by Ann Charles
So, hide it Ronnie had … for now.
But she planned to move it to a safer place as soon as she told Claire about her other hiding spot—the one where the gold pocket watch now rested, safe and sound. If Sheriff Harrison came nosing around, or any other Feds after he told them about that stolen German artifacts article, Claire and Ruby could say the watch was not at the R.V. park without lying.
“I want to see it,” Katie told them, pushing wisps of blonde hair back from her glistening face. The poor girl was working extra hard tonight since Butch was held up out of town for another couple of days.
“Why?” Claire reached in front of Ronnie and grabbed a handful of leftover potato chips from Natalie’s plate. “Take our word for it, there isn’t anything special about it, just weird.”
“Are you sure it’s made of glass and not ceramic?”
“Well, Kate, when I used my x-ray glasses,” Claire’s lips were crooked with a half grin, “it appeared to be a solid glass bead.”
Katie aimed the tap spray nozzle at Claire. “Keep it up, wiseass, and I’ll give you a pair of beer goggles to replace those x-ray glasses.”
“Kate,” the cook called out from the door heading back to the kitchen. “Phone call.” He held up a cordless phone. “It’s Butch.”
“I’ll take it back there.” She looked at Claire. “Cover for me for a second?”
Claire nodded.
Katie paused halfway to the door. “And don’t get into any fights while I’m gone.”
“You’re only going to be gone a few minutes.”
“That’s all it takes for you.”
Claire stuck out her tongue at their youngest sister’s back and then circled the bar, taking Katie’s place at the taps.
“I need to talk to you about something,” Ronnie told her. With Natalie still dancing and Katie in back, now was her opportunity to fill Claire in on the mess Ronnie had created with the pocket watch and how she had fixed it for the time being. Claire needed to be in on her secret before Grady showed up on Ruby’s doorstep asking about the watch and this all blew out of control.
She thought about how she had bribed Aunt Millie and her crew and smirked. Make that even more out of control.
Holding up her index finger in Ronnie’s direction, Claire leaned over and listened to Arlene’s drink order. Then she grabbed a pitcher from under the counter and brought it over to the taps.
“If you’re going to tell me not to make a big deal about the box of eyeballs,” Claire said pulling on a tap, “I don’t want to hear it.”
“I don’t know what to make of those eyeballs. That’s just serial killer kind of weird shit, so I’m not even going to go there.”
She scraped the foam head off the pitcher and topped it off. “What’s going on then?”
“It’s about the missing watch.”
Claire carried the beer pitcher down to Arlene, rubbing her lower right side under her ribcage as she returned. She frowned, still massaging. “What about it?”
Leaning forward, Ronnie mouthed more than said, “It’s stolen.”
“That’s what worries me. Who figured out how to get into that safe? They must have somehow gotten the combination.”
“No, I mean it was stolen from somewhere else.”
Claire’s gaze narrowed. “You found something at the library on it, didn’t you?”
Nodding, Ronnie unzipped her purse and pulled out the article. She spread it out on the bar in front of her.
“Put it away.” Claire did not look at it and instead shoved it back across the bar toward Ronnie.
“Wait, I need to show you—”
“We have company,” Claire said through a forced smile and wadded up the article, tossing it on the floor behind her. “Hi, Mom. What are you doing here?”
Ronnie’s back stiffened so fast her lower vertebrae cracked. Oh, God, no! The Sith Lord had found their rebel base.
Deborah slid onto Natalie’s bar stool, her lips wrinkled as she pushed the half empty glass of beer in Ronnie’s direction.
The notes of sandalwood and jasmine in her mother’s Chanel No. 5 perfume was extra strong tonight, burning the back of her throat. Ronnie wished upon her empty gin glass to be beamed anywhere else but The Shaft.
“I’m here for a drink.”
“Why?” Claire did not hide her shock.
“What do you mean why?” Deborah looked around. “Isn’t this where you go if you want to get happy?”
“That depends on who you are,” Ronnie said dryly. She suspected finding happiness was impossible for her mom, since the doctors had removed her funny bone at birth according to Gramps.
