Not Quite Crazy

by Catherine Bybee

  Deyadria smiled, as if she had changed Owen’s language for good with one suggestion.

  “Much like I don’t care for a festering, pus-filled pimple on my butt.”

  Tereck spit a tiny bit of coffee, and Deyadria choked on her tea.

  Rachel tried hard not to laugh.

  Owen sipped his soda and burped quietly.

  “Owen earns A’s in English,” Rachel pointed out.

  She’s bitching about my B in math.

  Jason looked down from his monitor to see the text message lighting up his screen.

  Did you try complimenting her?

  She’s a hag.

  Jason leaned back in his chair with a grin. Calling her a lovely hag won’t work.

  Rachel sat at the head of her table, the roast she’d been cooking all day was perfect, the gravy was free of lumps . . . all the sides that she normally didn’t bother with played nice and didn’t undercook.

  “How is that new little job of yours?”

  The woman could cut her with a simple word. Nothing about her position at Fairchild Charters was little.

  “It’s working out really well.”

  “Are you still driving in instead of taking the train?” Tereck asked.

  “For now.” Rachel took a bite, found it hard to keep eating when her appetite was zip.

  “For the price you pay to park in the city, you could have had a bigger home,” Deyadria said.

  Rachel held her fork a little tighter. “The company pays for my parking.”

  Deyadria didn’t look convinced. “What was the name of it again?”

  “Fairchild Charters.”

  “Oh, yes, that’s right. Planes.” Deyadria pushed the food on her plate around before taking a tiny bite.

  “They’re already talking to Rachel about a promotion,” Owen said.

  She smiled across the table, liking the praise in his voice.

  “I would think that would be hard in a company that big,” Tereck said.

  “Oh, please, Tereck. Rachel is young and beautiful. I’m sure if she smiles at the right person, she’ll manage free parking and a pay raise.”

  Rachel placed her fork aside. “Actually, Deyadria, I’m really good at my job.”

  “Is that so?”

  It was hard to talk when your back teeth were grinding together. “Did you ever work outside the home?”

  The woman held her head high. “I graduated from Columbia.”

  “Yes, but did you work?”

  “Tereck and I met when we were young.”

  “So, no.”

  Silence filled the table. Rachel wanted to gloat.

  “That’s a pretty sweater, Deyadria. It matches your eyes.”

  All three adults turned to stare at Owen.

  “What a lovely thing to say, Owen. Please call me Grandma.”

  Rachel saw the internal struggle on his face.

  “Let’s give that more time,” he suggested.

  Rachel reminded herself to hug the kid when this was all done.

  Hard.

  It totally worked!

  Jason had turned his phone ringer on high so he wouldn’t miss any of Owen’s messages.

  What did you say?

  I told her the gray sweater she wore matched her eyes.

  Jason started to reply but Owen beat him with his next text. Gray like dark clouds in a storm from hell . . . but I left that part out.

  He was really starting to like this kid.

  Good choice. How is Rachel holding up?

  Dot, dot, dot filled the screen long enough for Jason to think Owen was distracted from giving the answer.

  The hag started to make digs about Rachel’s job. Rachel started questioning if the hag ever held a job. It was getting ugly.

  The skin on Jason’s neck prickled. What does the hag know about Rachel’s work?

  Probably nothing. That doesn’t stop the hag from putting it down. Told you she was a total b*tch.

  At least the kid used a character instead of spelling out the whole word.

  Rachel cleared the table, tossing most of her food in the trash. Tereck ate his, much to the complaining of his wife, who reminded him of his cholesterol. Of course she said something more to the tune of “Careful, Tereck, your cholesterol is a bit high, wouldn’t want to waste the extra points on too much of this.”

  Because Tereck had taken her up on more coffee, she was stuck with them for another thirty minutes, minimum. She wasn’t sure she’d survive it.

  “. . . Rachel is doing a lot of the work herself on the weekends.”

  “What did I miss?” she asked when she walked back into the living room.

  “They were asking about the doorframe.” Owen pointed to the half ripped out project leading into the kitchen.

  “Oh, that.”

  “Owen was telling us you’ve done a lot of projects since you both moved in.” Tereck was working hard to speak before his wife ever since the woman’s snarky crap about her job.

  “I’ve gotten very used to sanding and painting.”

  “We counted eight layers of paint in my room,” Owen told him.

  “Sanding?” Deyadria asked.

  “Sadly, yes. I suppose it’s better than a gym membership.”

  “How old is this house?” she asked.

  “It was built in 1965.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes, why?” Rachel was certain there was a nasty comment hovering in the woman’s head.

  When Deyadria smiled, it unnerved her.

  “We have some good news for you, Owen.”

  Owen and Rachel exchanged glances, then turned to Tereck.

  “Oh?”

  “Your father is coming to town just in time for Christmas.”

  Owen paused. “You mean your son.”

  “He means your father, Owen.”

  “Right . . .”

  “You don’t seem happy,” Deyadria said.

  “I’ve seen the man six times in my whole life, the last time at my mother’s funeral. Why should I be happy to see him?”

  “That wasn’t his fault.”

  Rachel watched the emotion on Owen’s face. This wasn’t going to end well.

