by L. C. Evans
Then I grabbed the phone. Telemarketer. I did not need a new back porch, a subscription to twenty-two magazines, or vinyl siding. Too bad they weren’t trying to sell me a quiet, charming mother who looked at me adoringly and doled out praise like it was her only function in life.
Chapter Seven
There’s one in every family. Or so Mama tells me. I don’t know if she’s right or if Mama is just trying to make the point that it’s not the fault of her parenting that my sister DeLorean turned out the way she did.
In any case, I was not up for trying to analyze what went wrong in the years between the self-assured toddler who could charm any kid in Sunday School out of their last piece of candy and the current helpless princess. Why did she have to have another major life crisis now, on the morning after my argument with Mama? I’d lain awake half the night, plans for the new career fighting for space in my mind with replays of Mama’s disapproving lecture.
The phone woke me before my alarm could do the job. All I wanted was to find some way for DeLorean to manage, for once, without me having to disrupt my entire life. Hadn’t I told Jack just two days ago that I’d learned to say no?
I twisted a hunk of my hair around my fingers so tight my nails started turning blue. Against the advice of all the youthful appearance experts—and Mama--I puckered my face into a frown guaranteed to lead to wrinkles and premature aging unless I hit the botox center soon and often.
“You’re sure the breakup is for real? After all, this isn’t the first time you and Baldwin have argued and you wouldn’t want to make another mistake.” Yet, I hoped it was real, that she was finally leaving that jerk she’d hooked up with.
“Susan, give me a break. I’m twenty-eight and, don’t take this the wrong way, but I’ve had a ton of boyfriends, so I know a breakup when I see one. I could throw myself in front of a train for trusting him to begin with, but then where would that leave me? You’ve gotta see how devastated I am.” She said devastated in long, drawn-out tones in case I still didn’t get it. “He’s paid for plane tickets back to Charleston from LA. He never wants to see me or our baby again, like we don’t even exist and we never did. He says marriage is for fools, so he never intended to marry me to begin with and I was kidding myself. You should see the way he acts, getting jealous over his own son and talking mean to us both, though of course Cole doesn’t understand.” She sounded out of breath when she finally stopped talking.
“I’m sorry. You did the right thing to break it off, Dee.” All thoughts of sticking to my position evaporated like so much morning mist burning off in the sun. I experienced a surge of protective anger at the thought of Baldwin behaving so coldly toward my sister and her baby. I was glad for DeLorean, glad she was getting away from Baldwin and I would stop selfishly worrying over the impact of her troubles on my own plans. And yet, the rush of words on the other end of the line had pelted me like chunks of ice.
DeLorean, once again, had turned her life into hash, and I would have to pick up the pieces. She’d never ask Mama to take her in. Mama and the Chihuahuas live in a one-bedroom condo the size of my garage. Besides, Mama and DeLorean get along like two crocodiles fighting over a zebra carcass.
“Does Mama know about this?” I asked stupidly.
“God, no. I can’t deal with hysterics long distance and she’d just worry herself into a heart attack. Let’s wait till I get there and then when she sees me and Cole it will be a nice surprise for her.”
Nice surprise wasn’t exactly the phrase that came to mind when I imagined Mama, her latest lecture forming on her lips, catching sight of DeLorean and Cole camped out in my guestroom.
“Of course I’ll help. You don’t seem to have many options and Baldwin has been unbelievably cruel.”
“I knew it. I knew I could count on you, Susan. You’re the best sister ever.”
“Sure, that’s me.” I still thought it would be a good idea to call Mama, but knowing I’d have better luck trying to bore a hole through my kitchen wall with a toothpick than I would winning an argument with DeLorean, I asked, “When are you arriving?”
“One o’clock this afternoon, your time. See you.” The line went dead. I didn’t even have a chance to tell her that Jack Maxwell was back in town and he’d asked me to lunch today and one o’clock was not convenient.
