suddenly stopped hissing at me?”

  “Yeah.”

  Winnie pondered that for a moment and then dismissed it with a flick of her hand. “Don’t try to excuse away that tyrant’s behavior.”

  Renee reached down, plucked Lovey from the carpet, and settled the cat into her lap. “Let’s move along, shall we?”

  Winnie was pretty sure she nodded. But she wasn’t positive. It was hard to nod and shoot death glares (at Lovey, of course) at the same time.

  “Sooo, I take it the Hollywood H
ag is spoiling her kid for a few days,” Renee said. “Are you really surprised by this?”

  “No. Yes. Maybe . . .”

  “It’s easy to be Roller Coaster Riding Mommy when you haven’t seen your kid for eleven years. And it’s even easier when you only have to play that part for three or four days. It’s one of the aspects of divorce with kids that everyone seems to think they’re immune to until they get a crash course from a former spouse that is suddenly nothing like the person they married.”

  “Bob does this?” she asked.

  “All the time. Before the divorce, he was pretty strict with Ty. But since the divorce, if Ty acts up in school and I enforce a punishment, Bob buys him a pony.”

  Winnie sucked in a breath. “Bob bought Ty a pony?”

  “No. I’m speaking metaphorically. But whether it’s a real-life pony or a trip to the ice-cream parlor complete with a pat on the head . . . it’s the same thing—undermining.”

  “But that’ll only hurt the kid in the long run,” Winnie protested.

  “True. But that requires long-range thinking and caring. There’s always one party who is incapable of doing that.” Renee filtered Lovey’s left ear through her fingers and then moved on to the right. “It’s sad. But I’m determined that I’m going to keep Ty’s best interests at heart at all times—even when that puts me at a disadvantage against Bob’s games.”

  “Good for you.” Winnie considered everything Renee said and then brought it back to the original subject at hand. “But I don’t think that applies here. I think Didi is just trying to make up for lost time.”

  “Which she can’t do inside four days.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure of that.” She swatted the pillow off her lap and stood, her destination changing at the whim of her feet—the window, the fireplace, the window, the fireplace . . . “Jay said Caroline has been nonstop smiles since they got to California.”

  Renee moved on to Lovey’s back, gliding her hand from the top of the animal’s head all the way to the end of her back. “The treatment Scream Queen is getting from Mommy Dearest right now is like a numbing gel, Winnie. That’s all. And like all numbing gels it will wear off. When it does, all the same issues will still be there. Maybe even worse.”