  “And whose fault was it?” Owen asked.

  “If your mother hadn’t kept you away . . .”

  Owen snapped. “Don’t talk about my mom.”

  “Deyadria. Leave Emily out of it,” Rachel warned her.

  “Owen has the right to know his father.”

  “He knows your son.”

  “Not as a boy knows his dad. He needs a man in his life.”

  Rachel wanted to call the woman out. Wanted to deck her for the pain she put in Owen’s face.

  “Just because your son isn’t in my life doesn’t mean there aren’t men in my life.”

  “Is that so?” Deyadria asked.

  “Rachel has a boyfriend. He was here just this morning helping put up the Christmas lights. Something my father has never done.”

  “A boyfriend?”

  The word repeated in Rachel’s head, too. “He isn’t really a boyfriend.”

  “What is he, if not a boyfriend?”

  “A friend.”

  “Just a friend? Isn’t that convenient. What kind of influence are you setting, bringing men around my grandson?”

  Tereck stood. “Deyadria, honey. I think we should leave.”

  “One minute, darling.” She glared at him, then back to Rachel. “This friend that isn’t a boyfriend . . . that has such a hold on my grandson that he defends the man . . . is he African American?”

  Rachel didn’t see the question coming. “What? No, why?”

  “Then he can’t possibly be the right man in Owen’s life. He needs a man with our culture and our values. Something Emily obviously didn’t nurture when she chose you as Owen’s guardian.”

  Her jaw dropped. Words escaped Rachel’s reply.

  Owen, on the other hand, used many.

  “You mean san
ctimonious and prejudicial values?”

  “Owen!” Deyadria scolded.

  “Not to mention rude.” Owen stood and walked to the door, grabbed Deyadria’s coat. “This is a nice coat. You should put it on before we kick you out of the house.” He tossed it on the floor and ran up the stairs.

  “He is out of control.”

  Rachel picked up the coat. “Actually, I think he used a lot of restraint.”

  “Oh—”

  She didn’t let the woman speak. “You’re out of line. Pick on me, my cooking, my home, my job . . . fine. But pick on that child’s mother, and you deserve whatever he throws at you.”

  Deyadria had the good sense to shut up.

  “When TJ is in town, have him call me.” Rachel thrust out the coat, making it clear she wanted them gone.

  Tereck accepted it, held it open for his wife.

  “TJ is planning on staying.” Deyadria pulled her collar high and buttoned the front.

  “Good for him.” Rachel couldn’t care less.

  “He wants to settle down.”

  Her back tingled.

  “Our boy wants to know his son,” Tereck said.

  “Great.” Not great, not great at all. “Have him call me.”

  “What, to ask your permission?” Deyadria didn’t know when to quit.

  “No.” Rachel opened the door. “To ask Owen’s.”

  She locked the door the second they were on the other side, and climbed the stairs. “Owen?” She rapped on the closed door twice.

  “Yeah.”

  He was on his bed.

  “You okay?”

  “I hate them.”

  She sat on the edge of the bed, by his feet. “I don’t care for them either.”

  He blinked at her a few times.

  “I don’t care for pus-filled pimples on my ass either.” Rachel mimicked Owen’s voice.

  Owen smiled through the pain.

  She smiled back and started laughing.

  His bright face was a relief to see.

  “I about died when you said that.”

  “I was proud of myself, too.”

  He released a long sigh when they stopped giggling. “If they ever get custody, I’ll run away.”

  She placed a hand on his leg. “You won’t have to run. I’ll be there with you.”

  “Are you okay? They were pretty shitty to you tonight.”

  “I’m not that bad. Although I might open a bottle of wine and be unfit to drive in about an hour.”

  He smiled. “I’ll stay away from sharp objects and a need for the ER.”

  Rachel patted his leg and left his room.

  Once downstairs, she made good on her threat and opened a bottle of merlot.

  Don’t leave me hanging. How did the rest of the night go?

  It had been an hour since Owen’s last text, and Jason felt as if he was watching the last episode of the season and needed to know the outcome of the show.

  They started a fight about my mom.

  Jason was ready for a snarky remark and didn’t see Owen’s words coming.

  No!

  Yeah, the hag has no right.

  No, she doesn’t. I’m sorry, Owen.

  My mom and Rachel warned me about them. I didn’t expect adults to act like kids.

  Jason started to give advice. You’re more grown up than a lot of people twice your age.

  Don’t talk too soon. I might have told the hag and the hag’s husband that you were Rachel’s boyfriend just to get them to shut up about me needing a male influence in my life.

  Jason smiled at that thought. I’d call that thinking on your toes and using the resources surrounding you. Very smart.

  It kinda backfired. The hag tossed it back at Rachel, saying she was bringing men around the house.

  He squeezed his eyes closed. Poor Rachel.

  How is Rachel?

  She said she was going to suck down a bottle of wine. I haven’t seen her do that since before my mom got really sick.

  Should he call her?

  What is the hag’s real name? Looking up hag on the Internet probably wouldn’t do any good. Owen gave him both their names, which Jason wrote down.

  Let me know if you need me. I’m not far.

  I will. Thanks.