DeLorean’s an expert at scripting other people’s lives for them, mostly mine. I sighed and plunked myself into the nearest chair. I love DeLorean and her baby son, but why did this have to happen today? Veronica’s new business would need all my attention, and I was determined to make it work. Having finally woken up or had ice water thrown in my face or whatever you want to call it, I deserved a chance at happiness.
Why couldn’t I do what I wanted now that I didn’t have a husband to stop me? T. Chandler would have gone quietly indignant if I’d ever done something for myself while we were married.
“Your first priority is our son,” he’d have said, speaking in low tones so I’d have to lean toward him like a serf obeying to her master in order to make out his words. “Second is our marriage. You can’t jump into something as risky as ghost tours, or whatever you’re calling it, something with evening hours that would demand such a big chunk of your time and energy. And you know I don’t care for that woman.” That woman was Veronica, who’d caught on to T. Chandler a lot faster than I had.
But T. Chandler was out of my life, thank God. In fact, he was out of the city, having moved to Atlanta with his new wife. I was not going to let either him or DeLorean and her latest disaster weigh on my mind.
As far as moving ahead with my job plans, I could start the ghost tours, but I’d have to wait to move into the Seaside View until DeLorean and her son settled in to a place of their own. Presumably this would be after she found a job here in Mount Pleasant or across the river in Charleston. There had to be a way to manage with two extra people. I was simply going to have to rearrange my schedule. I thrust my chin out and pasted on a “can-do” smile. Mission accomplished—almost.
I called Jack and left a message that I couldn’t make lunch due to a problem with my sister. Then I called Odell to say I’d had a family emergency. He was still screaming about “short-timers attitude” and making inarticulate noises when I hung up. Brenda would be fine. She’d taken copious notes yesterday. Besides, she’d shown every sign of wanting to do things her way and this was her golden opportunity to assume command.
After I hung up on Odell, I spared myself a moment of keen disappointment that I wouldn’t be seeing Jack today. He was right--we still had a lot of catching up to do and, after all, we used to be best friends.
Then I raced around like a madwoman getting the guest room ready, cleaning out the closet where I’d stored the overflow from Christian’s room and rearranging the second guest room, which I’d been using as an office. DeLorean could have that room for the baby as soon as he was old enough to leave her side.
When I was done, I barely had time to shower and change before I had to head out to pick up DeLorean at the Charleston airport. The airport is only about fifteen miles from my home in Mount Pleasant. Unfortunately, an accident somewhere ahead of me blocked the westbound lanes. I crawled along in a line of cars moving bumper to bumper.
DeLorean’s plane had already touched down by the time I rushed into the terminal panting like an overheated dog. Swarms of newly arrived travelers milled around me, jostling for space next to the baggage carousel. I stepped back against the nearest wall just in time to avoid being crushed between two football player-sized men in suits, turned slightly to the right, and spotted DeLorean huddled in a corner clutching Cole in front of her in a baby carrier. Various carry-on bags swung from her shoulders.
She was wearing an emerald green cocktail dress and spiked heels—silver in color. I didn’t know how she managed to keep her balance. Her auburn hair stood out from her head in a mass of thick, unruly curls. If the break up with Baldwin had stressed her, the effects didn’t show on the perfe
ct oval of her face. Her make-up, lightly applied, was enough to highlight her long-lashed blue eyes and her full lips. More than a few men turned for a second look as they walked past. I felt a surge of pride. That was my little sister they were admiring.
Cole looked in my direction. His chubby fist, clutching a rattle, waved back and forth. My heart melted and I stepped forward and somehow managed to hug them both. Then I held out my arms. DeLorean handed him over, carrier and all.
“Thank God you’re finally here, Susan. What took you so long? All this stuff weighs a ton.”
“Come over to this side.” I led the way to a bench. “Let’s wait till the herd thins before we fetch your luggage.”
“Good idea.” She collapsed on the bench, her bags spread out around her, and on my feet. “I have three suitcases. Can you believe it? Two years with Baldwin, that flaming narcissist, and all I have to show for it are a few bags and suitcases. And my precious Cole, but you know what I mean.”