“Don’t get snippy with me tonight, Veronica,” Deborah warned. “I’m in no mood for it.” She turned back to Claire. “I’d like some cognac on ice.”
“Mom, don’t you think—” Claire started.
“I’m tired of thinking, Claire. Just give me the damned drink.” She slammed her fist down on the bar.
“Okay, okay.” Claire held up her hands and scanned the bottles lining the shelves behind the bar. “One cognac on the rocks coming up.”
“Cognac was your grandmother’s favorite drink,” Deborah said as Claire poured.
“I remember.” Claire winced and rubbed her side again. “I remember a lot about her.”
“So do I.” Deborah’s tone was not reminiscent. It matched the wrinkle in her lip.
“Listen, Mom.” Claire capped the bottle. “If this is going to turn into some Ruby versus Grandma contest, I’m not in the mood to hear it.”
“There is no contest.” Deborah sipped from her glass.
“Mother,” Ronnie cautioned. “That’s enough.” They all knew that Claire had been Grandma’s favorite. Attacking their grandmother was a very shitty way of hurting Claire, and Ronnie was not going to let that happen tonight. She needed Claire to focus on the watch, not their screwed up family politics.
Deborah snorted. “Ruby wins.”
“Why’s that?” Claire took the bait in spite of Ronnie’s head shake. “Because she’s still alive?”
“No.” Deborah grabbed a stirrer stick and put it to work, dragging this out, which Ronnie suspected was all part of her show tonight. “Because she’s a hell of a lot nicer than your grandmother was.”
“Mother, you’re cussing.” Ronnie leaned closer and sniffed. It was like burying her head in a bouquet of extra-scented flowers. “How many glasses of wine did you have before coming here?”
“None. I don’t mix wine with hard liquor; it makes me do irresponsible things.” Deborah’s pink lips pursed. “How do you think I ended up pregnant with you while I was still in high school?”
That gave Ronnie pause. She had not heard this version of her story of conception before. Previously, the tale had involved variations of romance, not booze.
“What do you mean she’s nicer?” Claire asked, giving a customer at the other end of the bar the one-minute finger. “Grandma was very sweet.”
“Sure she was—to her grandchildren. But not to her daughters.”
“You’re just trying to get me back for something by insulting her.”
“No, Claire. This isn’t about you.”
“Hold that thought,” she ordered and went to fill some glasses of beer, leaving Ronnie alone with their mother.
“What are you doing here really, Mom? You know how close Claire was with Grandma. Why are you trying to hurt her? Just to pull her down into that miserable shithole you’re living in?”
“You shut your mouth right now, Veronica Lee. I don’t know what has gotten into you since your marriage went sour, but judging from the way you’ve been giving me the cold shoulder, you’re placing the blame for your failure on me when you are the one who stood up at that altar and said, ‘I do.’”
A lightning bolt of anger seared through her, making her fingers and toes tingle, her gut burn. “You nudged me all of the way up there, Mother.”
“No, all I did was show you
what Lyle looked like on paper—all dollar bills and expensive assets. You’re the one who was bitten by greed and overlooked his tendency to flirt with younger women at parties. Especially blondes.” Her lips twisted in chagrin. “He really had a thing for pretty young blondes, didn’t he?” She took another drink of cognac.
Ronnie gaped. “You knew about the other women from the start and you didn’t tell me?”
Her mother shot her a sideways glance. “It was right in front of you, Veronica.”
“What do you mean?”
“He tried to get Kathryn into his bed a week before he asked you to marry him.”
Come again? Talk about giving good jabs, Deborah’s words hit Ronnie smack in the throat.
She coughed and swallowed. “Why didn’t either of you mention this before I agreed to marry the jackass?”
“You were there at the party. You saw it and looked the other way. I figured you knew what you were doing—marrying for money.” Deborah covered Ronnie’s hand with her own. “There’s no shame in that, Veronica. No shame at all. We women have to look out for our futures. Look at me, I married for love and now I’m old and penniless with no prospects for a solid future.”