  Jason took his laptop from his office and settled into the den. He stretched out and typed in the old hag’s name.

  Chapter Eleven

  Two glasses of wine and Rachel’s head spun. Since when was she such a lightweight?

  It didn’t help that she’d barely eaten, but still, the wine did the job of relaxing her shoulders. For an hour after the Colemans left, she researched custody cases in Connecticut. Just like in California, the favor would be for the Colemans, and most definitely TJ, if he in fact wanted to fight. If they were going to be complete assholes, she wouldn’t have a choice.

  She knew they wouldn’t have kind things to say about Em, but she hadn’t expected them to put the woman down. Didn’t they realize they were ruining any relationship with Owen by doing that? Or were they that stupid? People used to getting their way all the time did tend to lack the common sense gene.

  “I see why you didn’t nurture a relationship with these asshats,” Rachel said to the ceiling.

  Emily had told her early on that Owen’s grandparents were opinionated snobs. Information she’d managed to get through TJ. They’d never attempted to know Emily or Owen until after her passing. Rachel often wondered why that was but couldn’t question Em now and certainly wasn’t going to quiz the Colemans.

  Rachel yawned as her cell phone rang.

  Jason’s name lit up and she smiled.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, how was it?” he asked.

  She closed her laptop and flopped back on her couch. “Awful. A zillion shades of horrid.”

  “You want to talk about it?”

  She did, for a good half an hour. And Jason listened. “It’s as if she didn’t get any reaction from any of her complaints until she hit the right button. Telling Owen his mother was anything but a saint, and wham. Game over. He beat me to it. I wanted to hit the woman.”

  “Violent tendencies won’t grant you custody.”

  “Wanna know the worst part?”

  “I don’t know, do I?”

  “The Colemans said that Owen’s dad is coming around.”

  “For a visit?”

  “Permanently.”

  Jason sighed through the line. “That doesn’t sound good.”

  Rachel rubbed the bridge of her nose. “I have guardianship over Owen only because Em requested it in her will and TJ didn’t stand up. If he stands up, the court would grant him complete custody unless I can prove he’s unfit.”

  “It doesn’t matter that Owen doesn’t know his father and doesn’t want to live with him?”

  “No. I could have fought the ugly grandparents and been heard. The court might listen to me suggest TJ not be given custody, but he will win.”

  “This isn’t good.”

  “I tried to avoid any of this by moving here. Owen and I both decided it was in everyone’s best interest to give the grandparents a chance to get to know him. TJ wasn’t a factor.”

  “How did Owen feel about the whole move?”

  “Better than most teenagers, I think. He was so wrapped up in Em’s passing that he hadn’t kept any close friends during the last year. And staying in California, passing the same grocery stores he used to go into with his mom . . . it was hard. Moving erased some of that.”

  Jason’s voice softened. “What are you going to do?”

  “Nothing. I could lawyer up, but I don’t have the money for that. And right now there isn’t anyone petitioning for a different custodial situation. I’ll try and make nice with the Colemans. Invite TJ to get to know his kid. But at the end of the day, there isn’t a thing I can do until they move to make the situation different.” And that’s what sucked the most. The not knowing what the other parties were up to
.

  “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  She smiled, knowing already that he’d jump in if she needed it. “No. You’ve already helped a lot. Owen really likes you.” Which proved there was a point to the Colemans’ argument that Owen needed a man in his life. Rachel had never seen Owen attach to anyone like he had with Jason. And in less than two weeks.

  “He’s a great kid.”

  “He is. I wish I could erase all this stress in his life.”

  Jason paused. “You’re a decent person, Rachel. Not everyone would take on the responsibility like you’re doing.”

  She shook off his compliment. “Who would walk away? Emily was my best friend. I’ve known Owen since he was five.”

  “Lots of people would walk away. You know that. I’m glad you’re the kind of person who has more integrity than that.”

  She glanced at the time. “Thanks. And thanks for checking in.”

  “Anytime.”

  “I need to get to bed. I have a report to finish up for my boss on Monday,” she teased.

  He laughed. “Yes, you do. Don’t think your boss is going to play favorites just because he knows you.”

  “Good night, Jason.”

  “Night, Rachel.”

  Rachel knew she’d be presenting a more detailed plan to Jason and his management team, but she didn’t take in the scope of how many people were going to be in the conference room. The space she’d used the previous week sat twelve, and there had been a few seats unoccupied. Now she stood in a room that comfortably sat twice as many chairs, and several extras were brought in and placed along the walls.

  The teams filed in, marketing, advertising, public relations . . . all part of the same general team. Risk management, the heads of the broker department, and the staffing manager rounded out the attendees. Rachel lost track of everyone’s names. Several executive secretaries were there as well. Toward the tail end of the parade of people, Jason walked through the door.

  Her heart shouldn’t leap when she saw the man, she told herself. But her chemical reaction wasn’t something she could control. He was such a contrast in a suit and tie to when he was climbing on her roof, hanging Christmas lights.

  “Try not to cuss at him this time,” Julie whispered in her ear.

  Rachel lowered her head and softly laughed.

  “Good morning, Rachel,” he greeted her with his hand extended.