I’d flown out to California six months ago when Cole was born because Mama was not quite over her hysterectomy and couldn’t make the trip. DeLorean had proudly shown me the beautifully decorated apartment and expensive furniture that looked like it had come out of a showroom. Baldwin liked to have friends over and he obviously wanted them to see that his place was first class. He’d paid more attention to his décor than he did to his son, bragging that he’d had his home professionally decorated. Later DeLorean had pulled me aside and told me with a pout that Baldwin didn’t want a child, but she was going to get him to be reasonable now that the child had actually been born and was lying right there in a crib staring up at him.
As if she were reading my mind, DeLorean said, “Baldwin got custody of the furniture and all the other gorgeous things in the apartment, and I got Cole and Brad. Not that I’m complaining.”
I’d been nodding, thinking that since Baldwin paid for everything and set such store by his possessions, he’d want to claim them for himself. But when she said, "Brad,” my senses went on high alert.
“Who or what is Brad?” I was almost afraid to hear the answer. Long years of experience with DeLorean had made me cautious.
Her bright expression didn’t change. “He’s Cole’s puppy. Named after Brad Pitt. Don’t you think he’s the handsomest thing in Hollywood?” DeLorean beamed me a smile that would have prompted whole cities of admiring men to throw themselves off cliffs on her behalf. “Goodness, it’s crowded in here.” She extracted a sheaf of papers from her purse and used them to fan herself.
I knew DeLorean too well to let her distract me. “You didn’t say anything about a puppy.” I glanced at Cole and when he flashed his dimples at me and gurgled, I reached down and stroked his silky blond hair. A baby this age wouldn’t know a puppy from a giraffe. What was DeLorean thinking?
Big, troubled sigh from DeLorean, accompanied by a mini-pout. “There wasn’t time. I had a ton of stuff to do, getting my stuff packed, picking up Cole’s medical records from his pediatrician, putting in change of address forms at the post office. You have no idea. You’ve always been willing to stay stuck in Mount Pleasant like it’s the Garden of Eden or something. Moving across country is hard work. I can’t be expected to think of every single thing like I’m some kind of robot with a computer for a brain.”
It didn’t take a computer brain to remember you had a dog. “We can pick up the puppy after we load your bags.”
“Did you bring your old car, that van thing with all the room in the back?”
“The minivan. It’s the only vehicle I have, Dee. I haven’t gotten rich and added a little sports number to the fleet since you last talked to me. Why?”
“Brad’s crate wouldn’t fit in a regular car. And I don’t want him bouncing around loose next to Cole in his car seat.”
Okay, so Brad sounded like a lively puppy. There was plenty of room at my place for him to run in the fenced back yard. True, the fenced part of the yard wasn’t all that big, but how much room could a puppy need?
The answer to that question took on new dimensions after we pulled around to the cargo area to get Brad. I left DeLorean and Cole in the car and walked over to a service window. One of the baggage handlers wandered out and led me into a building that looked like an oversized metal garage. He pointed out a crate about three feet high and two feet wide.
“There’s got to be a mistake.” I just managed to keep a civil tone. I was hot, tired after loading DeLorean’s things, and in no mood for incompetence. “I’m picking up a puppy, not a pony.”
I turned in a complete circle and pointed to a row of crates that could have held cocker spaniels. “He’s probably in one of those.”
“DeLorean Marsh, right?”
“My sister.”
“There’s your dog, lady.” He pointed to the big crate again. Then he motioned to a co-worker, who brought over a cart that looked sturdy enough to move an elephant.
My heart rate totally out of control, I approached the crate and squatted to peer inside. A mass of long, curly, gold-colored fur undulated back and forth and a pink tongue tried to lick my hand through the bars. I sucked in a deep centering breath and read the tag on the crate. No wonder DeLorean hadn’t mentioned Brad during our brief phone conversation this morning. She’d known I would have put my foot down. Probably.