Ronnie’s tongue fainted dead away in her mouth. She tried to remember back to the time prior to their engagement, but could only remember Lyle and all of his fancy gifts, the expensive restaurants, the weekend trips to Paris and Rome. God, it was all so cliché, and yet she had fallen for it ‘hook, lies, and stinker,’ as Grandma used to say.
Katie pushed out through the kitchen door, her eyes glassier than normal. She blinked several times as she joined Claire behind the bar, straightening loose wisps of blonde hair. Her eyes widened when they zeroed in on Deborah.
“Mom, what are you doing here?”
“Drinking.” Deborah cocked her head to the side. “Kathryn, have you been crying? Your mascara looks a bit smudged. I told you to buy that waterproof kind. I know it’s more expensive, but sometimes—”
Ronnie pushed her empty glass toward Claire, who had rejoined their merry little soiree, pointing down at it for more gin to be added. Then she turned on Katie, “How come you never told me Lyle tried to get you into bed?”
Katie turned three shades of pink before going full red. “Mother! Why did you tell her that now? It’s ancient history. No good can come of it being voiced. They’re already divorced.”
“She wanted to make Ronnie feel as shitty as she does,” Claire said, still holding onto her side. She filled Ronnie’s glass and added a splash of tonic. “I’m not buying it, Mother. Grandma was not a bad mom. I’ve never heard Aunt Mary talk bad about her, nor Aunt Jilly.”
Natalie danced up between Ronnie and Deborah, stealing her glass of beer from between them. “You talking about my mom?”
Ronnie sloshed her drink around. “Yep. Mother here says that Grandma was not a nice mom to her own kids.”
Deborah did not deny Ronnie’s replay of her words. Instead she nodded.
“Oh, wow.” Natalie took a step away from them. “You guys are talking about some serious therapy shit here and we’re supposed to be having fun. It’s my last night in Jackrabbit Junction, remember?”
“Natalie’s not disputing it,” Deborah pointed out with a tight, humorless smile.
Claire’s gaze narrowed, bouncing between Deborah and Natalie, settling on the latter. “Nat? Tell the truth. Has your mom mentioned anything like this about Grandma?”
“She was a great grandmother,” Natalie confirmed that part of Deborah’s comment. “But I’ve heard stories.”
“What?” Katie balked. “About Grandma?”
Nodding, Natalie said, “She had her kids way too young is what my mom always says. She didn’t have the mom thing figured out until Ronnie was born.”
“You’re full of shit.” Claire glowered.
Natalie shrugged. “You were always her favorite, Claire, like her in so many ways. You couldn’t help but see her good side.” She finished her beer and glanced longingly out toward the dance floor. “She was a wonderful grandma. That’s what my mom always says. We were lucky to have someone so warm and doting.”
Holy fuck bucket. Ronnie finished her gin and tonic in one long gulp. She had come here tonight to unload her secret to Claire and instead a heap of truths had been dumped down on top of her like a bucket of pig’s blood; only this shit would not wash off anytime soon and she was rusty at hurting others through telekinesis.
“I need to use the bathroom,” Claire handed an empty set of beer mugs to Katie. She took two steps and then turned back, hitting her mother with an icy glare. “Now I get it, Mother. That’s why you’ve done nothing my entire life but point out everything that’s wrong with me. You see her in me, don’t you?”
“No, Claire Alice. You’re wrong. I love you in spite of you being just like her.”
“Then why? Why have I never been good enough for you?”
Deborah poked at a bobbing ice cube with her fingernail. Her eyes grew watery. “Because she thought you were perfect in every way I never was.”
Katie gasped. “She never would have said that.”
“She didn’t have to, Kathryn. She showed it to me every time she held Claire in her arms and told her how smart and beautiful and funny she was.”
“Fuck this shit.” Claire stormed off toward the restrooms. Ronnie debated on following her to make sure she was okay, but she knew Claire. They were the same when it came to emotions, shoving the world away so they could lick their wounds in private. Ronnie wished everyone at the bar would go away so she could salve her newest lashes alone with her gin.