Toy poodle-sized puppy, okay. Massive designer dog--a golden doodle according to the tag on the crate--not okay. Hairy, too big to be a housedog. And knowing DeLorean, probably not trained and not housebroken.
“You could have told me,” I said in barely civil tones when I was back in the minivan and the crate was loaded. We’d had to take out and rearrange the suitcases to squeeze the crate in. “You could have said you were bringing a dog that could swallow me whole and not show a tummy bulge.”
“Don’t be so bitchy. Brad is Cole’s golden doodle. You wouldn’t want to deprive your baby nephew of his pet, would you?” She shoved a wayward curl out of her face and when it sprang back, she pushed it behind her ear and crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m exhausted and I haven’t eaten all day. As if I don’t have enough to worry about, you’re giving me grief about my baby’s pet.”
“I though a golden doodle was a cross between a poodle and a golden retriever. Brad’s huge. He looks more like a great dane-kanoodle on steroids if you ask me.”
“There isn’t any such thing.” Her pout assumed record-breaking proportions, threatening to dislocate her jaw.
“Gee, why not? Surely there are babies all over the country crying in their cribs to get one.”
I eased out of the parking lot and into a break in traffic. I took deep centering breaths until I felt lightheaded. I was not going to argue with my sister, who was clearly suffering after her breakup. I was not going to let DeLorean ruin my day. What was left of my day.
Even when we got home and I freed Brad from the crate and discovered that A. my backyard fence had a hole in it that a horse could fit through and B. Brad’s coat was matted and he had fleas, I maintained control. I pasted on my best “I am coping” smile and held tight to the leash to keep DeLorean’s designer dog from dragging me out of the neighborhood.
When I rubbed his fur backward and pointed out a couple of scurrying fleas, DeLorean looked at me helplessly.
“I’ve been too busy with Cole to have time to comb Brad or worry over parasites. You’re a mother, you know how it is with a baby and their constant needs. And Baldwin insisted I be the only caregiver instead of hiring a babysitter so I could go back to work. I thought it was because he finally learned to love Cole, but it turned out that was only another way to control me.” Her voice trembled, and I noticed faint blue circles showing through her under-eye concealer.
Yeah, I could have told her all about control tactics. After T. Chandler and I married, he took charge and I didn’t have to think anymore, never had to wonder what to say or do. Never realized I was exactly the kind of possession he’d been looking for; not until we’d been mar
ried a couple of years and I started to develop too much personality, as he called it. He’d let me know he’d wanted someone who was pretty, quiet, and obedient, so he’d be “free to pursue his interests.” I eventually outgrew my meekness. Then I developed enough outrage to get into frequent shouting matches with him before our marriage finally ended, with him accusing me in injured tones of pulling a “bait and switch.” Maybe the new Mrs. Caraway, the one who spent all her spare time at the plastic surgeon’s, was the mannequin he craved.
“Sorry, Susan. If it’s too much trouble to help me, I’ll call some of my friends.” She sounded close to tears.
My heart softened. My baby sister had gotten herself into a real mess with Baldwin. But at least she hadn’t married him and stuck with him for nineteen soul-numbing years the way I had with T. Chandler.
I held up my right hand, palm facing out. “It’s okay. I can take the dog to be groomed and get him a flea bath. Everything will turn out fine.” I put Brad back in his crate.
After putting her things in her room, I told her to help herself in the kitchen. She had to be starved.
“There’s leftover salad and ham for sandwiches, iced tea if you want it.”
“I’m hungry, but I don’t know if I can eat. I feel like I’ve been run through a paper shredder.”
That was understandable. I fixed her a tuna salad sandwich anyway. She made a face. A stranger walking in would think I’d just placed an armed grenade in front of her, but she picked up the sandwich and nibbled at the edges.
It was late afternoon, probably too late to get Brad fumigated, but I had to get something set up. I tapped a pencil against the countertop until DeLorean shot me a pained look. Right. Her nerves were shredded.