“Kate,” Arlene bellied up to the bar, an order slip in her hand. “This is for the corner table.” She handed it to Katie and turned to their mother. “Are you Deborah, by chance?”
“Who’s asking?”
“Romeo over there in the corner. He said to tell you that when you wear that color of blue, your hair glows like an angel’s halo.” Arlene pointed at the sheet of paper in Katie’s hand. “He bought Ms. Angel here another cognac.”
Ronnie looked over her shoulder at the same time as Deborah. Manny waved from the corner. Chester sat opposite him shuffling a deck of cards. A woman Ronnie recognized from the archaeology crew shared the table with them, her back against the wall.
“Kathryn,” Deborah scooted off the edge of her bar stool. “Have my next drink delivered at Manuel’s table.”
“Watch out,” Arlene warned Deborah. “They are rowdier than usual tonight. Must be something in the air.”
“Must be.” Deborah gave Ronnie a cool stare. “You’re lucky you got free of Lyle when you did. You’re still young enough to start over.”
Ronnie watched her mother cross the room and take the deck of cards from Chester before dropping into the empty fourth chair between the two old boys.
“That was a slick way to get a fourth player,” Katie said, fixing Deborah’s drink.
“Thank God she took the bait.” Ronnie had had enough of her mother for the time being. Her face burned again just thinking about how stupid she had been about Lyle, how blinded she’d been by all that glitter to see through his games. “Fill me up one more time, please, Katie.”
Her sister measured her up with a glance. “Okay, but you’re not driving.”
“No problem. Claire’s driving. If she leaves me here, I’ll pass out in Butch’s office until you finish for the night and catch a ride home with you.”
Katie set a full glass of gin and tonic in front of her. Ronnie reached for it, not feeling her fingers when they embraced the glass. Ah, here it came, the numbing nothingness. This last hit would push her over the edge to where none of it mattered until the sun came up again. She lifted the glass off the bar.
Someone jostled into the seat next to her, a knee bumping into her thigh, making her drink slosh over the rim.
“Damn it.”
“Sorry about that, Ronnie,” Mac said. “Where’s Claire?”
* * *
“I’m not pregnant,” Claire told the brown-eyed woman in the bathroom mirror.
Her reflection stared back, speechless.
The sharp twinges in her lower abdomen that she had been feeling over the last hour were actual, monthly cramps, not just gas bubbles like she had figured after chowing down a bacon and mushroom cheeseburger and chasing it with a side of French fries dipped in vinegar.
There would be no baby.
Life would go on as it always had.
She didn’t need to get married, “to do the right thing.”
She should be happy as hell.
Why wasn’t she happy as hell?
She pumped a pink glob of fruity smelling soap into her palm and rubbed her hands together, thinking about the heavy weight that had moved from her shoulders to her heart.
This was good news. “It really is,” she told her reflection, who did not look very convinced. “You’re a lot like Grandma.”
All of these years, she had held that fact near and dear to her heart, warmed by it, proud of it. But after learning that her grandmother had not been the best mother to her daughters, and knowing how miserable her mom turned out in part because of that, Claire would have run screaming into the hills if that pregnancy test had turned out positive. Undoubtedly, she would have screwed up the whole mothering business and produced another Deborah … only smaller and cuter. A sweet, pudgy version of her mother, one without the pinched lips and judging eyes. Maybe the baby would have had Mac’s hazel eyes.
She shook off the thought and cranked on the water. It didn’t matter. There’d be no baby now. Nobody’s life to screw up. Nobody to tie her down. Nobody to love her unconditionally when Mac grew tired of her.
Her reflection frowned. “Are you done wallowing yet?”
“Cram it,” she told it and shut off the water right as the door swished open.
Ronnie stumbled into the room. “Mac’s out there looking for you.” She ricocheted off the wall into one of the stalls and slammed the door hard enough for it to bounce back open. “Damn it, door,” her sister slurred.